One Last Time - I'll Make It Feel Like Home

Chapter 22 - Louis

I don't know what fucks you up more.

Grief. Or depression.

Or maybe it's the combination of the two. A mix of endless pain and hopelessness.

It's like pouring fuel on fire, only making it worse.

Then you try clawing yourself out of the dark pit you're stuck in by throwing water at it. Useless.

If you don't know how to cope with losing the people you love, you don't. And by not coping, you're just digging your own grave, really.

That hole in your chest that makes you feel like you're slowly dying only grows bigger. Day by day.

The lump that was located in your stomach every once in a while, is now permanently lodged in your throat. Strangeling you from the inside.

The pain and grief consuming every cell in your body until you're drowning in it.

That is unless you simply just don't feel. And in some ways, that's worse.

That empty, cold sensation silencing anything other than the demons in your mind shouting lies at you. Making you believe them. –

The ringing off my phone has my pen stop its movements and my sore eyes snap up from the words laughing at me from the paper.

I groan as I pull myself up from the floor, letting the notebook slide off my lap in the process. I drag my feet to where my phone lays on the kitchen counter, accepting the call without checking who it is before bringing it to my ear.

"Hey, Lou! It's Niall. How are you?", Niall's voice breaks the silence that's been filling my ears for the past 28 hours.

I clear my throat before answering, "I'm alright. What's up?"

I wince at the sting in my throat, my voice breaking at every word. Whether it's from the lack of moisture or the excessive use, I don't know.

Niall takes a second to think, "Just wanted to check up on you since you couldn't meet. You sure you're okay, lad. You sound like shit."

I let out a chuckle, sliding down the wall, "Probably look like shit too, if I'm being honest.", completely avoiding the question.

The floor has become my new go-to place to sit apparently.

"You didn't answer my question, Tommo.", he pushes, not having it.

I tilt my head against the wall, letting out a pained groan, "I'm dying over here, Ni. This is my final hour. I'm gonna die. The walls are closing in. Help me.", I say in the most dramatic way possible, earning a fit of laughter from Niall.

"Say hi to Satan for me when you see him in hell, will you?"

"Thank you. Really. Love you too, mate.", I dead-pan at his lack of concern for my excellent impression of a dying man.

"Any time, Lou.", he quips back, "What have you been up to?"

Nah, pissed off Simon. Drowning myself in alcohol. Cried myself to sleep. Woke up screaming. Some more alcohol. Some more leaking eyes. Then an attempt at ingesting food. Some more crying. Then I wrote down some thoughts just for fits and giggles.

How's your day been?

Instead of saying that, I simply lie through my teeth, ignoring that gnawing feeling in my gut making my skin crawl, "Gloated. Eaten. Slept."

I can't tell if Niall believes me or not, "Sure, sounds like a good time. But why couldn't you come yesterday? Really."

I bite the inside of my cheek, desperately trying to come up with an excuse.