***Louis Tomlinson***
Saturday, February 11th, 2012 – North London

I went up to my room after Harry had so kindly slammed his own door, and I paced back and forth across my floor, thinking, angry, yet already missing him. He was the only person I wanted to talk to when I was upset, even if he was the reason for why I was upset. I knew he was crying – I could hear him sniffling, but I needed to cool down before I went to talk to him. I was still insecure about the relationship – I was just waiting for Harry to realize he was too good for me, and that fear was increased when it seemed like he was embarrassed to be with me. But I couldn’t talk to him about that, because that would require me having to open up and share my feelings, and why do that when I could just make a joke instead?

“Arrghh!” I heard Harry cry from his room. I looked towards the direction of the noise – it sounded like he was in pain; it was more than just a sad sob. I walked quickly down the hall to his room, and decided not to knock. I walked in, and gasped.

Harry was standing up, his back against the wall, one leg bent up behind him with the bottom of his foot resting on the wall. His pants and boxers were pulled slightly down on one side, just enough to reveal his hip. His hip was bleeding – heavily – and I evaluated the scene. My eyes rested on the razor blade in his hand. My heart snapped apart, but I took charge first.

“Harry!” I rushed over to him and took the razor blade from his hand, setting it down on the dresser. He looked at me, his eyes containing nothing but sadness. I pulled off the sweater I was wearing over my tee shirt and gently pressed it against his hip to stop the bleeding. He winced from the sting of the pressure. “Shh,” I soothed. He covered his face with his hands and began to sob, but something told me it wasn’t from the pain in his hip. Once I got the bleeding to stop, I stood up and put my hands on Harry’s shoulders. He kept his own hands over his face, and just fell against me, crying, and I held him tight, letting him cry in my arms. “Harry,” I said, the lump I had felt in my throat earlier that day having fully developed now. “Harry, talk to me,” I coaxed. He still hadn’t calmed down – he was shaking now too. I held him out and pulled his hands away from his face so I could look in his eyes. They were full of so much pain, too much pain for an eighteen year old boy. Sympathy overtook me and I pulled him back against me, tight. I knew this had more to do than our spat a few minutes ago – that was probably just the final straw for the poor kid. The piece of my heart that was left was aching for him, and I was absolutely terrified at the scene I had just walked in on.

Finally, after what seemed like hours but was probably just a few minutes, Harry calmed down. He pulled away from me and wiped his eyes, and I realized mine were wet as well. I thought about all the signs he had given me that, if I had paid better attention, could’ve prevented this from happening – like when he told me he wasn’t happy just days ago. If I had talked to him, pressed him on it, maybe he wouldn’t feel so helpless, like this was his only option. I had officially failed the one person who meant everything to me.

“Come here,” I said, and I lead him over to his bed, where we sat down facing each other, my hands holding onto his. “What was that all about?” I asked him. His eyes were dark, so dark, and I knew if I didn’t get to him soon he would completely shut me out. He didn’t say anything. “Harry, it’s me,” I reminded him. He swallowed, then nodded.

“I’m sorry, Lou,” he said, on the verge of a new round of tears.

“No,” I said. “No apologies. Tell me what’s going through your head.” Harry took his hands from mine and jammed the heels of them into his eyes. Then he looked at me.

“I can’t go on living the rest of my life like this,” he explained. My mind went a hundred miles an hour as I thought of all the different horrible things that could mean. Did he mean he couldn’t continue to be with me? Or did he mean he didn’t want to be living at all anymore – which was terrifying; there had never been any prior signs of him being that low before? Or, was it about something else – like the band? Did he want to quit the band? And if he did, what would I do? Would I quit with him? I couldn’t fathom. I wanted to throw up.

“Like what?” I asked, my voice out loud a lot calmer than the voice in my head.

“Having to come out to people every damn day forever!” he exclaimed, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world and he was upset that I’d had to ask.

“So your solution is to try and slice your leg off?” I said. He needed tough love right now. I couldn’t coddle him, as much as I just wanted to hold him forever and never let go. “Harry, what were you thinking? How is cutting going to help?”

“It takes the pain away,” he shrugged.

“By adding more pain?” I was trying so hard to not get frustrated, but I just couldn’t understand. Self harm had never even crossed my mind as an option when things got hard.

“It distracts me from reality,” he shrugged. In some sick, twisted way I understood that that made sense, somehow. I nodded.

“How often do you do this?” I asked him, but the look on his face immediately made me regret having asked that question.

“More often than you want to know,” he muttered, looking at the floor. My eyes got hot and I could no longer keep the tears from spilling out.

“Harry, look at me,” I said. I took his chin in my hand and gently turned it to face me. He looked into my eyes, his begging mine for an answer on what to do. “This is only going to make things worse, you hear me?” I said. He didn’t respond, but I knew he was listening. “If you ever get this upset, this low again, you have to promise me that you’ll come talk to me before you do anything else. I don’t care if we’ve just had a fight, Harry, I’m still here for you, no matter what happens. I’ve got your back, always, but this isn’t the answer.” My voice broke, but I didn’t mind. Maybe if Harry finally figured out how much I cared for him, things would get easier on the kid.

“I thought you hated me,” he said, averting his eyes from mine again.

“Never, Harry,” I promised him. “Look, maybe we can get you some help, someone to talk to about this.” I immediately knew I had said the wrong thing.

“No,” Harry stood up, horrified. “No, Louis, you have to promise me you won’t say anything to anyone about this, ever.”

“Harry,” I tried.

“No, Lou, you can’t,” he shook his head. I sighed.

“What about the guys?” I suggested. “That way you’ll at least have a support system around you. Besides, we’ve lied to them enough for a lifetime.”

“No!” Harry yelled. “I don’t want them to know! I didn't even want you to know! And we wouldn’t be lying – I mean, what are the chances of one of them flat out asking me if I’m a cutter?”

“If you were a cutter,” I corrected, standing up. “Harry, you need to promise me you’ll stop this. You have to, I can’t – ” now I started to cry.

“Lou,” he said, his turn to be sympathetic.

“At least promise me you’ll come to me first next time, before you pick up the razor.” Harry looked at me, considering this.

“Okay,” he nodded.

“Promise!” I exclaimed, louder than I had intended.

“I promise,” he told me, looking into my eyes so I knew he meant it.

“Damn it, Harry,” I said, then cupped the back of his neck with my hand and pulled him into another hug.

“I’m sorry, Louis,” he whispered. “I just – I thought I had really messed up with you this time, and I couldn’t handle it if you left me because I love you and it would absolutely kill me, Lou.” I pulled away and looked at Harry, holding onto his waist.

“What did you just say?” I asked, thinking I had heard things. He replayed the words over in his head to see what I had gotten stuck on. It wasn’t the first time we’d told each other we loved each other, but in the past it had always been casual, “love you bro” type of stuff, nothing we wouldn’t say to any of the other guys in the band. I knew this time, him saying that meant so much more. I had been waiting a long time to hear him say that – to confirm that he felt the same way I did. I saw Harry’s eyes focus when he realized what he had said.

“I love you,” he nodded, then watched my face for my reaction.

Notes

Yay Directioners!

Pretty intense chapter...

SOOO glad Harry has Louis!