Beautiful Silent Boy [L.S]

Lost In You

(HARRY POV)

I stood in Louis' room, silently waiting for him as he tried to pull a large box from the top of his closet. I stepped forward and he moved out of the way as I grabbed either side of it and pulled it down.

"Put it on the bed?"

He nodded and I set it down on the middle of the bed. We both sat down and he lifted the flaps of the box.

I peered inside and felt my heart drop as my eyes searched through the contents.

He started to pull out objects one by one, placing them in a single row. We both remained quiet, and only the sound of Asking Alexandria could be heard in the background.

I saw each blade come out, all varying in size. Some were still stained with blood.

I recognized a lot of them. Some were from pencil sharpeners, some were from the inside of shaving razors, others were made out of broken objects and even the metal lining of the eraser of a pencil. I knew all too well the craftiness that was invoked by the urge to cut.

Next came all the bandages, the peroxide and the gauze pads for the deeper cuts that would not stop bleeding. The box was covered in brown splatter marks from old dried blood. I felt a wave of emotion come over me, but I suppressed it and maintained my composure.

I picked up a kitchen knife and turned it over multiple times in my hand. Memories came back over me, as I used to sit in the darkness of my room, pretending that I was surrounded by people. I used to pretend that one of them was going to come out and grab the blade from me and stop me then and there, but that never happened, and I continued to cut. I knew the plague that Louis knew. I knew everything that my boyfriend was going through.

"So does it end here Haz?" He asked, sitting the now empty box on his lap.

"Actually, it begins here," I said, placing the blade back into the pile.

"You can't just quit cold turkey. It makes you want to do it even more. If anything, it just makes the addiction worse. Your mind comes up with all these different ways to say that you're stupid and weak for stopping; that you couldn't handle the pain. How many times do you normally cut a week?"

He shifted uncomfortably.

"Lou?"

"Everyday," he whispered.

I shook my head.

"How often a day?"

He sat there, tears beading around the corners of his eyes. He looked down at his lap and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Lou it's okay," I put my hand on his knee.

"Any time that I can. The morning, the afternoon, in the school bathroom, late at night when I can't sleep, in the shower, just all the time Haz.... I want to stop but I don't think that I can," he cried.

"Louis, it's alright. I used to be just like you. You can't say anything new that will shock me or make me upset. If I can get over it, then so can you. You're not in this alone."

He kept his glance set on his lap. His expression looked pained, as though he had let me down some how. I pulled him into a long hug.

I thought back to that night, to the way he held up his arms in defeat. I could remember the moonlight striking each tear that fell from his eyes, glimmering in sadness.

We stayed there that night for almost an hour, listening to the soft currents hit the rocky shore before we had to head back to the house. Niall was nearly passed out on the couch with an open bag of crisps on his stomach and Liam was chatting up my mother, both a little tipsy.