Untouchable

Chapter 1

A/N
Sooo this is the third and final book of the Haunted series!!
If you hadn't read the first two, I would suggest that you go and do that, or this will probably not make a whole lot of sense.
But I'm super excited, so lets begin!
Love you!!

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Louis's POV

Felix took Harry to Cheshire to stay with his mum.
It was a long week of me stressing over the simple "get off of me" from Harry. I wasn't sure if it was the shock of seeing me for the first time or if he really had started to hate me.
I didn't sleep the night before Felix was to drive Harry back to London.
When they arrived, I offered to help Harry carry his stuff, but he simply grunted and stumbled under all of the weight, mumbling a goodbye to Felix.
Felix quietly wished me luck as I walked away to open the door for Harry.
"So. Where's my room?" he asked quietly, a hard edge to his voice as he hovered in the doorway.
"You've been here before. 's the guest," I replied.
He nodded, but he only took a few steps forwards.
"Why couldn't we have stayed in my flat?" he asked.
He wouldn't meet my eyes and it was frustrating.
"I'm. Um, I'm just not comfortable there," I mumbled.
I was fairly certain that Harry didn't know about what had gone down there while he had been away. I didn't know if I was ready to tell him.
"Of course. It's always about you," he snorted.
My mouth dropped open and I floundered for words, but he stumbled away to go to his room.
I stood there for a few moments, confused and hurt.
I made my way up the stairs and down the hall where the bedrooms were. I stood quietly outside of his, wondering what to say.
"I, um. I think I have a few of your shirts and stuff, if you want them back," I said carefully.
Harry didn't look up from his unpacking, nor did he do anything else to acknowledge me.
"Look, if you're like, um, mad about having to stay here, I guess I could have phrased what I said better or something. Like, I stayed at your place for a while, actually for a few months, but um. I just can't go back, okay? I just...there's a lot more to it than that, but I'm just...I can't really explain right now," I blurted.
Harry sighed heavily and dropped the shirt that he had been holding before standing up and making his way over to me.
He still wouldn't look at me and it hurt.
"I think that we will both benefit if you just leave me alone," he said simply before shutting the door in my face.
I blinked rapidly at the wooden door, trying not to cry. I wondered if Harry would feel bad if he heard me cry. I decided that with the way that he was acting, he probably wouldn't.
I shuffled to my own room and sat on the bed, kicking my heels against the frame.
I was lost in thought for what didn't feel like long, but I was startled out of my mind by a knock.
I got up and opened the door.
Harry was looking over my shoulder as usual.
"Can I make my own food or do you have to supervise me?" he said, with a slight sarcastic note.
"Um. No, but would you mind if I ate too?" I asked.
Harry shrugged and walked away. I followed him down to my kitchen. I watched him open the refridgerator and assorted cabinets.
"Do you ever fucking eat?" he asked.
My eyes were naturally drawn to his waist, remembering the disgusting memory of how prominent his bones had once been. Harry was still really thin, but I couldn't see the outline of his ribs through his shirt anymore.
"Yeah. I usually just get takeaway or something, though," I admitted.
A ghost of a smile flickered across his face and he nodded.
"I should have guessed," he said quietly, "D'you want me to order for you?"
"Yeah. You know what I like," I replied.
The whole thing felt so achingly familiar, but the tenseness and subtle hostility was new.
"Harry," I began.
He held a finger up as he dialed a number on his phone.
His wrist faced me and I sucked in a breath. It was his left wrist and it was so marred with scars that I had to blink a couple times to make sure that I was seeing correctly.
I could clearly see the long, vertical scars. They were long since healed, but I couldn't help but see them as fresh wounds, steadily dripping blood as Harry lay motionless on his floor.
I felt sick and dizzy.
"It should be here in like fifteen minutes," he muttered.
I nodded faintly.
"And yes, those would be my scars. You would have seen them before if you had ever payed attention to your 'best friend'," he spat suddenly.
I drew back as he stormed past me.
"I'm sorry," I whispered helplessly to the empty kitchen.
I could feel tears well up in my eyes again, but I pushed them back down.
My body ached for a drink and I swallowed several times to try to get rid of the lump in my throat.
I traced my tattoo with my fingers.
Suddenly, it seemed so pointless. Why had I even gotten it? Yeah, I'd liked the idea, but I'd liked the idea of Harry liking it more. Part of me wanted him to see it and think it was great that I had gotten it for him.
But now, seeing this 'new' Harry, I wondered if he even cared about anything anymore. Part of me wanted to show him the tattoo, see what he said, part of me knew that he wouldn't say a word.
The boys had always told me that Harry asked about me all the time and that he always cared so much about their answers.
Now I wondered if they hadn't been lying just to make me feel better. Obviously Harry really didn't care how I was anymore or he wouldn't act like he was acting.
