OCD ➳ Larry Stylinson

Chapter Eighteen: Basement

Harry's POV

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I woke up at 8 am on the dot, like always. Before my brain even had time to comprehend what was going on, I grabbed my phone and dialed Louis's number.

I read in the news the other day that a 18 year old boy in Scotland was murdered in his sleep, and I spent the entire night tossing and turning in fear that the same thing would happen to Louis.

Even if the chances were low, I had to call him to make sure he was alive. I just had to. After three rings, he picked up.

"Hello?" asked a groggy voice. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding and answered.

"Hey."

"Harry, it's Saturday, why are you up so early?" he responded in a hoarse, 'its 8am' tone.

"Uh," I muttered, before hanging up the phone quickly. He was probably confused, but he'd understand.

He was alive, but he was probably pissed that I woke him up.

After a moment of lying in bed, I pulled myself up and stumbled into my bathroom, removing my garments and stepping into the shower.

I stayed in there until the water ran cold, scrubbing my body raw.

Stepping out, I dried off and began to brush my teeth. After 10 minutes I decided my teeth were clean enough.

I exited the small bathroom, turning off the lights seven times.

It was Saturday, and I had no plans, so I layed on my bed and stared at the ceiling. It was only 9:23. The day didn't seem like it was going anywhere. Picking up my laptop, I logged on to Facebook. It always amused me that I had over 100 friends on Facebook, when in reality, they were just girls at my school that never made eye contact with me and only cared about how many Facebook friends they had. They definitely were not my friends.

I had a message. Thinking it was either my sister or spam, I opened it easily.

It was from Niall. My heart sank momentarily, remembering the incident. I didn't want anything to do with the boy, and neither did Louis. Hesitantly, I read his message.

Harry, I don't even know if you'll read this, much less care, but please believe me when I say I'm sorry. Really, I am. I didn't know I was capable of that. Louis wont answer my messages, and I doubt you will either. But in the case you are listening, we need to talk. Please give me a chance. I know I really cant ask for anything, but just an hour of yours and Louis's time would is all I need. - Niall.

I took a moment after reading that to think. I didn't want to see him again, much less have a conversation with him, and I knew Louis wouldn't want to either. But for whatever reason I felt like he at least deserved a chance.

Maybe.

Inhaling deeply, I picked up my phone. Louis was probably awake by then. It rang twice before he picked up.

"Hey," he said, sounding far more awake than he sounded earlier that day.

"Hi," I responded, probably coming off a bit shaky.

"What's wrong?" he asked, noticing my not so happy tone.

"Uh," I cleared my throat, "it's just something," I said quickly. Louis sighed slightly.

"Do you want to come over?" he asked after a beat.

I told him yes and we ended the conversion moments later. Looking down at my bare chest and pajama bottoms, I stood up to put on some presentable clothes. I pulled on jeans and a simple grey T-shirt with a colorful pocket, not caring that it showed off my scars. It was just Louis I was seeing.