Vicious

Louis knows he's insane. He does, he really knows that his brain doesn't belong to him anymore. It's not his, except for maybe that little tiny closet, way in the back, with the closed and locked, metal door. The little tiny part that's screaming at him all the time, telling him to stop, telling him there shouldn't be blood on his hands, telling him to leave while he still can. Except that's where the live part of him is wrong. He can't leave, he's stuck in the closet, screaming and dragging his nails across the pitch black room, trying to claw his way out of the tiny closet.

But he's stuck, and he's not getting out. The battle inside his mind is quiet, it has been for a long time now. The soldiers have been sent back home, only a few line the outside of the closet, watching the door in case it slides open just a little. If it so much as clicks open, they're there right away to slam it shut again, leaning their complete weight against it until his screaming and crying calm down, and he returns to clawing against the dark walls.

And on the outside, he keeps a calm, collected smile on his lips. But his eyes are wild.

(WARNING: READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. THIS WILL BE REALLY SCARY AND I'M PROBABLY GOING TO CRY AND PEE MY PANTS FROM WRITING IT, SO JUST LIKE... WATCH YOURSELF. IT'S SCARY, AND I'M SORRY.)