Through My Lens

Chapter 3

Friday afternoon, the hallway of Louis's school was nearly deserted. A few students lingered by their lockers, chatting and preparing for the weekend. The emptiness of the corridor contrasted sharply with the turmoil Louis felt inside. He was relieved it was Friday; the week had been a gauntlet of torment from Josh and his friends, who had taken every opportunity to harass and push him around.

Louis trudged down the hall towards his locker, his shoulders slumped and his gaze fixed on the ground. As he approached his locker, he was suddenly jolted forward, crashing face-first into the hard linoleum floor. A sharp pain shot through his body, and he barely had time to register what had happened before he heard Josh's cruel voice.

"Watch where you're going, freak," Josh spat with venom, his words like acid against Louis's skin.

"He's too stupid to walk like a normal person," Brandon, one of Josh's cronies, added with a sneer.

Before Louis could react, he felt a searing kick to his stomach. The force of the blow left him gasping for breath, but the kicks kept coming. One, two, three, four, five blows, each one more brutal than the last. Louis tried to curl up into a protective ball, but it was futile. The pain was overwhelming, and Josh's taunts pierced through his agony.

"Waste of skin," Josh hissed, his voice dripping with disdain. "I don't know why anyone would want someone like you around. Your brother would be better off without you in his life."

With that final, crushing blow, Josh and his friends sauntered off, their laughter echoing down the hall. Louis lay crumpled on the floor, his body a crumpled heap of bruised flesh and raw emotion. The hallway, once so ordinary, now felt like an unforgiving, cold place.

It took Louis several minutes to gather the strength to move. His breath came in ragged gasps as he slowly pushed himself up, each movement a battle against the pain. He limped toward the bathroom, each step a reminder of the torment he had just endured.

Once inside, he stumbled into a stall and closed the door behind him. With a deep, shuddering breath, he sank down onto the cold, hard floor. Pulling his knees up to his chest, he buried his face in his arms, tears streaming down his cheeks. The bathroom's harsh fluorescent lights seemed to mock him as he sobbed uncontrollably.

"I hate my life," he choked out between gasps. 'I hate myself. I hate this school. I hate Josh.' His thoughts raw whisper of despair. 'I wish I was never born. Why do I have to be so goddamn useless? Josh is right. Li would be better off without me.'

As the minutes ticked by, Louis fought against the dark urges creeping into his mind. He took the rubber band off his wrist and began snapping it against his skin, hoping the physical pain would help distract him from the emotional turmoil. One... two... three... four... five snaps, each one a painful reminder of his torment but also a desperate attempt to ground himself.

The bathroom, with its stark walls and flickering lights, became a sanctuary of sorts, a place where Louis could express his anguish away from prying eyes. Yet, even here, the shadows of his self-loathing and despair seemed to close in, making him question how much longer he could bear the weight of his suffering.

Sometimes, in the midst of his darkest moments, Louis found himself thankful for his old therapist, Heather. Heather had been a guiding light in his tumultuous journey, helping him work through his self-harm behaviors. There were days, like today, when the urge to reach for a sharp object—whether it be scissors, a pencil, or anything with an edge—was overwhelming. On those days, he felt as though the temptation was a shadow, lurking and whispering in his ear.

Yet, despite the strength of these urges, Louis clung to the promise he made to Liam: that he wouldn't cut anymore. It was a promise he took to heart, one he fought to uphold every single day. The thought of Liam's face, full of concern and love, was often the anchor that kept him grounded. Heather's unwavering support over the past seven months had played a crucial role in helping him keep that promise.