And I had seen his scars before! I'd payed attention to him. It had taken me a while to see how badly he was doing through the denial in my mind, but I'd done nothing but pay attention to him after that.
I remembered when I'd called him an attention whore and he had heard me. I hadn't thought that I could possibly feel more guilty than that, but in the past six months, what I felt every day surpassed that.
It was just that I had never seen the ones that he had tried to kill himself with before. It wasn't just the vertical ones, he'd cut several times horizontally as well that day and they were much thicker and darker than the rest of his horizontal scars.
I felt nauseous and dizzy and I had to sit down in a chair at our table before I passed out. I took several slow, shaky breaths.
I still wanted a drink. I wanted to feel the burn of alcohol going down my throat. I wanted to feel the delicious numb that came with being drunk.
But I knew that there was no alcohol anywhere in the house and I wasn't going to dare leave Harry alone.
I didn't feel quite so dizzy, so I stood up to get myself a glass of water. I put ice in it and when I drank it, the cold almost soothed the ache in my throat.
But not quite.
I didn't hear Harry come into the kitchen, so I jumped when he cleared his throat. He set two bags down on the table and gestured to them.
"Did you not hear the doorbell ring?" he asked.
I shook my head.
"Did it?" I asked.
He nodded slowly, raising his eyebrows.
"I'm eating in my room," he said quietly.
He sifted through the bags and found what was his.
"Harry, um, I dunno if you heard me earlier, but I'm sorry," I said weakly.
Harry's eyes finally met mine and I involuntarily flinched. They were cold and dark and so unlike Harry that I wondered momentarily if this boy even was Harry.
He stared at me for a long few seconds and I cowered under the weight of his gaze.
"It doesn't matter if you're sorry or not. It doesn't and it won't change a thing. So save your breath and just leave me alone," he finally growled.
He took his food and stormed away.
The ache in my throat returned with a vengeance. I whimpered quietly, the dull pain almost unbearable. I took a drink of my water but it didn't sloth it any.
It almost hurt to breath.
The desperate need for alcohol was absolutely disgusting, I knew that, but I couldn't control it. My entire body craved alcohol and I felt like I would go insane if it didn't get it.
I licked my lips several times, something that Dr. Benson told me that I did when I talked about my drinking problem.
I made my way back over to the table and sat down. I pulled my food out of the bag, but my appetite had vanished. I put it into the refridgerator for some point in the future and I threw the bags away.
I all but had to drag myself up to my room. I collapsed on my bed and hugged my knees to my chest.
I knew that Liam wanted me to call him and tell him how things were going, but I felt like I would start crying as soon as he answered.
I texted him instead.
'Don't think that this was a good idea, mate. H seems really pissed at me and idk why'
Liam replied almost immediatly. I felt like he had been staring at his phone the entire day, waiting intently for me to call.
'He just needs to adjust. Give him some time :-('
I rolled my eyes. I'd unwillingly given him six months of time.
But I sighed and set my phone down and I threw my arms across my face.
I didn't know what I had expected. Obviously I had known that it wouldn't all be puppies and rainbows with Harry and I, but I hadn't expected him to be so, well, mean.
Harry wasn't a mean person. He was sweet and caring and if he thought that he had offended somebody in any way, he would be beside himself apologizing. Even when he was in a bad mood, he would sulk quietly in a corner instead of taking it out on everybody else. He had made a few nasty remarks in the months leading up to his attempted suicide, but they were few and far between.
I didn't know if I could handle this person, this thing, that looked like Harry. He hardly even looked like himself, actually.
His hair was longer and he wore it like he had when I had first met him, unstyled so that his old curls had returned completely. He was slightly more tan than I remembered, but it wasn't a big factor. He had somehow grown even taller. I had noticed when he had walked past me in the kitchen that he absolutely towered over me. He had been much taller before, but he had grown even more. He was still rather thin, but I could tell that he had gotten incredibly muscular. I had seen the outline of his rather impressive biceps.
The biggest difference was his eyes. They had always been this warm, bright green. Sometimes they were a bit hazel, but most often they were light green. When he was happy, they glittered and they went especially gentle and warm.
But now, they were so dark and cold. When he had finally held eye contact with me, the previously light green was all but black. It was like a forest in the middle of the night. They had been so hard and unforgiving.
I sighed and rolled over onto my side.
I really hoped that Harry would adjust to living with me quickly. I didn't know what he wanted, but I really wanted us to be friends again, or at least something close to it.
I didn't sleep at all for the second night in a row. I didn't take any medication because I wanted to be easy to wake up if Harry needed me.
I finally got out of bed when the sun started to rise. I reheated some of the takeaway for breakfast.
I spent a few hours aimlessly doing things to keep myself occupied. I watched a few episodes of some show that I didn't really pay attention to, I tweeted a few times and I browsed the Internet for a while.
