Chapter 1: Pig without a Voice
It would be erroneous to say Sohrab was quiet.
Quiet is peace. Tranquility.
Quiet is turning down the volume knob on life.
Silence is pushing the off button. Shutting it down. All of it.
Sohrab's silence wasn't the self imposed silence of those with convictions, of protesters who seek to speak their cause by not speaking at all.
It was the silence of one who has taken cover in a dark place, curled up all the edges and tucked them under.
-Khaled Hosseini, The Kite Runner
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Turning my head from the large masses of books I was currently organizing. My baby blues meet Mrs. Lynch, my current boss.
Mrs. Lynch is a newly widow.
Her husband died about four months ago due to a robbery at this very shop. Leaving her with his second most prized possession... this bookstore.
"Yes, Mrs. Lynch." I sign.
Carefully descending from the high ladder. Placing several hardcover copybooks on a nearby table, then facing the sweet older woman.
Mrs. Lynch knows part of the reason of why I am mute.
I, myself not being able to tell the full story without the fear of my nightmares worsening, but I think she understood the gist of what happened.
I should also add the fact that she's also taking classes to study sign language to better communicate with me. Seeing as I can hear what the other persons saying, I just can't relay the message properly.
Slowly, did she stand to greet me.
Hobbling towards my small frame with her cane.
"I know that it's almost time for you to clock out of this worn out place.-" she trials off. Voice brittle and smile forced.
I frown at the saddening sight with knitted brows. She's such a beautiful being; wanting nothing more than the presence of another body. An animate being.
Mrs. Lynch was an old woman, not the kind you pity with their old bones and feeble limbs, but the kind who could still run an army kitchen given half a chance.
She stood quite tall and slim, her long grey hair neat and likely styled with old fashioned rollers, the kind women used to sleep in.
Her face is made up with discrete make-up except her lips that are cherry red. Were she any paler her mouth would be garish, but against her sun-kissed skin it looks right.
When she extends her hand to take mine I see the soil beneath her finger nails. A gardener, I mentally note. Then notice her neck scarf, patterned with small roses. I'll bet she had the best front yard on her street back in the day.
There was strength and logic in her emerald eyes and a proud carriage shown in her stature as she continues,
"B-but I wanted... you can decline if you'd like, but I wo-uld certainly love for you to join me for a cup of Darjeeling black tea, along with homemade strawberry short-cake." she squeaks. Dejectedly dropping her head and staring at the wooden floorboards.
Avoiding my line of eyesight as she speaks ever so softly.
All essence of courage and self confidence now entirely dismissed and dare I quote, “thrown out the window.”
Oh, goodness bless her!
There the despondent woman stood, nibble fingers gently grazing at rosy checks with the backs of my hands.
"Hey.” I sign. Lifting her head up to meet my gaze. “Look at me.”
"Like I said before..." she halts. Eyes the color of deep forest pools trailing away from my gaze.
"You can say no." she shakily reminds. Throat constricting and unshed tears stinging at amber eyes.
"I was once a teen myself, you know." She smiles a smile that paints a ray of sunshine all over her puss.
"You lot love to party and have your fun with people your own day & age." she recites. Voice cracking as she allows the tears to spring free.
Her tear stained face does something to me and without thinking I inch towards the weeping woman.
"Don't cry, love." I sign.
Bringing her in for a cuddle in the fold of insubstantial arms, before removing myself from our impassioned embrace.
"You promised tea." I sign. Smirking at her obvious shock as she abruptly backs away. Clearly astounded by my wordless comment.
"You... you mean you'll stay?" she wearily queries.
As if I'm merely saying the words I, myself; think she wants to hear. But that delusional statement is far from the truth.
"Hey now, I don't joke about my tea." I sign with an unimpressed brow.
Who could ever abandon such a beautiful individual.
Smirking I take hold of her hand; leading the way to the backroom of the bookstore & up the hidden staircase, where she unlocks the front door of her home.
We make our way pass the living room. Heading towards the kitchen where she makes me sit at the plush dining chair. Elbows off the table.
"How many slices?" she's quick to animate. Leaning her cane against the wall, where she hobbles to the kitchen counter.
There she stands, removing the glass dome from the cake stand. Tittering to herself as she does so.
The mouth watering smell of fresh strawberries wafting through the air causes my stomach to ache if only just a bit.
"Three; pretty please?" I sign, sneaking up behind her.
Snagging a sample of the soft piece of heaven from the platter.
"Hey you pig!" she chuckles. Playfully swatting away my grubby hands and pinching at my sides.
"Here piglet." she smiles. Handing me three slices.
Graciously do I retreat with my coronal towards my throne.
Once seated Mrs. Lynch returns with a porcelain tea set and her own slice of cake. We take a moment to thank our god and savior for all he has done; bowing our heads in a moment of silence.
So far I haven't yet sneaked a second taste of the pastry that I know will someday be the death of me, for mother taught me to never stuff your face until everyone's present at the table & grace has been said.
And goodness, I never wanted to do such unspeakable things to a pastry dish in all my 22 years of life! But today I-
"What are you waiting for piglet?" a voice to my left rings out.
Effectively clearing my head of such inhumane thoughts of having my way with a damn dessert platter.
"Dig in!" the voice, who I can now make out as Mrs. Lynch chirps.
Devilishly smirking whilst simultaneously sipping at her tea. And, she didn't have to tell me twice.
I react almost immediately.
Gingerly cutting off a small bite and lifting it towards my mouth.
The first flavor to unfold on my tongue was the sweetness of the whipped cream. Quickly followed by the exquisite- delectable, flavor of the cloud like cream.
The coolness of the strawberries and heat of the cake complemented one another perfectly & only served to bring out the subtle flavor of the cake itself.
'Oh my goodness, this tastes so good!' my taste buds sing-song, as I get high off the sugary drug.
