From Everything That Was (Till Everything That Will Be)

After (Past)

That if I'm being honest
I couldn't tell you this is all I wanted
I struggle sleeping 'cos the house feels haunted
Filled with the shadows of regret
- A Cure For Minds Unwell, Lewis Capaldi

It turned into a pattern. Every night between Wednesday and Thursday. It had come to the point where Louis didn't even try and fight it. Sometimes he just went to bed and woke up to it, and in his sleepy state, he barely noticed it was happening. It was almost as if he left his body while Patrick was there, making him unaware of the hurt being done to his body.

On the days between that weekly night, Louis walked around in a shell of who he once was. He was counting the days up to Wednesday every day. He spent his time burying himself in his studies and pacing his room. He paced a lot. And he scratched his skin, maybe that would make it belong to him again if he marked it up as much as Patrick did.

He barely cried. He saw his life from the outside as if he was just some character in a game that he had no control over.

He didn't forget Harry's birthday, of course. It was a national holiday in Louis' book, had been since he was nine, but for the first time in forever, he didn't spend it with Harry.

Harry's birthday fell on a Wednesday.

Louis saw him in class, their eyes briefly meeting, and Harry looked at him with so much hurt and anger, that Louis almost ran out of the class.

Harry was eighteen. Louis was seventeen, still. He was a minor. It was something he often said to himself in the mirror. When he was alone at home he screamed it.

On Harry's birthday, of all days, Louis refused to let Patrick hurt him. So he told his mother that Niall had invited him over for dinner, and if he could skip out on this one. She shrugged, saying it was okay.

"I'll probably be staying over, is that alright, too?"

"Sure, darling," Jay said, reaching out to stroke Louis' cheekbone. Louis flinched away, and Jay looked at him with hurt eyes.

"Sorry," Louis rushed out. "Thanks, Mom."

Louis didn't have dinner at Niall's that night. He was sure he had also fucked up that relationship by what he did to Harry, but it was for the best. Louis knew it deep down.

So Louis paced the streets, looking up at the stars. It was cold. At some point, it began raining. Louis scurried over to the nearest bus stop where there was a small shed for people waiting on the bus. There was only one other man there, and he only cast a fleeting glance at Louis, then checked the time on his phone.

Louis sat down as far away from the man as possible, pulling his jacket closer around him. He shivered.

"Ey, do you mind if I smoke a fag in here?" asked the man.

Louis shifted his gaze to him, noticing the cigarette pack in his hands. "Sure." He wet his lips. "Do you offer one?"

The man shrugged. "Sure." He held the pack out to Louis, and Louis took one. He had never smoked before, but his grandfather was an avid smoker, and he had seen how it was done many times.

"Do you have a lighter I can borrow?" asked Louis.

"Two sec." The man lit his own cigarette, then handed his lighter to Louis.

"Thanks," Louis said, lighting up his cigarette. He brought it to his lips, inhaling, and barely managed to not cough.

The man chuckled amusedly. "First time?"