Bruise of Love | L.S ✔

Broken strings

A paradox of a man was Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson was way too curious for his own good and inevitably they were bound to crash and burn.

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"What are you still hiding from me, Niall?"

"I think, I know who sent the flowers."

Princess, we are so twisted aren't we? Let me straighten you up.

Niall gulps eyes darting around the room. My fingers fumble with the buttons of the coat in my lap. Zayn seems cool and composed, that git.

Niall clears his throat,"I think they're from Ansel himself."

Zayn beats me to the punch,"The fuck, why would he send Louis flowers? He isn't exactly the one to shower people in flowers."

Niall pinches his lip, formulating the words. "Because he was the only one who knew about the yellow thing."

"But it doesn't explain why he'd send white heathers when they mean protection. All I ever needed was protection from him, Niall." I groan into my hands, the contacts making my eyes water and irritation spike in me.

Orange drapes itself over the sky, the sun burning as it sinks even more.

One day I promise, Princess, I'd take you to witness the sun immersing itself in the ocean.

I zone out, memories of Ansel and I attacking me. There are happy nights, haphazard kisses, howling laughter. Along with those are the flashes of horrendous midnights, hazardous bruises, hellish tears.

The first time I ever kissed him, I felt grounded, comfortably sinking in the ocean. I never found myself resurfacing until Harry Styles. My nothing.

"Louis? Lou?" Someone shakes my shoulder.

I raise my head and gently remove the contacts, tears rapidly slipping down. I put them in the case and let the tears loose.

I'm sandwiched between Zayn and Niall. They're rubbing my sides while I break down.

"I hate him, I hate the person he made of me. I wish, I wish he was dead!" I yell, everything in the past two days crashing over me in strong currents.

I continue,"He's a brute, a brute who didn't deserve an ounce of my love. Yet I gave it to him, I gave so much of me, Zee, I don't know what I am anymore."

Zayn rubs my back, Niall strokes my hair, the nails pierce my palms, digging into the skin and letting red bleed down my wrist.

Zayn leaves my side, rummages around in Niall's cabinets and comes back with a first aid kit. He gently wets my hands and dab the little crescents with antiseptic. He wraps my hand in gauze.

Niall leaves my side to give us privacy. For what I don't understand.

Zayn cradles my face in his palms and thumbs at the tears. I keep my hands limp.

"Let go of it, babe. Let go, don't choke yourself anymore," Zayn soothes me.

I cry, cry until my eyes burn and my nose looks like a tomato.

"Call Niall. I want to tell you both something."

Zayn peers at me with hesitant eyes. I try to give a smile and wipe my tears but the gauze chafes and the corner of my mouth protests.

I wince in pain, the familiar old pain.

Niall drags a beanbag and plops down on it. Zayn sits beside me.