Once in a Lifetime ➳ Larry

chapter twenty-two

chapter twenty-two

Luggage and overflowing suitcases rattle in the boot of Louis's car, toppling each time he twists around a curve or turns at an intersection. Because they're in a hurry to flee the country, Louis abandoned most of his belongings at the cottage. He only kept a handful of antiques, various memorabilias, and whatever clothes he could fit in a small carry-on bag. He has a fake ID card in his back pocket, claiming he was born in 1991. He couldn't possibly pass for 226 years old, despite Harry constantly teasing him for being an "old man."

Louis's porsche speeds towards the downtown city, where tall luminous buildings and neon signs light up the horizon. He thrives in the nighttime. He loves the comforting white glow of the crescent moon, the crisp air, the warm radiance of headlights. The danger and mystery. Even before he became a vampire, he loved the natural state of darkness. He remembers the beautiful stars in France and the relief of flickering candles.

He keeps one hand on the leather-bound steering wheel and rests the other on Harry's thigh. He rubs his thumb over his knee in an attempt to calm him. Even though he says he's okay, that he's excited to relocate, Louis knows he's nervous deep down. He's scared to leave his home, his friends, his job, his entire life— and even though he won't admit it, he's scared to leave his family, too.

"We don't have to stop at my flat," Harry says quietly, staring out the window to avoid eye contact. He watches the pavement along the side of the road, where scantily-clad girls in stilettos stand beneath street lamps.

Louis frowns. "But you still have to pack, love."

"I have nothing worth bringing."

Louis raises an eyebrow. "Nothing?"

"I live in a dump, Lou. If you haven't noticed by now, my life is far from extravagant."

The older vampire stays silent. A small beat of quietness passes between them. "Shouldn't you at least tell your landlord you're leaving?"

Harry lets out a dry, one-syllabled laugh. "My landlord hates me. He'll be happy when I'm gone."

"He hates you?" Louis says with a fake gasp. "But that's impossible."

Harry scoffs. "He thinks I'm a slut."

Louis curls his lip in a silent snarl. A wave of protectiveness floods his mind with rage. He can't imagine anyone treating Harry poorly or making him feel bad about himself. He deserves nothing but kindness. "What an areshole."

"Well, it's true," Harry murmurs.

"What's true?"

"That I'm a slut."

Louis glances at him for a split second before returning his attention to the road. His forehead is creased with confusion and concern. "Where is all of this self-hatred coming from? What happened to the confident boy I fell in love with?"

Harry sighs at length. "I'm fine, I just— I'm having doubts."

Louis's heart sinks, like a stone plunging into the dark, dangerous depths of Mariana's trench. "Doubts about us?"

Harry shakes his head. "No, of course not."

Relief surges through his veins. "Okay, then what are you having doubts about?"

"Us moving to Montana," Harry exhales, picking at a hole in his skinny jeans. "It seems lovely, and I'd love to live on a farm with you, but I— I've been a stripper ever since I was a teenager. What if I can't find another job? What if being a slut is my only talent?"