Facade: Love, Lust and Deception

CHAPTER 7

Going back to normal, pretending as if nothing had happened was something Louis had mastered. He wasn't proud about it but survival was more important right now.

He wore a black turtleneck, beige pants and slid on his shoes and jacket. The bruise running along his earlobe to the front of his jaw was the only thing he couldn't hide. He'd hoped that maybe it'll heal in the few days he remained absent from the public eye.

~•

Louis had definitely known what was going to happen the moment he entered the house. It'll strip and diminish the very essence of the word "home" if this madhouse was ever titled that.

His father wasn't anywhere near when he entered but the lingering smell of cigarettes and stale alcohol stench was proof enough that he was there.

Louis walked up to his room, freezing at the top of the stairs as he found his father, his pale grey eyes dark with anger, jaw clenched tensely and hand fisted to his side.

His father hit him because of his internal frustrations. Louis knew that, he'd tried to help when the abuse first started but it just seemed to worsen what his father had originally decided to do.

So he endured.

As a kid, he'd see parents walking their kids to school, taking them to parks and he'd wonder if he was the problem. The more he grew up, the more his brain coerced itself to believe that he was.

There had been numerous accounts where he felt like he should run away, but where would he go? This town was like a portal, you choose to live in it but it chooses when you leave.

He knew that something must've gone awfully wrong at the office for his father to be this angry.

"Where the fuck were you? Haven't I told you to be present at home before I return? Is this little birdie daring to grow wings and disobey me? Don't forget I'm the one feeding you, I'm the one paying for you"

Louis' face was emotionless. Stoic to a point that even his muscles didn't twitch. All this wasn't new, he'd heard this since he was 10 but it still stung the same way.

Something he'd gotten from his father was his tongue, the ability to hurt someone. The ability to be so brutal they don't even look at you a second time.

When no answer came, his father smacked him right across his cheek. Before the stinging could spread through his skin, his feet stumbled back as he rolled down the stairs with a painful cry.

He felt his father walk over him to his room. He felt the corner of the staircase hit the left side of his face. He had no strength in his body to get up and reach his bedroom.

He resigned to the floor.

His father didn't bother to make sure if he's alive or dead the next morning.

He crawled up to his room and remained in solitude for the next few days.

~•

He cursed under his breath as the only seat left for him to occupy was in the first row. He placed his bag down, noticing a few odd looks towards him. The door to the class closes exactly as the watch on his wrist strikes 8.

Punctual motherfucker.

He looked up, Harry as usual cleaned up well. Rather ordinary in what he usually goes for, a white shirt tucked into black skinnies with the top buttons open. A cross necklace now hung around his neck.