Say The Words (Louis Tomlinson Fan Fic)

Chapter 31

*Addie's POV*

Tuesday, November 19, 2013

I wake up with Louis' warm arms around me wrapping from behind. I smile as I find comfort in his embrace. I realize how much I've missed him. I roll over to snuggle into his chest. I hear him groan and feel him stretch out as he wakes up. I pretend to be asleep and stay still. "G'morning," he says quietly. I keep my eyes shut and let out a soft sigh. He lets out a small chuckle and scoots down under the covers a little more and strokes my head. He kisses me on the forehead before resting his chin on my head. I feel the heat of his chest on my cheek. His chest is so soft and smooth. I could rest my head on it all day long.

As I start to remember the events of the night before, I avoid panic and, instead, try to think more strategically. But, where do strategy and logic lay in the concept of love? Love makes people mad. Love makes me manic. I was doing better, but now I'm here with him and I think I would hate to be elsewhere. I feel this urgency to attend to Louis. After Adam, I was introduced to a sad, numb life. I was taken completely by surprise. Louis, however, is another story I didn't think was possible. After losing Louis, I was introduced to a lonely, a very, very lonely life. I remember crying some nights, thinking, "Oh my God. I'm so alone. Someone, please, help me!" I remember screaming into my pillow because I felt so much pain in my chest from losing this man. I remember having to get my inhaler to help me breathe because my crying fit was so hysterical. I realize now that if I can't live with Louis, I don't know if I can live. I don't feel this way with a manic-suicidal mindset, but instead something I'm absolutely sure of. I know that I'll be better off dead without Louis. This isn't only on the account of whether or not we can have a relationship, but his life. He is not happy. Someone with as much sadness as he has inside of himself, I couldn't be angry if they took their life even if I think suicide is never the answer. I can't let that happen to Louis. I'm so incredibly terrified of losing him and of him losing himself. There's nothing I won't do to help him.

"Are you awake?" Louis asks, snapping me out of my thoughts. I lay still, unsure of what to do. "I know you're up. I can feel your tears on my chest."

"Shoot," I mumble. I pull out of Louis' embrace and sit up in the bed. I wipe underneath my eyes. I see mascara on my fingers, and look down at Louis' chest. "Sorry," I mumble as I place my hand on his chest to wipe off my mascara.

"What's going on in there?" He asks me as he sits up in bed, too. He pulls one of the blankets up over himself to stay warm it appears, but I think he's just not used to his cuts and scars showing so prominently. I shiver and he pushed a blanket towards me and I wrap it around my legs and hips. I lean over the side of the bed to grab his sweatshirt and I put it on to keep my arms warm. After I get situated, I sit in silence, staring at my nails. I don't know what to say. "Hey, what is it?" He asks anxiously.

I look up at him and look into his eyes. I see so much brokenness. I see that he has developed flat affect from his depression: his face shows no emotion. He looks exhausted and fatigued. I see the blue circles around his eyes that reveal his sleep deprivation. I look back down at my hands. I pull up one of my sleeves to look at my scars on my arm. They're mostly gone. I trace my finger over them and, for the most part, I don't even feel them there. I pull my sleeve back down, look up to Louis, and down to where his arms are hiding behind his blanket. I crawl over to him and he leans back against the headboard, spreading out his legs so I can sit right in front of him. I slowly remove the blanket that he was clinging to, leaving his torso bare. He only had boxers and a blanket covering him from the waist down. He allows himself to be vulnerable with me, which I dearly appreciate. I look over the damage he has done to himself. The thing that breaks my heart the most is seeing how such a happy guy developed so much hatred for himself that he inflicted wounds onto himself. I rub his arms a little before looking up into his eyes again. I gently fix his hair and brush it out of his face. I place my right hand on the left side of his face. I gently rub his cheekbone. "What?" He asks me again.