FINGERTIPS ║ Larry Stylinson

36 ║ Like Ice And Fire

October 7th

When Louis woke up that one day, he was late. It was almost 11:00 and he had his first class at 8:30. But he couldn't bring himself to throw the duvet off his shivering body and go to college. No matter what people could think, it was not laziness. He wanted to, he wanted to go there and learn, work and do his best. But he couldn't. There was an odd and unknown force holding him back to his mattress. The anchor resting heavily on his chest felt like it was about to crash his ribs and organs. He could barely breathe and after the minute of emptiness following his sleep, all the pain collapsed back into his body. The tears were already blurring his vision and he pressed his face into the white pillow. It was painful, hard, tiring. Would it stop, one day? To go back and forth between happiness and deep pain? It was like the world loved to play with him. They would give him everything he had ever wanted, love, an amazing supportive boyfriend, an incredible family. But then, once they noticed he was getting a bit too happy, they torn it away from him. When his mind was getting darker, he could notice the change. He noticed how he suddenly weighted himself more than once a day like he usually did. He noticed how he started feeling guilty and hateful as he remember the – very little amount of – food he had eaten the past days. How he spent ages taking notes of all of his flaws. How much he cried. It was almost like it was two different people, depending of the state of mind he was, broken or alive. There was no in between, although he wished there was. He wished he didn't go up and down all the time. He could easily content himself with some tears now and then, some smile with a bit of pain and warm feeling of love in his chest. But he could not get that. He was trapped in a world where he had to listen and follow the rules. Where he had no control onto his body. Onto his mind. He was on the most dangerous roller-coasters. He would be at the highest, and would fall back into his grave. His life was not his anymore. His hands were too thin and too fragile to carry the weight of his pain. Louis felt like he could not find his way through the thickest blizzard he had ever had to go through. The wind was freezing his pale skin and the cold air was turning his lungs into two blocks of ice. He was heavy. Well, technically, he was very far from being even close to heavy. It was simply the way he felt, his body felt so huge under the covers of his bed, so heavy. His flesh was holding him back against the mattress and he swore he could feel cold chains trapping his body onto his sheets. He wanted to fight, to get away from them, to run away. He wouldn't even have enough strength to run, neither would he to get up from his bed today. There was also the fact he would have to make the biggest confession ever the upcoming week end. And it brought a whole lot of anxiety. He had had a hard time falling asleep the night before, which was probably the main reason why he could barely feel his muscles at the moment. Liam had advised him to tell his mother with a text, which sounded even scarier than telling her face to face really. Liam was supposed to tell Sophia that afternoon, and he was simply scared Louis wouldn't keep his promise, stick up to his part of the deal. But Louis would. He knew he had to. He had promised, and he also wanted to get done with all the lies and secret. Maybe there would be a bit of his heavy burden off his shoulders? Maybe there would be a bit of his pain taken away from his body? He didn't really know. But he was just exhausted of hiding all the time. He was proud to be with someone as great as Harry. A boy, yes, and an amazing one. Maybe some part of the society wouldn't agree with him, but should he really care all his life? Should he throw his life into some sort of bin, lock himself into a cell of shame, just so the society could be proud of him? In a way, he wanted the society to accept him, but all the things he had to do sounded so exhausting. If Louis stayed himself, it meant he was not supposed to fit the mould, right? Because he was nowhere close the image of the man he was supposed to be. He was what people would call a cry-baby, weak. That was what he was, right, weak? He had to be held and had to be rocked slowly for his tears to stop rolling down his cheeks. He had to be treated like a baby, because he was one, right? A baby rather than a man. He felt ashamed when he pressed his face harder in the already wet pillow and wrapped his arms around the covers, holding it close against his chest. He was trying hard not to let any scream out of his mouth. He bit loosely on the cushion. He wanted everything to stop. It felt like every organs inside his body had stopped functioning. His throat seemed too tight, his stomach too painful, burning. It was harder to breathe in, the air didn't even seem to reach his lungs. His blood felt almost too cold into his veins, he wondered how he was still alive. Was he? He was not sure if he could even answer.