Don't Wake Me Up || Discontinued

Chapter Sixteen - Suicide

[Goals for the chapter: READS - 200]

Harry pushed Zayn against the wall, pushing his forearm into his throat. "Now, tell me why!" Zayn gulped, and glared at me, then shook his head. Harry released his pressure a bit, then applied more force, yelling at Zayn to tell him why he had hit me.

Honestly, I didn't want anyone to find out - especially Harry. That was to be the worst case. I would thin k it'd be better off with anyone not knowing. It's not like they can watch Zayn and I twenty-four/seven, and when they aren't, I'd probably be in for even worse of a beating. We've both hidden this for two years, from everyone, despite the bumps and bruises he's caused. Why did it have to stop now? Of course, some days I wanted someone to walk through the door as Zayn's fist collided with my face, over and over again.  Those were the days I cried. Other than that, I didn't want anyone to know. I have plenty of secrets - even from Harry - why not another?

I looked back over to the boys in the corner, Zayn now on his toes, trying to stand to Harry. It was working well. . . I could tell by the red mark on his left cheek, much like he had done to me. Part of me felt as if he deserved it, while the other felt as if he didn't, and I was the one who deserved the beating. Either way, I got up and went into the bathroom, and locked the door. Harry hadn't even noticed. I stared at the washcloth, which was a tan color, as I felt my eyes become wetter than normal. My vision got blurry. I took a deep breath and blinked, trying to keep the tears away. Zayn was still near, I heard it. It didn't work. Tears came spilling out of my eyes, despite my efforts to keep them from doing so.

As they kept streamed, no signs of stopped, I lifted myself off the toilet and began walking back and forth in the small bathroom. I stepped over the bathtub wall, then out, took two steps and tapped the door, and repeated it over and over, stealing glances of the make-up covered washcloth as I passed. After a few minutes of pacing, I stopped myself in front of the mirror. I stared for a good, long time, noticing everything. The redness of my eyes from crying, the tears that didn't stop falling, the sad expression plastered on my face, the black and blue bruise covering almost half my face, the wet collar of my shirt, how my hair was messy from tugging and pulling, all of it. As cliché as it sounded, I didn't know who I was anymore. In the midst of the hared and ridicule, the names and isolation, I lost myself. I lost the old Louis Tomlinson, the one who would smile and laugh, the one who would tell jokes and play jokes and get jokes played on him, was gone. He didn't exist, or so I thought, and didn't have anything close to the energy to find him. He was dead, and the new Louis wanted to go along with him, and be dead, too.

I sat down, but then got back up, walking over to the sink again. I stared at myself, the tears drying up, and opened the medicine cabinet. There was an array of pills, different kinds for different things, boxes, bottles, random little packages. I took a silver, flat thing over the shelf and stopped the drain the sink, pushing each yellow pill out one by one, into the sink. They bounced in, making a small noise as it hi the metal, until the package was done. This time, I picked up a bottle of Aspirin, and dumped them into the sink, almost three-quarters left, now all into the sink. As I picked up box, I heard Harry screaming, then another, then a slap. I put down the box ad chose a bottle, breaking the seal and pouring everything out. I had to. One by one, box by box, bottle by bottle, pill by pill, I filled up the sink almost half way - maybe three quarters. I looked at the boxes and bottles scattered on the tile, then back at the cabinet, which was basically empty except for a few liquids. I smirked at the sight, then picked up the full bottle of pink Pepto, and poured it all over the colorful variety of pills, putting a bit of pink on all of them. I picked up Nyquil, and poured it on the dry spots, topping of my death salad.

I heard more crashes and screams as I stared down at the sink, at my death. No one can do anything now.  I was in control, something I wanted so badly since the day I told people I was gay. Since then, I barely controlled my own actions, but now everything was in my hands, I deserved this, everyone said it. Harry just felt bad for me. I was worthless. Ugly. Annoying. A faggot. The list went on forever. I deserved everything everyone had done to me, from getting called names, to being hated by my family, all the way down to getting abused  by my own band mate, who was once one of my best friends. I asked for it all, and now I can finally give what everyone wants, and be in total control of it. No on gets my credit this time, it's all me. I can finally make people happy, all I ever wanted to do.

I turned on the sink, catching the water in a cup so it would hit my pills. I was ready. I found a needle, then jabbed it into my wrist and pulled, drawing blood. I grabbed a paper towel and began to write with my blood, dark and red. "I love you, H," I wrote, trying to keep it short and simple, needing enough blood to finish, "and everyone else. its time to go. I hope everyone is happy now. don't forget me, H. Stay strong. you don't need me. Goodbye. -Louis" It was messy, some letters darker than others, but it was legible. I picked up a pill, the first one out of my stash, blooding dripping onto the others. I picked up another, and tossed them both into my mouth, drank some water and threw my head back. As I swallowed, I heard a bang on the door. "Louis! Babe! Are you okay?" Harry said, pounding on the door. I ignored it. He wasn't going to stop me this time, I was going to be free.

I swallowed two more.

[A/N: Talk about cliffhangers, dayum. I kinda just. Yea. Don't yell at me if you cry!

-->Feedback?<--

++What do you think will happen next?++]