99 Days Without You

Louis journal after Harry commits suicide credit to original author

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9. Day 41-50

Day Forty-One:
Zayn won’t talk to me again, and I’m starting to lose interest in being friends with anyone. People only like to hurt us, like I hurt you.
Day Forty-Two & Forty-Three:
I woke up with a headache yesterday morning, and I figure that I had just drunken too much the night before. I can’t remember a thing of what I did. When I left my room I found Liam reading the newspaper silently on the couch. When he heard I was awake, he looked up and smiled softly towards me, patting the spot beside him, beckoning me to come over.
I stayed put where I was, and he only sighed heavily before speaking.
“How are you feeling?” He asked.
I don’t know if it was the hangover talking, or if I just had forgotten. But like I said, it still feels so unreal to me. But I regret what I said next.
“Where’s Harry?”
The tears then came flowing through Liam’s eyes, and he sat on our couch crying his eyes out. I was going to ask him what was wrong, when it suddenly hit me. You were gone. I know that I’ve said it plenty of times before, but I had never believed it until now.
You’re really gone.
I then felt myself drop to the floor, all control in my body vanishing as I blacked out completely.
Now here I am, sitting in a hospital bed with wires attached inside me, pumping chemicals into my bloodstream as if I actually needed them. It’s not like I’m sick or anything, yet everyone keeps looking at me as if I am, and that at any moment I could break.

Day Forty-Four:
I saw my mother today, for the first time in a long time. I hadn’t contacted her since the funeral, and she had been so worried about me. I woke up to her crying with her hand to her mouth, as she overlooked my frail, thinning body.
I told her not to cry, and that I was just fine, which only made her cry harder. The doctors pushed her out of the room before she could reply, stating that I needed to rest.
No. I just need you back here with me.

Day Forty-Five:
I had a dream today, I saw your face. God Harry, I’m beginning to forget what you look like. Sure, I can look at pictures, but pictures don’t move, or laugh, or blink. They’re just captured memories. But my memories are beginning to fade. It may just be the chemicals pouring through my bloodstream from the various wires attached to me, but they’re just beginning to fade.
I can’t lose the remaining fragments I have of you.
When I awoke, I found Zayn sitting beside my bed, tears falling down his cheeks as he spoke softly to me. He hadn’t even realized I woke, and kept on speaking. I couldn’t hear him, but it didn’t matter.

Day Forty-Six:
I’m trying to keep my calm, I really am. This hospital is driving me crazy, yet they won’t let me leave. I keep insisting that I’m better, but they only reply that I’m way underweight and under too much stress. Being locked inside this room is stressing me out; I had never been as stressed as I am right now.
I’m just bored.
Will you please sing to me?

Day Forty-Seven:
Management suggested that I take a month long hiatus, and spend that time with my family and healing. But what they don’t understand is that these wounds will never heal. It’s not that I don’t want to see my family, I miss them like crazy.
But if I leave, who will take care of our home?
I just can’t leave our flat Haz, I can’t. I can’t let them touch it. I’m afraid that if I leave, they’ll remove every remnant of you, so when I return there is nothing left of you for me to have.

Day Forty-Eight:
So I reluctantly agreed to go along with the hiatus, after an hour of my mom sobbing to me, saying how much she missed me and wanted me home with her. They think it’s the best thing for me, to get away for a while.
So this is where I find myself, writing this entry while sitting next to an empty suitcase. Maybe I should bring your favorite beanie along with me, so I can fall asleep with you inside my arms—or, at least something that reminds me of you.
I hope you don’t mind if I borrow it.

Day Forty-Nine:
The train station is crowded and the noise keeps banging through my ears. People keep pushing me as Paul guides me along through the mass of people, while he tries to keep me out of the fans’ view at all times. I thank Paul for that, because I don’t want the fans to see me like this.
I’m wearing your old beanie, along with your old worn out sweats that you used to waltz around the flat in every morning. I’m tiny within the large sweatshirt that is engulfing my upper body, but I don’t care what I look like.
I’m leaving the flat—our flat. Our flat where we had made so many fond memories, ones that I’m beginning to forget with each passing day without you here with me. We could have made more, had you stayed longer.
And as I step onto the train, waving my final goodbyes to the city I have come to love, a single tear slips from my eye.

Day Fifty:
After a short train ride home yesterday, and the unpacking of my things, I have finally settled into my old child-like bedroom. My mother hasn’t let me out of her sight, and I’m beginning to feel as suffocated as I was with the boys crowding my breathing space.
I love my mom, I really do, but I just need to be alone.
The girls are glad to have me back, and they woke me up this morning by piling on top of me and tickling me awake. It was the first time I had laughed in a while.
This might be good for me.

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