Breaking Vows • LT

7 || Oceans

Whenever Louis was about to go through something distressing in his life, he would find himself dreaming of West Wittering Beach. It had been years since he'd been there, specifically blotting it out of his mind whenever him and his Directioners wanted to go to a full day excursion out of town.

The thing was, it was literally just sand and water. There was no scenic view; it was bland, the water cold, the sky so predictable, and the sand was always damp and dreary it reminded him of stale bread. He recoiled at the thought of walking over it; there was no pleasure feeling the grainy texture between his toes. To add to that bleakness, his heart sank every time he recalled his time at that particular beach, not only because all the ugly sand castles he built had effortlessly crumbled, but it was also the last place where he had last seen his father.

"I'm sorry, Louis."

His old man had been sitting on a folding beach chair, a bottle of beer in hand. His dad wasn't even looking at him when he said that, while Louis was forced to "have fun" in the sand. Still, he could remember his dad's distinct voice, forever engrained in his brain like the first time he lost his tooth or his favourite toy. It was a school day then, now that he thought about it, which explains why they had the beach all to themselves.

Louis didn't even want to be there; he was supposed to go to his best friend's house and play football then watch cartoons. Harry's dad just bought a new telly, and they were allowed to watch until he had to go home. But Louis went with his dad anyway - it wasn't everyday his dad invited him out to play, after all. At first he was thrilled to find out that it was just going to be the two of them (there were too many girls in the family), but the more time they spent there, the more Louis' stomach felt upset. Like something was not okay. And he was right.

After a few wordless hours of just basking under the clouds, sitting in the sand, watching birds and crabs and the blue sea, his father would take Louis home for the last time and walk out of the family for good.

Those were the few peaceful memories Louis had in his life before he went into a downward spiral; the sound of crunching waves, the sea breeze so strong it almost knocked off his Mercedez Benz cap, sitting there with his dad, even if the memory always ended with the soft apology of a man who could not say goodbye to his son. Later in his teen years, Louis would find out that Mark Tomlinson wasn't even his biological father, but he would be far too deep into his misery to even care.

A few months after that moment in the beach, a young Louis would run away from home, would get into the wrong crowd, would try his best to come to terms with unfamiliar emotions such as betrayal, loss, and hopelessness. His mother had been too depressed to teach him to identify those emotions or merely cope with them since she was with child and caring for his younger sisters whenever she was home. Louis didn't understand why he suddenly had to be an adult, why he had to stop going to Harry's house because he had to care for his sisters, why he had to stop asking about his dad.

"I'm sorry, Louis."

Two years later, Louis would have his first taste of cigarettes. Two years later, he would get the first of his many tattoos, get into weed, and get arrested for shoplifting. Things would only get worse from there, and every time it did, he would be dreaming about the depressing West Wittering Beach, "I'm sorry, Louis" replaying in his head every time he knew he was going to fuck up his life one more time. Before joining the faith, Louis had always interpreted this cycle as life, or the vicious God who didn't care, telling him a simple "sorry" for not caring enough to get him out of the waters.

Sorry for letting you drown, Louis.

Sorry, you're such a fuck-up.

Sorry, you're such a waste of space.