'What did I do to deserve such grace from this magnificent being?' my thoughts question to no one but myself.
But I'm to far gone in the narcotics heavenly feel to even provide myself with an answer.
I scooped up another bite to replace the one which was quickly dissolving in my mouth, and then another.
Before I knew it, all that remained on my plate were crumbs.
Regrettably do I pout at the now empty plate.
Momentarily disgruntled- disappointed that I'd eaten three whole slices at such a fast pace.
My eyes shifting from the cake platter to my empty dish.
'I should have eaten them much slower than I did!' I whine to myself. Crossing my arms with narrowed irises.
"Now, now my precious piglet. Don't you go huffing at the dish." she giggles.
Dainty hands covering her grin. My glare softening at such an adorable gesture.
"Would you like another slice?" she smirks once again with knowing eyes.
"Please!" I sign, enthusiastically. Happy to be receiving a fourth slice of the delicious pastry.
"Well of course you can little one. If you'd recall I did promise cake." she says. Placing another slice in front of me.
"And tea," I sign. Smiling at the mesmerizing way her eyes visibly crinkle at the corners.
The wrinkles on her face telling stories of the most incredible journeys all ranging from love to laughter.
The small act alone once again aiding me in the decision to stay another hour or two, just to get but a second glance at such comeliness.
"You also promised tea!"
Like the tags read this is indeed an random freeform.
I got the idea from a dream I had a about two nights ago and I couldn't quite shake the idea from my mindset. So I figured, "eh, mute Louis and lost boy Harry. I can work with this."
Really, I don't even know where I'm going with this fic; but as I stated befour I couldn't quite get the story to disappear so yeah. Here's to chapter 1 !
I do plan on making this a possible 20-25 chapter story; but so far all I've got are a few cases and scenarios here & there, but thats for later into the fic.
Ugh, my way of thinking sucks; buuut Aaanywhore, hope you've enjoyed reading thus far.
Catch you next time with an new update!
Chapter 2: Baker of Shadows
"Make no mistake about it.
We are born blind, deaf, and mute.
It is neither these eyes that give us sight,
nor these ears that give us sound.
It is not even these lips that give us voice.
It is only love.
Love makes us seek beauty and truth.
Love yearns to connect. To experience.
So close your eyes at once.
Don’t utter a word.
Perk up your ears and listen
to that silent sound inside you
where all this is found."
Was thinking about this chapter practically all day at work and well here it is.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
I walked down the road with my earbuds in. Listening to pop rock song, 'Adventure Of A Lifetime' by Coldplay.
Bopping my head to the beat without a care in the world until... uneasiness.
I feel as though I'm being watched, as I walk into an alley way. Venturing through the passage of void.
Trembling as it opens up and swallows all that is uncertain.
Casting out all that is unseen and feared.
The end is near. It is lurking within the darkness of this alley.
Get out while you can! ', my thoughts shout.
I wish to turn back but this is the quickest route to get me home.
'Why didn't I just drive my car to work, instead of walking?' I mentally whine.
Through my uneasiness, I can feel something calling me here.
Tugging at both my heart and soul.
Whatever it is, it needs help.
It needs me...
And so, I carry on.
My heart pounding.
Hammering against the walls of my chest with such intensity, I was sure it'd broken a rib or two.
I tried to ignore my fears, if only just this once.
Concentrating only on walking in a straight line.
But each and every time my vans scraped against the gritty pavement, I was sure it was the sound of someone else's.
I glance over my shoulder. Catching shadows as they danced on the walls of the alleyway.
Forming creatures I dare not look in the eye.
The pebbles beneath my feet getting thrown together. The sound of boots grating into the pavement right behind me.
Everything sounded menacing...
The sound of a siren far off somewhere, singing like the wails from a thousand tortoured souls.
I felt like screaming.
Anything to get out of this alley.
Out of the dark.
I started to walk faster, even though it made more noise. However, noise wasn't something I could handle at the moment.
I bit back the shriek that inflated at the back of my throat that alas, wouldn't be heard anyway. Seeing as I'm a mute...
The lump expanded.
Making it even harder to breathe past than what I would have liked.
I brought my hands to my heart. Trying to work it down, but couldn't steady it long enough to do much of anything.
'Your going to die!' my thoughts scream at me once more. And, why the hell did I not drive here again!?
I make the mistake of glancing over my shoulder once more and... nothing.
There was nothing to turn to in my findings and I'm even more frightened than before.
What were those footsteps stalking behind me just a while ago? I couldn't have imagined that, could I?
There's no way in hell I did. Unless...
The little drummer boy in my chest pounded out a melody in my ear, more random and crazy than a steady beat.
I demanded that it slow, but it did no such thing.
I couldn't help it.
I was terrified. Petrified even! And so,
Tears streamed down my pale face as I sped through the alley in a flash.
The faster I ran, the quicker the tears cascaded down flushed-blotchy cheeks.
I could hear the heavy footsteps quickening their pace.
'Oh god please. No!' I inwardly screech.
I didn't want Him to get me.
I don't want Him to have me.
I don't want to be His treasure. His jewel. His love.
I've only just been released from my cage and I don't plan on returning. Ever.
In my haste to get away, my foot caught onto something other than the pavement and from there I went airborne. Landing facedown.
It happened so fast that I was hitting the ground by the time I realized I had tripped. But on what? was the question.
Having no time to brace myself at all, I landed hard.
Getting the wind knocked out of me.
I was bleeding all over (side, hip, forearms, wrists, and hands). I was confused.
Disoriented. And didn't know what had happened.
My stomach churned over and I felt sick for a brief moment. And then contact...
My hands grazing along the damp flooring.
Sun kissed skin tearing from where they lay.
Pain screaming through my palms in the most horrible sting. My head bumping and arm doing so shortly afterwards.
Slowly, did I stagger onto my feet. Body screaming in protest.
