boys don't cry. [h.s]

eleven

March

Louis stopped tapping his foot. In fact, he stopped moving entirely, every part of him, his eyes, his hands, his chest as he stopped breathing. "Who?" he whispered, barely audible through his still lips.

"You don't know him," Isabel said quickly. "Louis, I literally can't tell you how sorry I am, I feel so –"

Louis' whole body slumped slightly, a releasing of tension. "Does anyone know?"

"No, just you. It was only yesterday. I'm so, so sorry Louis. I don't know what came over me, I don't know why I did it, but I - I'm so sorry."

He nodded. "Okay." He slapped his hands on his knees in a casual gesture, getting up to leave. "Don't worry about it."

She frowned. "What?"

"Don't worry, babe," he smiled, stroking her hair lightly. "No harm done."

"What the fuck do you mean, 'No harm done'?" she said slowly, getting to her feet.

"Exactly as it sounds," he replied, his eyes narrowing. "Nobody knows, it's no big deal."

"It was a big deal to me!" she hissed, her cheeks flushing when he raised his eyebrows. "You could at least pretend to care!"

"Did you do this to prove some kind of point? To make me jealous?" he laughed coldly. "That's fucking low, even for you."

Even for you. That was familiar.

"No, I did it because I wanted to!" she said, her hands shaking in anger as she ripped the neck of her turtleneck down and showed him the bruises on her neck and collarbone left from Harry's lips, a constellation of marks in shades of red and yellow and purple. She swallowed, looking away and mumbling: "I wanted to so badly Louis. You have no idea how much."

He raised his eyebrows. "And? Why are you showing me that?"

"Do you literally not care at all?" She was aware that she sounded hysterical now, but sharp tears of anger were stinging the back of her eyes and she didn't care. "I would, if someone kissed you. I'd want to know why."

He frowned. "But I know why. You thought I was upset with you. You won't do it again. No harm, no foul."

He could have slapped her and it would have hurt less. She couldn't understand how he could think so little of her when she thought the world of him. Or she had done not long ago.

"How do you know that I won't do it again?" she snapped, and his eyes widened at her sudden, uncharacteristic fury. "I'm not going to follow you around doing whatever you say however many times you aim a fucking kick at me for the rest of my life!"

"Calm down!" Louis shouted, but she was too riled up now.

"How do you know I won't tell everyone? Why do you think you have that sort of authority over me to stop me from doing that?"

"Because if you told everyone," Louis hissed with gritted teeth. "That would be so embarrassing for me. That you cheated on me?" he looked around wildly, as though someone may be hiding behind the curtains. "No one can know."

"Fuck you," Isabel spat. "I'm sick of you treating me like this. I'm worth more than this."

It was the first time she'd ever truly believed she was better than him. She used to think she was better than people like Rory from Film Soc, who were practically anonymous and didn't go out much or get invited to any of the big parties, but she knew now how terrible that was, and she felt even worse for that than she did for kissing Harry. Because, although this may have been the first time she'd actually acknowledged her self-worth in relation to Louis, she knew with defining certainty that she didn't deserve to be treated this way, and neither did anyone else.