Impulse

Chapter 8

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The first rope belongs to the broken neck of the girl who spilt her drink over Louis, her body hanging lifelessly with no colour whatsoever to signify body warmth. From here, Louis can see that she's been dead a long time. The next rope is the reason for Louis abusing the arm wrapped around his waist.

Anthony.

*LOUIS' POV*

It's like someone placed metal clamps over my ears and made every sound I could recognise simply pass by with the heavy ringing of metallic echoing. My head felt blocked and stuffed with things that made it heavier. I'm pretty sure I was struggling to free myself from the beastly grip around me, keeping me restrained from leaping out the window.

Anthony!

There are tears rolling down my face before I'm able to stop them. Along with hurt comes pain, unimaginable pain at knowing you've done all you can to save the person you're least likely to save. I know I can't scream. There's no voice to do it. I'm under an agonising amount of pressure that I feel braced at the seams.

"Do you like it?" Harry asked against the lobe of my ear, half the tone of a toddler telling a secret and half the mannerism of a sadist ensuring his victim is well shaken up.

I'm being tilted forward and I don't know why, but it's by the strong hand of Harry on my back. I sob at the blatant gruesome extent of this 'gift', hiding it behind my hand with blurry vision coating my sight. The bodies outside hung limply in the wind, swayed lightly from side to side as the rope twitched from the breeze and tension.

The squeaks and squeals of rope grinding on drying skin is covered by own screaming. I'm wearing nothing but clutching some form of cotton to my naked chest with my left hand. Harry is shuffling behind me but I care very little because I'm just about tipping over the edge of grief mountain. I'm keeping my watery and widened eyes on everything indoors so another attack of panic isn't triggered.

Who knew breathing could be so hard?

"I hate it." I mutter angrily, the whites of my eyes turning red with strain and beginning to itch. "I hate you."

Harry doesn't seem to grasp this and he spins me around to look at him, but I fight a short battle to keep my gaze off him. I'm afraid I might turn murderous myself if I have to see his big green eyes that are no more appealing than moss. Anthony's pale face haunts me and the ghost-like features of a young woman accompanies him.

"I did this for you!" He exclaimed heatedly, green eyes narrowing into something mossier.

I gasp from the grip he has on my shoulders, squeezing too tightly to allow proper blood flow. I wince and try to shove him off.

"No." He shook his head at his inner demon but he looked at me. "No, stop! I did this for you, Lou!" Coals would burn simpler in my soul than the ash and flame of Harry Styles. "For us."

An easily understood grim expression of distaste and irritation must have spread onto my features. My anger was raw and I felt it like ice but also mercury through my veins.

"No, Harry." I manage to get him at arm's length.

Harry cut me off with a hand curling stiffly around my neck, causing no restriction or pain. "For us, petal."

I wrapped my hand around his wrist and matched the intensity of his stare. "You did this because you're cruel and heartless. I-"

"No!" He slammed his fist into the wall next to my reddened ear that's prickling with heat. "It was for-"