Written In These Walls

Prologue

Louis supposes his life kind of sucks doesn't it.

He spends his time out pretending he doesn't want to die inside because according to his mother a depressing son would be bad for her image. Which was literally all she cared about, how good she looked. Not about how her son was literally dying inside.

Sometimes Louis enjoys that people don't know anything of his thoughts, because being pestered was definitely not in his best interest. But being pestered to communicate also comes with his happy-go-lucky image, and he can't really decided which he hates more.

But Louis also wishes he had someone to talk to. About everything. His mother didn't know all these things, no, not that she cared anyway, Louis' mother liked telling Louis that his life hadn't been 'all that bad' and 'get the fuck over it' and her favorite 'you're only 16, you don't know what stress is.' What she didn't know is that Louis had permanently etched those words into his skin that night in the form of red gashes on his thighs.

So yeah, Louis wished he had a way to vent other than cutting his skin every single time he felt like shit, which was quite often, if he was honest.

-

He finally found his solution when he was bored one day, laying on his bed with a notebook and pen, he really should have been doing his math homework, when he decided he really wishes that he could write on the walls, everything he'd felt. It was actually a simile of the sorts, writing on a wall would be just like telling everything to his mother, he'd get no response. Except the wall couldn't send him a cold glare, sending a shiver down Louis' spine. Plus, the wall couldn't judge him, and he admits that makes him seem a little crazy, not that he didn't already know that. Louis supposes he could just get a diary or something, but his mother would eventually find it, and would probably call him pathetic or say something that would probably make him cry, and he really hated crying. At first he'd planned to just draw something small and unnoticeable, out of boredom, but when he went to draw, he found the pen had no ink, and the idea just flashed in his mind. What if he just wrote it on the walls instead? Because walls didn't talk, so Louis didn't have to worry about them telling anyone else his issues, or be found by his mother.

It was perfect.

-

It wasn't really venting, like he planned. It just turned out to be small phrases and shit that he usually thought when he was still up around three in the morning even on school nights, or all day, really.

I want to die.

Why am I so worthless?

I'm so weak.

No one will ever love me. Hell, I can't even like myself, let alone love.

Louis found it was also quite depressing, thinking about how often he thought these things. But they were true, whether Louis liked it or not.

Kill me ple-

In the middle of the phrase he heard some slight shuffling on the opposite wall, where the neighbors were. He wasn't sure of who slept there, he'd only been in there a few times, since his mum was friends with the mother. But he knew it was a bedroom, the same size as his, because you know, duplex's were basically a house split in half, but the same on each side. Louis decided he was done writing for the night, not wanting to disturb whoever was on the other side, who was probably trying to sleep. So Louis just laid there with his thoughts for another few hours before he drifted to sleep.