Midnight Memories

e i g h t

"The road to hell is paved with good intentions." - Ancient Proverb

Though he looked a little worse for wear, there was something about Louis that was achingly beautiful. His messy, pushed back mop of hair. The thick layer of scruff covering his chin. The way his sweatpants hung off his toned, shirtless frame. It was almost upsetting, how grown up he was. He had become a man, and I hadn't even noticed.

He leaned one heavily tattooed arm on the doorframe, the scar from his surgery even more visible now than it had been the other night. He had told Niall it hadn't hurt getting the bullet taken out of his arm, but there was no way the long, raised welt hadn't caused him pain. Under the inky blackness that covered his shoulder to wrist, the scar was easily lost, hidden under a facade for the general public. But for me, that scar defined Louis. Who he had been, and who he had become. Shame blanketed by a layer of darkness.

"Tripp Hartley? Who the hell even is that? What are you doing here?" He asked angrily, his eyes turning an unsettling slate grey.

"Look, I know you hate me, but there are some really, really important things I need to talk to you about. Just give me ten minutes, then i'll leave." I pleaded. I knew, deep down, I wouldn't have to give much of a fight. Dark purple bags rimmed Louis' eyes, as if he hadn't slept well in days. I had never seen him looking so exhausted.

"What makes you think," He reached into his pocket and pulled out a fresh pack of Marbolos and a lighter. Of fucking course. "That you even deserve ten minutes of my time?"

"Look, I know you have a very glamorous existence destroying your lungs and having your photo taken, so if you want to continue living your life without Ryder Hartley's homicidal brother shooting you dead I suggest you listen to me." I said aggressively, hoping my tone would convey the urgency of the situation.

Louis, who had been in the middle of taking a drag of the cigarette, gasped, causing him to start coughing. "Did you say Ryder Hartley's brother?"

"That's what i'm here to talk to you about." I nodded.

"Alright, come in." He finally caved, moving out of the way so that I could enter the apartment.

Now that it wasn't packed to the rafters with people, the penthouse seemed like an awfully lonely place for just one person. The tv was on in the background, but other than that there was really no signs that anyone lived here. Well, except for the pack of cigarettes and a little plastic bag filled with white powder on the coffee table. I stared at it sadly. I had really and truly been hoping that he had given up on that stuff, but I should have known better.

"I know what you're thinking." He said suddenly. "But sometimes it's the only thing that gets me through the day. Louis Tomlinson, famous pop star." He mumbled. "Can't even get through life without cocaine, cigarettes, and a new tattoo every goddamn week."

He plopped down on the couch, putting his face in his hands, as if he was talking more to himself than to me. I sat next to him, ensuring that there was an appropriate distance in between us. Poor Louis. I had thought what happened last year had affected me, but it had obviously traumatized him. It probably didn't help that he was forced to live his life under a microscope.

"I'm sorry." Was all I could think to say.

"Don't feel sorry for me. Feel sorry for yourself. There's still hope for you, and you have to live with that everyday. Holding onto that fantasy, trying to figure out what it is that is going to make you happy. But me, i'm too far gone. I can't change."

Louis put out his cigarette on the small metal ash tray on the coffee table, pushing his hair back out of his face before turning to face me. "But anyway, what is it you were saying about Ryder Hartley having a brother?"

"Last night I was with Derrick-"

Louis laughed darkly. "Of course you were."

I glared at him before continuing. "Anyway, before he dropped me off at home, he had to stop to pick up some sort of package. The guy who delivered it, I can't believe I didn't see the resemblance right away. Their eyes, they're exactly the same."

I could swear that I saw Louis shudder when I mentioned the infamously lifeless ice blue Hartley eyes, but I couldn't be sure. "I would never have pieced two and two together if Derrick hadn't told me his last name. I went home and googled him, just to be sure, and there it was. Tripton Greyer Hartley, brother of Ryder."

"How did we not know about this?" Louis said softly, his head in his hands. "How could we not know there's two of them?"

"We knew nothing about Ryder. We didn't want too. Talk of the devil should stay in hell , where it belongs." I crossed my arms, like they were some sort of shield between me and the rest of the world.

"Tripton, Tripp, whatever. Did he say anything?" Louis asked, in a business like tone.

"He said, well..." God, this was going to destroy him. Any mention of Rooney, the man who had taken away the most important thing in Louis' life, flipped a switch in him. "He said that Sloane Rooney's back and that they're coming after you. They've got Ryder hiding underground, and when the time is right, they'll try and kill you."

Just like the calm before the storm, Louis was dead silent for about fifteen seconds before he stood up and flipped over the coffee table, causing a vase full of crimson colored roses, a Vogue coffee table book, the pack of cigarettes and the drugs to all go crashing to the floor. He paced around, hands on head, before banging his fists into the wall and leaning his forehead against the brick.

"I thought this was over. They told me it was over!" He yelled.

"Louis," I said carefully. "We all knew Ryder was still out there, who told you this was over?"

"Who told me this was over?" He turned around suddenly. "Psychologists, PTSD specialists, the doctor who took the bullet out of my arm, the police, who have been sitting on their asses while Ryder Hartley is still out there! More people like you who have made me fucking promise after promise but never doing anything to back it up!"

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I need another cigarette."

I just stared as he lit up, still in shock from his outburst. After a couple of drags, he finally spoke.

"I'm sorry about that." He stared down at the overturned table. "It's the post traumatic stress, sometimes I just can't help myself. That's why I smoke, it calms me down when I feel like, well, angry I guess."

I looked at Louis, really looked at him. How much thinner he was than he used to be. His bloodshot eyes, the way his hands shook when he lifted the cigarette to his mouth, the look of defeat that seemed to encompass him. My Louis, my warrior, had no more fight in him.

Tentatively, I reached a hand towards him. He flinched, but didn't pull away as I gently ran up and down the length of his scar with my pointer finger. Tears began welling in my eyes. Here I was, thinking that I had all these problems just because I couldn't fall asleep sometimes. But Louis, he was suffering. He had been since I met him, but I had always chose to ignore it, always put him up on a pedestal, pretending nothing was wrong.

My hand traveled up his arm, shoulder, neck, until it was resting softly on his scruff covered cheek. Out of instinct, habit, whatever it was, my thumb landed on his lips. His gaze caught mine, and I once again found myself staring into his grey eyes.

"Come back to me." I whispered, just as I had in the bathroom of a Mexican restaurant, so very long ago.

"I can't." He said, just as softly as I had. "The person you're looking for doesn't exist anymore."

"They do." I insisted. "They're just lost."

"Ryder may have not managed to shoot me in the chest, but the bullet served it's purpose. It killed me Stella. What you're doing right now, you're playing with fire."

"I don't care if I get burnt." I said, my face moving closer to his.

He smirked, the first sign of the old Louis I had seen since we had fallen in love. "I'm already going to hell." He shrugged. "Might as well take you with me."

With those dark, foreboding words, his lips were on mine.

We may be going hell, but for a few brief seconds, I was reminded what it was like to be in heaven.