Alaska (by BeyondxLawliet)

Naamloos deel 23

It was August 29th, and I had traveled here for one reason, and one reason only – to write an article. The boss had asked me to write an article about Los Angeles, what there was to see, experience and visit. I wish that I had been here for more than just two days so I could actually do what I was supposed to do.
Instead I met a man with dark curls and the most stunning green eyes you could ever imagine. His skin was white like snow and he looked a little tired, his bags under his eyes being rather visible. He told me that it usually was more people on the airport, and he said that he traveled a lot and that that was why he knew. I wish that I had doubted him already then, but the stress and exhaustion from my side had completely taken over me.

I offered him to sit down with me and he had accepted, something that could seem perfectly normal to anyone. He chatted and I upset him once, and I didn't really know how to deal with it, so I just walked away and stepped into a cab.

The next day I got taken to the Los Angeles Times building and there I met Mister Payne and I got this mission, and it only took about one hour for us to exchange whatever information I needed. I wish that I had been more careful to be honest, and that I had gone back to England instead of accepting, but somehow I decided that I would do it.

So, I stepped outside. It was about to rain, I remember, and I started walking down the street just to see if there was anything interesting to see around the area that I was in. That was where I bumped into him again and he was so beautiful, something that I didn't realize by then. I had never considered boys being handsome or beautiful before, and I didn't at this time either.

But still I accepted to come with him to a café as long as he paid, because I was broke. It started raining while we were on our way and he had so much longer legs than me I could barely follow him. He slowed down when I told him to though and soon we entered a cozy little café. I told him what I wanted and sat down, and he soon came back with coffee and sandwiches.

He told me that his name was Harry and that he hated it. I didn't find a problem with his name since I have always liked unusual names. He had moved here because he was bored of England and that he got here with his sister, but lost contact with her.

It took half an hour or less for me to start to feel dizzy, my eyes darting everywhere and the world moving underneath my feet. Somehow I even stood up and stumbled into Harry's arms. He let me wear his jacket as I got lead out.
He told me what he was taking me home. I didn't believe him.

I feel asleep many times during the time I got stolen away, never fully knowing where I was since I couldn't open by eyes. The one time I woke up properly was when I was already there, in a large and soft bed that was completely drenched in my own body fluids. I was paralyzed, yet managed to roll out of bed and down in the floor. He found me, probably hearing the sounds that I made upstairs. He gave me water but I refused to drink it and I looked up at him and he was smiling so beautifully with his hair in that dumbass ponytail that he insisted on having for those six months that followed.

He took care of me in a way that no one else had ever done before. I would say that he behaved like a mom, but still he didn't. Sure, he gave me food and a bed to sleep in while he slept on the couch and he cleaned up after me – but something about him just made me thinking that he wasn't like a mother or the father that I never had.

Not even on the one night I got so mad at him for telling me about my whole life that I slapped him until he stopped me himself and shoved me onto the staircase and raised his hand, but never hit me. I'm thankful that he didn't at the moment, because many months later he did. I still have scars and bruises after him. I feel like I got over it faster than I should, but by that time I knew that something wasn't right with me, so I'm going to blame it on that.

I asked him to kiss me once too, on Christmas Eve. There were northern lights that night and he woke me up by knocking on my window. I was angry at first but I calmed down and listened while he talked about his family – the truth this time. I was happy about it, and still frightened since I got to know why I actually was there. Because he didn't want be alone anymore, that he didn't want to talk to animals and walls for another year. At the time I told myself that it was out of sympathy – but now I know it wasn't.

Somehow, in some bizarre way, I had stopped hating him. I liked him. It was more than 'like,' even, and that was why I didn't get afraid of him after he had bruised me up. I knew that he was sweet and caring, that he liked animals and that he cared for me, too. I knew that he that wasn't him since he told me that he would never hurt me just for the sake of hurting me.

I know he loves me. I just didn't know that I loved him too.

But I do now, and I wish that I didn't. That I didn't need him as much as I actually do, that I didn't need his disgusting tea and horrible apple pie.
But I know that there's not much that I can do by now since he got twelve years in jail, and waiting for him is something that I can't promise. But I'll have to do my best, because I know that I can't continue without at least saying a proper goodbye.

Louis Tomlinson, 24, England
Los Angeles Times, 13.09.15.