Come home. [ l.s ]

XVIII

January 9 , 2:12 - My final entry 1/2

Ah..

Where do I even begin?

Well, as you can see by the title I've given this entry, this will be my second to last entry of this journal I've been writing you, in which I will explain why in this entry as well.

So much has happened in the past few days, which is why I haven't gotten around to writing to you. But as I said in one of my earlier entries, I would tell you when something worth writing has happened. So, here I go;

They found you.

It was 3:47 in the morning when I got the call on the second of January. I can remember that call word for word.

The man had said, "Are you the significant other of Louis Tomlinson?"

I had said, "Yes, Harry Styles is my name."

The conversation was pretty long so I'll sum it up for you. Basically, he told me that they had found you locked in a crate at the bottom of someone's basement.

Wow, it's really hard to write this.

As I was saying, he had explained that you were locked in a wooden crate that must have been down there for a few weeks.

He said he was unsure of what events had occurred before you were locked into the crate, but that you have many wounds, a few broken bones, and possible brain damage from the impact of abuse you have received over the years that you had been missing.

He also explained how you were hospitalized and have an extremely slim chance of living.

For most of that call, I had listened. I also had cried a lot as well. It hurt so much to hear about the condition you're in, but I couldn't help but feel happy that you had finally been found.

Before the call ended he gave me the address to the hospital you were in, which is about 30 minutes away from our flat. But of course I had gotten up instantly after the call had ended.

So here I am. Still sitting in your hospital room and writing away to you as you're laying limp in your bed. I've been here for 8 days now and you haven't moved one bit since I arrived.

You can hardly see the life in you anymore, Louis.

You're really pale now. Your bones are also sharply defined, showing that you obviously hadn't had enough to eat.

The guy on the phone told me that you had wounds, but these are large gashes and they seem to even be heavily infected. They look so damn painful, Lou.

You also have lots of bruises, including one over your eye. You must have been through so much.

Your heart rate is very slow.

Mines kind of goes like this:

Thump.. Thump.. Thump.. Thump..

But yours goes likes this:

Thump . . . . .  Thump . . . . . Thump . . .

It's really scary to see you this way. It really is. You look like you're in so much pain and the doctors say that there's nothing more they can do for you. It hurts so much. I haven't been able to stop crying for more than 10 minutes since that phone call.

You're dying right before my eyes, Louis.

You truly are and there isn't a single thing I can do to save you. The doctors have even told me to stop hoping that you'll make it and to start preparing myself for when you pass.

And for the first time in four years, I've decided to abide by someone's advice.

There's still more I want to tell you, which is why I have split this entry into two parts and this of course is part one.

Tomorrow I will write part two and leave this journal with you when I leave to go home. I have to leave because they are going to be conducting surgeries and such on you so I can't be there for when they do.

Hopefully you'll wake up before I leave tomorrow and I'll get to say goodbye to you before I leave.

Well, I'm going to bed now. Goodnight, Louis.

P.S. These hospital chairs are very uncomfortable.

.H