Back to you and me - Larry

CHAPTER NINE

I wake up in an empty apartment, but something is terribly wrong. I'm not sure what it is exactly, but something is missing inside me, something that used to be there but has somehow slipped away without my permission. But it doesn't make sense because this isn't my apartment. And there are pictures of Harry and me on the dresser, not to mention I'm wearing a wedding ring.

I remove it so I can study it up close, smiling when I read Harry's initials and our supposed wedding day. I slip it back on, then get up so I can look around our apartment. It isn't particularly big, but it's cozy and very us, only there's medicine on our bathroom counter in my name—antidepressant and anti-anxiety meds— but why would I need those?

"Makes no sense."

I take a shower as I wonder how early Harry normally heads to work. At seventeen, he would always leave me notes whenever he went somewhere in my sleep—cute words with cheeky drawings. I wonder why it's not something he does now, but at least we're married.

I open our closet to see our selection. Harry has clothes in ridiculous amounts, but that was honestly to be expected. I locate my own trackies, then steal a hoodie that's too big but is unmistakably Harry's. I've almost missed stealing his clothes to wear them myself.

Zayn calls me when I'm about to check my schedule. "Do you wanna come to lunch with us today?"

"Don't we have clients today?"

He's quite long enough to convince me something is wrong. "Babe, you're on sick leave, remember?"

"I'm on... where do you wanna have lunch?"

He tells me the cafe's name, somewhat cautions as he talks to me—something is seriously wrong, so I need him and Liam to answer some questions. I stay in Harry's hoodie as I meet up with them at noon, sitting down opposite them as they look at me as though they need to sympathise—as though they're worried.

Zayn raises an eyebrow. "Are you okay?"

"I'm confused."

"How come?"

"I'm not going to work. And I tried texting Harry, but he hasn't gotten back to me yet."

"Louis—"

"Do you know when he normally comes home on Thursdays?"

"Babe," Zayn says, reaching over to take my hand. "Have you been taking your meds?"

"The antidepressant? Or the anxiety meds?"

"Both," Liam says. "You haven't been skipping therapy, have you?"

I pull my hand away. "I need you to tell me what's going on because you're not making any sense."

"Louis, Harry is dead," Zayn says, voice cautious. "Remember? This is what happens when you skip your meds—you convince yourself he's still here with you."

I tear up at his words, heart sinking in response to everything he's saying. "No. He's not, Zayn. He can't be dead."

"Do you want us to bring you back to your apartment?"

"No, I want you to tell me how it happened."

"Okay," he says. "It was last year on your second anniversary. Harry was... he was in Amsterdam because his trip has been extended, so you were angry and hurt because he wasn't gonna be home on your anniversary. You were never one to complain about his work because whenever he went to another country, he would bring you with him, but this time it was a trip that was rather spontaneous, so you stayed back to avoid rescheduling a week's worth of clients. He chose to leave that night anyway, but when he came to London and was on his way back, someone... someone ran a red light."