After The End: Book 1

4. Choices

Louis POV

Once upstairs again, I found Harry much happier than he'd been when I'd last been in his room. When I'd entered previously, I'd encountered him nothing short of a mess.

Our home phone lay on the floor in two broken pieces where he had undoubtedly thrown it and Harry sat next to it crying literal tears that made his body shake pathetically. His knees were pulled to his chest and his eyes were glassy and rimmed with angry red rub marks from his constant nervous behavior and his cheeks were streaked with messy wet lines from his crying.

"Harry? Are you okay?" I asked cautiously, despite knowing the answer. Believe it or not, I'd been in situations similar to this with Harry way too many times to count. Harry's heart broke more often than the average person should've had to experience.

He didn't look up to meet my eyes, nor did he speak. Instead he shook his head defeated, before succumbing to another round of choked tears.

"What's wrong?" I asked knowing his response already. I always knew. Over the past few years, I'd learned how to read Harry like a book. Nothing was a secret between us anymore, no matter how much we both tried to pretend otherwise.

"She hates me," he said weakly. He bit his lip, drawing blood to the surface before continuing. "She knows I didn't do it on purpose but she hates me anyway."

Due to the fact that this was a reacurring issue in the daily struggle that was Harry's existence, I knew he was referring to his mother. I bit my lip to keep from joining him in tears. I would never get used to seeing him this way.

"Its okay, Harry," I began awkwardly. It wasn't okay. He wasn't okay because he was never okay. We both knew this. He hadn't been remotely okay in a very long time.

"I want to be high," he said suddenly, cutting me off before I could finish my thoughts. It wasnt a question or suggestion. He said it as a fact. The green of his eyes met mine, narrowed, as he looked up in an almost accusing manner. "I'd rather never be sober than feel this and you can't stop me."

"You don't mean that," I assured him, returning his gaze with an equal intensity.

"Yes I do," he said miserably wiping his eyes again. I had to resist the urge to stop him. I knew he'd flinch away from my touch angrily and I didn't want to deal with his anger. It was easier to deal with the sadness. On some of his especially bad nights, he'd rub them raw until he drew blood. "I don't want to feel any more. I never did."

"Harry, you know I can't let you do that. Not in my house any more." I said calmly. I didn't feel calm. I'd perfected the art of hiding my panic in these situations. Harry needed me to stay calm and so I had figured out how to hide my worry in the back of my mind. It was almost systematic, the way I'd learned to approach Harry. I took a step closer to him, placing a hand on his shoulder as a means of expressing my support. He shrugged away anxiously as if my touch burned.

"Please...." He said in an almost begging manner. He pleaded with his eyes, but I looked away. I wasn't confident in my ability to withstand the begging in his eyes. Harry had a way of making me cave. When there was conflict surrounding his issues within the band, I was always the first to baby him, hence the reason he now lived rent free within my home.

"I can't." I said. I had to pause so he wouldn't hear my voice break. It hurt to see him like this. It was pushing me to the verge of tears. "Just breath okay? It'll be fine."

With a sigh, he complied to my order, forcing shaking breaths to fill his lungs slowly and purposefully. He was like an upset child after a tantrum, except he wasn't throwing a tantrum, he was living a lonely and dark life where his reactions were almost justifiable. After a moment, he seemed better composed. His tone evened as he said, "I hate myself almost as much as my mum hates me."