FINGERTIPS ║ Larry Stylinson

35 ║ The Deal

October 5th

Louis opened the door of his apartment slowly in a loud creaking sound. He let his backpack fall on the ground. The first day of the week had not been the best. He hadn't even went back home the last week end. He stayed there, locked into his apartment, drowning in his own thoughts. He had received many texts, phone calls, from his mother, Harry, his sisters, Zayn or Liam. He had barely answered anyone. He knew it was coming, he had tried to get ready for the impact. He should have known he could never be ready to feel the wave of pain crash onto his body like that. Louis had started to get used to it. Through times, it had started to feel almost like a habit. Something he was used to. But he had been in such a beautiful place a week ago, it was hard to face the darkness of his mind after so much light. He took his jackets and sweatshirt off, throwing them on the ground before he went to the kitchen. He made some tea, waiting for the water to get hot. He got rid on his soaked jeans to put on a pair of fluffy pyjamas. It was silent, apart from the drops of the rain collapsing against the window loudly. He could also hear the neighbours fighting again. It seemed like they had been doing it a lot lately, almost like their couple was falling apart. Sometimes, Louis would throw his fist on the wall, trying to make them shut up. It was around 2 am that other neighbours would complain about the unbearable fighting, all of the insults being yelled through the walls. The police showed up once, around 4. He sat down on his rocking chair behind his window. He wrapped his frozen fingers around the hot cup, trying to get them warmer. Tea was the only thing he allowed himself to swallow lately. Maybe an apple or an orange every now and then, when his head would feel like spinning too much. His stomach hurt, obviously, but he did not care. He brushed his tummy with his hand under his top. He could feel them, the bones under his skin. They were prominent. He liked them. He liked brushing his fingers against them, it made it more real. The number he was used to read on the scale every day was a part of it, but he couldn't feel the numbers. His bones popping against his skin made it easier to believe it. He liked to slide his fingers onto his collarbones, he liked feeling his bony hips onto his palms. Every now and then, through the day, he would just check he hadn't gained any more fat. Standing in front of his mirror for thirty minutes had become a habit. Every morning, every evening before bed. Waking up and taking the time to let all the pain seep in his organism, running through his veins and pressing onto his brain. Getting up, slowly to avoid feeling dizzy, dragging his feet to the toilet, taking a wee and climbing on the thin glass scale. He started saving his weight into his phone. He would also stand in front of the long mirror in his bathroom, half naked, he would examine everything. From his jaw line to his calves, not forgetting his stomach and bottom. He couldn't start a day without this new daily routine. He felt terribly alone, all over again. The pleasing moments spent in Harry's heavenly embrace seemed very far away. He was not even sure if it had really happened. It was too pleasing to be true. Too lovely and warm for his frozen gloomy world.
Louis stayed sitting there for a while. He just looked at the rain kicking loudly against the window, and the wind violently collapsing against the tall trees in the street. The night had already wrapped its arms around the city when Louis decided to take his bath. He had given up on the idea of taking cold bath lately, it already felt like his fingers were on the verge of falling off his hands. He laid in the bathtub, his body drowned in the almost burning water. From there, he could still hear the rain and the loud yelling coming from the apartment next door. Sometimes, when they kept him up at night with their horrendous insults, he wondered why they simply didn't break up. It was obvious to the whole building their couple was not going to work.
He read a bit more of The Portrait of Dorian Gray, taking some notes on the margin, but he couldn't really focus. He knew he would probably have to read it again later to actually remember what had happened within those pages.