Glancing downward I make out the faint outlines of a bulky figure wrapped up in tattered bed sheets, in such a dark and ominous place.
It's probably a damn sculpture or something of the sort.
I kick at the blasted thing.
'Fuck you!' I mentally curse at the object that caused me to have such an awful fall.
I go to do it again but stop myself from doing so. Because,
whatever this was didn't feel like hardened clay.
No, whatever the hell it was felt... felt human... almost.
Oh my god what if it's like the rotting corpse of a dead body!
Like what if a murderer had like Necrophilia or something; and has a pathological fascination with dead bodies.
I know I shouldn't be fascinated by this theory, but for the life of me; I need to know if my suspicions prove true.
With shaky hands and a deep breath, slowly do I pull back tattered old sheets. Fear being both friend aswell as enemy.
Tugging down the sheet, what peeks out first is an unruly mess of curls.
Oh my goodness.
'It's fresh!' My thoughts shout.
Curious to see more. Even though I'm practically shitting my pants.
'Please don't be too disfigured.'
'Please don't be too disfigured.' I mentally chant over and over again.
Hoping that those five words would grant my wish and come true.
Again my hands find their way onto the old fabric.
Tugging the sheet down with such force; I feel as though I've dislocated my shoulder.
Hissing at the sharp pain in my left shoulder blade, I drop to the ground with a heavy thud.
'Ow shit... fuck...Ouch!' I mentally whine.
Dammit! I think I've somehow managed to pop my arm out of it's socket as I try to use my injured limb to help me find footing; but to no avail.
A pathetic whimper finds it's was past thin lips when trying to stand upright. This time using my good arm.
It's a struggle but I manage. Sitting on the backs of my legs. I grapple with trying to take in air.
The pain being too much to handle.
'I'm going to have to pop it back into place when I make it back to the flat.' I groan at the thought. Slowly raising my head. Eyes meeting a sleeping face.
It's a young boy. Probably about 16 or 17 years of age. He's got curly hair and his nose... a bit crooked.
Even in the slumped form, I could tell he was very tall- lean with long arms and legs.
I've got this feeling that whenever he'd walk, his strides would doubtedly be graceful.
My eyes traced the strangers slender- lofty figure, from the disarray of messy brown hair down to the worn out converses; that were at least two sizes too big in comparison to my own.
Though scruffy, I couldn't help but think this boy was beautiful.
Breath-taking in each and every way.
I was star-struck.
Gaze unmoving from the sleeping beauty until a sudden thought emerges from the strange & mysterious place; that is my brain.
'Why would such a boy be sleeping in an alley way surrounded by rubble and debris?' I wonder to myself.
'Why isn't he home?'
'Where's his family?'
'Are they even looking for him?'
'Hell. Is he even alive?!'
Those were but a few of the many mind boggling questions running throughout my mindset. And I pray the last two prove true.
Cradling my shoulder with my right hand I inch closer to the motionless boy.
Heart racing, body shaking, palms sweaty, and gingers numb, I reach out.
Index finger poking at the boys face.
Praying he'd open his eyes. But alas,
it does nothing.
I must be too late.
I've tried everything from snapping my fingers, playing loud music, and lightly slapping him across the face.
Nothing is working and the nighttime air is hitting me hard.
I get quite moody when I'm cold and I think that's it.
I've literally tried everything I could think of, but-
'He's gone. I tried... god, I tried so hard. But I couldn't help him!' the thought of this young boy lying dead makes me weep.
Tears prickling at my eyes as I slowly and carefully rise to my feet. Steadily walking away from the scene.
I reach a street lamp.
The dim glow shinning over me as if they were spotlights from the theoretical play that is my life.
I'm at a loss. Conflicted.
I know I should leave and go home to the comfort of my bed; but my legs refuse move.
It's like my minds telling me to go, but my heart begs to differ.
Looking over my shoulder, I peer into the darkness.
The boy is still there. Having not moved an inch.
Having not opened those eyes of his.
I can't leave him.
Try as I might, I just can't. The guilt... it'd eat me alive if I did such a terrible thing.
So, in my fit of worry I do as my heart apprises.
Walking back into the blackness.
Slowly approaching the boy with a few stumbles here and there, do I stand above him.
Watching with slight caution as his face holds no emotion.
Neither a twitch, nor spasm.
No movement of his chest rising & falling with each intake of air. And again my thoughts begin to wonder,
'just how far was the depth of his oblivion?'
This was a body totally at peace. At one with itself.
Simply at rest.
'Maybe he's unconscious.' my thoughts voice.
Yes. Maybe that's it.
Maybe he's not dead just... sleeping.
It is quite chilly tonight and now that I think about it, he might be a run away being that he does appear to be that of a minor... if that baby face of his is anything to go by.
Or he could even be just a homeless teen. No matter situation, I knew I couldn't leave this alley without him.
This was my pledge to him.
Crouching with my knees bent, I sit the boy up straight.
Back against the wall. Wrapping his arm over my shoulder.
I stood slowly.
Allowing the unconscious lad to support himself on my good side.
I undergird his weight on the flank without much injury.
Holding his hand around my shoulders with the palm furthest from him. The other wrapping its way around his waistline as we travel along the path of life and light.
Though I may not have much idea of what lies further down the road, around the next corner, or what our final destination will be... I knew we had enough to help us take the next step.
And that was chapter 2 of this fic.
Hope you've enjoyed.
Don't forget to give it a shiggy; & I'll see'ya next time !
Chapter 3: Effect Without Time
“It is difficult to put words to the smell of decomposing human. It is dense and cloying, sweet but not flower-sweet. Halfway between rotting fruit and rotting meat.”
Marry Roach, Stiff : The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers
I'm back from the dead with a new chapter !
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
It's been four days. Four fucking days and he hasn't moved an inch.
What if he's dead!
