R O O M 1 9 7 // Harry Styles & Louis Tomlinson Edition

Twenty-Three: Part II

~Tuesday 31st January 2017~

12:04 am

Harry takes a deep breath, holding back the suffocating cries that sit in his mouth somewhere, before speaking, his voice sending a vibrating echo through the tiny space they are sat in.
"She's dead."

Louis has no words, frozen in his place, as he tries to comprehend these words, unsure what to say in response, unsure if he's even capable of speaking. Harry talks about his older sister a lot, telling stories of when they were growing up in Holmes Chapel. Her influence is stained across Harry's apartment, her passion for interior design clear in the pieces of furniture and in the choice of colours. Louis is bewildered for a moment, not understanding how Harry can speak of his sister so happily, when in reality she's been dead all along.
Harry continues crying, his sobs slowing but his tears an uncontrollable stream of pain. Louis watches the young man fall deeper into his sudden sadness, and moves to sit beside him, wrapping his arms around his broad shoulders, pulling him into his chest. How has one little announcement escalated into all this?

"When did it happen?" Louis asks, after a few minutes of holding Harry tight, both sat in near silence. Harry lifts his head from Louis' chest, and sits up a little, wiping away his tears with his long fingers, looking down away from Louis' waiting eyes.
"Nearly two months ago." Harry answers, picking at a loose thread on the sleeve of his jacket. "4th December 2016. The day after her 26th birthday." Harry meets Louis' gaze eventually, to which Louis responds with a sympathetic smile, smoothing his hand against Harry's back in slow circles.
"How?" Louis risks another question, hoping that getting it off Harry's chest and out of his system will help him heal. Fingers crossed.
Harry looks across the room, at nowhere in particular, and gathers his thoughts hesitant and unsure how to tell this difficult story. The most difficult story he's ever had to tell.

An argument had started early in the morning on this day in December. Harry had made good progress and was now down to only one drink a day. But, it wasn't good enough for Gemma. It felt like she was trying harder than he was, and she felt beyond angry. Harry stormed out, reluctant to listen to his sister's cruel lectures.
And, Gemma - realising how severe she had been, tried to follow him, rushing down the stairs to catch up to him, to apologise. But, she tripped.
A loose piece of carpet on the first step hadn't been fixed, so she tripped and fell down 11 concrete steps. Harry heard the tremendous thud and bolted back up the staircase, worried.
Gemma's head had hit the railing as she landed and the impact immediately left a puddle of blood circling her head, flooding across the surface of her scalp and dying her hair a dark red. Her face was already bruising, as Harry reached her, freezing in his place for a second in complete disbelief, before rushing to her and pulling her into his lap.
He held Gemma tight against his chest, sobbing like he had never sobbed before, hysterical. Shocked neighbours called 911, but she was dead before the ambulance even arrived.
Harry was washing blood out from under his fingernails for the next week and a half, unable to get rid of the stains that lingered on his skin, no matter how rough he scrubbed. This was his fault.

"This wasn't your fault." Louis blurts, shaking his head at his young lover. Harry nods back at him, feeling completely responsible and absolutely guilty for her death. Louis swivels in his place, turning to Harry, grabbing his face and forcing him to look him in the eye. "No part of this was your fault. It was an accident. And, I'm sure she wouldn't want you blaming yourself for something that was out of your control." Louis explains further, holding his face gently between his two hands. His cheeks are warm and red, and still damp from the tears that only just stopped falling.
"I text her all the time." Harry says, when Louis finally removes his hands from either side of his face, letting his hands fall to Harry's legs, where they stay a comforting warm touch. "I'm never going to get a reply, but it makes me feel better. I still have her phone and I've been paying her phone bill, just so I can hear her voice from time to time. That's why I'm so protective of that wardrobe in the bedroom. It has her stuff in it - her phone, some of her clothes, university notebooks." Harry reveals, all in one go, as if the stream he has opened up can not be held back anymore and it all comes falling out, a thundering wave of information, crashing and rolling in wide waves.
"She even left me this apartment in her will." Harry tells Louis, as Louis tangles his fingers into the fabric of Harry's trousers, holding onto him tightly. Harry looks up and around at the walls encasing him, glancing up at the ceiling and then letting his head fall down once more. "She was always worried about that kind of stuff, so she wrote her will just after she bought this place. Left it to me, but I don't even want to live here anymore. Not without her. There's too many memories." Harry stares at the ground, his fingers finding Louis' and twisting their way around his, finding some comfort in the soft skin of his palm. Harry plays with their hands for a moment, letting silence lay between them, as he moves his fingertips up and down the space of Louis' palm.

"Sometimes I can still feel the blood on my hands." Harry confesses, before a sombre cry erupts from his throat, bringing with it choking sobs and forceful salty tears. "I can still smell it on my fingers." Louis reaches forward, wrapping a hand around the back of Louis' neck and pulling him forward into his chest, holding him there, kissing the top of his messy head. Harry's sobs eventually slow, but remain in the background of this moment, breaking the harsh silence every few seconds.
"You need to forgive yourself, Harry." Louis urges, rubbing Harry's back in long soft motions, as Harry wipes his tears away for what feels like the 100th time this evening. "She would want you to." Louis adds, kissing Harry's head again, before intertwining his free hand through Harry's hair, pushing it away from his face in a loving gesture.

"The day I met you was the day of her funeral." Harry explains, moving himself from Louis' chest, to sit upright. "But - surprise surprise - I was hungover. So, my family kicked me out and I didn't get to say goodbye. I don't blame them. I wasn't fit to be there in that state." Harry shakes his head at himself, feeling unbelievably ashamed of his old actions. He could blame alcohol - and maybe the booze did play a part - but, really this was all Harry's fault. "I haven't spoken to my mum since. I should get used to it, though. Everyone leaves me. I push them away and then I'm left with no-one." Harry mumbles, truly believing in this moment that it is impossible for anyone to love him.

He has too many flaws, too many demons clouding his brain. His history alcohol abuse and self-loathing does not make a very likeable person. He should get acquainted with this feeling of crippling loneliness, this sense of undeniable dread. It's all he has felt these last few weeks, and maybe even long before then. He has a feeling this isolation will continue for years to come. Maybe, it's for the best.

"I'm still here." Louis says, breaking the quiet, as Harry meets his eyes. A slow and small smile curls it's way through Harry's lips, and Louis returns the gesture as he reaches forward, planting a firm but sweet kiss where Harry's smile sits. Harry's hands find the back of Louis' neck, moving his fingers into the ends of his hair, and pulling him closer as they kiss again.

In the coming minutes, they eventually leave the bathroom and make their way to the bedroom, finally putting this long and eventful night to rest. A lot has happened and a lot has been said in just a few short hours, draining both the men physically and mentally. The soft mattress greets them as they lay down to finally sleep, holding each other close as the sky outside slowly becomes lighter. They've been talking for a while.
Their problems (shared and individual) of the last month should be resolved after tonight's revelations, finally putting an end to their struggles and pain of these past weeks - but, falling asleep with Louis' arms wrapped around his torso, Harry can only imagine the worst case scenario.

That after all this time, maybe it's Louis' turn to leave him...

Chapter Image by @melmanpur on Instagram