Hide and Seek

Chapter 25

Hate is an emotion. Love is a lifelong circumstance, sometimes even after that.

*LOUIS' POV*

I shut off the tap after all the dishes are done. My eyes linger on the sparkling clean dishes that

reflect the lightbulb's radiance so inadequately. We really need a dishwasher and I accept no

arguments on the matter. I drain the sink and wipe my forehead with the back of my hand, only to

leave a large serving of foam on the skin above my eyebrow. I groan in pent-up irritation while

using a cloth to wipe it off; my movements are haphazard and the end result is reddened skin.

Everything seems to be fucking with my willpower. My breathing changes from pressed down

and panicked to shaking and panicked.

I love you.

The words seep into my mind like hydrogen as an aftermath and I shake my head in such fervent

denial it's astounding. He doesn't love me. Why would he? Okay I know why he would

but........but nothing.

It's such a strong word, its definition is the least understood by any generation through centuries

of misguided hope, yet the four-lettered syllable is the most powerful. He doesn't grasp its

meaning, love is too complicated to use now or when considering our relationship.

I love you.

No. He doesn't love me. It's impossible to. Feelings, he has feelings for me but he can't love me.

Feelings could be anything from hate to deceit and beyond into the unknown territory of lusting

after companionship.

For the first time, I want to go to work just so that an escape was possible. Space and time to

think. I wanted to think about him as well, what must be racing around in his languid mind

upstairs. I just couldn't anymore. I wanted to think in my own perspective.

I love you.

His voice won't fuck of from my track of desperate rationale. Can't things go back to how it was?

Tears spring to the corners of my eyes involuntarily. Please make it go back to how things were

before I met Harry. Everything hurt so much less.

I love you.

Fuck. I need a nap, preferably one that will silence my headache and relentless imagination that

keeps thinking up scenarios of Harry and I in the future.

Abandoning the task of scrubbing all kitchen surfaces, I stumble into the bedroom before realizing

that the mattress is still in the living room. My lips part far enough to let an ungrateful grumble

leave through the space created. I think about how if any outsider were to waltz into this little flat,

they'd immediately assume that drug lords lived here. Ten minutes into my in-depth mental

discussion I fall asleep to the memory of vibrant green eyes and confessions of love on the hard

bed.

*NARRATOR'S POV*

Flashback