What if he was dying the night I found him and I, being the idiot that I am was too dense enough to notice and take him to a hospital. You know.
A place where sawbones,― medically trained physicians, could run tests that could deduce whatever the heck happened to him that night.
It'd be my fault he died. As there will be no one else to blame besides myself at this poor child's treacherous demise.
Oh no. . .I'm a murderer.
I killed a man. And now I'm going to go to jail to become some alpha-like prisoners bitch.
I don't want to get gang banged by a herd of ruffians!
What would the boys think?
Liam being the only individual in our quartet that'd actually care about my well-being and would truly try, with all his might, to bail me out.
While Nialler on the other hand would most likely do something illegal to get himself into jail. And from there, make up some bullshit plan on escaping, that'd no doubt fail, need I add.
And Zayn. . .- well, he'd just Zayn.
I whine. Burying my face into delicate hands, as I dejectedly curl myself into a compact ball of despair.
The soft, tight, V-neck t-shirt steadily rides up my backside. Making the lacey, see-through, black panties I'm wearing even more prominent to any and all onlookers.
But, the only people present in this particular room are that of myself and this maybe/ maybe not so dead boy.
Sighing, I peer through partially impaired fingers to look across the room at my unidentified stranger.
My discovery being just as I expected it to be.
The boy shows no sign of movement as he lies here across my living room couch.
I have not changed nor touched the decalmed form, in fear of him suddenly awakening.
Having a bit of a fright at a stranger feeling at his naked body.
I do not wish to be labeled as some sort of pervert or molester, as I am neither.
I am but a simple 21 year old university student, who coincidentally is mute with a bad childhood. Annnd, may or may not have a possibly dead― underage teen lying about in his home.
See...? Totally normal.
I groan, though internally as I lift myself up into a seating position.
Sitting pretzel-style. Thinking of how I'm possibly going to explain this all to the cops. Or better yet, the guys.
They'd kill me if they saw the unconscious lad in my living space.
In my home.
Or. . ., they'd be willing to help me dispose of the body.
How does that one saying go?
'Friends help you move. But, true friends help you move dead bodies.'
The sudden hollow echo of knuckles rapping against my front door standing high and mighty just a few square feet away from us catches my attention. Making all thoughts of removing said evidence run dry.
Okay the first. Definitely the first!
"Lou. It's me and the guys." comes a loud and cheerful voice of whom I immediately make out as, Niall fucking Horan.
"Open up. It's movie night and I brought your favorite...-" he sing-sings.
Voice edging several octaves higher as be reaches the end of his sentence, when he shouts the words.
Effectively deafening the apartments entire 3rd floor tenants.
And might I take the time to congratulate such great timing they have; those three.
I mean really. What were the odds of-
'Wait, nows not the time to be joking about Louis William!
Need I remind you that you do have a possibly dead teenager lying in your home', my thoughts begrudgingly remind me. And, o'yeah. Dead boy. . .
What to do?
What the hell do I do!
Blood pounded in the back of my head.
I could feel my body tremble with immense fear as quivering hands clutched at my sides. My body curling in on itself.
My vision, hazy― swimming almost.
It was too much.
I realized panic had set in. But had no idea how to calm myself.
My heart was racing a mile a minute. I had trouble breathing. Let alone trying to figure out what rational (or in this case, baseless) motives should be carried out next.
But, the one thing I did know was; I had to hide the body.
-- More knocking sounds throughout the quaint apartment --
My eyes dart around the room. As restless as they were.
Trying in their behold to find a good location to store him away. That is, until the trio of semi-unwanted guest's left for home.
'Why did I bring him here again?' I question to no one but the thickening air surrounding me.
Why couldn't I have just left him there. Or just simply told the cops that there was an child lost in the murky streets of an ominous alleyway, or. . .- something?
Now I'm going to be known throughout this godforsaken town as, "Lou the Loon!"
The crazy― psychopath, that keeps possibly dead teenaged boys on his living-rooms couch for almost four fooking days!
Static blues dart around the room in search of a possible hiding place. Casting eyes leading me nowhere.
There isn't anywhere in this blasted room I can put the body.
He's too fucking tall and lanky. And just....- aargh !!!
'Evaporate tall person!' I inwardly mock with an overly exaggerated wave of my hand.
Recreating the actions as seen in the mystical movie, Harry Potter. But alas, it doesn't work.
Fuck you, Hermione Granger!
"Lou! I know you're home, just― ." Zayn huffs but gets cut off by Liams worry.
"Knock once if everything's okay and your just simply putting away your collection of diamond embedded butt plugs."
I blush at the remembrance of being caught red handed in the act of opening myself up with the 5.5 inch toy.
That was a secret between Liam and myself as he vowed to never utter a word about that fateful moment in time ever again.
But alas, the cat was now out of it's bag now wasn't it.
I could do nothing but await the impending reverberate of laughter that would soon emit from both Zayn and Nialls mouths.
I could feel my cheeks getting hotter & hotter, and for a brief moment I wondered if anyone else was as mortified as I was to of heard of such an scandal.
That was until, those feelings of mortification and chagrin faded into that of thin air as neither chortle nor words of disdain where thrown my way.
No, instead there was silence as deep as death.
The only sound heard was that of Liam's, as his timbre drops an octave or two. Filling in the atmosphere with a sudden abundance of peal as he speaks.
"Knock twice if your hurt or something. Because if you don't Louis William, I swear I'll destroy your damn door!" he bellows.
The ever dotting father of our group showing his true form. And at that,
I knock once. Quickly shuffling over to the immobile teen.
Trying to haul him off the couch, but fail as his body will not for the life of all things equal, budge.
But does this stop me?
Scurrying over, I move towards his lower waist. Tugging at his legs.
I pull, harder than that of my feeble arms strength would allow me to. Finally succeeding in the task of getting him off the couch.
But all doesn't go as smoothly as I'd hoped, when 'dead boy' falls atop of me.
