***Louis Tomlinson***
Saturday, July 14th, 2012 – North London, England

I was still sitting on the kitchen floor, more of a mess than I ever had been, when I heard the front door open. I perked up, wanting it to be Harry. But it was Zayn’s voice I heard instead.

“Louis?” he called out. I didn’t want to talk, so I tried to keep quiet, but he still found me in the kitchen. His eyes immediately fell on my bloodied wrist, and he pursed his lips. “Not you, too,” he sighed. We’d never told the guys about my cutting; they still just thought it was Harry who did it. Why would they think otherwise? I was the stable one, after all.

“Please don’t tell anyone,” I begged. Zayn walked towards me, grabbed a hand towel, and pressed it on my wrist to stop the bleeding. Then he took the broom from the cabinet and began sweeping up the glass, noticing I wasn’t wearing any shoes or slippers. Once the glass was cleaned up, Zayn sat down next to me.

“Talk to me,” he coaxed, but I just shook my head and covered my face with my hands, sick of letting other people see me cry. He wrapped his arms around me and hugged me, not saying anything at first. “Come on,” he finally spoke, standing up and pulling me to my feet. He walked me over to the couch and we sat down. “What happened?” he asked, trying to mask his worry.

“Harry just doesn’t want to be with me anymore,” I shrugged.

“Did he say that?” Zayn asked, skeptical.

“He implied it,” I muttered.

“How?”

“I don’t want to talk about it. I’m fine.”

“Well, I’m not leaving, so you might as well talk,” Zayn said firmly. I sighed.

“He just keeps taking Management’s side about not wanting us to go public with our relationship. It’s the same fight we’ve been having since we first started dating. We’re never going to be able to compromise.”

“So you broke up instead?” Zayn asked. I shrugged. “I can understand why he doesn’t want to go public, Lou,” Zayn said, gently. “But why do you want to?” he emphasized.

“I hate lying, I hate hiding, I hate that I can’t just put my arm around him whenever I feel like it,” I blinked a few times, trying to hold a new round of tears back. “But it doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Do you remember when Harry got so upset after that show in Bournemouth because of what people sent him on Twitter?” Zayn asked. I knew where he was going with this, but I nodded. “Lou, he’s sensitive. I mean, if he can’t even handle criticism about a performance, how do you think he’d do with people sending him hate all the time for being gay?” I knew Zayn had a point, but my mind was stuck on the mention of Bournemouth.

“That was the night we got together,” I muttered.

“What?” Zayn asked, not following.

“Bournemouth. I went to talk to him in his dressing room after that show because I knew he was upset, and we got in a fight. Then at the hotel later, well, we made up, and that was when we started dating.” My mind was foggy – I was trying to remember how nostalgic it had felt when Harry and I were first together, but it was hard. It seemed like such a long time ago.

“Look, Lou, do you want to work this out with Harry?” Zayn asked.

“I can’t be with someone who doesn’t want to be with me,” I replied.

“I’ve seen the way Harry looks at you,” Zayn told me. “I think maybe there was just a miscommunication here.”

“How is it a miscommunication when we’ve been having this exact same fight for six months?” I asked.

“Well, probably because Harry always gets upset really fast and you’re too guarded to tell him your real feelings. Wouldn’t surprise me if you guys just think the other one is on a different page.”

“Either way, it’s too late,” I said. I was numb by then. “He’s moving out.”

“Maybe, but, he’ll have to come back here at some point to get his stuff, right?” Zayn asked. My heart lurched at the thought of seeing Harry again, only I wasn’t sure if it was a good lurch or a bad lurch. “You guys can talk then, once you’ve both calmed down a bit.”

“He’ll just send movers,” I muttered, but I hoped that wasn’t true. “He never wants to see me again.”

“Well, I doubt that, but he’ll have to get over it, because we have to go to the studio on Monday and you both better be there.”

“He just…he doesn’t understand what I’m going through,” I ignored Zayn’s comment about being at the studio.

“Have you tried to tell him?” Zayn asked.

“You know, if you’re just going to defend Harry, then you can leave,” I said.

“I’m not defending him, I’m trying to get you to see his side.”

“Maybe that’s not what I need right now, Zayn,” I stood up. “Please go.”

“Lou, I don’t think you should be alone right now,” he said, nodding at my wrist.

“Get out of my house,” I said, ready to explode. He sighed, but stood up and left, and I knew he had a point about me not being alone. As much as I hated asking for help, I knew this was too big for even me to handle. I went to the bathroom, bandaged my wrist, and then put on a long sleeve shirt so no one would notice. I got in my car and drove to Liam’s, knowing he was the one who’d be able to help.