Addicted To You .L.S.

Twenty Seven.

Three Years Ago
(Fourteen Years Old)

"Come on. Open the door." Harry knocks for the third time. I'm locked in the bathroom, trying to smear enough foundation to cover the scar on my neck. I'm failing. No matter how hard I try, a shadow shows through. I don't know how girls do this.

It's been almost six months since the crash, and the idea of going to the dance, the irony of going to a dance when it still hurts to move too fast, makes me want to scream and go no, no, no like a toddler. But mum was so excited when I got asked, Harry talked endlessly about about matching ties, and I couldn't bring myself to say no anymore.
But now I don't even want to leave the bathroom. I hate how twisted and uneven I am, how I have to lean hard on my cane with every step.

"Lou, if you don't open this door in the next five seconds, I'll break it down. I swear, I will." Harry knocks harder.
"You couldn't," I say, but I smile at the thought of him, five-foot-three and a hundred pounds, trying and failing.
"I can! Or I'll go get Gem—I bet she could!"
"Don't you dare get Gem." Every time I'm alone with her, she wants to apologize—to fix me.
I can almost see his triumphant expression through the door. "I will! I'll go get her right now!" I hear exaggerated footsteps—Harry stomping in place outside the door. I can see the shadow of his feet.

I toss the tube of foundation into Gems makeup bag and wash my hands off.  "I'll be out in a second!" I tug the neck of my suit higher. The red tie is pretty, it makes my skin look milky instead of sickly pale. Mum had to take it in to the tailor to get it to cover most of my scaring. It'd taken forever to find something that'd work. We must have tried on at least 50 suits, sharing the same changing room while my mum waited outside. Harry had fussed with me, helping me step in and out of heaps of different kinds. He'd grabbed my hand and steadied me, and when she'd let go (holding on a second too long, my skin against his, half dressed in the tiny room), he'd blushed and stammered when I asked him if he was alright.

My leg is killing me. I'd left my cane in the bedroom, and I needed it now, even though I don't want to look at it. I take the orange bottle out and shake out two pills.
He knocks again. "Come on, Louis!"
Make that three. I down them with water from the tap, tucking the bottle away.

I open the door and come face to face with Harry. We were so close I could feel his breath.
He beams. "Look at you." He's already dressed, wrapped up in the matching black suit, the only difference is his dark blue tie. Mrs. Styles is gonna freak when she sees him. "I was right—the red is perfect."

He spins around. His curly hair bounces along with each step. He grabs something, hiding it behind him. "I have a surprise!" He's practically vibrating in his eagerness.
"What is it?" I ask, playing along because he's so happy. I always want him to be happy.
He holds it out triumphantly.
The cane he's clutching is painted red to match my tie. Harry has glued a few red and white crystals along it. The twinkle and catch the light. "You tricked out my cane." I reach for it, and my smile is so wide, I feel like my face will split in two. I press my hand against my mouth, like I need to hide it, hold it in, and I do because the tears are there, down my face, probably messing up my makeup; showing my scars. I don't care because he does something that no one else can: he makes my life good and worth it and I love it him so much in that moment that I can't contain it.  So I say it because I mean it. Because I have to, there's no choice, standing there with him: "I love you."
It's there, just for a second. I see the flicker in his eyes and he doesn't well to cover it, but I see it, before he hugs me and whispers against my ear, "I love you more."