The Space Between Us | L.S

Knowing is the Worse Part

He looked different.

I knew it was him the second my eyes landed on his face but like my sneered at him months prior; this wasn't the Louis I once knew.

For starters, he lost weight. Which was almost eerie. When I knew him, he was slender as is, which fueled my insecurities but now he looked stick thin. He was wearing one of his classic black tees that I often stole from his wardrobe. He almost looked like a child who was wearing his father's tee as a nightshirt. The scoop neck line sagging lower, exposing delicate collarbones. I forcefully dragged my eyes away, traveling up to his face. My attention quickly skimming past his devilish lips that had now made a home pillowed between a patchy five o' clock shadow.

He sported eye bags that almost looked plastered on. They looked odd stitched into his thin face, like potholes on a residential street. I glanced up at his blue eyes; they once held so much life but now looked completely lost in a sea; almost as if he was tormented by something.

Despite his appearance, I know I looked worse. Dressed in oversize overalls, hair knotted up plaits, sweaty and having a panic attack on the side of a woman's clinic.

Oh right, I almost forgot why I was here.

Hot tears started to burn my eyes as I looked away from him.

"Why are you here?" I croaked, studying the almost vacant street we were standing on.

"I live upstairs." He said almost awkwardly pointing to the flats located above the Pub next door. I took notice of the bags in his arm. He had gone to the shop, for some reason that made me want to cry even more. Remembering when I went to fetch groceries with him, at ease; but instead I was now going to go home and binge eat a pint of ice cream waiting to find out if I have syphilis.

My head fell into my hands and I let out a choked sob.

"What's wrong Wendy?" I felt his hand softly touch my shoulder.

"Nothing, uh- sorry, I have to go." I tried to walk past him but he grabbed my arm, spinning me back towards him.

"I'm not letting you walk away when you're this upset. What's wrong?" I stared at him with tears now spilling down my probably beat red face. He looked up, his eyebrows furrowed as he studied the building I had just walked out of. His face fell just the slightest bit, so slight I almost missed it. "Do you wanna come up? Get a cuppa going." He suggested softly, like I was a scared animal he was trying to coax into his home. I really didn't want to, but I could feel the early symptoms of a breakdown coming along so I meekly nodded and allowed him to lead me into his building. I wiped my nose along my arm and tried to contain my sniffles as I waited for him to unlock his flat.

"You moved." I finally whispered out as we walked over the threshold into his frigid flat.

"Yeah." He replied simply, escorting me to his couch. "Going to put a pot on."

The flat was smaller than his last one and when I studied the room around me; I became even more upset. The room was sad, his old flat being clustered with substance and stories of his life. Scanning around the room, there were no photos up or his trusty dart board. All that took up the space was a couch and his coffee table; like a waiting room.

He handed me a mug, the steam of the tea traveling into the air inches from my cup until it evaporated into the tense air. My eyes narrowed as he lifted a wine glass to his lips, gingerly taking a sip of the liquid. It was half past three.

A heavy silence settled over us, thicker than the uneasy tension in the atmosphere. My unsettled eyes glanced unceremoniously around and tried to avoid catching his glance as it passed by.