Louis' POV:
"He makes me so mad." Faith says, her fork clattering on her empty plate. We're in the kitchen with Margaret hiding from the real world.
"Says you, he actually likes you. Plus I saw you talking to him at dinner last night." I tell her, grabbing our plates and taking them over to the sink. Margaret bats my hands away and starts to wash them herself, never allowing me to help.
"Just because we talk doesn't mean I like him. They guy is too proud to like anyone else but himself and mom. He only loves her because she's the love of his life, though I'll never understand how that works." She shrugs.
"You both should be grateful, you know there are many people who have it a lot worse. Sure he's a mean bloke, I'm sure he still cares." Margaret says, wiping her hands with a dish towel.
"We are more than grateful, we just can't stand him." I reassure her. She gives me a nod, then Faith changes the subject.
"Where's Harry and Maybelline?" Faith asks, noting they aren't in the kitchen. I shoot daggers through my eyes at the mention of Harry's name.
"They were walking around the courtyard last time I heard." she says, trying to contain her laughter at my demise. Faith grabs my arm and starts dragging me along with her.
"No Faith, I'm not going anywhere near him." I say, struggling against her clutch on my sleeve.
"Fine, wimp. But I'm going because I'm not a jerk who won't welcome their freaking guests." she says, stomping off. I roll my eyes at her, then beeline to the library.
It's my hideaway. I could get lost in there for hours. Diving into different fantasy lands, becoming a protagonist who saves the day. There is a corner of the library that no one goes in, except me. Then again, no one ever really goes to the library. People are either working or helping out my Father, but since this morning I figured it was safer to stay away for today. Might even make him happy.
I pace up and down the isles, running my hands along the spines of the books. They are all older, spines breaking and falling to pieces, but all insanely beautiful. Not many people know that I read outside of my family, mainly to protect my pride. Though, that sounds stupid being who I am, I still get insecure. It doesn't matter if you are the most perfect person to ever exist, you still have insecurities.
Mother says it's silly to think about the little things like insecurities, but I don't think she fully understands it. Faith does, though. We've spent countless nights staying up, talking about how it's harder on our generation now than it was when our parents were teenagers.
Guess it makes sense though, things change through generations just like stories.
Maybe it's a chemical imbalance. I don't know.
I find a rather newer book that looks like it has just been stocked. I make my way to the back of the library, curling up against a shelf in the corner. My father would disapprove of me sitting on the floor, getting my clothes dirty, but what he doesn't know can't hurt him. Not now, at least. I stare at the cover of the book.
Eighteen Years.
Not knowing anything about it, I open the cover reading a little about what is now a book of poetry when I hear someone clear their throat, standing above me. I lower my book, my eyes trained to the sleek and shiny dress shoes that the boy in front of me is wearing. My eyes trail up his legs, up his torso, finally landing on the smug look on his face, his green eyes blazing in an emerald fire.
"I was reading that." he grumbles, his voice low. I let out a heavy sigh.
"Too bad, I'm reading it right now, you can have it later." I tell him.
