Silenced- A Larry Stylinson Story

Chapter 22- POV Louis: What's The Point?

{TW: Self-Harm}

After laying depressedly on Harry's lush front lawn for nearly an hour, I robotically sit up, brushing my hair out of my eyes, which are zoned out into the darkness that nighttime is. I feel so many emotions swirling through my brain right now that I can't focus on anything. As I stumble over to my truck, I realize that even something as simple as walking proves to be a challenge right now. If I can't walk, how am I supposed to drive?

I decide to head to Niall's house, who, if I remember correctly, lives only a few minutes away. Trudging down the side of the road, eyes puffy and barely open, I must be quite a sight to the few cars passing by me.

When I knock on Niall's front door, I hear an annoyed, "Oh, come on!" and stomping feet from inside before Niall whips the door open in my face.

He is wearing a pair of dark blue skinny jeans, but that seems to be it. He has no shirt on, showing off his toned, pale stomach, and he has no socks or shoes on either. Even his glasses aren't on him.

His chest slowly moves up and down and his breath comes out in rapid puffs, almost like he was working out before he opened the door. His hair is tousled, much like the state his living room is in. There are clothes and food wrappers all over the floor, and a tv show is playing quietly on the large television.

My gaze moves slowly from him, to his disastrous house, and then... the sight of who is next to him emits a loud gasp from me.

Zayn stands with his arm draped over Niall's shoulders, wearing nothing but plaid boxers and breathing just as heavy, if not heavier, than Niall is. His usually perfect hair is flopped down in front of his face and drenched with sweat. As the realization of what they were doing before I arrived kicks in, my jaw nearly hits the floor and my eyebrows pop up.

"Louis," Niall starts with a face full of sorrow, but I hold out a hand to silence him.

"Are you kidding me? You do realize that Zayn beat Harry up, right? He beat Harry up for being gay and now you're here..." I scream in animosity.

"I'm sorry, Louis." He manages to say when I pause for a second.

"Tell that to your freaking girlfriend!" I yell, and lean in to slap him harshly on his cheek before sprinting back to Harry's house and speeding away in my truck, no longer feeling numb.

Nope, now I am aware. Very, very aware- maybe even too aware- of my crumbling life.

__________

It may be two in the morning, but that doesn't mean I am going to bed.

My entire body is tense, and my heart throbs with woe. He broke up with me. He broke up with me. He broke up with me. I repeat in my mind, consequently making me even more heartbroken as time goes on and I become more and more conscious of the fact that Harry and I are no longer together. 

I sit on my bed and rest my head, which is taken over by a pulsating headache, in my hands. My eyes burn with wetness and then overflow with tears I wish I could control but am unable to.

After a while, I rub my tired eyes, which don't match up with that fact that the rest of my body is full of energy. My wrists are itching violently with the urge to cut, so to distract myself I wander out past my sisters' bedroom and into the kitchen. 

I start munching on some stale crackers and continue sifting through the nearly empty cabinets to find something else to eat. When I get to the last cabinet and pull it open, I examine the contents, and a few more tears escape my eyes and drip onto my shirt.

I know what I will be doing tonight.

I grab the bottle of vodka off the otherwise bare shelf and take the lid off, placing the rim of the bottle to my mouth and tipping my head back to take a large gulp. My face twists into a sour frown, then I smile mischievously and take another swig. My body feels warm and cozy and soft, which makes me think of Harry, and I start crying again, following the tears with another swig. I close the bottle, cradle it under my arm and gallop away to look for some more mindless things to do to distract myself.

Eventually, I make my way outside and flop down on the damp grass in the middle of my small front lawn. As cars speed by my house, I examine the moon above me. It looks... peaceful, though soon I see Harry's face appear on it and I squeeze my eyes shut for a second. When I open them, his face is gone.

Closing my eyes, I try to make figures out of the car lights shining through my eyelids. I have no success with this, and open my eyes again. The gentle wind messes up my hair, and I sit up, annoyed. Tracing vague figures in the grass with my pointer finger, a perplexing buzz takes over my body.

I stand up and fall back over into the grass, halfheartedly laughing at myself. I stand up again, this time with more caution, and stagger back into my kitchen. The slight snoring coming from my sisters' bedroom makes me giggle, and I clap a hand over my mouth.

My head swirls, half from the pounding headache I have had for the past two hours and half from the effects of the vodka kicking in.

I can feel my tense figure relax and the bottle I am holding slips out of my hand and lands on the floor with a crash. Glass flies everywhere, including a piece stabbing into my foot. I wince, then smile at the stinging sensation.

I've missed this.

Plopping myself on the floor among the glass, I begin to sweep it up with my hands, causing little cuts to litter my palms. I pick up a larger piece from in front of me and it slices into my palm. I cringe and press the sharp glass against my other wrist, reopening previous wounds. I watch, mesmerized, as the blood slides down my forearm and stains my shirt.

A sharp, fulfilling pang washes through my arm, and it hurts incredibly. I like the feeling of controlling my pain, instead of having it forced on my by others.

My mood switches from sadness to anger and then I begin hysterically laughing, clutching my stomach with both arms, smearing blood all over my shirt. The realization of how messed up I am hits me and I laugh even harder, tilting my head back and rolling my eyes into my head. Various negative aspects of my life flash through my mind, and tears threaten to slip out of my eyes while I am still howling with laughter.

I struggle to grasp what emotion I am feeling and let out an exasperated groan.

I am just so tired.

Not physically, of course, because my body wants to be running laps right now, but of everything else. I'm tired of being heartbroken, of feeling so damn alone and isolated from everyone in my life.

The one person who made me feel whole, the person who completed me, the person who made me feel wanted and loved and like I wasn't just a pile of meat living among other piles of meat who was going to die anyways so what was the point of being anyone special? has managed to shred my heart into more pieces than the amount of glass shards strewn all over the floor under me.

I find myself leaning against the kitchen cabinet, head buried in my knees, still chuckling but face simultaneously damp with tears, wondering, what is the point?

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