Euphoria | Larry A.U

(ix) - Stunt

Stunt: Prevent from growing or developing properly.

Shock. That was the only thing Louis really knew how to feel as he sat in his luxurious sports car wondering how in the world he had a small box, from Tiffany & Co. that contained an engagement ring in his hands.

He was such an irrational thinker, he wonders how in the world he was so successful in life, if emotionally he was a small child. Louis' emotional capacity stunted somewhere around the age of nine, main reason why he liked his coffee (that he rarely drank) dark. It represented his soul.

Coffee, right. That's exactly what he needs, he hasn't slept in over forty hours. Most likely the reason why he even contemplated marriage with a woman he so didn't desire to marry.

It was like Elton Johns' controversial marriage all over again. Just a lot more gay, a lot less public and a lot more mad.

Louis had come out of the store anxiously fumbling with his phone until he called Greg, he couldn't do this in front of him. This needed to be done privately. He didn't need witnesses after he made the biggest mistake of his life. The itch was there at full force, and Louis didn't know how to suffice it at this point. The owner of the little voice (whoever it may be) is throwing a party inside of Louis' head, causing his temples to throb painfully.

Louis told Greg to convince her to go home (exact opposite of earlier really) with a promise of spilling what ever the fuck was even going on in the first place. They agreed.

After stalling in the parking lot wondering where he fucked up in his twenty-seven years of living to even end up in a situation like this, he finally put the keys in the ignition, revving the car back to life, if he was going through with this; he might as well go through with it in style.

He was anything if not fashionable.

Louis drove through the busy streets of London to go to the last place he wanted to be; his 'home'. But really no where was home if Harry wasn't there. Speaking of Harry, he fucked up. He fucked up so bad. "You're getting too attached" the voice screams. At this point Louis knows he is, but it's useless because Harry isn't even around anymore.

He parked the car, in its respective spot labeled "Reserved For Willams/Tomlinson". Then sat for what felt like hours but in reality was less than five minutes, all he could think about was why he didn't buy the coffee he promised himself and his sanity.

Oh well, he was here anyways. He might as well man up and get this show on the road. Somewhere high high up, the deciders of fate were laughing at his misery because karmas here; and she's a bitch.

With all of the inner strength he could muster (Lord knew he needed it) he stepped out, ignored the receptionist and decided he'd go for the stairs instead of the elevator. A little adrenaline rush going up seven flights of stairs was nothing compared to what he was about to do.

Louis so wishes he took Harrys' advice about yoga, getting in touch with his chakras or fakras, whatever it was he always rattled on about.

He kept having to remind himself to breath. By the fourth flight he swore he needed an inhaler, and he didn't even have asthma.

He finally stood in front of door G3. Dark mahogany glaring at a sweat and stubble covered face. He couldn't see it, but he's sure his fringe was fucked up. Louis' suit probably reeked, even Hugo Boss cologne couldn't save his sorry arse at this point. This was it. He was going through with this.

Knock.

Knock.

Kno-.

"Have you been cheating on me," Vanessa asks louder than necessary, opening the door with intense gusto.