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XLV - Tomlinson

XLV - Tomlinson

Two months... Two most torturous, agonising months I have ever been through in the twenty-four years that I've lived have passed and I don't know how long it will be before I can breathe again.

I have never hated myself as I do right now. I single-handedly destroyed the two best things that ever happened to me; Rory and our child. Aurora is like a physical necessity, without her, my heart doesn't beat properly, my lungs seem to feel heavy all the time, failing to draw air properly. It's like I'm carrying a heavy weight and walking uphill, and it just keeps getting heavier and heavier.

And what kills me more is the fact that I can do nothing about it, that I have no say at this and all that I can do is sit and let the pain take over me.

It takes everything in me not to call her, and I wish I could run to her, and I hope she knows that every time I don't, I almost do.

I've quit alcohol. After what it made me do that day, I can't even look at it properly, alcohol is my worst enemy now. Also, I'm practically jobless. I did earn enough money from my book to last a while and I'm still earning from it, but I don't think I have it in me to write another one.

When she left, she took all of me with her. Now I'm just a blithering mess of flesh and sorrow; lots and lots of sorrow. I don't have the zeal to write for anything anymore.

As I sit on my couch; unshaved and un-showered, my mind keeps torturing me with the memories of more than a month ago, the phone-call that practically crushed all my hopes of ever getting her to forgive me.

There seems to be pestering strain on my hip from the long car-ride all the way from Doncaster. As I put my luggage down, the glee of my mum's wedding is long gone as the sight of the empty flat sets in.

The eerie silence in the flat dawns this unpleasant feeling within me and I wish I was back at Doncaster once again. But that's not true either. I couldn't bear staying there a second longer because the questions from my mum if Rory was fine and if she could talk to her were tiring.

I had lied to her. I could not tell her that her foolish son lost the most amazing girl in the world because he was too drunk to keep his willy in his pants. I couldn't bear to see the look of heartache on her face when she is supposed to enjoy everything. I'll tell her later I guess, when the time is right.

I then feel this longing to hear her voice all of a sudden, like this eagerness to hear her. I don't think, I just pull my phone out and look for her in the contacts before calling her as I simply stand there, in the bedroom.

As the phone rings, I realise that I haven't thought of anything that I would tell her when she picks up, I'm not prepared.

Just as I'm about to end the call, I hear shuffling from the other end. I heart leaps to my mouth; overwhelmed by fear, anxiety and shock of her actually picking up.

My heart starts thudding at the thought of hearing her, of finally talking to her. "Hello, Rory?" My voice is hopeful, way too expectant.

"Louis," all the excitement deflates in a matter of seconds when I hear a masculine voice on the other end.

"Liam." Feeling my nerves simmer down, I swallow before speaking up. "Is... Is Rory there?"

"She's at the doctor's for her routine check-up." His voice is monotonous, impossible for me to tell the emotion behind it.

"Can you- Can you tell her to-"

"No."

His abrupt answer renders me speechless and I'm left there with my mouth hanging open like a fish.