The next three days were sleep and psychiatric tests. His throat burned from swallowing pills and screaming in his sleep and his lungs felt like they were collapsing with every breath he took. He didn't tell anyone this, of course. He wanted to get out of the hospital and if they knew he was having trouble, they would make him stay for God knows how much longer.
The medics released him with a paper bag full of medicines and a pair of therapeutic socks. His mother insisted upon letting him stay with her until he was used to living without her and he didn't want to but he knew that it was for the best.
The plane ride to Bradford was torture, worry filling his body and his new medication making him feel lightheaded and drowsy.
"Your sisters are at your nan's, but the boys are waiting for you at home," his mother said, flipping through a magazine that had been shoved between the seats.
The thought of all of the lads talking to him like he was a child, patronizing and a wee bit too nice, and spreading wide, fake smiles across their faces invaded his mind, churning his stomach and the little lunch in his system threatening to rise up in his throat. He pushed it down along with the guilt and the sadness and the lump of emotions that he hadn't bothered to pick through.
He offered to help his mother with the bags since he didn't have any, but she responded with an, "I've got it, sunshine."
She smiled one of those smiles that seeped into his skin and flooded his lungs, the kind of smile where you could feel the river of doubt trying it's best to spill out. Even his mother thought he was weak or sick or crazy or something.
She wrapped him up with a blanket in the car and he wanted to tear it to shreds, but he accepted it because that was the easier option. She also hummed old hymns while she drove, quietly and sweetly like she did when his sisters were babies. Even his arms started to ache.
When he walked through the doors of his mother's house, it was what he expected, dreaded. Harry was the first one to hug him, a few sniffles and reassuring whispers. Niall came next, a pat on the back and an I've missed you buddy. Then there was Liam, holding him so tight that he could barely breathe and letting him know that all the boys would always be there for him. Louis came last with a handshake that graduated into an unfamiliar, but ever so comforting embrace that didn't need words.
They asked him questions about Paris, the Eiffel Tower, the Lourve, and he couldn't answer any of them because all of his memories were memories of her. He would just cough and whisper that it was okay. Harry would frown and blink away the tears that had been lining his eyes since the moment he lay eyes on the sickly boy that used to light up a room as soon as he entered it. Niall would try to fake a scoff of disgust, trying to make everything like old times. Liam would hold his hand and rub circles into it, something that he had done millions of times and never felt uncomfortable or weird. Louis looked the same, eyes glued to his shoes or Harry or the hardwood floor, his lips pulled into a line.
He tried to eat dinner, taking a few slow bites, but ended up kneeling in front of the toilet, hoping that his lungs would come up with the vomit. Liam washed his face off with a towel and Niall worriedly got a toothbrush ready and Harry tried to stop crying long enough to pour a glass of water. Louis never came in the bathroom and he was kind of glad, him and Louis had always been the strongest, the leaders, and it felt like a bullet in the chest.
They had to share beds because his mum only had so much room. Harry refused to leave Zayn in a room, or even a bed, by himself. Liam and Niall slept in Saffaa and Waliyha's room and Louis slept on a sleeping bag in the hallway outside the guest room, hoping that no one noticed that he was checking up on Zayn every ten minutes.
"What are you doing?" a weak Zayn asked when his eyes met a figure in the doorway.
"Going to the toilet," who could only be Louis coughed out nervously.
Zayn shoved Harry's arm off of him and tucked the snoring boy back into bed and shuffled out into the hallway with who used to be his best friend.
Louis explained himself rather quickly, saying that the couch was too lumpy and Niall farts in his sleep and he gets enough of Harry's snoring at home. Then there was an awkward silence, one that was trying to mask everything that was trying to go unsaid. One boy wanted to apologize, scream I'm sorry's until he could no longer talk and beg for forgiveness until he was on his bony knees. The other boy wanted to ask why, why he'd left and why he'd let himself get to this point and why he hadn't called because he had so much extra room at his place that it was funny.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Lou. I shouldn't have left you and she wasn't even real and I'm out of my mind. I'm sorry," he said, voice trembling and words running together.
"You could've called, visited, texted at least. You wouldn't have bothered me or Harry or anybody. I hate to admit it, but I worried about you."
"I know. I was too caught up in trying to fix her because, oh god, she would hurt herself if I wasn't paying attention and, don't look at me like that. I didn't know that I was bandaging imaginary hands."
Louis didn't know what he was talking about, but he listened anyways. He listened until Zayn was out of breath and his voice was so strained that he could only speak in whispers.
He snuck into the living room, tip toes and sock slides, to retrieve some weed from his backpack. He dug through the socks and underwear to get to the bottom where the plastic baggy rested, hiding from innocent, emerald eyes.
"Let's go," Louis motioned to Zayn, both of them scurrying out onto the patio once Zayn saw what was in the packet.
He knew in the back of his mind that he wasn't supposed to mix any kind of drug or alcohol with his new medication, but the thought of being put out of pain for half an hour was just too great to let go of. He took the blunt from Louis and let the smoke fill his body, rolling in and out smoothly, sighs coming from both boys.
