I'm fine, We're fine [boyxboy]

Thirteen

Louis POV

Three weeks had gone by since I had been released from the hospital. It should have been a joyous thing, but I left with four prescriptions and strict orders to stay off of my feet and rest. That was fine. What bothered me was the way everyone kept hovering over me like I was a new baby. All of them- Mom, Dad, Lottie, Zayn, Liam, even Niall -were there. When one left to get me something I didn't need, another pair of feet took the place of the dents in the carpet where the other had been.

Mom still cried when she saw my face. She cried when she held my hand. She just cried. Dad and Zayn talked a lot, usually with their heads bowed, lifting every now and then to send a troubled look my way. Liam was there, too, his hands in his pockets. Out of everyone, I felt most bad for him. Taking an interest in Zayn hadn't prepared him for the baggage that came along with that interest- the baggage being me. Lottie and Niall flocked around me like mother ducks. They fluffed my pillows, brought me blankets and snacks. They even gave me my pills one at a time, every six hours like clockwork. Once, about a week after I had been home, Lottie and Niall had each taken one of my feet and rubbed them. They knew how much I loved it, but I remembered a single thought that went through my mind when they had: Their hands don't feel like Harry's.

Harry. I hadn't seen him for three weeks. Not a call, not a text, not a card. He didn't visit me in the hospital. Nothing came from him. My things had been brought back to my old room and I assumed Zayn or my father had gotten it. Every trace of Harry had been erased from my phone, even the picture we had taken from the lake. That hurt. Everything was gone and I didn't know if my family had done it or Harry himself. I had his number memorized, but if I were being honest, I was too afraid to reach out.

The end of week three had arrived and I had finally convinced them that I could shower alone and dress myself. They obliged, but Zayn was right outside of the bathroom door, just in case. Steam rose from the top of the shower while I peeled my clothes off, keeping my back to the mirror. I had done good in not looking into one, or anything that could have shown me my reflection in the past three weeks. I didn't want to see what Harry had done to me. What the man I loved had done to me, but I couldn't avoid mirrors for my entire life. When my shirt hit the floor, I took a breath and turned.

Twenty-one days had healed my bruised body as much as it could. My reflection didn't take my breath away and for that I was grateful. There were no marks around my neck, no large contusions on my chest. They had faded into smaller smears. Purple marks dotted my ribs, but that was normal. The ribs beneath were fractured. Every breath felt like hot knives stabbing my lung and side, there was nothing to be done about that. Twisting sideways, I was reminded of the hearing I had lost in my ear when the sound of the shower grew faint. There were a few marks on my other side, I couldn't remember exactly where they had come from. I hadn't been able to wear my glasses since I was taken to the hospital. My eyes hurt too much to put the contact in. Looking through the lenses now, I felt a lump begin to grow in my throat.

Harry always told me I was pretty. His beautiful, blue-eyed boy. He had traced every line, every sloping curve of the bone structure angling my jaw like it was some priceless, fragile piece of art. He complimented my cheekbones, the perfect cupid's bow my lips formed. But most important of all, he had told me how gorgeous my eyes were. In his words, they were blue. An intense, unfathomable blue that was as deep as the ocean. He lost himself in them because they were unreadable, yet open and honest, like the innocent eyes of a child. The eyes I saw were no longer pretty. They didn't glimmer when I moved. They were lackluster, like the eyes of a corpse in a sunken, watery face.

The face I had grown to love solely because of Harry was nothing other than ugly. An ugly, bruised mask of someone who was no longer here. The mottled color of my face was fading. Some places were still blue, others were faded into a splattered coloring of purple and yellow under and around my eyes. My jaw was blue, still sore to the touch and I winced as my finger touched it in the mirror. The cut along my cheek was healed, the last of the scab was peeling off.