Brave (A Louis Tomlinson Fanfiction)

Chapter 3: Peter Pan does not have wings

Louis' POV

“Are you okay love?” my mum walks towards me and places her small hand on my cheek before letting it rest on my shoulder.

“No, mum, the question is, are you okay.” I redirect the question because I’m clearly fine, but she seems uneasy.

“Yes sweetheart, I’m used to this, aren’t we all?” she says as if a situation like this is normal and constant in our family, which it is.

“But we shouldn’t be used to this, we can’t continue to live like this mum, why can’t we just leave him, it’s so easy and our lives would be so much better”

“It’s not that easy Louis, I can’t just leave him, he’s my husband and I-“

“Love him? You can’t be serious” I scoff “No matter how many times Adam insists, I’m not stupid, I know you do not love that man.” She can’t love him, I refuse to believe her. For years she’s been trying to admit to herself that she loves him when in reality I know she doesn’t, she never will.

“Well ‘that man’ is your father and he may have a temper, but without him we would have nothing Lou, he loves us, he’s worked hard to give us everything we need to survive we can’t just overlook that”

There she goes defending him after he was planning to slap her across the face just minutes before. All that man is suffocate us. And his perfect little son doesn’t get left behind. I hate Zayn, always have always will. I would’ve told my father that he was the one who purposely tripped me as I was running, heading up stairs, but I lost control of my feet while trying to maintain balance and ended up according to my father ‘attacking him’ and ruining his delicate white linen shirt and made the poor baby cry.

Boo freaking hoo

 “Screw that! I’d be happier as a vagrant, living in a box” I reply seriously but was apparently humorous to her as a soft laugh escapes her mouth and a small smile plays on her lips.

“Why are you laughing?” I can’t help but lightly laugh myself, I love seeing her happy and its incredible she recovered from the heated altercation still fresh in mind so quickly.

“I just remembered how you always used to play in boxes when you were a kid. You used to hide in them all day and make up your own little world, being inside of them sort of sparked your imagination and you would not come out for hours.” I smiled at her, reminiscing about my childhood and my strange imagination.

“I remember once, you imagined that the box was a pirate ship and I entered to your room which apparently was the ocean infested with hungry crocodiles. When you saw me amidst the dangerous water you jumped from box and made swimming motions towards me until I was safe on your ship.”

“I wasn’t swimming mum, I was Peter Pan, so I flew to you, duh” I jokingly rolled my eyes at her due to her mistake.

“Well my bad, but it looked like you were swimming, not flapping your wings”

“Peter Pan does not have wings!” I reciprocate, with a hand on my heart as if her mistake had wounded me ”Tinker Bell just sprinkles her magical pixie dust onto me and I majestically elevate myself and soar through the water”

“Whatever you say” she snorts at my ridiculous Peter Pan defense

“You know what, that doesn’t even matter, you should be thanking me for saving you from the hungry crocodiles.”

“Thank you for saving me from the crocodiles Peter” Her wide smile subtly takes the shape of a grin “And thank you for saving me from your father tonight”

I move closer and wrap my arms around my mother in a warm embrace as I rummaged through my mind in search for the appropriate response, but I didn’t seem to find the right one. My mother has been through so much pain while in this marriage. The immense amount of shit she’s had to tolerate from this man who is shamefully my father is unbearable. I have to promise to be there for her, in ways that I haven’t been able to before due to my own fear.

“As long as you’re on board my ship, I’ll never let you fall and drown in the hands of a beast; I’ll always be here to save you”

 My double sensed response seemed appropriate and my indication of her correct interpretation was perceived through the uncontrollable tears that soaked my shirt and slowly dripped to the floor.