Bubble Gum Chapstick 🍬 (l.s.)

Chapter 8

*Mentions of domestic abuse and implied non-con rape* *suicide attempt*

Harry refuses to turn around to look at Louis, unwilling to see him walk out the door. "Harry-" Harry's heart sank even further, "No, Louis it's okay, really, I-I'm used to it, you can go." Silence filled the air for what felt like hours. Harry listened to the door to his apartment shut, his head dropped and he turned to the door, expecting to be alone. Louis? He's still here? Why? Louis looked firm in his place and hugged his arms across his torso. "Why would I go?" Harry just shrugged at him, "Why would you stay?" Louis relaxed a bit and stepped closer to Harry, gently taking his hands in his. "I like pretty things." Harry was nearly dumbfounded by Louis's response. Does he not..hate me? He couldn't find a way to respond so he just managed a weak "oh". Louis smirked at his response and led Harry to his living room. "So..lets start this project."

Louis was leaning in Harry's doorway now, after working for a good hour or two on the project. "So Harry..." Louis smiled so wide that his eyes lit up with it, "Will I ever get to see this pretty apartment again?" Harry's cheeks flushed pink and he started playing with his nails, "Um, I think that would be okay, yea." Louis pushed himself off the doorway and turned to leave "See ya tomorrow, Harry." Harry shyly pushed the door closed and said a quiet "good bye". He pressed his head against the cool wood and let out the breathe he didn't know he was holding in. "Holy shit." He breathed out. He headed back to his room to change and slipped on a pair of sliky shorts and a long sleeve cropped top. Harry about to go get ice for his face, when his phone buzzed on his night stand.

Unknown Number:
Hey baby

Me:
Who is this?

Unknown Number:
Cmon Hazzy don't pull that shit

Unknown Number:
You know exactly who I am.

No no no, there's no fucking way. Right?

Me:
...Andrew?

Unknown Number:
See I knew you weren't that fucking dumb.

This can't be fucking happening, this a nightmare and I'm going to wake up and he'll be gone. Harry felt his breathing pick up, as his heart sunk further to his feet. He couldn't breath, move, his hands were going numb and his ears were ringing. Harry tightened in on himself and lowered to the floor. His thoughts were too fast and too slow all at once, he didn't even notice he was crying until a couple tears dropped onto his soft hand. He felt like there wasn't enough oxygen in his apartment. This can't be happening. He heard his phone buzz again beside him. He didn't want to read it, he didn't want to know what he wanted. Harry just wanted him to go away and stay gone. But old habits die hard and couldn't bear not seeing what Andrew had said, with a shaky hand, he picked the phone up from the floor.

Unknown Number:
Don't cry princess, you're too pretty for that.

Harry froze after he read the sentence. How did-

Unknown Number:
Those shorts look beautiful on those long legs of yours.

Harry looked up slowly, too afraid to look around in fear that he was behind him. He shakily typed his response.

Me:
where are you?

Unknown Number:
You need to invest in better locks Hazzy

Unknown Number:
There some dangerous people in this world.

Me:
what do you want? I'll call the police.

Unknown Number:
Now, now, you wouldn't do that. right baby?

Unknown Number:
I'm just here to take care of what's mine.

Me:
and that is?

Unknown Number:
You.

Harry felt his heart pound against his chest. His tears flowed more rapidly and he tried to hold his phone still to type. His front door slammed causing Harry to jump and drop his phone. He sprinted the door and locked it. He choked back a sob and pressed his back to the door. Harry slide down the door, feeling as if his life was being torn apart. Flashbacks of Andrew ran through his head. The bruises, the choking, the screaming, the blood, the things he did to make Andrew happy. He couldn't do this, he scrambled to find something close to him, anything to cut the tie between him and his memories. Harry ripped open a draw beside him and pulled out a sharp silver pair of fabric scissors. He dug the scissors into his scarred thighs and kept going until his porcelain skin was nothing but red. The scissors clattered to the hard wood and Harry pressed his head against the door, letting his eyes slip closed. He was so tired, he wasn't sure if it was from crying or from blood loss. But he didn't care, couldn't bring himself to see if he hit a vein or if he needed stitches. He was just so fucking tired. He felt his world slowly fade to black.