we'll live to tell the tale (l.s.)

the vacant truths that we held onto

tw// vomit , eating disorder 

WARNING: THE END OF THIS CHAPTER GETS VERY GRAPHIC. IF YOU ARE QUEASY WHEN IT COMES TO STUFF LIKE THAT, PLEASE TREAD WITH CAUTION.

stay safe! i actually feel better about this chapter compared to the last few. love you guys to pieces! also, if you are struggling with anything similar, don't be afraid to reach out. my dms are open. you are not alone. 

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louis wished that he could return to the comatose state he was in. detached from everything ugly and tragic, encased in nothing but dark water. his normal nights were never like that.

they were dark, sure, but they consisted of the everything that he had so feared. memories he'd rather not be reminded of, foresights that strangled him with uncertainty, telling him that every little action of his would be the prelude to disaster.

like trusting harry. in the end, they'd only known each other for a little over a month. and here he was, allowing this total stranger to stay by his side while he rotted in a hospital bed. harry already knew too much. louis knew that if this continued, then they'd be treading dangerous territory—one which the green-eyed boy would find out about the disgusting things that louis told himself were his fault, and leave.

being in the hospital was validating, in a way; proof to himself that his illness was truly severe enough to make others consider him thin. but it had also meant he'd failed. they'd tube-fed him god knows how many calories while he was asleep, the nauseating paste still present in his throat.

he never intended for it to get this bad. at first, it was just an alternate form of self-harm-- because who was he to deserve food? who was he to be healthy and functional?-- so he stopped. it was a gradual waning of meals; a diet that started minor that became something so much more than that.

louis used to think that being so obsessive over weight and calories was pointless. he'd just done this to feel the gnaw of his stomach, the rush of knowing that he was hurting himself. it became something different when he decided to count calories as a numerical value of his success, though. it started being like a challenge, to each day eat less than the last.

the control was breathtaking, in more ways than one. something to focus on when the rest of the world seemed so demeaning. he often thought about how, when you try to drown, human survival instincts kick in and your body tries its best to get you to air. same when you are hanging—even up until your last moments, your body tries to go against everything that you allow it to do. in the darkest places, dying seemed like the best proof of self-control. but louis was always too much of a coward to truly kill himself in an instant; so he decided to do it slowly.

it was true, however, that he'd always been self-conscious of his weight—he'd always felt like he had a disproportionately girly body. his bum was too round and stomach too soft and thighs too jiggly. he didn't like it, but he had never thought to do anything about it until recently.

it was a win-win, really.

the older boy's thoughts were interrupted by harry stroking his cheek gently. "wake up, lou. the nurse is here to give you breakfast." he'd actually been awake for a while, just feigning sleep because it was far too early in the morning to deal with harry's harping. he adored the boy, but he was just so tired.

"okay, okay." he sighed, trying to calm while his heart was racing in his throat. there was a tray of food in front of him comprising of a bowl of oatmeal, some grapes, and a thick brown liquid that was far too viscous to be chocolate milk.

"try to eat all of it. if you don't consistently finish your meals enough, you'll have to get the tube. and the sooner you're weight restored, the sooner you will be able to get out of here," the nurse said sympathetically. "it's for your own good."