Breathe (Louis Tomlinson)

Chapter Four

ARDEN'S POV:

-Flashback-

"Oh thank God you're awake!" my mom exclaimed as she ran into the room. I was still groggy and stiff from being unconscious for so long.

"Yeah," I answered as she captured me in a warm embrace. For once in my life, it actually felt welcoming and... Happy.

"I was so worried. Oh my God, I'm so sorry, honey. I'm sorry that I'm not a good enough mother. I'm trying, I really am." she said, getting choked up.

"Mom, it's not your fault. It wasn't anybody's fault but mine. I took those pills. I made myself feel that way. I'm sorry." I replied, trying to comfort her. I wasn't really that sorry that I had attempted suicide- I honestly do hate being alive. But at the same time, I care for my mom, no matter how much she pisses me off.

"The doctors said that you need a week in the hospital and then a couple weeks of rest at home as you get into the swing of things. You were out for almost two days." she said, a tear rolling down her cheek as she made no attempt to wipe it away.

"Okay. I'm sorry mom, I really am." But was I sorry?

"Alright, now get some rest. Julia will be here soon," she said, smiling as she smoothed out some of my hair that was sprawled across the pillow I was currently using.

"Julia's coming?" I asked excitedly. Julia was my best friend and she lived two hours away, making it tough to see each other.

"Yeah, she had some school work to get done, but she's coming any time now," she replied, exiting my hospital room.

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I woke up, annoyed that I had dreamt about the hospital. I didn't want to dream about that; memories of that place disgusted me. It smelled of soup and disinfectant, two scents that do not mix.

I sighed loudly, annoyed that I had to actually look presentable for school. It was mid-January and freezing cold. I swear the weather here in Michigan acts as if it's on it's period; constantly changing and with no steady pattern.

I selected my 5 Seconds of Summer t-shirt and jeans, changing quickly before curling my hair and doing my makeup. If you were to look at me with my strawberry-blonde hair and average clothes, you would never guess that I suffer from so much. You would never guess that I was screaming inside, wanting to break away from everything and be alone in my own bubble of sadness and music.

"COME EAT BREAKFAST!" my mom called from downstairs. Rolling my eyes, I picked up my backpack and slipped on my white Vans (the shoes not the vehicles of sexual predators).

I walked downstairs to find a plate full of waffles. My mind told me not to eat it, but my grumbling stomach disagreed. Before the incident, I never ate breakfast and my mom never made me, but now she watches what I eat constantly, saying that the doctors wanted to make sure I was eating enough.

I ate enough to make sure she wouldn't question me and headed out to the bus stop.

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"Arden!" Tyler said loudly, clapping his hands in front of my face to get attention.

"What? Sorry I zoned out," I said.

"Obviously," he answered sarcastically. "So since you were... Absent... Over Christmas break, we thought maybe we could all have a Christmas party but this time with you there, too."

"That sounds like a great idea." I commented, trying to keep my cool but internally dancing happily because my friends actually cared about me enough that they'd be willing to have a small party just because I missed the first one.

"Miss Carey and Mr. Johnson, do you have something you would like to share with the class?" the teacher said, stopping the lesson and looking at us. Her voice was firm but when she looked to me her face softened, probably because she thought I was a messed up, emotionally unstable girl with mental issues.

"No, ma'am. We were just discussing the formula for photosynthesis," Tyler answered before I could, using his natural charm to get out of this without getting into any type of trouble.

"Alright. Now hush up," she said, turning back to the board.

Tyler grinned at me and I smiled back, finding the exchange rather amusing.

Maybe things could go back to normal.

Then, as if on cue, the bell rang and I knew that instead of going to a friend's house or sports practice like normal kids do after school, I'd be going to therapy. My life was far from normal.

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"Do you regret your decision?" Mrs. Tomlinson asked, handing me an Oreo and watching me as she waited for my response.

"I don't know. I mean, I guess it was nice to see some of my friends and I realized that I missed them after being away from them for a month, but I don't regret my decision. I still hate this world and everything in and about it." I said, nibbling on the outer edge on one of the sides of the Oreo.

"If it was possible, would you want to be happy again?" she asked.

I bit my bottom lip as I thought. "I don't know. I believe that happiness is an illusion; I find comfort in sadness."

"Comfort?"

"Yes, comfort. It's a lot easier to be sad all the time and have moments of happiness than to be happier all the time, because then your times of sadness will be harder to handle." I answered.

Before Mrs. Tomlinson could respond, a knock sounded on her door.

"Come in!" she called. The door opened to reveal Louis, the boy from dinner last night. For some reason, my heart rate sped up.

"Hello, darling." Mrs. Tomlinson said brightly.

"Hey, sorry to interrupt," his eyes flickered to me for a moment before returning to his mom. "but I need you to sign this test from English since you're going out later tonight and will be out for a while and wont be able to sign it." he seemed nervous and embarrassed, shifting weight from one foot to the other.

"Here, let me see it." she answered, holding her hand out, signaling for him to give it to her.

He paced over to the desk, now a foot away from me. I could see the small tear in his jeans at the knees, the way one hair stood up a bit more than the others on his head, how the sunlight seeping through the windows made his tan skin almost golden. He looked really good, and I could feel myself getting shaky and nervous.

"48%?" Mrs. Tomlinson asked, frowning as she studied the paper.

"Uh... Yeah. I just... The test was hard and I wasn't focused enough," he explained, running a hand through his hair nervously as he glanced to me then back to his seemingly disappointed mother.

"You need to study more. It's your senior year and if you want to get into Notre Dame then you'd better do better than this," she said, quickly singing the paper and handing it back to him.

"I know, I'm sorry. I'll try harder," he answered, walking out.

Poor Louis. English had never been hard for me- in fact, I was quite good at it. I just happened to suck at math so much that my mom had sent me to a math tutor in seventh grade.

"Now, where were we?" she asks, turning her attention back to me. I barely noticed as I watched Louis walk out, trying hard not to stare at his butt.

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