99 Days Whitout You

Louis' Journal

Dear Harry,

You’ve been gone for two weeks now. I haven’t been coping well. The boys have even sent me to a therapist to help me forget. But I can’t forget. You’re all I ever think about. Your head of luscious curls, the way your smile lights up a room, your green eyes that I love so much. You’re impossible to forget. I don’t want to forget.

Of course the boys are worried about me. I’m even worried about me. My therapist is worried as well, and that’s why she has handed me this journal, so I can write down my innermost thoughts. I’m supposed to give it to her every week to read over, and I just feel so weird giving it to her. Most of my thoughts revolve around you, so I guess that’s why she wants to read it over, to make sure I’m handling everything well.

But to be honest I’m not, and yes I’m fairly aware she will read this. But the truth has got to come out sooner or later, yeah? She never specifically told me what to write, but just that I have to write. So I’m writing to you. I hope you don’t mind. I want you to know how I’ve coped with the whole thing.

I’m going to tell you how it’s been without you here with me. How I feel all day every day will be written down in here. Starting from day one, aka, the day you left this world.

Day One:

I woke up like I did every morning, expecting to find you curled up by my side. But when I turned over, the bed was empty, and you were nowhere to be spotted. At first I brushed it off, telling myself that you were just cooking breakfast or showering. But the lack of noise throughout the apartment should have deterred me, and I apologize that I didn’t pay any mind to it. I should have known. I should have stopped you.

When I finally rose from bed, the silence in the house unnerved me, and that’s when the nerves began to kick in. I felt light-headed walking through the flat in my search for you, my knees growing weaker with every step I took.

I guess you could say I finally fell to my knees the moment I found you. I cried. A lot actually. My eyes stung with poisonous tears and my heart pumped with venom at the sight of you. But I don’t blame you, I never have. I blame myself.

I will never be able to un-live that day, or erase the image of your cold unmoving body lying still on the floor. It haunts me every day, and every night.

I did the only thing I knew how to do, and I called the ambulance. They were in the flat within minutes, carrying you away from me. I was unable to move, as well as Niall and Zayn, who I had called along with Liam right after the ambulance. It was Liam who drove us all behind the ambulance, while I silently cried to myself in the back seat.

I didn’t want to believe it.

Day Two:

Your family was there. We were all there. I hugged your mother, trying to comfort her while she cried her eyes out, all the while trying to contain my own tears. The rest of the boys took care of Gemma, who began screaming and thrashing, refusing to believe that her brother had left her. Tears were flying all over the place, and it became hard to defer whose tears belong to whom, but it didn’t really matter.

We all watched from the sidelines as you were removed from your bed, and carried away on a long stretcher, a thin white sheet covering you, so I was unable to see your face one last time.

I refused to believe you were gone. I still refuse.

You’re coming back, aren’t you? I hope you do. Everybody’s pretty fucked up about it. I miss the way things used to be, you know? Now anyone hardly ever smiles. I miss your smile.

Day Three:

Silent. That’s the only word I can use to describe that day. In fact, any day beyond the second has just fallen silent. There were no words to say then, and there still isn’t any.