Making us both land onto the cold- hard, floor boards just below are current seating with a sickening, loud―
My body immediately feeling the pain & weight the taller lad causes me to have.
I grit my teeth in twinge at the feeling of irritation and discomfort in my shoulder. And it's just my luck when another round of wild― erratic knocks begin to deliver themselves onto my front door.
"Louis!?" three voices shout in union.
Landing blow after blow on my poor, innocent door.
"Tommo!" Liams voice comes through the doorway.
The thumping against my door having let up, if only just a bit.
"Lou, what was that noise!? Please say... do something. Anything... just... please. Open the damn door!" Liam whines.
The once timber voice quakes over a few words.
Suddenly, there was a loud series of desperate knocks at my front door. Five quick―sharp raps were sounded.
"Try the knocking thing again. It'll let us know your alright. Just please, please I need to know if you're okay, Lou!" Liam pleads.
Voice pale & the very fact saddens me.
I feel sick and disgusted with myself for making the boys― especially Liam, worry about my safety. But,
I can't open that door!
At least not yet.
Thrusting ''dead boy'' aside, I swiftly rise to my feet.
Firmly grasping his legs, I drag him out of the living room and into the confides of my bedroom.
Glancing around I take note of the large wardrobe I have positioned on the far right side of my room. Its full of random little knickknacks like board games, films, and my vast collection of onesies & oversized jumpers.
The perfect place to put 'em.
Just then a loud 'bang' echoes throughout the apartment. Annnd, what the hell!?
They're intentionally trying to break my damn door down?
Did they forget I have a spare key just under the welcome mat. Or...
No, scratch that. I'm glad they forgot.
Buys me more time to dispose of the kid. Well, at least until they leave for home.
'Which will be the following morning.' my thoughts remind me. To which I'll say once more,
damn you movie night with friends!
You guys probably wanted an update on either GDIN or BS; but I haven't given this book any love &
decided to focus on this book just a little. Ooor at least until I get out of writers block from my other two books. Sorrz, about that.
Anyhow, hope you've enjoyed and I'll catch'ya next time !
Chapter 4: Age Of My Secrets
The best weapon of a dictatorship is secrecy, but the best weapon of a democracy should be the weapon of openness.
- Niels Bohr
Drop a Comment or Kudos for more !
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
'Which will be the following morning.' my thoughts remind me. To which I'll say once more,
damn you movie night with friends!
Expeditiously, do I haul the lad towards the scant wardrobe.
Throwing open sturdy panel doors and shoving him inside the compact space. With lots of difficulty, seeing as his body keeps sliding out before I can properly close the doors.
I mean, what was he raised on?
Once I'm sure that he's safely placed into the closet, I attempt to close the doors reiteratively.
But the end result leads to dead boy tumbling down onto my miniature frame once again.
-- more violent banging & creaking sounds from the doorway until... 'SNAP!'
The front door wrenches open; revealing a very petrified trio of handsome men --
I could hear their heavy footsteps scampering across the wooden flooring.
Rapidly heading towards my bedchambers.
At warp speed, do I shove giraffe boy off of my compact physique.
Literally projecting him into the queer dark leeway.
Just as I slam the wardrobe shut, my bedroom door bangs against the partition with a sickening 'CRACK!' of which I am sure to have left a huge dent in the wall. But that is the least of my worries in this frightening moment.
In the process of sliding down the wall closets door, just the sight of Niall's tired brown boots rounding the corner was enough to release a breath Louis didn't even know he was holding. With a sigh his shoulders relaxed and his face flushed at the sight of his three best mates.
The exhale that escaped thin- dry lips was slow. As if his brain needed a seconds time to process the events that had just taken place mere minutes ago.
The panic, the rush... the feel...
Breathing out a quiet breath of relief, blue eyes slumps forward in his seating. Gripping at the lovely whisky, the color of fallen leaves browned and sleek with the first rain of autumn. Glad he's hidden.
" Louis, did you hurt yourself?
What was that crashing sound we all heard out there?
Did you fall?
Why are you sitting so calmly on the ground when you knocked once?
Was someone in here?
Did they break in?
Did they try to hurt you?
Are you injured?
Fuck Lou, are you okay? " Liam worries.
Throwing query after never ending inquiry my way, whilst Zayn helps me rise to my feet.
I nod my head; signing back the answers I wished to reply with.
Trying to assure to him that I am, in fact, okay.
But Liam isn't having any of it as he turns me in reverse. Left & right. Checking under my shirt and gently prodding at impaired limbs. Lastly assessing my face.
Trying to see if he could detect any hidden marks.
See, Li knows only so much of what I am willing to speak on behalf of my past life.
And ever since he's seen those scars that just wouldn't disappear on my back 9 years ago; he's been extremely protective of me. And well, so have the rest of the lads, but none are as mollycoddling as the guard dog himself.
Yes; he most definitely takes home the medal entitled, '' Solicitous Guardian. ''
You see, Liam's convinced that I'm being abused by someone and am keeping said someone under wraps because, '' you're too vulnerable, Lou. I mean, remember that time a pigeon attacked you back in year nine while you were running late to school one morning. I suppose it snapped and went completely haywire because your hair resembled that of an giant nest. You cried for a whole two weeks & wouldn’t stop until your mom practically begged me to walk you to and from school every day. ''
And could you blame me, that disease infested beast was trying to have it’s babies in me... well, on me. But what’s the difference, really! Till this day, just the mere sight of them causes me to flee.
Also, while we’re on the subject of vulnerability; I’ll let it be known that I've failed to mention the fact that he's pretty incensed that I haven't told him exactly how I managed to dislocate my shoulder.
I mean, what can I say?!
' Oh'yeah, Liam about four days ago when I got off from work, I entered this scary arse looking alleyway because that's the fastest route to get home ya'know.
