The Exceptionals

Chapter Three: Getting Hammered

Whip It - DEVO

     It was finally Friday. A whole week of school had gone by in a flash. Louis attended all of his lectures,  finished his homework, spent a profuse amount of time playing video games with Niall, drank stale cherry beer, and became the best student he'd ever been—taking notes in every course and not once doodling unconsciously.

It'd been great.

Except for one thing. One very important thing.

Harry Styles was the worst person Louis Tomlinson had ever met.

The boy just knows how to crawl under his skin and claw at him where it hurt the most, sucking every ounce of joy he has inside. He knows how to get on his nerves, managing to snap, every, single, one of them.

On Tuesday, Harry managed to 'accidentally' slap his books out of his hands.

"What the fuck is your problem?" Louis gritted out, falling to his knees on the hard concrete to hurriedly pick up his discarded books while he felt ravenous pairs of eyes watching him from afar.

"My fault, wasn't watching where I was going." When Louis stood back up with his books tucked securely under his arm, he saw Harry smirking, a flash of lightning flaming his eyes.

On Wednesday, Harry almost tripped him.

Louis was walking out of his lecture and on his way to the library, hoping to find some books for his art history lecture and a project he needed to work on when he briefly tripped on something fleshy, faltering but catching himself nonetheless. When he turned around he saw Harry Styles' stupid retreading back, a brunette girl giggling helplessly beside him as he tucked his hand in the pocket of her flowing bright jeans.

On Thursday, Harry choked him.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. But I was talking to him and I told him that it was shit but he didn't—" Louis choked off on his words by his neckline cutting roughly into his throat, making him cough repeatedly into his hand.

"Oh shit, you all right mate?" Louis didn't pay any mind to Oscar, but instead whipped his head around to the sound of snickering. Of course, it was Harry, it just had to be Harry. Louis was unimpressed. He thought about cussing at him, yelling at him, provoking him, but he didn't feel like embarrassing himself in front of Oscar so he just let it go, turning back around and waving him off. "Yeah, I'm good. Anyways—"

And today, Louis was staying clear of him.

To be quite honest, all of this was taking a resonant toll on him.

This past week, Louis has felt... off. Miserable, maybe? Or just pathetic? It's like his pills aren't working the way they're supposed to anymore. His temper's been shorter, his mood stabilizers failing to do their job. Yesterday, he even snapped at his sister during one of their usual, harmless arguments over the TV remote. They always fought over little things like that—silly, playful bickering that never really mattered. Louis never got mad, not really, because he knew it was just a game. He always won anyway.

But yesterday was different. He yelled at her—loud, sharp, and way too harsh. The words hit the air before he even knew what he was saying. The moment he saw the look on her face, guilt hit him like a freight train. He apologized immediately, over and over, but it didn't help. The guilt clung to him, heavy and unshakable, reminding him that something wasn't right.

He was beginning to hate himself a little more each day. 

Honestly, before school, Louis was fine, before Harry, Louis was happy. He didn't even feel like he was... well, sick, most of the time. But now, it's all he's reminded of. It's like it's all he is.