Looking at this shell of a man, who is unspeakably flamboyant with his priorities, I wonder why he is doing what he has finally accustomed himself to doing.
He, in fact, is talking towards a chair. No there did not happen to be any particular person sitting in the chair that he has been focusing on for the the last half interval of an hour.
The antique grandfather clock has been ticking away as he continues making intriguing conversation with an unknown being.
No I am not surprised. This is completely, utterly, and terrifyingly normal with this curly headed man.
"Love, it's time for bed." I whisper softly.
"Louis, I do not have time for your dramatics. I am trying to have an important conversation that you are welcome to engage in. If that is not what you desire you should merely pick yourself up and go to sleep by yourself!"
His voice escalated quickly, going from a tone of just a little annoyance to full on pure hatred. Alas, my wisdom and knowledge have helped me to realize that this statement is false.
Pure hatred is not an option. In my mind, what is pure is innocent, what is in innocent, pure. And hatred, my dear friend, is far from innocence.
And so, I push myself up from my arm chair, my pajama bottoms brushing against the floor by my feet. I continue to our bedroom, Harry's slow, tantalizing voice fading away.
He has a despicable disorder. I do not want to speak the name of demon that has crept into this innocent man with emerald colored irises. For he was not born with it, no. But he has developed over a short period of time.
Although it is be known to the human, this is a phenomenon, but I would not dare say miraculous.
For me, it was simply a troublesome, tiring factor in my now down spiraling life.
But for him, this beautiful man on the outside, his once innocent and unscathed heart has been poisoned.
Harry Styles is no longer the man he used to be.
***
It is half past one when my love finally stumbles into bed.
And he is my Harry again.
"Darling? Are you awake?" He coos softly.
"I'm awake," I whisper quietly.
How could I have fallen into slumber, with my lover in the other corridor, talking to something I could not even begin to fathom name of.
And so I patiently waited for my Harold to come to his inconsistent senses.
In that time of waiting, my pity and sorrow slowly changed to a feeling of loathe. How could he be so selfish as to wholly forget that I, his one and only, was waiting in our shared master bedroom.
This sudden outburst of hate and distrust had been progressively swelling inside the deepest chamber of my body for quite some time now.
More than half of a decade.
The thought of why my sudden firework of emotions had come at this exact moment in time was frequent, but the answer was unknown.
A extensively capacious idea was stuck inside me, once a tree, but now a withering weed.
This idea was that after a short period of time, 2 to 3 years or so, Harry would have grown out of this and we would have gotten back to our chaotic but slightly intriguing lives.
It has been 8 years now.
And so my once ever growing spirits have dropped down to quite a low level.
YOU ARE READING
Demons - Larry Stylinson
Fiksi Penggemar"I am so sorry about that monster, but he's gone now." My Harry sighs before placing his head in his enormous hands. "It is alright, my darling. We are safe now." I whisper, before quietly padding back to the master bedroom. I shut the door behind m...
