Say The Words (Louis Tomlinson Fan Fic)

Chapter 19

Caution: This chapter is triggering. Be smart, loves.
"The reason why we struggle with insecurity is because we compare our behind-the-scenes to everyone else's highlight reel" -Steven Furtick, Treatment: Insecurity. (He's a well-known pastor and YES that's a sermon of his, BUT BUT BUT it's incredible. Find it on iTunes as a podcast. It's freee.)
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Monday, October 28th, 2013
I say my goodnights and go to my room and lock my door shut. I turn my back and put all my weight on the door and slowly fall to the ground. The sadness, hatred (from fans and myself), and numbness overtake my long-dead soul. It's been months.
My muscles clench and my body curls into a ball and I fall onto my side. I feel my spine portrude and my arms wrap around me. I squeeze my eyes shut. My breath hitches. It feels like my throat is being crushed. My chest has bricks slamming into it. Everything is in slow motion until I gasp for the air and remember to breathe. I roll over and sit up on my hands, catching my breath. I start sobbing uncontrollably and scramble to my bed, seeking the only sound barrier I know: pillows.
I scream into my pillows until everything in my neck feels as if it's bleeding. I punch and kick in my bed. My chest spasms start to become uncontrollable. I sob harder and harder. I finally blow out one more scream while slamming my fists into my bed. The pillow muffles it a little and I force myself to attempt to calm down. I push myself up, chest lightly spasming yet. I position myself to sit up and lean against the headboard. I sob a little and rest my head in my hands. I wipe the tears from my eyes, probably smearing the little bit of make up I had on. I sniffle and start to hiccup. I lean back and remove my head from my hands. I exhaustedly let a deep breath of air through my system. I open my eyes and they dart to my bathroom.
I slide out of my bed and walk over to my bathroom, but I'm interrupted when I get dizzy and fall over. Luckily, I catch myself before my head blew into the hard floor. I get up again and use my wall to guide me to my bathroom.
When I reach the bathroom, I turn the light on and shut the door and lock it. I turn around again and face my shower. I look around to find my razor. The familiar T-shape catches my eye and I reach down to grab it off of the side. Everything rushes to my head and I fall into the tub a little bit. I grumble some curse words under my breath and manage to pull myself out. I feel the razor in my hand and bring it to my face to examine. I take the razor apart until I have only a few blades.
I run scorching hot water in my faucet and rinse anything left on the blades. I pull my razor out of the stream and slide up my long sleeve. "Sorry," I mumble, then I dig the razor into my right arm. It sliced my arm and I immediately gasp in pain. I lift up the razor quickly and say more curse words under my breath.
I realize that I'm weak, so I dig it back into my arm in a spot next to where I had just gone and start to cut again, but deeper. I continue to cut and cut down my arm until it is filled with red and there isn't room for another single cut.
I quickly rinse my arm and bandage it up, ignoring the searing pain. I then remember something I have in my room. How I could be so stupid and clueless not to remember I'll never know, but I have a knife. A pocket knife with a good blade. I look at my left arm. I'm right-hand dominant so I could make better cuts on my left arm. I rush out of my bathroom and to my room. I look around and spot my drawer. I run to it and fish out my pocket knife and hurriedly go back to the bathroom. Without much thought, I stab the blade into my arm and slice. I scream in pain. The I scream from pain from screaming. I make over 40 cuts in my arm before bandaging up.
Before I had bandaged up each arm, I took a good look at what I did to myself. When I was cutting, I didn't really look at my fresh cuts. I just cut. But, when I finished and looked at my arm, I saw it completely covered with lines and red. What once was tan skin is now sliced numerous times and oozing. I walk over to my bed and sit down on the edge.
I'll never forget the reasons behind these or what triggered it all. The anger- oh, the anger. Such anger could never possibly be held inside even the most stable person. And sadness. Thinking about the sadness depresses and exhausts me in every way. Not to sound cheesy or cliché but it really does feel like the weight of the world has fallen on my shoulders; except it's fallen on my entire body. I don't even want to live.
Death.
It sounds so..
so wonderful.
I wonder if I could just- go.
I mean, so much for forgetting. I did everything that was required and recommended, yet I'm unhappy.
I fall from my bed and hit the ground with a loud thud. I break into uncontrollable sobs yet again tonight. I lay and whimper.
I am sad. I'm sad that I'm sad. I'm sad that my friends get to be happy and they don't hardly seem to be affected by anything sometimes. Why did I have to deal with this? Why couldn't I be a thief or a drug smuggler? Why am I me? I hate myself. I've done nothing to deserve to live. I shouldn't be loved by anyone. I just want to die. God, please put me out of my misery.
I continue sobbing on the hard wood floor.
Suddenly, there is a knock on my door and I hear my name being shouted, but I cannot process it.
Great, now I'm retarded. I should make a list of all the things I need to work on to improve myself. Or I could just die.
Death. Again, it sounds so wonderful.
I start crying to an extent I have never seen nor experienced.
The person outside my door pounds even harder on the door and I finally realize what's happening. He wants me to open the door. "No," I shout, "leave me alone!"
He protests, "Louis, open this damn fucking door or Liam will go get management!"
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So..... I kind of bet you thought that was Addie's POV? I don't know. I was trying to kind of trying to keep it a suprise. So, plot twist!
Is anyone even reading this story? Comment, message, or vote if you are... that'd be nice and all...