Rip It All To Shreds (Something Great)

Hate to See Your Heart Break

Hi guys !!! Welcome to chapter 2! I haven't gotten very many reads, but I mean this is my first fanfic , and it's only been a few days so that's obviously expected , but I'll update anyway because I love it . I'm thinking of maybe posting maybe some Larry smut in a different book ?? Idk

Anyways , this chapter is inspired by Hate To See Your Heartbreak by Paramore . Enjoy <3

Louis' POV :

Now that I knew the rest of the lads were asleep ... Or preoccupied at the least I quietly lifted up my mattress and searched for a small velvety jewelry box . It is a small one , like a ring would come in . Well, in this case it was two . The promise ring Harry gave me came in this box , when we broke up I still wore it for a while like it was the last thread of hope that was holding the relationship together . I'm not superstitious , but I thought at the time that taking the ring off would be like cutting that final thread . Hah. I was so naive ,now I realize that no matter how I tried the relationship couldn't be saved . harry hated me and that's that . Now he's always liking himself in the bathroom on the bus smoking enough weed to be high for the next day , or going out to parties never returning before the sun came up and too hungover to even tell you what his own name is . Apparently when we were together I was "holding him back from living an adventurous life " - or at least that's why he told me when I confronted him just after all of this shit started . Let's just say I never confronted him again . That was a long time ago. Under the ring is the letter he wrote me. It was simple and poetic like is. Was? Is? Ugh. It's written on a single piece of notebook paper in his beautifully unique script handwriting . Under the letter he wrote me , two blades typically used for office uses sat awaiting my nightly visit . I pull them out and hold them in my hand as I unfold the letter and read it .

Lou Bear,

I know this love isn't easy , but that doesn't matter because I look into your beautiful blue eyes and I fall in love all over again. On the days I feel at my worst and feel like just giving up you're there for me and hold me close and kiss me telling me to let the pain remind me that hearts can heal . I couldn't imagine being in a life without you. I love you Lou and I want you to be mine forever , but the timing isn't right now. our careers are just taking off and the last thing I want to do is hold you back . The only thing I want to do right now is ask you a question . Louis William Tomlinson, will you marry me (in a few years)? I hope you say yes :) I promise if you do I will wear this ring to the day I die to let everyone know that you're mine, and nothing can change that . Would you do the same?

~Hazza xxx

Nothing can change that, huh? Bullshit Harry, you changed that , apparently with ease even . I take one of the blades in my hand and lifted up the hem of my jumper and pulled down the elastic waist of my sweats to reveal the tops of my hips that were painted with the remnants of my previous masterpieces . I do not dare cut my wrists . Someone could see the scars . Liam would have a worry fit and then I'd never be left alone and he would try to contact some shrink who would only torture me more . Besides, I was upbeat, cheery, spastic little Louis Tomlinson , although I lost the red chinos and suspenders long ago . At first, I wanted to seem more mature for Harry (I don't care if I am older, I didn't want him to be dating a child ), and now I just lost all will to even appear attractive there was no need . I had no one to impress anymore, but the media , so the many scars were to remain on my hips , where no one would see .

I push the tip of the blade into my skin , slowly at first , and then rougher . I drag my paint brush across the delicate canvas making horizontal strokes of red .

The pain .

The urge .

The itch I can't kill.

I carve my art,

And absorb the pain.

I let it consume me , destroy me.

I use pain to kill the pain .

Oh the irony in the idea is immensely plentiful.

I cover my carvings ,

Not willing to display my pain,

Or admit the hurt my own thoughts and actions inflict.

I try to resist .

To keep my canvas blank,

But the need takes over ,

And my canvas runs red.

It's true .

My own worst enemy is undoubtedly myself,

As the red paint seeps from the carvings,

And splashes to the floor.

I finish with a giant "H" delicately added in the center of the strokes, like always . I'm always thinking maybe tonight I'll bleed out , and Harry will find me dead. Then he'll be happy.