And in that exact alley is where I found this possibly dead kid of whom I’ve attempted to bring back to my place several times & succeeded, but yeah I managed to dislocate my shoulder while trying to remove a fucking cloth from the body. Funny, right? And oh, before I forget;
the kids corpse is in the wardrobe you see right behind me. '
I mean, I know the police would beg to differ but that is the truth of the matter.
And said matter is that I didn't put the kid in the situation that he's in now.
Well... the situation being dead and possibly rotting away as we speak, but still!
"Lou?" a hollow voice says.
Liam's there, in my line of sight. Slowly caressing the left side of my face.
Restless fingertips gently grazing over both a feather-like fringe and an angular jaw. Adequately snapping me out of unhinged thoughts.
"You okay, mate?" he questions.
Wearily staring me down. Like he knows I'm going to lie straight to his face.
Slowly, does the rosy scarlet color spread over my visage, no doubt making my face take on an almost childlike appearance.
I turn my head in the act. Trying ever so poorly to hide such disdainful features.
My nerves marked by one lip corner pulled up and in. My face contorted in an asymmetrical expression.
I'll tell you the things I've seen. See,
Many a times, the decisions we make affect and hurt our closet friends & family the most.
I have a lot of regrets in that regard. But God has forgiven me, which I am very thankful for.
It has enabled me to forgive myself and move forward one day at a time. And one day, I will tell my story. Just... not today.
"I'm okay Li.''
I sign back with pleading eyes. Hoping he'd drop the subject.
''I promise, I'm alright.''
His eyes... they stared at me, forming an intense gaze.
It made me uncomfortable as I squirmed- writhing under his scrutiny.
His eyes flash and I cower, noticing the power behind those breathtaking orbs. The power that was as reckless as a tornado.
For a moment they look golden with warmth... and as careless as hell.
Menacingly does he approach. I react.
Watery allure peepers enlarged and the hairs on the nape of my neck bristled.
A gaggle of goose pimples laminating my frigid, naked skin.
Slow and deliberate, did he advance.
I tried to scream, but the inside of my mouth lacked any moisture and a croak was all that issued from my gape.
Eventually, he faltered in stride. Limbs moving ever so hesitatingly.
He touched his hair, feeling it's softness.
Nerveless fingers moving like a gentle summers breeze, he utters;
''A persons mouth can lie, but their eyes always tell the truth.''
At his admission, I break into a sweat. My heart pounded, and my hands began to feel clammy against my bouncing knee.
''Wha... what do you-'' I begin, but am cut off as Liam huffs with little irritation.
''I know you're not being completely truthful with me... with us.'' He corrects. ''But it's okay, because we'll wait for you.''
There is a kind of waiting that feels like gentle onshore breezes kissing salty stones. It isn't warm but there is a sense of calm, of nature, of things expected.
Then there is the kind that feels like the head of a medieval mace is loose in my guts and my head has taken a beating with a heavy plank of wood. And as I wait for Liam to utter even another word, a further form of reassurance, it is the latter.
I stare so hard my mind almost conjures some to please me but I won't let it.
Tonight I have to stay in reality, for Li... for my boys, not to depart into the fantasy of life that demands my attention at all the worst moments.
''Waiting hurts.'' He speaks and the sound of his voice, it is so sweet the birds hush their singing. And the melody that he gave to me, within my heart is ringing. ''Forgetting hurts. But not knowing which decision to take can sometimes be the most painful...''
''Are you ready?" Liam asks in the fullness of time.
"No." sapphire eyes responds. He can feel his pulse pounding in his temples, he's so anxious.
"Me neither." Liam admits. "But if we wait until we're ready, we'll be waiting for the rest of our lives.'' Dark- bright fire lit eyes vocalizes and then he gives me a smile that just seems so genuinely sweet with just the right touch of shyness that unexpected warmth rushes through me.
''Let's go.'' he speaks. Snapping me out of my thoughts when he wraps both his hands around mine.
''The boys are waiting for us outside.'' The Labrador hybrid enunciates as I look around the now empty bedroom. Coming to the conclusion that the lads must have sensed the energy shift in the room and gave us some solitude. Leave it to the rest to read the mood, well Zayn more like.
''Come on Lou.'' Li chuckles, nudging my flimsy arm. ''It's movie night!'' he shouts. Child-like demeanor shining through like the North Star as he drags me out of the dreary confines of my bedroom.
Why is growing-up sooooo hard ! This chapter was supposed to be posted two weeks ago, but I couldn’t help but add a few Xtra paragraphs. And by Xtra, I mean a lot.
Chapter 5: Awakening the Mountains
They say it's better to bury your sadness in a graveyard or garden that waits for the spring to wake from its sleep and burst into green.
- Conor Oberst
Drop a kudos or comment for more !
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Even though I do possess a working and functional TV box. Rarely do I use it for anything other than the news and football when the lads all come around.
Besides the only way to have a proper movie night at home is to project it.
I sit beside Li as he noticeably keeps his distance. He's upset with me, I can tell.
I'm very sensitive and am quite a softy at heart.
I cry a lot when things upset me... I'm-i..
All I can say is; I am sensitive to discrimination on any basis, simply because I’ve experienced that upset.
It's times like these when the lone quote by Karen Salmansohn,
''If your partner is angry with you, recognize that his anger is a misdirected plea for love. Your partner's simply upset because he feels something you said or did was a sign of not loving him enough.'' flashes throughout my mindset. And even though my fondness for the brown eyed pup aren't that of romantic feelings, I'd say the sentiment touches pretty close to home.
"I'll go make popcorn." Zayn offers. Standing to his sock covered feet, he pats at my head.
Wispy hair tousling to-and-fro, in an almost teasing matter. Though I know the gesture was made to be taken in an virtually playful, patronizing way.
Almost as if he's telling me to take a breather. Notifying me that everything's okay. But I know that theory is far from the truth, seeing as Li loathes my very presence at this moment.
