Masked

Talk

Three months had gone by and I hadn't heard from or seen Louis. I was slowly getting over it and teaching myself to move on.

I never applied for a new roomate fearing I would become obsessed with him too.

I also enjoyed the lonley nights where no one could hear my cries.

On April 17 there was a short, but quick knock on the door.

I braced myself as I peeled back the door revealing his face.

He peered into the room to see if I was alone while I nodded answering his question.

Neither of us spoke a word for three minutes. His eyes were on the floor and mine were everywhere but his. 

"Can we talk?" Were his exact choice of words.

Again I nodded.

My mouth was so dry I could barely swallow.

As he walked into the room I took a seat on the edge of my bed and he took one on "his".

"I guess I should say I'm sorry," he said avoiding eye contact. 

So did I.

Once again I didn't speak. 

"Are you going to talk to me?" He spit.

My eyes met his, finally.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. 

"And say what exactly? You're the one that wanted to talk," I said under my breath daringly.

"I am sorry for what I did to you. I am so perplexed by that night and I keep playing it over and over in my mind wondering what the fuck happened," he spoke. 

I nodded.

"I have a girlfriend and I have no idea what came over me but I am sorry and you are probably just as disgusted and confused as I am," he continued.

I nodded again. 

"It's no reason that we can't still be friends, right?" he asked.

"What are you confused about?" I ignored his question.

"Aren't you confused?" He stared me down.

"The only confusion I feel is to why you're still fighting this," I said harshly.

"Fighting what Harry? Are you crazy?" He blinked a million and one times. 

"Must be," I said quitely.

A huge amount of silence swarmed the room while we practically ignored each other. 

I picked at my fingers until my skin broke and a small amount of blood prickled in the corner of my ripped cuticle.

He had his head in his hands while he stared at the floor.

"Are we done here?" I asked as I shot up out of the bed and walked towards the door.

It killed me to be acting so tough while inside I just wanted to lay with him.

I reached for the door handle so he could make his final exit.

His large hand pushed the door closed again and I turned to face him.

"No, I'm not done here," he said while pushing his body into mine up against the door.

Before I could speak his hands were over my lips and I could barely breathe.

He didn't kiss me he just held me there beneath him, breathing on me. 

I tried my best to control myself. 

He pushed his arms away from his body and stood straight up.

"I don't fucking get it," he practically screamed at the top of my lungs. 

I jumped and for the first time in my life I felt afraid of him, not  of my feelings for him. 

I sat down quietly as he paced the room, and punching the walls until his knuckles bled. 

The whole time I knew he woudn't take his anger out on me physically but I still felt a shred of fear.

"Fuck," he winced while admiring his newly broken skin.

I stood up to bring him a towel to clean the blood with.

"I can't do this Harry it's not right," he said while wrapping his hand.

I had no words to say.

Louis left that night and so did every last ounce of hope that we could ever be.

The worst part of it was the fact that once I felt okay with out him he barged back into my heart.

I was more vulnerable than I had ever been that night.