Fading

Chapter Twelve

Louis doesn't even bother trying to keep himself quiet. It feels good to gag and sputter and cough as the vomit splashes into the toilet. It gives a sound to what he's feeling. The burn that he feels in his throat is much more rewarding than screaming would be. It feels good not to be contained. Not to be vomiting out of necessity. He's vomiting because it hurts, it burns his throat and it makes his stomach writhe and he needs that pain right now.

He rests his forehead on his arm where it's wrapped around the toilet bowl and lets himself breathe for a moment. He's trembling, partially from being naked on the cold floor and partially because his body is protesting. His eyes are damp and he's not even sure if it's from throwing up or because he's crying. Somewhere between the sixth and eighth time he shoved his fingers down his throat the gags began to be broken up by sobs. Louis hasn't cried while he's puked in a long time.

Usually it's all clinical. Get the food out before it digests and without the boys noticing what you're doing. Now he's in no rush and his stomach was almost empty before he began. Right now he just wants to hurt. He reaches his slobbery fingers back into his mouth and strokes, gagging around his fingers as his stomach contracts in an attempt to expel its contents. There is nothing left though; no matter how hard he tries he just keeps dry heaving because he's empty. That just won't do.

Louis spits in the toilet and hauls himself to his feet on shaky legs. He drags himself to the sink and leans his full weight on it as he turns on the tap and fills his cup. Six times he fills it with water and chugs it, six times is enough to make him feel like he is going to burst. It isn't even about Harry anymore. This is about him and how disgusting he is and how wrong he is and how fucked up he is and he just wants to tear himself apart.

This time when he kneels back down and draws up the contents of his stomach he's rewarded with the rush of the water and the stomach acid. It burns as it pours out of his mouth, it burns so good. Louis isn't sure when he starts sobbing but by the time even the water is gone his shoulders are shaking with the sobs racking his body. He doesn't bother trying to stifle himself, it's been far too long since he's just let himself feel. Since he's let all the shit he's pent up inside of him out.

He always has to stay composed, he has to try and act okay, for Liam and Zayn. He pukes quickly and quietly because he doesn't want them to find out and stop him. Why would he want them to stop him when he feels like his throat is ripping apart and it feels so good. His voice is cracking and breaking as he cries, one fist clenched and digging into his stomach, the other arm clinging to the toilet bowl. He sounds and looks disgusting but he doesn't even care because he looks disgusting at the best of times and it just feels so good to hurt.

He shoves his fingers down his throat again, more roughly that he usually does, trying desperately to get something more out of himself. His stomach clenches and his throat rises and he gags, but there is nothing. He doesn't stop though. He gags himself over and over, dry heaving between choked sobs. He heaves until blood starts coming, mixed in with his saliva, and even then he keeps going. His nails scrabble at the back of his throat, trying desperately to get rid of that itch. That itch to empty himself, that itch to hurt himself, that itch to remind himself just how little he is worth.

He goes until every breath he takes feels like it's tearing him to shreds as the air grates on his inflamed throat. He goes until his stomach is spasming, too weak to even properly clench anymore. He goes until he's seeing stars behind his eyes and his grip starts slipping on the edge of the toilet. When he inhales his breath rattles and then he's coughing, coughing so hard he can't even breathe. He lets himself fall back from the toilet onto the cold tile, his back up against the wall and the toilet paper holder digging into his shoulder. He doesn't even bother testing his voice, he knows it's gone. He's glad it's gone, he's glad his throat is on fire, he's glad his body feels as bad as his mind does.