Cheeky ➻ Louis Partridge

19 | You Shouldn't Have Said That

Y/N

_

"WE SHOULD LEAVE you two alone," Sadie and Caleb said in unison.

Ducking beneath a hanging flower basket, they left me and Louis standing in the middle of a bustling market, just staring at each other coldly. It was crowded, but I still felt like I was alone with him.

"Why are you here?" Louis sighed, crossing his arms across his chest.

I bit my lip in hope, "I don't suppose I could tell you I was looking at the flowers."

"Please don't lie to me."

"Then don't lie to me," I frowned, "you said you were at home, then Caleb came back and told me he saw you out and about with some girl."

When I mentioned the girl, Louis bowed his head in disappointment. I wasn't sure what he was disappointed in. It could have been in himself, in me, in the girl, or in me finding out about the girl.

"[y/n].." he exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose, "this isn't what it looks like."

"Then what is it?" I frowned, "the last time I heard that, I ended up getting cheated on—"

"Hey," Louis said, cutting me off, "can you stop doing that?"

"Doing what?"

"The last thing I want to do is discredit your past," he said, staring at the ground, "but it still hurts to know you keep comparing me to Keith."

Oh.

I didn't realize I kept doing that, and now I felt awful. I didn't mean to push my problems onto everyone around me, but I had it bottled up for so long I didn't know what to do. Maybe I should have just kept my past to myself.

"Louis, I didn't mean to," I began to say, "

"I know you didn't," he said, "and you can always talk to me about those things, but just don't compare me to him."

"I won't..."

"And I know that this whole situation looks a lot like what happened before, but just trust me, please."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too."

"Why are you sorry?" I asked, "I'm the one who didn't trust you."

"But I'm the one who should have told you," he said, "or at least let you know why I was keeping all those secrets."

"It's not your fault for that."

"And it's not your fault either."

"So let's just be honest with each other from now on," I suggested, "complete transparency."

Louis nodded his head, shoving his hands into his oddly periodical coat, "okay."

Maybe my next question should have been 'why are you dressed like someone from 1884', but I had another one on my mind. One that had a simple answer, and one he rightfully had to tell me. Why? Because I'm his girlfriend.

"Cool," I stated, "then can you tell me why you were holding hands with that girl?"

"No," he said quickly, without the slightest bit of hesitation.

"What happened to honesty?"

"[y/n], I literally cannot tell you why," he explained, "I'm sorry, but I can't."

I was beginning to think he was messing with me.

At first I assumed he was going to an acting project or something, but now this was just getting ridiculous. He was hiding something. And that something had to be so important, he broke a promise the second after it was made.

"Louis what the hell?" I gasped, "first you said you were the victim, then you pretended like you were sorry, and now you're playing the victim again!"

"I'm playing the victim?" He scoffed, "you're the one always waiting for me to mess up!"

"What are you even talking about?"

"Are you really asking me that?"

"Yeah, I am!"

"You keep watching me as if I'm doing something suspicious, not believing me, and always comparing me to Keith," he explained, waving his hands around wildly, "and you keep whining about being cheated on, and yet that's not playing the victim?"

"You literally won' even tell me why you're holding some random girl's hand!"

"Give me a break," he muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes.

Was I seeing things? Did he roll his eyes at me? What the heck happened to the boy I thought I was dating a few minutes ago?

"Excuse me?" I frowned, "what did you just say to me?"

"Oh, come on," Louis said, "now you're just trying to start a fight."

"You're fighting back!"

"Well, I wouldn't fight if you could just get over your ex!" He exclaimed, his voice raising, "you can be such a mess sometimes!"

A mess.

Really.

He thought I was a mess. He thought I was playing the victim, and yet here he was, calling me a mess. I'd been called worse things before, but that was just straight-up insulting. It was humiliating coming from him. I hated being humiliated, and lied to, and gaslighted, so I narrowed my eyes.

I was mad.

I shook my head in disbelief, "you did not just say that, Louis."

As soon as he saw the look on his face, his eyes widened, and realization hit him. I knew he instantly wanted to take it back, but it was too late. I already heard it.

"Frick," he swore, his hand covering his face, "[y/n], that came out wrong—"

That was it. I didn't care if it came out wrong, he had to have been thinking about it to have said it. Words you don't believe don't come out of your mouth like figments of air. They were thoughts, and he thought I was a mess.

"Well, I did get over my ex," I said, spinning on my heels and walking away, "congratulations."

As I began to disappear into the crowd, I heard him call out, "what?"

Rolling my eyes, I stormed down the sidewalk, turning around to get one last word in.

"You're my ex now," I yelled back, "and I'm over you."