To Write Love on His Arms (a Larry Stylinson fanfic)

Chapter Eleven

The drive back to Nick's, after loading my stuff into my car, seemed longer than it actually was. Before I had left my flat, I could hear Louis yelling inside about how much he hates me now. Thats why I had hurried up with loading things into my car. I couldn't handle hearing the words coming from Louis's mouth. All that was running through my head the entire drive, were thoughts telling me how stupid I am, and visions of Louis crying over me. I have officially ruined the best thing that has ever happened to me. All of it was caused by one drunken mistake. A text none the less.

In the past when I have gotten shitfaced like I did last night, Louis was always with me. He would make sure I did nothing stupid. But, of course when it comes to going out clubbing with Nick he doesn't keep a careful watch on me. But, blaming people on my own stupid mistake isn't going to get me anywhere, and certainly isn't going to get me Louis back.

After I park my car in the driveway, I go into Nicks flat, or should I say our flat, because I have no clue how long I will need to stay here. The first thing I do is go into the kitchen and grab a cup for the carnations that had been left outside for me. Sure they are squished a bit, and have been stepped on but I still love them. Plus, they are the only thing I have that shows Louis's love for me.

I take the cup of flowers upstairs with me, into what is going to be my room for my stay here. Thankfully, Nick has a three bedroom flat so I won't have to be sharing a room with him.

Once I have all of my bags settled into the room, I start to unpack some of the bags, so I know what Louis has given me. A few outfits, my medicine, my laptop, and the box I keep under my bed that I labeled 'Harry's miscellaneous things', but is now labeled 'Harry's shit'. It was probably renamed by Louis at some point last night.

In a way I am thankful that Louis had put this box in my stuff to take. After all, it does hold the only true stress relieving thing I own. My blades.

I know it's not the best way of making myself feel better, but at the same time I truly love the pain it gives me. I love the control that is put into my hands. My blades are the only things in life that I can control how they hurt me. Plus the pain that they give me, is blissful.

Knowing that Nick isn't due to come back to the flat anytime soon, I decide that maybe I might put the blades into use. In spite of everything that had happened in the last two days, I do think I deserve this. Deserve to take some of the pain and hurt away from me.

Knowing that this could get somewhat messy, I determine that it would be best to do this in the bathroom. A place that basically isn't all white, like the bedroom I am staying in, which is Nick's favorite color.

Unlike the rest of the house, the upstairs bathroom is black. From the countertops to the shower, the color is everywhere. When I place my blades on the sinks counter, they seem strangely out of place. With the silver color of the blades contrasting with the black counter. It's reminds me of how out of place I am in the world.

Ever since becoming famous, I have never really felt like my old self. Everyday I am forced to be someone I am not, forced to suppress the real me. The old me. The me that I miss. The fame has always been something I have wanted ever since I was little, but when you achieve it you realize how much it sucks. The darkside of the fame is what sucks.

No longer can you be seen as the cheeky kid from Holmes Chapel, you have to be seen as the hipster boy living in London. Sure having the nice clothing and fast cars makes me feel temporarily happy, but nothing would beat laying on my old bed with sweats on listening to some Rolling Stones. Or maybe even having a movie night at my house with the little friends I had in school. Plus, the fame alongside my managers helped break my relationship with Louis. If it wasn't for Modest forcing Louis to get engaged to Eleanor, none of this shit would have happened.

So I roll up my sleeve, not giving a shit if my new cuts will become visible to the outside world. Grabbing ahold of my smaller blade, I mark out an area that would produce the most pain. The crease on my wrist is where I decide to drag the sharp edge of my blade across. One after another I make a total of four cuts, each one deeper than the last. With the last one being the deepest.

Blood trickles down my arm as I turn on the tap to clean of the blade, drying it off with a washcloth once it's clean again. So I am not overly suspicious, I carefully wash the blood off of my arm and roll my sleeve back down. This time I am trying to be better at hiding my cuts.

Once I am done in the bathroom, I walk back into my bedroom. Before I do anything else, I put my blades back into their box. Laying down on my bed, I feel my phone vibrate.

'Great more drama' I think to myself as I grad ahold of my phone, putting in the passcode.

It's a new text from Louis.

"You can come to pick up the rest of your stuff tomorrow. I will be out during the hours of 2-5, so come then. I do not wish to see you around here while I am here. Zayn is going to be here during the time I am out".

After reading the text, I put (more like throw) my phone back down on the bed, and decide that it may be best to take a nap right now. Since while I am asleep I can't really do anything stupid. I roll over on my side, facing the nightstand that holds the carnations. Slowly drifting off to sleep to the beauty of the flowers.