You saved me from myself

Chapter Eight

When Louis finally closed the door to his room, he had to put his hand over his mouth to stop himself from squealing out loud.

Edward has called him cute.

Him, cute!

And love, Louis reminded himself, wanting to jump up and down with excitement. No one had called him cute before, well except his mother but that doesn't count.

He leaned against the door and smiled to himself. Maybe, just maybe, this place wasn't so bad after all.

He plopped down onto his bed, snatching up the brown teddy bear that Harry had given him at the hospital and cuddled it close to his chest. It still had a very faint smell of Harry's aftershave, and Louis found himself being sad over the scent disappearing. There was just something so comforting with that particular smell.

With a sigh he reached for the brown journal that Marcel and the other triplets had given him a week ago. He had still not written anything in it, the prospect of putting thoughts to paper where anyone could read at any given moment, made him very uneasy. Maybe it was a trick, a ruse to get him to spill his deepest and darkest secrets? How could he trust that Edward had not planted it there to read at his leisure later?

But Edward wouldn't do that, would he?

Louis steeled himself, picking up the ballpoint pen that Marcel had left together with the journal and jotted down the date at the top left corner of the first page.

November 24th 2020.

He stalled. What was he supposed to write? How much he loathed to feel, but at the same time yearned for it, because the impenetrable nothingness he had inside was worse than any human feeling he could have? Or how much he wished to be lying beneath the earth with the rest of his family sometimes, how when it all became too much, he wished that he had joined them?

No, he decided. Too dark, too gloomy and depressing. Well— that he was. He pondered for a moment, tapping the pen against his chin as he thought. Let's make this introduction into my mind something more enjoyable than death and despair, he thought. And he began to write.

November 24th 2020.

About a month and a half here at the SRYA, and the place seems less and less like a prison to me each day. Maybe even enjoyable, although that is a bit of a stretch, for now. But I have gotten accustomed to the triplets, The Styles'. Everyone else here only calls them by titles, but I don't, or rather they don't want me to. Hm... Anyway. They are actually really nice, more so than I first thought upon entering this building and somehow signing the paper to my own doom, or so it felt, I don't know if I still agree with that though.

But it's just... Edward has the most captivating eyes, and when he smiles I feel like specs of light come to life inside of me. Like the sound of it brings what died inside of me two years ago, back to life. I don't really know what it is, maybe he's just a very good therapist, or maybe... There is something more?

But also. Marcel makes me feel so safe when he's around. He has the softest hands I have ever felt, and that gelled back hair paired with the glasses and the white robe... Very much a look. He makes me feel like I could tell him anything, and when he insists that I wear those godawful gloves on my hands I can't say no, because I don't want to disappoint him.

But then also also. Harry. He is the funniest, most genuine person I've met. And frankly, when I first crashed into him, I expected to be yelled at. But I don't think that man has the capability to be mad at anyone, he is just too kind. Not a mean bone inside his entire six-foot-something body. And on top of that, he smells fucking amazing, so that's nice.