Doncaster [Louis Tomlinson]

17: Caught In The Act

So the balance between narrative and dialogue in this chapter is a bit out of wack. Sorry.

BUT LOOK AT THAT GIF OF LOUIS. I literally stared at it for fifteen minutes.

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❝I may be the only one, but this song reminds me of how my childhood self pictured my teenager self. Innocently making out with a guy I liked and he doesn't try anything we're just kissing with the radio on and nothings complicated...it just is. It's a shame our lives don't turn out the way we envision them.❞ - A youtube comment on 'Miss Atomic Bomb' by The Killers, which is kind of fitting

The silence was unbearable. If you listened closely, you could probably hear a pin drop over the muffled television sounds from downstairs.

            No one dared to blink; the room was full of wide eyed gazes, darting between each other. The exact emotions felt between all of us in those agonising initial few seconds couldn’t be determined. I suspected it was a complex mixture of shock, hurt, guilt, anger, and all things in between. But one thing was for certain; no one was smiling.

            I’d manoeuvred myself to the side, no longer experiencing the thrill of his skin on mine, as if it would somehow ease the situation.

            It didn’t, however. It only enhanced the fact that I was there; face less than an inch from his, our bodies pressed against each other’s. From below, I heard Jay and Mark laugh abruptly at the TV. Funny, how the people around you’s lives can continue so smoothly while yours is falling to pieces.

            Louis was the first to break the stillness.

            “Ella,” he chocked out. His voice was high; not what I was used to. And his words cut the air like a knife.

            I turned to Ella, who was still fixed in the doorway, as if she’d been put on pause. I didn’t know what I expected from her. Watching from the corner of my eye as she filled to the brim with anger as Louis pecked me in a non-existent car a week ago, I’d braced myself for something ear splitting. But she was mute; just watching with glassy eyes. Seeing her in that state triggered for a memory to resurface in my mind; one I had no knowledge still existed.

            I was seven years old, still with scabby knees and messy pigtails. I’d been at Avery’s house that afternoon. We were still in our school polo shirts as we mixed mud, leaves, water and rocks in a bucket with a stick to create our ‘special’ soup. Naturally, when I arrived home I was filthy. I slipped off my mud covered wellies as I waved goodbye to Avery, who was sitting in the back, her mum at the wheel, ready to pull out of my driveway and head back home.

            I brushed patches of dirt off my elbows and raised my little fist up to the door. I knocked against the hard surface once to alert my mum that I was home, but there was no reply. I didn’t need to knock twice, because when I’d pushed against the door it flew open.

            I cautiously stepped into the house, my wet socks padding against the polished floorboards. I took leery steps through the hallway, dropping my school bag forcefully on the ground to make my presence known. I glanced back at the door, hoping to see Avery’s mum’s car still situated in the driveway to reassure that I wasn’t alone. But the silver Honda was gone.

            “Mum?” I called, surveying the ceilings. I entered the lounge, my footsteps creaking with every pace. There she was; sitting on the couch with the same blank expression and glassy eyes that Ella was wearing, as she stared at the TV, which displayed nothing but a black screen. “Mum?” I repeated