Barricade Bunny

CHAPTER TWENTYONE: ANGRY

Louis is ropeable. Harry fucken Styles and his stupidity have caused one of the girls from the group to be pulled over the barricade and taken backstage by security. He hopes Harry has a good root because Louis can't help thinking how much it should be him. He doesn't want to sleep with Harry, but going backstage would mean getting to meet Michael. Stomping out of the arena, Louis pushes past all the fake bitches. They are all yelling at him and giving him dirty looks, probably thinking he is angry he didn't get noticed. Louis had goals for this tour: to avoid Harry and get Michael. Night one of the tour, and those plans are going to shit.

Continuing his lousy mood back to the hotel, Louis makes a beeline for the bar ordering the most expensive red wine he can, paying with Harry's black card. He rips the bottle off the counter and stomps to his room. Drawing himself a piping hot bath, Louis strips naked, pops the cork off the bottle and gets shit faced. All that's running through his head is, 'Fuck Harry Styles'. He's too angry to wank, too angry to relax properly; all he wants to do is punch Harry in the fucken head and sleep. He's delighted they have a few days off because he would lose it if he saw Harry.

Waking up for another day of travel, Louis is still pissed off at Harry. He better not see him in the hallway.

Arriving in Manchester, Louis decides to drop his things off at the hotel and earn money at the club. Anything to get his angry mood out. Louis takes his favourite thong and his favourite heels. If he makes enough and shakes enough ass, he might let himself indulge in some of the clients after his shift. He will be in Manchester for almost a week and may make the most of it.

Louis worked himself too hard; he had sucked dick, ridden dick and been used as a dick warmer for hours. His knees were sore, and his wallet was full, but he felt empty. Louis let his anger fuel him tonight, regretting it would be an understatement, but at least he's fulfilled sexually. Louis has consumed half the bar on the house since he's a staff member. He's beyond any comprehensive thoughts; he doesn't know who or where he is. If any part of him wasn't intoxicated, it would be screaming at him that he was in a dangerous state. Instead, his head is screaming to walk out, getaway, and go to bed.

Stumbling through unfamiliar streets, Louis needs help remembering the name of his hotel or how far it is from the club. Everything looks blurry. Maybe he dreamt the whole thing, and he's in London. He starts walking the way he usually would home from work, knowing where his apartment is. That makes more sense to his drunken brain than the fever dream he thought he had lived in for the past few months. He doesn't know any Styles; he didn't give up his life to follow a guitarist on tour. Louis is reckless, but he wouldn't do any of that. Lottie will know the answers. Pulling his phone out, he dials his sister.

Hello?

Lottie my favourite human in the world. I have a question.

Louis, are you drunk? Where are you?

Well, see, here's the thing, I need to find out where I am. I've been in my head lately. I thought I met harry styles, I thought we've been talking, I thought I gave up my whole life stripping to follow Harry's tour and get close to the guitarist Michael Blackwell. If all this was true, I would be walking around Manchester, but half of England looks the same, and I feel it's all fake, so I must be in London.

I will ignore all that because even though you can be pretty dramatic when drunk, that's the biggest bullshit you've spewed in a while.

Lottie, I'm fucken serious. I think I might be having a bad trip or something because-

LOUIS WILLIAM TOMLINSON, WHY THE FUCK DOES YOUR LOCATION SAY YOU'RE IN MANCHESTER?

HAHA, very funny. I just said it was all a dream, and I'm in London. Please don't play with me, Charlotte.

Don't you fucken Charlotte me right now, Louis. I am watching your live location right now.

Oh shit, so I am in Manchester. Does that mean I do know Harry and I am on tour? Shit don't tell Lottie.

I am Lottie you dolt. You better explain before I board the next train and come whoop your fat ass into next year.

Ohhhh that will be exciting next year, Australia, New Zealand, Asia and then back to Europe.

Oh my god. You're serious.

Serious about what? I have an idea. I could ring Harry.

Louis, you can't just ring an international pop star.

I can. I have Harry's number. We've been talking for ages.

Now you're a comedian? Yeah, right, Louis. And I am the bloody queen. Do I need to come down there?

Naaaah, I'll ring Harry or Michael. Now that number, I'm glad I have.

Fuck, you're delusional. Were you drinking tequila?

Had some beer, some wine, some vodka, some tequila, and some semen. Just the usual night at work.

Jesus, help me. No more information. What work, Louis? You don't work in Manchester.

I just said I was a stripper. Are you deaf? You are just as bad as Lottie. Gosh. Right random person in my head, I need to ring Harry now, byyyyeeee.

Louis wait-

Louis searches for his phone before realising it is in his hand. Oh goody, dialling the number he has saved as 'Do not answer!' He dances around a street sign singing, 'Here to take my medicine, take my medicine.'

H- Louis?

L- My saviour, I don't know where I am, I'm hearing voices in my head that sound like my sister, and I'm piss drunk, mate. Sending my location now. Come get me or else.

Louis sees a fountain in the centre of a walkway which drunk Louis thinks is a great place to wait. Everyone knows the town fountain. It'll be easy to find him here. Louis takes off running at full speed towards the fountain, planning to dance around the side. In his drunken state, he goes straight over the side, diving into the fountain, headfirst.

Feeling his head hit the bottom of the fountain at an awkward angle, Louis feels instantly sober. Rolling onto his back, Louis looks at the stars, thinking about how they look like eyes in the sky before everything goes black.

Hopefully, Harry got his location.

He needs help.