Legacy // H.S

2.

'I had to have this talk with you

My happiness depends on you'

*

Louis lives in a quaint neighbourhood in West London; one of the more luxurious areas filled with the wealthy and elite. Three floor town houses line every street past the highroads, with small gardens locked away for residents of the area. Trees fill small gaps in the walkway, their leaves rich in colour as the summer rays beat down on them.

As we drive through the streets, I notice each person we pass. A lot of the community seem to be younger. Perhaps their late twenties or early thirties. All lavishly dressed in the latest fashions, not necessarily bold in colours but still standing out against the average pedestrian. Every now and again we pass a family, small kids running ahead of their parents while they chatter amongst themselves. Some mothers walk with friends, at one point I see a lone father.

Domestic and calm, just like I imagined for Louis. While he actively finds joy in the prospect of rebelling and stealing, deep down he's very reserved, and likes to protect himself from the outside world. This seems like the perfect place for him.

I don't frequent West London a lot unless it's for work, but even then, the visits are few and far between. By train, it takes too long to get to, and by car you're lucky if you're not stuck in traffic once you reach central. Today, however, we make the time, and we take as long as we need to.

After the funeral for George a few days back Harry and I agreed it was time to break Louis' silence and attempt some form of conversation. For a while we went back and forth on how to even approach him, but we both realised that it doesn't matter what our strategy is, he still blames us. It will probably take a lot more than us simply turning up at his door, but for now it's the only option we have.

Grief effects everyone differently, and in Louis' case it seems to be manifesting in isolating himself and blaming those around him. And it's all entirely valid. We have no intention of arguing him on it. Harry and I are to blame, that's true. George become wrapped up in something that had nothing to do with him, just because of who he was associated with, and before he even knew me my life was the only reason he was allowed to live so long under Hugo's clutch. We are the enemy here.

For Louis, I'm sure in his solitude he's become a victim to grief. Memories he held with George now turning into distant reminders of a man he can never see again. Someone he can never hold, never talk to, never sleep next to, never love in reality again. I'm sure some memories will stick with him, becoming a part of his bones and seeping into every part of his being, but others will float away with the waves of time, and he'll let them go in hopes they take the pain away too. You can love someone with all your might, but it will never compare to how much you miss them.

It's never easy saying goodbye, though. Sometimes it's not possible. Until all of a sudden, their face fades and their voice quiets. They're gone, and you can grasp onto the air in hopes you'll find them within it, but it's not possible to hold a ghost. You can feel them, most of the time I sense my dad, but you can never touch or see them again. Death does not allow such a miracle. Instead, you must wave goodbye from one end of the bridge and watch them vanish into nothingness on the other side, one with the wind, the stars, the sun.

This is the first time I will be visiting Louis' house, but there's no excitement at the prospect. Only fear and sorrow. As we pull up outside, I take a moment to create snapshots in my mind of the details. It sits on the corner of a row of town houses, the colours alternating between white brick and a painted mint green. Victorian bay windows sit at the front of the first two floors, and the top has standard arched windows commonly found on houses like this. In the front garden sits a few potted plants and small bushes, though I can't identify any, but I notice the small lights that lead up to the door on the pathway and smile.