the monster under the bed // l.s au

S I X

15-year-old louis tomlinson sat, with a black leather-covered notebook in his lap and a black pencil in his hand, in a park that was situated in the dead-center of doncaster.

his face was blank and emotionless as he stared straight ahead at the meadow that spread out in front of him. his hand moved across the page almost as if it had a life of its own.

half of the page was blank the other fraction was beggining to give life to the drawing of the meadow in front of him.

a rustle on his left snapped him out of his daze, making his hand stop its work leaving the page only half bare.

he turned his eyes away from the drawing and turned to the source of the intrudig sound. eyes widening and pulse quickening the boy scrambled clumsily to his feet.

the boy was close to hyperventilating, there were tears brimming his eyes and horrified gasps were escaping his mouth as he tried to pick up his things of the dried grass to get out of there.

"no, no, no." a frantic whisper left his lips like a prayer. "no, no ,no"

and suddenly his pretty meadow, the place he considered his safe haven for so long, had turned into somthing dark and monstruos by the appearance of him.

he was the object of his nightmares. the one thing that kept him up at night. the reason why louis hadn't had a decent night's sleep since he was five years old. 

it was all his fault. his fault that his father had taken away his sisters because he was scared louis would hurt them when he had a breakdown. it was his fault that louis' mom was scred to even be in the same room as his son at night. his fault that louis turned into some unaccepted freak everywhere he went; because he would show up everywhere and anywhere he went.

this had been the only place where he had't been followed and sussenly he was here. and louis would never come back to this beautiful place that had taken away the thoughts of endless nightmarish night that were never really nightmares. he would have been lucky if they had been; nightmares aren't real....he is.

he was the reason why louis was so lonely. why he had remained friendless. why he had been cast out of society for good when people had been fed up of the boys breakdowns when an imaginary creature --he wasn't though-- showed up at his classrooms with that menacing smirk that was able to bring louis' worst nightmares back. why he had lost some of the only people that he loved unconditionally when they couldn't put up with him anymore. why he had been permanently marked as a threat to everyone around around him.

and now -- after running back to his house not daring to look back even when his pencils had dropped during the run-- as he looked at his sketchbook, his one and only escape, did he realize that not only had he invaded louis' life and taken it into his hands to single handedly destroy him inside but he had managed to invade his drawings. and that was the one thing he wouldn't forgive. because that meant he had invaded him completely. he had become a now permanent fixture in louis' life and he wasn't leaving anytime soon. because he had managed to implant himself in the most personal of spaces in louis. his mind.

he dropped to his knees and curled up on himself. he once again found himself in the same position he automatically took when he realized how messed up he had ended; knees up tight against his chest and arms around his head the same taunting laugh pounding his head in.

"no, no, no" 

and he was here. the intruder. his very own torture chamber.

harry.

~XX~

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~A.Horan.xx