''He's not talking to me because he's mad at me!''
No, you're not relevant enough for him to bother with being mad at you.
''He's not talking to me because he's busy! He just needs space, is all.''
No, you're not relevant enough for him to prioritize you over literally anything else.
''He's not talking to me because he's dead!''
No, he just doesn't want to waste another breath in his waking life conversing with you.
'I get that it can be a little confusing', my anxiety taunts.
Maybe he is mad at you.
Maybe he is busy!
Maybe he is dead!
He's not mad, busy or dead. You're just that, irrelevant. The voice cackles. Cutting me deep from within.
I thought about how we could wall it off. Compartmentalize; steer away from it.
How we could hate the part of me that left. Feel the pain.
How we could try to shake it off. But as I sat curled up in that corner, hidden out of the light; I wonder... is the bruised and battered loved?
"And I'll get the drinks and snacks." Liam announces standing up and trailing behind a fleeting Zayn. Momentarily unshackling me of morbid thoughts.
''Jelly Babies okay with you, Nialler?'' Li calls as he glances back to the love-seat for what seems like a split second as I try to sign to him about making me a cuppa before he's disappearing into the kitchen; without so much as an acknowledgement my way.
I release a sigh, laying my head in the palm of my hands. Trying my damnedest to make the tremors cease.
Niall notices the glacier eyed lads despondency and couldn't help but try to cheer him up.
''Don't look so sad.'' he confides, crawling over to the bleary eyed lad.
Poking at the smaller boys nose, the strawberry blonde holds him close; brushing a strand of dark brown hair away from his face.
He sniffs dejectedly and buries his face in the juveniles taut chest.
''Let's watch a movie.'' Niall mutters, standing up and plugging in the DVD player. Selecting the movie ''Mean Girls'', before joining him back on the couch. Blue eyes eagerly wraps his arms around his best mates waist, once again burying his head in the others chest.
''Isn't this better?'' The Irish man asks at the middle of the movie.
When he doesn't get a reply he glances down and sees that the flossy haired brunette was half asleep, eyes opening at his question.
He barely nods, allure eyes once again slipping closed just as best mates Liam & Zayn make their way into the cozy living space. Both individuals arms full of sparkling beverages and convenience food.
"Legally Blonde?'' Zayn breathes with a shake of his head. Clicking his tongue in disfavor. ''Seriously boys, you've literally botched movie night.'' he groans, chucking a bag of crisps at the intimate pair.
''Don't pretend like you don't know the legend herself, Regina George.'' Niall snits with a roll of his eyes as Zayn shrugs in riposte.
''Uncultured swine.'' Niall mutters under his breath, readjusting his seating just as a barrel-chested figure comes into view.
"Here's your tea, Lou."
I blink. Staring blankly at my brown eyed companion. An incredible look no doubt gracing my features because ' how'd he know I wanted a cuppa? '
I mean, I didn't even get the chance to ask for one.
''You're not mad at me anymore?'' I warily reveal. Careful in my wordings as not to vex the gentle giant.
At the sudden admission, does he raise a perplexed brow. Contemplating his phraseology as he takes time to form a reply.
''I'm not mad, just disappointed.'' he starts. Breathless in his sentencing, does he continue. ''To put it short, I'm worried about you, Lou.'' the kind lad murmurs. Gentle hands caressing at pensive features.
I feel nothing where I am supposed to feel the most.
I've tuned out my surroundings, the world. I've come to an realization;
The dreaded words "I’m not angry, I’m just disappointed" can wound us more deeply than many more heated retorts.
While they assure us of a chilly calm, they do not offer the relief of forgiveness, nor the reassurance of discovering the event didn’t really matter.
There is something depersonalizing, diminishing, and deflating about receiving disappointment rather than anger from our friends. It’s something we expect a parent or teacher to say to a wayward child.
Liam, he's always worrying about me; even when we were kids.
If I were scraped a knee or fall off my bike, he'd be the first to help me up and made sure Mama got a band-aid ready to patch me up.
''Stress and worry, they solve nothing.'' a husky voice resonates. Causing me to flinch at its closeness.
''What they do is block creativity. You are not even able to think about the solutions.'' Liam counters. Grasping the others porcelain like face between two powerfully skilled palms. Determined to make me see reason. ''Every problem has a solution, Lou.'' he all but promises.
''So to answer your question, I’m not mad at you.'' Li continues to reason.
''After all the trouble you’ve caused me since way back when, how could you possibly think this little spat would cause me to be so enraged.'' he concludes. But I need to hear the words once more. I need clarification.
''Can you say that again?''! I sign. Shoulders drawn up in anticipation.
''That you’re not mad at me. Please Li.'' I all but plead. Trying to still my trembling limbs.
Their color remind me of mountain terrains and nature. Something subtle, but beautiful in every form and season.
The truth of the universe was reflected in those eyes.
Pupils so highly dilated as if it contained secrets within it that only the owner of those eyes were privy to.
But that wasn't all.
There was a constancy to that state.
As if it had been seeing those visions for a long long time. Looking at those eyes, one got the impression that it had always been that way and will continue to be so until someone forced them to close forever.
In his gaze, there was love as he uttered those serene words;
''Louis Tomlinson, I deeply and truly care about you both as an individual & most importantly a friend.” He heavily breathes. The sent of peppermint hitting my face at an intoxicating rate.
''Besides, no one can be mad at the people they love most.'' his warmth was pressed into my check, and slowly my whole body was engulfed in the warmth of his lips.
I'd be lying if I said that I didn’t lose feeling of my individualism as I felt as though I was a part of him. And he a part of me.
It was just a feeling I got, the coolness and the feeling of love as his shaggy hair covered the full of my face. Blocking almost everything in my visage.
It gave the peace and solitude, I so desperately needed.
I could safely say, in this moment of time, I genuinely felt all was well in this twisted world.
