ILTHY | l.p.

3 | summer of '13

CHAPTER THREE
❛ 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲𝘀, 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗶 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗸 𝗮𝗯𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗶𝘀 𝘆𝗼𝘂,
𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝗻𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗺𝗶𝗱𝗱𝗹𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝗷𝘂𝗻𝗲. ❜
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[ y/n ]

There's something weird that I don't practically remember.

The first photo shown in the messed-up scrapbook is a photo of me and Millie having ice cream on our noses, doing funny poses, and Louis in the middle, hugging a guitar and smiling.

Louis? Smiling? When I'm around? What kind of multiverse have I stumbled upon?

Issie then turned the page, and then it was a photo of me up on a tree branch, Millie on the other side, and Louis and Issie on the ground, all laughing.

Then came the third and final picture.

One where there were fireworks in the background, me and Millie watching by the side, and Louis behind us. But he wasn't looking at the fireworks; no, he was looking at me.

I remember it always being me and Millie.

But not with Louis.

Sure, we've done this scrapbook together and grew up together, but how did we look so happy in one frame? That just doesn't sit with me. Louis Partridge hated me for as long as I can remember. And looking through these photos does not feel like a trip down memory lane; it feels like viewing someone else's memories.

Subconsciously, I glanced up at Louis, a part of me expecting him to look at me. But he wasn't. Louis was plainly using his phone, scrolling through shit I do not usually care about, but right now I feel curious. Confused.

What is in that stupid phone that is more important than this stupid photos?

Is he that uninterested because he can't stand the fact that we both actually managed to tolerate each other at some point in life?

Or did he look into the scrapbook so much that he memorized it from the back of his hand and doesn't need to look at it anymore?

"The fact that this only has three photos should be illegal. Is this unfinished?" James comments softly, turning to me. I slowly shake my head. "It's finished, yeah. Besides, this hasn't been opened or remembered in years."

"That's not true," Millie pressed on, glancing at me with furrowed brows. "You remember it."

"And Louis did too. I mean, he kept it, so obviously he remembers it," Issie adds.

I hold back the temptation to turn to the said person, not wanting to feel the disappointment of him refusing to look at me even once.

"Why don't we go on and open up the rest of the scrapbooks?" Liz asks and stands up to grab the rest. I hear Louis's phone chime close, then see his hand from my peripheral view get back the one he specifically kept, but before I knew it, I reached out too and slammed my hand on the scrapbook.

Louis looks up to me and meets my own widened eyes.

I could not believe I just did that.

What was I thinking?