[Hanger in a Closet] + [Stylinson]

[Chapter xi] + [21 Jump St.]

Previously on Hanger in a Closet:

Panic. Panic.

I check the main door but it’s closed, no sign of a robber trying to enter the house. 20 minutes later of searching the apartment, there’s no sign of a robbery and my mind rushes to the fact that somebody specifically wanted to come to our apartment. I force my legs to get walking to my bathroom, my sobs coming out as chokes. I feel like I could cry out my lungs as I heave in for air and exhale more tears.

Stop crying.

Someone knows I’m gay!!

Stop crying.

Numb the pain.

I open the cabinet medicine, clumsily holding too many bottle pills that some fell to the ground.

Orange.

Red.

Blue.

White.

Someone knows I’m gay!!

Black.

Yellow.

For the pain.

Someone knows my secret!!

For the pain.

Right now my mind forgot the use of each color and popped them all at once. I walk back my room but my legs can’t take me further, my eyes can’t see that far, my hands holding the wall with all the might they can.

I slump my back against the wall, inches from Louis’ door, sliding down it like the tears from my eyes.

There comes a time in one’s life when one knows their life is messed up and screwed. But once you know that, you enter a state of denial because you don’t want to face your problems, you can’t face your problems, and you never will.

Or until somebody notices that you’re drowning in your problems.

Unfortunately for me, Louis was the person who noticed me drowning in my problems. Of course, I’m using his words, not mine. I don’t have a problem.

Pills.

I am perfectly fine, living my life with no worries.

Alcoholic.

Doesn’t everybody need a drink once in a while?

You’re a monster.

We all have a different reality than each other!

Two days ago, on Tuesday, Louis found me unconscious lying against his bedroom door. He panicked, according to what King told me yesterday at our usual 11AM breakfast meet-up. Louis called him immediately seeing as he was the second person on speed dial. He told King, his voice quivering, that I was unconscious on the floor, my body was ice-cold, my eyes dilated they almost turned black, my hair was in a frenzy state but the worst was the dried tears on my face, having soaked the carpet my almost dead body lay on.

King, after telling Louis to calm down and it was an overdose, told him to go to my bathroom and look for Ipecac Syrup which would help me throw up all the pills I had digested. It worked because moments later I woke up to a scared Louis, muttering words I couldn’t hear as half of them were occluded by watery eyes and muffled by his mouth on my skin, happy I was alive. Alive.

 All I was wondering was why he was crying.

“Why would you overdose Harry?” he had asked me, both of us lying on his bed hours after cleaning me up, dressing me in his PJs. It was all a blur really, the effects of the pills I had taken already in my system.