ambivalence ❣ larry

4

"Fucking hell." Louis' head hurts, like really hurts. 

He looks up at his ceiling. At least he's in his own house, he thinks. He closes his eyes again, trying to dull the throbbing pain radiating through his cranium. He's going to hang Zayn up by his balls with barbed wire. Who the fuck, drinks vodka with no mixer? Zayn, apparently and Louis almost punches himself in the face for following Zayn's insanity. Having his eyes closed isn't helping his hangover one bit, however he physically can't bear the blinding early morning sunlight that pierces through a gap in his curtains.

How the fuck did he even get home? He doesn't remember leaving the party. The last solid memory he has is smoking a joint outside with Zayn, everything after that is only present in his mind as tiny snapshots. A smirk travels up his face when he remembers Zayn getting off with that girl. How did he even notice that? 

The fucking text. 

Louis sits up way too quickly and soon regrets it. He grips the sides of his head, which currently feels like it's being crushed between a vice. He looks at his bedside table and- shit. 

His phone isn't on there. He gets out of bed and picks up his jacket, shoving his hand in the pockets. Cigarettes, lighter, bank card, but no fucking phone. He reaches for his jeans that are discarded in a pile next to his desk. Turning them upside down and shaking proves unsuccessful as well. 

With a sigh, he lays on the floor, the carpet prickling against his back. 

"Fucks sake." He mutters. How the hell has he lost his phone? He half sighs, half groans and turns his head to the side. Bingo! His phone is under his bed. How it got there, he'll never know, but he's so relieved to see it that he doesn't actually care. 

He scrambles across the floor and grabs it. He sits on his knees and tries to turn it on, no fucking charge, of course. Another groan escapes him and he pulls his weary body up and plugs it in. Running his hands over his face, he sits on the edge of the bed.

Surely that message was a figment of his imagination. There's no way that Harry messaged him. How'd he even get his number? Probably from one of the twats that abandoned him for Harry, he thinks to himself. What a fucking creep. He lays down, his feet still planted on the floor.

'This isn't over.' What does that even fucking mean? Unless Harry's a mind reader and knows that Louis' plan was to avoid him forever, it's a pretty weird message. Louis can't be bothered with this. Truthfully, he's fed up. Harry's the one that has a vendetta against Louis. Louis never did anything for Harry to hate him. What a fucking weirdo. He can't help but feel as if he is forgetting something. There's an unfamiliar knot in his lower stomach. He doesn't like it one bit.

Ding. 

Louis looks over and sees his phone come to life. Suddenly, he's not feeling the same desperation to look at it as he did minutes earlier. He reaches over and picks it up gingerly. He unlocks it and opens his messages. There's a few from Zayn that he cannot for the life of him decipher. It looks like he had just beat the shit out his screen rather than texting.

'Loo, whve u gon'

'??????'

'Oiii ull nvr guss wut'

'???'

Louis can't be bothered to look at anymore, there's only one message he's interested in.

'This isn't over.'

There it is, in black and white. So, Louis wasn't imagining it. This is utterly bizarre if you ask him. Fuck this, he needs a shower. He throws his phone, perhaps a bit aggressively, onto his bedside table and goes to his drawer. He pulls out a t-shirt and some tracksuit bottoms. As he walks across the landing, he hears his mum downstairs. She must have a day off, he thinks. His mum hardly ever has days off, she practically lives at the hospital. Louis shrugs to himself and goes into the bathroom. He turns the water on and looks at himself in the mirror.