As he lifted his face, I caught the faint glow of his mischievous smirk as it lit up his features.
Almond shaped peepers crinkling the way they do whenever the lad, himself, gets even the slightest bit jocular. Our eyes locking in a shared understanding.
Liam pushes back a lock of his brow- length hair behind his ear, only for it to flop back into it’s original placing.
Some of his dark hair drooping onto his forehead. I almost reached out to tuck it back into place but the sound of clearing throats still me in my actions.
''We get it, we get it.'' The Irish man underneath my static frame huffs in false irritation.
''You two have made up & we’re all one big happy family again.'' he all but shouts. Louis’ blush seared through his cheeks and for a minute he thought his face was on fire.
Suddenly feeling awkward, demure, and coy; even going as far as attempting to hide his rosy features behind slim fingers.
''Now quit eye fucking Liam. You’re making Z uncomfortable & me jealous.'' he pouts. Bumping shoulders with me.
''Okay well; now that that’s settled, what flick are we watching next?'' Zayn questions.
I shrug in response. Not giving a tinker's damn what movie selection played afterwards.
It’d be like background noise I deliberate to no one but myself as I shift, readjusting frangible limbs across Niall’s slight exterior.
Wanting nothing more than to spend quality time with my mates after a strenuous four days of absolute paranoia.
Somewhere towards the the end of the third film Zayn and Niall begin having a mini debate over whether the four of us should watch the “Minions Movie” or “The Little Mermaid.”
Both suck in my opinion.
I mean, who wants to watch a movie about some girl crying over not having legs or an film about talking jelly beans.
''I have the minions jumper back at my place; not to mention the fact that those cute little characters have brought nothing but joy and laughter to kids all across the world, and to quite a few adults as well.'' Zayn would rave.
Fruitlessly trying to get the Mullingar lad to see justification, as he persistently begins to fulminate.
''But for people like you, the chronically embittered, jerks who've lost touch with any sense of wonder or enchantment, the Minions inspire a furious, almost pathological, hatred. Those guys, they get so much hate for simply being created.'' The Michelangelo statue of a man would counter every time the other expressed his everlasting revulsion of those ''yellow, banana loving freaks!''
Liam would chuckle.
Spluttering like a water faucet at any & every insult hurled between the two lads. He himself at times adding even more fuel to the fire.
I snuggle under the warm fuzzy blanket, almost as if I were in a cocoon. Lying curled up on my right side, staring at the dark void that is my living space.
Eyes fluttering closed as my mind wonders over obscure thoughts & worries that become present when nothing is holding my attention.
Perhaps I think of the people I saw earlier today, or events that had taken place.
Maybe I think of the things that are going to happen or hope to happen, all the while my eyelids grow heavier. The cozy muffle comforting me like a lullaby.
As my thoughts still & settle more on dreams or in my case 'whispers of dreams', the worries are placed at the back of my mind to be accessed in the light of day.
I roll onto my left side facing the settees cushioned exterior. Cuddling further into the Irish mans warmth. Settling into the sunken spot my other half's gangly physique created that conforms to my soma.
I can always tell the instant that I find my sweet spot in another’s clasp because my mind; sensing my body is in the most comfortable and relaxed position possible, melts further into the weighty... lethargic, mind-numbing phenomenon known as sleep.
Stray thoughts wander throughout my mindset. Diverting me from noticing the tenebrous darkness of sleep has effectively taken full control of both mind & body.
It comes so gradual each passing night, it’s hard to tell the exact moment in time I completely fall asleep.
“Per favore ... non lasciarmi.” Are both the first & last words uttered from our mousy haired protagonist. None but one discerns the noiseless plea.
An soft whirring sounds from the other room. Almost like a machine in need of ventilation, the walls are so thin.
“Mai più, ti lascerò andare. Dolcezza, Calla.” A new voice declares.
The clunking sound resonates. Growing even more persistent.
It’s humorous really.
Had the trio silenced their bickering for just a second, they’d be able to listen, locate, and do away with the vile being.
I used to think ''evil'' was a supernatural- dark force of some kind. Now I believe that it requires a human mind to truly be wicked.
Evil hearts are experts at creating confusion and contention.
Absolute pro's at fooling others with their smooth speech and flattering words. They crave and demand control, and their highest authority is non-other than their own self-reference.
Evil hearts play on sympathies of good-willed people, often trumping the grace card.
They demand mercy but give none themselves.
They demand warm, forgiveness, and intimacy from those they have harmed with no empathy for the pain they have caused and no real intention of making amends or working hard to rebuild broken trust. (Proverbs 21:10; 1 Peter 2:16; Jude 1:4).
Evil hearts have no conscience, no remorse. They do not struggle against sin or evil- they delight in it- all the while masquerading as someone of noble character. (Proverbs 2:14-15; 10:23; 12:10; 21:27,29; Isaiah 32:6; Romans 1:30; 2 Corinthians 11:13-15).
These are only but a few traits and characteristics of the... that freak show, hidden away in the wardrobe.
You must name evil for what it is.
The longer you try to reason with them or show mercy towards them, the more you, the reader, will become a pawn in his game.
Lack of remorse, shame or guilt, shallow emotions- These are but a hand full examples of what’s in store for our fairy like heroine as his consciousness ebbed. Mind going into free fall, swirling with the beautiful chaos of a new dream.
Dearest reader, don’t you know. It’s just as the saying goes;
There comes a point when a dream becomes reality & reality becomes a dream.
Harold, is that you ?!
Ooooh my lord, for a second there I almost forgot which book I was writing on, the ending sounded a bit too much like Guardian dressed in White. Geez; I need to get back on that book, she was my first born !
per favore ... non lasciarmi -please... don’t leave me
Mai più, ti lascerò andare. Dolcezza, Calla. -Never again, will I let you go. My sweet, Calla.