When I heard movement upstairs, I felt my stomach turn. I didn't know why I was so nervous to see Harry. I supposed that it was because I didn't want to know what he was going to say.
I heard him take a shower and he came downstairs about a half hour later.
He stopped in the doorway.
"Why're you up?" he asked, his voice low and cautious.
I turned around to look at him. He was back to not making eye contact with me.
"Why wouldn't I be?" I asked.
"You normally sleep in late," he said simply.
He sounded as if he was almost accusing me of something, but I had no idea of what.
I snorted quietly.
"Mate, I don't think I've slept in for six months," I said.
"Don't call me that," he snapped suddenly.
"Call you what? Mate?" I asked, my eyebrows crinkling together in confusion.
"Yeah. I'm not your mate anymore, Louis," he said, "So don't act like I am."
I recoiled, stung.
"I was hoping that maybe we could be," I said in a small voice.
Harry stared fixedly at the ground.
"That's impossible," he muttered, so quietly and under his breath that I wondered if I was even supposed to have heard.
He started to turn around.
"Wait, Harry," I called.
He stopped.
"Um, the lads are going to come over later, if that's okay with you," I said.
He sighed heavily.
"I already made plans with Felix," he snapped.
"You can't cancel? You just saw him yesturday," I said, making a half-hearted attempt to hide the jealousy in my voice.
"So what if I fucking saw him yesturday?" Harry snarled, turning back to face me.
"I was...I mean, I just thought that it might be nice for us all to be together again. We haven't been for six months," I said.
I didn't even try to hide the jealousy that time.
Harry grunted. He looked incredibly irritated.
"Whatever," he snapped.
He turned around again.
"So, will you be here?" I asked.
"If that's what you want," he replied.
Again, he sounded so accusing and I had no idea why.
"I do. Want that, I mean," I mumbled.
He nodded and walked away.
I didn't see him for the rest of the day. He kept to himself, in his room. I walked by at one point and heard him talking, so I assumed that he was on the phone.
Needless to say, when Liam, Niall, and Zayn came over, it was incredibly awkward. We sort of sat in a circle and stared at each other.
Harry picked at his nails and Liam shifted uncomfortably. Zayn's eyes were only half open and I wondered if he was asleep.
"Alright, well this fucking sucks," Niall finally said, breaking the silence, "Sure it's been a while since we've all been together, but come on, lads. It's like we've never met before or something!"
I tried to vanish into the sofa cushion. I knew that the awkwardness was because of me. I wondered if leaving would help.
"Well, I'm going to get a drink. You lads want one?" Harry sighed, getting up.
Zayn, Liam, and Niall all looked at me, waiting for me to say something.
"If by drink, you mean water, than sure, go ahead. But there's no alcohol," I mumbled, "And there won't be. Not as long as I live here."
Harry's eyes flicked to me but they only briefly held contact with mine.
He hesitated slightly. I knew that he wanted to ask why, and I expected him too, but then he nodded, his mouth set in a firm line, and he left the room.
"Does he know?" I asked quietly, once he was out of hearing range.
"He knows that you were drinking a lot, but not quite the extent of it," Liam replied.
"Are you ever going to tell him everything?" Niall asked.
"Dunno. I don't think he wants to hear it," I sighed.
"He just needs to adjust. It's uncomfortable for him, you know, seeing you again. Hold on, Louis, let me speak. It's like, he's still crazy in love with you. Maybe not as much as he was, but he's not completely over you. And the only way that he knows how to do is to avoid you," Zayn said.
I gritted my teeth angrily and I was about to reply, but Harry chose that moment to come back in.
"Nobody said that they wanted anything, so," he said, shrugging.
He settled back down next to Liam.
"S'fine. So, Harry, you've got to call management in the near future, discussing what to do, you know, media-wise. Ideally, they said, like sometime next week have something. It can be like a quick little article just talking about how you're back now and such, but yeah," Liam said.
Harry gave a small smile.
"I don't really care. Yeah. I guess probably an article first, but I'd like to do a more in-depth like TV interview soon too. Just get myself out there again, you know?" he said, "I've missed it."
"All the fans are so excited that you're back. I wouldn't suggest going out on your own for a while yet, though," Niall said.
"Of course not. I'll lay low for a bit," Harry agreed, "Probably just hang around with Felix most of the time."
A dark feeling reserved especially for Felix coiled in my stomach and I fought the urge to bare my teeth.
"You've got us too," Liam said.
There was a definite tension around Felix's name. I didn't know if Harry noticed it through the tension between he and I, but the others did.
"Yeah. But he gets it, you know? The whole readjusting to real life thing. It's...it's weird how much freedom I have now and he understands. Not that you lads can't try, but it's not quite the same," Harry said dismissively.
I tasted blood and I realized that I was biting down hard on my lip.
"Thanks, mate," Niall drawled sarcastically.
