Left to Loss

It seems like it was yesterday, even though it's been a year. A year today I lost him. I still remember every detail. You don't forgot the last moments of your boyfriend's life. I sigh, running my fingers through my hair, and open the door to my flat.

A year ago, I walked in these doors with a smile playing on my lips. "Louis?" I'd called.

In answer, I got was a muffled cry.

"Boo?" I'd called again, closing the door. He sniffled softly. I put my keys on the table and followed the sounds of his cries.

They led me to our room.

I'd opened the door to see my beautiful boyfriend of four years curled up in a ball, staring at his reflection in the mirror. I bit my lip and walked toward him. "Boo?" I called again, my voice soft.

He looked up, his eyes puffy from crying. "H-Harry?" He whispered. I nodded weakly and walked over to him. He bit his lip and looked back down at his feet.

I sat down, rubbing circles in his back. My fingers traced his spine. "Boo," I started, my voice soft. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head in response, his lip trembling. "I'm sorry Haz," he muttered, barely audible through the tears. "I'm sorry." He mumbled again. He was trembling, but I couldn't tell what was the cause.

"Boo," I whispered, resting my forehead against the side of his head. He gave his head a slight shake, wincing a little. "Boo," I whispered again, tickling his ear with my lips. "Boobear, just look at me." I pleaded.

He bit his lip and shifted slightly, turning toward me. My hands shifted from his back to his sides, my fingers touching his ribs. I could feel every single one. I ran my finger down the side of his face, and smiled slightly.  "Why, Harry?" he asked.

I raised an eyebrow. "Why what, Boo?"

He shook his head weakly. "Wh-why me?" I looked into his blue eyes, trying to draw more from him. He bit his quivering lip and looked down, "Wh-why do I have to be," his voice froze. Louis shook his head weakly, tears falling onto his hands which were clenched in little fists, whispering the word "me."

I ran my fingers down the side of his face. He looked sick. He looked tired. He looked done. "Boo," I cooed, my voice deep and comforting. "You know I love you." I took both of his hands in my own and pressed my lips delicately to each of them. "I love you, just the way you are."

He gave a slight sigh, mumbling something inaudible. A tear fell onto the back of his hand and he squeezed his eyes shut. His grip on my hands tightened and I traced circles on the back of them with my thumb. "I hate myself, Harry." He said, his breathing became violent, his body kept trembling. The tears kept falling. He bit his lip and shook his head. "I just hate me." I wrapped my arms around him and he leaned into my chest, the sound of his cries muffled by my shirt. "I just want to die," he whispered.

I rested my head on top of his, rubbing his back. I felt every bone. Something was wrong. I moved my hands to his sides, feeling his ribs. I scowled. He's not supposed to be that skinny? "Lou," I said, a little sterner. He was probably shocked by my sudden intensity, but he looked up at me. His eyes looked dead. I definitely should've been worried, even before then. I bit my lip, looking straight into his eyes. "Take off your shirt."

His eyes widened and he shook his head. "I-I can't," he explained. "There's nothing under there, swear." The tears swelled up in his eyes, he looked broken, weak. Fragile.

I stood up, pulling his frail body up with me. "That's my problem," I muttered. He just shook his head and looked in the mirror. I saw everything. His usually tiny frame would look monstrous to who he was then. I pulled him toward me slowly, forcing him to back up a couple steps, before I grabbed the hem of his shirt and lifted it up.