Let's Roll- Larry Stylinson

Chapter XIII

Louis eyes open to broad daylight seeping through the large windows. He squints through the light, eye not adjusting as quickly as they should. Annoyed, he slumps back into his pillows. Whoever deemed it appropriate to open the windows is no longer in his good books. He buries himself further in the pillows with every intention to stay wrapped up in the warmth of the bed for as long as possible. Not so luckily, one of the maids is entering the room, requesting he come to the dining room for breakfast.

Sluggishly, he slips out of the comfort of the bed, hand coming up to grab his forehead. Foggy memories remind him of his endeavors the previous day and he groans. Not much is clear. His mind can't seem to focus on a single memory. He groans again, wishing the aching in his head would disappear.

Motor skills at its lowest, it's harder for Louis to find his way, but he manages. After what seems like an eternity of misguided steps, he's put in the right path, the large table coming into view. He can already see the shadow of a man at the head of the table. As he approaches, facial features come into view and he can clearly recognize Harry. He takes the seat at the opposite end, unclear about seating arrangements. The scraping of the chair has Harry looking up from the paper he was reading. He smiles at Louis before tossing the paper aside.

"Lovely morning we're having." He comments, Louis only grumbling at his choice of words. "Seems someone went overboard on their first night on the town." Two waiters approach the table with serving trays. One is placed in front of Harry and the other in front of Louis. Two mugs accompany them, coffee for Harry and hot chocolate for Louis. The lids are removed, revealing two steaming plates of hot cakes. Syrup and berries are set in the middle for each to take on their own accord. Harry thanks the waiters and they leave with the promise to be back at the end of the meal to clean up.

Louis' eyes are wide as he stares at the stack of pancakes on his plate. The scent of the cocoa reaches his nose and he sighs in delight. He hasn't had chocolate in ages. The mug warms his hands as he takes the first sip. He sighs in content, immediately chugging more of the sweet chocolate down. Before he knows it he's out of the drink, frowning into the now empty space.

"Want more?" Louis shyly meets Harry's eye, having forgotten that he was in the same room with him. He nods his head and a waiter is already at his side. He pours more hot chocolate into his mug and leaves without another word. "If you ever want more of anything, just ask." Louis nods as he reaches for the syrup, practically drowning the pancakes with it. He digs in, unlike the first time when he was very conscious of the amount of food he was eating.

"So, have you decided what you want to do?" Harry asks once their dishes have been cleared away. Louis plays with the fabric of his sleeve, answer still unclear. Harry has been pretty convincing, though something still irks Louis. That bothersome tick has kept Louis from fully making his decision.

"Before I decide on anything, I need to go somewhere."

Tattered bricks just like he remembers. The door remains unhinged, dropping diagonally against the threshold. No wonder Louis never felt at ease. His windows are covered in thick layers of newspaper. His father always complained about the morning light after a crazy night out. Being the devoted mother she was, Jay stuck the newspaper to the window to please him. As Louis enters, he leaves the sunlight behind, brought back into a world of never ending dark. The candles that would usually be burning are put out and it looks just as filthy as the day he left.

Clothes strung on dining room chairs and the sofa. Dishes are piled in the sink, unidentified bugs scrounging for crumbs. The hissing of static prompts Louis' to edge further into the house. The old radio was always playing, even when there was no reception. Louis switches it off, annoyed by the sound. He's hated that thing as long as he can remember.

It's as if nothing's changed. No mother to welcome him at the door. She's probably out at the office, writing notes and filing papers. Her boss will probably hound her for not doing it correctly, sneaking a touch here and there. He winces in pain. That sleeze of a man is no better than his father and yet she keeps going back there, for his father. A skiver who hasn't been sober since the day Louis was born.

Louis rounds the table, sitting in the only clutter free chair. Nostalgia grows as he recollects his past. Of times when his mother was a housewife, cooking and cleaning in hopes of satisfying her husband. Money was scarce as his father wasted away his life and his mother hopped off the stay-at-home wife train and onto the working women of America one. Louis constantly pestered her to forgot about it, he would go out and bring in the cash his father was frivolously spending. With one worn out smile, her mother would shake her head. She never wanted him to face the reality of the situation. It's why he ran.

He couldn't stand to live like that anymore. He still can't. He's on his feet in a matter of seconds, prepared to leave it all behind. However, life seems to have a different plan as the door is opened. The sound of shoes travels through the short hall, coming to a stop when they enter the kitchen. Stockings become a skirt and blouse until Louis is face to face with his mother. She barely acknowledges him, tossing the bag in her arms on the table.

"Haven't seen you in a while, Lou? Malt shop busy?" Typical. Not even an ounce of worry. As if he never left.

"I'm guessing you haven't been home for a while?"

"Keeping busy. I need to meet your father in a few minutes. Do you mind putting away the groceries? It's not a lot, never is, but we get by." Her eyes never once meet his until now, staring at her son with a tilt of her head. She seems to study him, but her lingering gaze fades away as the clock strikes noon. "Best not to keep him waiting. See you later, Lou."

Whatever remorse Louis had felt after leaving, dissolves as he watches his mother walk back out of his life. How could she be so blinded? She still works so hard for that man. He scoffs. He slams his hand on the table, disrupting the mess. Unperturbed, Louis leaves the place he once called home. Harry has seemed to time it out right, the car arriving as Louis is stepping outside

"Figured it'd be better than walking home." He says. Louis climbs on without a word, Harry fleeing the scene like he committed a crime.