Oblivion || Larry Stylinson a.u

i

Darkness was all Louis could see, his thoughts were uncertain, and his body ached, making it difficult for him to even outstretch his arms, he blinked few times before sitting up; soft rainfall could be heard not far from him, but as he looked up, nothing was there, not a window to distinguish what the outside looked like that night, and not even a bed or soft cushioning for him to lay atop on, for he was on the hard tiled floor that felt cold on his fingertip when he slowly caressed the flooring.

His breathing was uneven, also he noticed his own skin warm up when he took a hand up to his forehead, and he then cupped his face in his hands and began thinking.

And thinking.

And thinking.

“Where  am I?”

He began retracing his steps to the previous day, since he woke up, until he went back to his hotel. But no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t figure out how he’d end up in an enclosed room such as this one.

His eyes suddenly felt heavier as tears started forming at his eyes; soon they were streaming down his cheeks and met at his chin, he quickly wiped them off with the backhand of his jacket, blinking the rest away. Louis didn’t want to let--whoever had him there—see him cry or show any sign of weakness.

So he stood up, stretching his arms around, looking for some sort of support to keep him up, or a light switch at least.

Louis took small steps forward carefully watching his steps with squinted eyes, for it was hard to see. He stood there a few seconds not knowing what to do or where to go.

Then, all of a sudden dim yellow lights were turned on above him; he narrowed his eyes adjusting to the light, before taking a good glance at his surroundings. The room, or space he was in, wasn’t just any old room, it was rather modern, the walls were neatly decorated, there were a few paintings, and the wall itself was a calming beige colour; there was a red leathered couch, a small love seat and a wooden coffee table in the center of the room, in front of him was a small kitchenette, with a mini-fridge to the side, a steel sink and marble counter. He walked around, taking in every detail of the room that resembled a somewhat compact flat.

He wandered though the small hallways, that lead Louis to another room, with two doors at his full view, nothing more, curiosity began building up in him as he involuntarily stepped towards one of the doors, it was navy blue and had a black knob, he noticed the fancy carvings along the frame, and the decorative letters at the top that neatly spelled “Louis.” He reached to gently stroke the fabric and was amazed at the art work that had been put in to it. Of course it was just a door, but strangely intricate to be in a normal flat like this.  

He took his hand down to reach for the knob; he twisted at it but furrowed his eyebrows as it wouldn’t turn. It was locked. Clearly someone didn’t want him to go in there, but whatever was inside intrigued him.

He then stepped away and turned to the second door which was plain white, he reach to turn at the knob. Locked as well.

Strange.

He shrugged before turning on his heels and headed back to the living-room-like place of the flat and perceived a little tape recorder on the coffee table, he looked around before turning back, that wasn’t even there a while ago.

But he leaned in grasping the tape recorder and inspectioning it closely. He then pressed the green button arrow facing to the left, reading the words below that read “play”

Distant static noises could be heard from the tape, but soon faded as a man’s low raspy noise began to speak.

“Hello Louis Tomlinson…”