"I wasn't insulting you," Harry snorted, "S'just the truth."
They stayed for a while. I talked only about once or twice, and each time I felt like Harry was sending waves of irritation towards me.
When Liam, Niall, and Zayn finally left, the awkwardness increased tenfold.
"Harry, um. If you want like, beer or something. Um. You were right when you said that I would drink too much. So I can't. Um. Drink at all now. So. Yeah. It's just easier to resist temptation if there isn't any here. So. Um. Sorry," I stammered.
His eyes met mine and they flashed dangerously. I shifted back a step.
"You know, I figured that I'd be a bit of a burden to you, with all the checking up you've got to do. But I really don't know who's more of the burden here," he said coldly, his mouth twisting into a tight line.
"M'sorry. Can't help it," I mumbled.
Harry rolled his eyes and walked away.
My stomach hurt, I realized. Harry and I had had small arguments before, sometimes they'd been bigger right before he'd attempted suicide. They'd never been like this, though. He'd never deliberately tried to hurt me. I didn't even know what he was angry about.
I didn't even know him.

Harry's POV

It wasn't like I wanted to hurt Louis. It hurt me almost, if not more, than it hurt him. Every time that I saw him shrink away of flinch, I felt like I was getting stabbed in the stomach. The few times that I risked looking into his eyes had been incredibly painful. The hurt and deep, deep sadness that I saw was nearly unbearable.
But I had to do it. I had to push him away.
It was just that all of the emotions that I'd been trying to get rid of had hit me with the force of a decently sized tsunami. They'd knocked me off of my feet and I was still drowning and trying to claw my way to the surface to breath.
When he'd all but thrown himself at me back at the center, I'd lost control for a few seconds. He was just so overwhelmingly Louis that I'd forgotten that I couldn't let myself get close to him.
Everything was the same. His hair had tickled my face like it always had. His fucking smell all but intoxicated me. And fuck, he was so light and small in my arms that it made me want to cry.
The way he'd said my name was agonizing. It was so desperate-sounding and I couldn't help but wonder what he was desperate for.
I'd pushed him away though. And it hurt so much to let go. It was like I was physically ripping our skin apart.
Having the week away from him after that had been nice. I'd been able to breath again, to wash the faint smell of him that only I could detect from my skin. I couldn't wash him away through.
Cause Christ, I still loved him, I knew that. It was like this fire that was burning me alive. I could feel it destroying my skin, eating away at me until it killed me.
For the first time in ages, my wrists started to burn with the need for release. I stared at them for a long time. I knew that I wouldn't, that I couldn't do anything.
I wouldn't be able to bear the look on Louis's face when he saw any damage done.
I couldn't even look at him for long. He was the fucking sun in my eyes. If I looked for more than a moment, his beauty would burn into my sight and I would be blind with it.
He looked different, from what I had gathered in my brief glances. He was a bit thinner, enough so that his small bit of a tummy was gone. His jaw line was sharper. His hair was longer and it stuck up in all directions, like he didn't care at all what it looked like. He had subtle stubble. What hurt the most was how tired he looked. It wasn't the kind of tired like he hadn't gotten a good night's sleep. It was the kind of tired that a veteran would have. Like somebody who had been drug to hell and back. I knew that the exhaustion in his posture and his face was because of me.
I didn't sleep well the first night and I rolled around restlessly the second. It was about the middle of the night when I decided that I had to go for a wee.
I stumbled out into the hallway. Louis had his own bathroom, but my room didn't. It was sort of unspoken that the one in the hallway would be mine.
As I walked down the hallway, I noticed that a light was on downstairs.
I glanced towards Louis's door. It was shut. I figured that he had just forgotten to turn it off. I crept downstairs as quietly as I could, not wanting to accidentally wake him by making too much noise.
It was the kitchen light that it was on. I stepped through the doorway and froze.
Louis was sitting at the table in from of me, facing away from me. His head was in his hands and his shoulders shook as he tried to keep quiet.
He was crying, was the thing. It wasn't just a few tears, I could tell. His entire body trembled with the force of his sobs. He was trying to stifle them, I could tell, but it wasn't working very well. His breathing was jerky and quick and occasionally a whimper slipped through his fingers.
I caused it. I caused him to sit up at night, crying in the kitchen.
I felt so sick, knowing that I was hurting him.
I went to step backwards, but of course the floor decided to creak.
Louis stiffened and whipped around to face me. I froze.
He was a mess. His hair was everywhere and his face was red and tear-stained. He was still the most beautiful thing that I had ever seen.
"I...saw the light...so...," I stammered, "I'll just..."
I nodded stiffly and all but sprinted back upstairs. I felt my own tears start to form in my eyes because fuck, I'd made him cry.
I was huddled in bed, hugging my knees to my chest, when I realized that I never had actually weed.