Sunken Love (LiLo) (merman!Louis)

Chapter 10: Third Wheeling

 Chapter 10: Third Wheeling 

..::*Liam’s POV*::..

I wake up late the next morning, my body aching as if I’ve been hit by a truck. Sunlight streams through the gauzy white curtains, causing me to squint and blink rapidly as I wait for my eyes to wake along with the rest of my body. Images of last night’s events cloud my mind and I smile sleepily to myself. The grin is soon wiped from my face, however, when I realise that I’m alone in bed, the place next to me cold and the sheets rumpled. Disappointment washes over me in a tidal wave. I really thought last night meant something to Louis. It sure as hell meant something to me.

It’s not like I haven’t been humped and dumped before. Let’s just say I’m no stranger to the sleazy bar hook-up. It’s just that I though Louis was different. Sure he’s a bit rough around the edges—his spiky black hair, spattering of piercings, and swirling tattoos on nearly every exposed surface of his body are proof of that—but I really thought he liked me. Maybe it was silly, but I’d hoped that Louis and I could be something more than just some slutty one-night stand.

My self-pity quickly turns to anger and I whip the sheets that have somehow managed to get matted around my ankles off. If Louis wants to play dirty, well I’ll show him how messy things can get when people fuck with me.

A quick sweep around the apartment reveals that Louis has indeed fled, leaving no note or any other form of common courtesy. His coat is gone from the hook beside the door and the ratty black Vans he usually wears are nowhere to be seen either. He’s bailed from his own house, for Christ sake. I didn’t think the sex was that bad. In fact, Louis was probably the most skilled man I’ve slept with. Maybe it’s not saying too much considering I’ve had maybe two serious relationships and a handful of bar hookups, but still.

Blinded by rage, I stomp back up to Louis’ bedroom and yank on my jeans and t-shirt that had been hastily discarded the night before.

A framed picture of what looks to be a quote or something catches the sun and draws my eyes and I pick it up. Upon examination, I find that it’s not an uplifting saying like I’d expected to find on a nightstand. No, it seems to be lyrics of a sort.

I read over the words and a chill races down my spine, causing goose bumps to riddle my flesh.

She’ll drag you down, into the deep…

Pray while you can, sing your last song,

Life as you know it is over and done.

 

The words puzzle me to no end. What do they mean to Louis and why would he choose to frame them? My curiosity fades quickly when I remember that I’m meant to be angry with the mysterious man.

The copper-inscribed frame flies from my hand and smashes into the stormy blue wall opposite me before landing with a satisfying crack on the hardwood floor.

“Fuck you, Louis!” I scream at the top of my lungs, grabbing the alarm clock from his nightstand before throwing it to the ground. The black plastic splinters and a few screws fall loose, but I continue my rampage. Within minutes, the mattress is flipped and the blankets torn, feathers swirling around in the gentle breeze the open air filters through the room. And yet, I still don’t feel better. Rage still boils in the pit of my stomach, and it shows no signs of simmering down just yet. The bathroom is next in my progression through the house, then the kitchen, and finally the living room. When I’ve finished, it looks like a small-scale tornado has ripped through the place, and I feel a smug sort of satisfaction. That’ll teach the fucker.