the emptiness :: l.s.

Part Two: Sweaty Hands Will Fail To Lock The Door

"I love you so much." I allow my tingling fingers to graze the scruffy cheek that belongs to Louis' smiling face, his tan skin glowing against the warm sun. His body looks beautiful against the pale grass, lilac flowers surrounding him and I, tickling the tatted flesh of his arm, symbols of us inked to him, matching mine.

He bites his lip, grimacing, gripping each side of my face, splaying his lips across mine. "I love you. Don't ever leave me, okay?"

"Okay." I grin, nuzzling my nose to his. "As long as you don't ever leave me."

"I could never." he giggles, pecking my pink lips, the minty taste of his mouth exploring mine, perfectly. "You mean too much."

~*~

They're after me, I know it. I have commited a gorgeous crime that has been haunting me for hours, as I cannot do anything, except rock back and forth in corners of the room where I don't have to stare at his dead body, containing the thought that it's my fault he's now gone. But I must do something about it. They can't find him. They can't know. I won't let them. But they do know. They all know. Everybody knows. Everyobody knows.

I carry Louis into my weak clasp, his decaying arms and hands limply dangling from my loose grip, tears moistening the blood covered torso beneath me, as they stream down my face. Even though this is complete reality, I can't help but still believe that it's some sick dream that I will wake up from and find myself wrapped around Louis' body, so that I can gently kiss his moist lips, rather than them being lifeless and chapped. But every time my mind tricks itself into believing it, the grip upon Louis brings myself back.

I grip onto the handle belonging to the cold basement, where I set Louis onto the small couch that sits upon the concrete as my head falls to his stomach, tears falling, as well. "Louis." I cry, yet anger soon replaces the feeling. Not anger towards anybody, but me.

How the hell could I kill the one thing that I would never know what to do with, but love?

And as my feet finally stand me up, my legs still wobbly, I try my hardest not to kiss the cold lips I will soon need to go without, to get used to going without. But it's already so damn hard, a goddamn struggle, to live without Louis' minty, yet sweet, taste that did nothing but fill me with joy and pleasure.

Eventually, after countless minutes of gawping at my beloved, I leave him in the cold, moist, empty basement that was never used, but for laughs and endless happiness as we'd joke. He was the best fucking thing that has ever happened to me, and now I did this.

But still, as my feet shuffle up the bare staircase, I hope to find family, friends, Louis, laughing about the sick, twisted, vile prank as they all scream "I got you!" and I will soon be peppered in kisses from him, happiness soon flooding. But even though I have the small glimpse of hope, it doesn't happen, just as I had expected, just as my brain was telling me. I don't see Louis. I don't see Niall. Zayn, Liam. No one. Not Gemma. Not mum.

I only see a far too empty room with a bloody bed that only brings back the moment of regret as screams and tears fill the house.