Weeks have soon turned into months, but Harry still woke up every morning on the right side of the cold bed. His body physically wouldn't allow him to roll over and hog up the space that was once Louis', but if he did, even for a second, all he got were chills and goosebumps that made his skin crawl.
The empty bottles of vodka and rum scattered along the floor were reminders of his stupid mistakes. His phone, that continuously buzzes from his nightstand, was filled with messages and missed calls from friends and family that were checking in. Harry tended to ignore each one as he sipped on a new alcoholic beverage, though he'd sit and listen to all of the voicemails on repeat at night when he couldn't sleep.
He knew it'd be a matter of time before someone else would come over to see how he was doing, however. Gemma had banged on the front door over a week ago, and Harry hated how she made him go outside to walk around the block with her to 'get some fresh air'.
Harry didn't need any fresh air. He was fine with the coldness of the house; after all, it matched the coldness of his empty and broken heart. Although he constantly tells himself that he is fine, all of the late memories that Louis and himself shared would haunt him.
He'd be eating breakfast— if he even ate at all— and sometimes Harry would strike up conversation as if Louis was right there with him, complaining about having to go into work. When Harry would get ready for bed in the bathroom, brushing his teeth, he'd take out the medications that had killed his beloved and clutch the plastic bottle until his knuckles turned white. His imagination would go wild then, and when he'd finally spit and wash up, Louis would be there in the mirror, terrorizing him as if he'd never left.
It was to the point where Harry couldn't stand to be in the house anymore, despite refusing to leave. As soon as his husband passed, it no longer felt like a home; Louis was his home. He feels guilty sometimes though, searching up cheap apartments as if he was betraying everything that they had worked hard for.
When he finally got stressed and tired of all the bills that had started to stack up over the next couple days, Harry knew he couldn't afford to stay any longer or afford a different place to live. Within a week, he had made arrangements to move back into his mum's house, and started the long process of packing up all of the pieces of the past that both Louis and himself had collected over the years.
Every decoration, every picture frame, and every speck of dust held memories that Harry couldn't seem to shake away no matter how hard he tried. They were all happy memories though, so why did they tend to get under his skin? Maybe it's because every time he thought about them, the same cold feeling would creep along his skin and create goosebumps in its wake.
When the day finally came, his mother had to come pick him up since Harry had sold both of their vehicles to help pay for the funeral and other expenses that came with losing a spouse. Anne had helped organize the various boxes and packages within her van, letting her son walk around the empty house for a while. She knew that this was going to be a big change for him, and knew his grief would take a long while to get over.
Nevertheless, the mother immediately offered her home to take in her only boy once more in his time of need. Louis' death had taken quite the toll on both families; it was so unexpected and sudden, and he was so young. He had a lot of life yet to live, and she thinks that's why Harry was taking this as hard as he'd been.
Harry looked around at the empty house once more, his mind already imagining where all their decorations and furniture were, piecing and placing everything back together. Then he shook away the cold feeling and took in a deep breath, a couple of tears making their way down his face.
Turning off the light that brightened up the foyer, he simply turned around and exited through the front door, closing it slowly behind himself and that was it.
Harry stood on the front steps for a second, his hand still holding onto the golden door knob. It was as if something was pulling him back to go inside, but he had to will himself to let go. Once he did, he simply strolled over to his mother's van and climbed inside without looking back once.
*
The now empty house creaked in the wind though, sounding as if someone, or something, was screaming through the pain of their own heartbreak and despair.
862 words
Unedited
If there's any mistakes, please let me know; I'd like to learn from them, and your help to point them out would be appreciated.
~ Abby Xx
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Forget Me Not (L.S)
Fanfiction"Life is cruel, but you must move on." That was what Louis had told him once, when everything was falling apart around him. Harry's husband was a fighter, while he himself was a coward. However, after tragedy strikes, Harry must take heed to Louis'...
