Footie & Frames » stylinson

ten

(Louis' point of view)
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Chapter 10

Breathe, breathe, breathe, I chant in my head, biting my lip. In and out, in and out. I rest my head on the cold bathroom door. Slamming it felt good, and I think punching it might feel better. I pull out my phone and clutch it tightly between my fingers, pinching my lips together to the point of pain.

I take another look at the image on my Twitter feed, clinching my eyes together as jealousy flushes in. I know I shouldn't be so threatened, but Harry is mine. My cutie with big glasses and a big name UNI degree and someway pregnant with my baby.

Just the thought of that makes my palms itch. I just need to make sure Harry is feeling okay. He feels ill in an instant sometimes out of nowhere. What if nobody thinks to help him? They wouldn't know what's wrong.

Why did he invite all these people over? Does he just want to replace me, because I won't give him the space he wants? I don't know how long he will be angry at me, but I don't like this. "Ugh!", I groan, wobbly leaving the bathroom to go back into the living room, flopping onto the couch and throwing my phone onto the other side of it, burying my face in my hands.

Maybe if I had've stayed upstairs and just. . . talked it out. Maybe he wouldn't feel like he needs to have people over to make up for my absence. . . or to shun me away!

Is he trying to keep me away?

I pinch my cheekbones slightly, furrowing my eyebrows deeper. I want to say no, but he got so angry. He threw his toothbrush. He's never thrown anything, he hardly raises his voice.

He brought up Hannah. What is that about? Is he threatened by a relationship that ended over half a decade ago?

I worry my bottom lip and slowly stand up. I usually pace back and forth, but that would be wastefully used energy, and it takes a lot of energy to walk around with the crutches. Just standing up without much support is making my leg sting a little. The doctor sent some new pills to take, but I haven't tried them yet. They're stronger then the ones I'm on, but if I use them then Harry will figure out and coddle the breath out of me again. I don't like to complain when he's mu─oh.

I blink in realization. I felt the same way when I first got hurt, when Harry would bury me in blankets and soup and cuddles. He would make sure I was feeling okay, even when I was rude. And he was carrying about three weeks later! Dammit!

I hurriedly sit back on the couch and grab my crutches from the floor, using them to stand back up. I allow myself to wince at the pull of the skin on my knee since I don't have an audience. It's mostly just numb.

Quickly, I stumble my way to the staircase, dodging furniture. I stop at the first step and sigh. What if he doesn't want me up there, with him? Well. . . too bad. I use the crutches to sort of catapult my way up the first step, the first step is always the hardest.

I'm sort of out of breath as I reach the final, top stair. Why do we have such a large home? I huff out and continue to make my way through the house, stopping as I reach the door. Nobody is talking, or everyone is talking very quietly. I hang my head and bring my left hand to my mouth, chewing on the thumb nail.

Leisurely, I bring my hand up to the door, and my knuckles barely touch it and it opens slightly. Lights pours through the room and I squint my eyes a bit, backing up a little as I catch everyone's eyes. Well, almost everyone's.

Harry has his face buried in his arms, his legs pulled up to his chest. I frown and look around, catching eyes with Jesy in particular. She looks at me demandingly, then points at Harry, pursing her lips. I shake my head at her, Harry doesn't want me to touch him, but she just scowls and points at him again. I swallow and slowly inch forward, leaving my crutches on the door.