I mope sullenly around my house, not caring that it's way past midnight and I'm still awake or that the neighbors can probably hear the loud music that I'm currently blasting. I don't really care about anything anymore. Do I care that the guy who tried to hook up with me was the same guy that my boyfriend was cheating on me with? Nope. I'm done caring. I'm just done. Caring too much can and will destroy you.
When my phone rings I'm tempted not to answer it, to let it go to voicemail and answer it tomorrow, or maybe not answer it at all. But for some reason I pick it up anyway and heave a sigh.
"You've reached Louis Tomlinson," I say flatly, formally, the opposite of how I usually answer the phone. ("Hi! This is Louis Tomlinson!")
"I know you don't want to hear from me right now," Will says quickly. "But this is important. Is Harry with you?"
"No, of course not," I reply. "Why?"
"He's gone. He isn't with his mom or his sister, he isn't with you or me, he isn't in any of the bars or restaurants nearby. I don't know where else to look," Will informs me frantically.
My heart starts to pound as a million different scenarios run through my head, each one getting worse and more complicated than the last. "He can't be gone," I say, the dumbest response in the world. Obviously he is gone. Stupid, Louis. So stupid. Get yourself together.
"Well, he is," Will comments. "Do you know of any places where he might have gone?"
I wrack my brain. Where would Harry have gone? My first guess is his mom's house but Will already said he's not there. If he's not at Gemma's and not with Will, I don't know what else to guess.
"I don't know, Will," I sigh, feeling a headache blossoming within my skull.
"Do you want to drive around with me and look for him?" Will asks, his voice growing distant and tinny as he sets his phone down.
"I think we're overreacting," I state simply. "If he's still gone tomorrow at noon, I'll start looking. Maybe he's at a bar that you didn't check or something. Let's not get worked up right away."
I can tell that Will doesn't agree with me but he doesn't argue. Instead he says, "Okay. I'll call you tomorrow." He briefly pauses then adds, "Can you call me if he shows up at your house?"
"I highly doubt he'd come here," I respond. "But sure. I'll call you." I'm about to hang up when Will continues to talk.
"You're wrong," he tells me.
"Harry loves you more than anything. Your house is probably the first place he'd go, even if you are mad at him and mad at me. You should have heard him earlier tonight. He went on a rant about you and how I couldn't take your place no matter how hard I tried. It was kind of touching, actually. He really cares about you." Will talks quickly, as if he can't wait to get the words out of his mouth.
I close my eyes and picture Harry's face. He said that about me? Even after all that's happened?
"Okay," I reply. "I'll call you if Harry shows up."
"Alright, I'll call you if he comes to my house," Will says before I hang up.
I toss my phone onto the couch, watching as it bounces right off the cushion and lands on the floor. I turn and head upstairs. I just need to sleep. Chances are when I wake up, Harry will be back with a story to tell. I hesitate. He won't tell it to me.
I fall onto my bed and pull the covers up around me, not caring that I'm still wearing jeans and a hoodie. (I have a deathly fear of sleeping in hoodies normally. What if the strings wrap around my neck and choke me in the middle of the night? I want to die heroically and I definitely want to be remembered, but not by being the guy who was dumb enough to wear a hoodie to bed.)
No matter how hard I try, sleep evades me. I toss and turn, rolling from side to side and back again. I attempt sleeping on my back which is something I never do, but even that doesn't work.
I told Will I wasn't worried about Harry, but the truth is I'm super worried. Where did he go? He's not one to just run off, unless something set him over the edge...
Me. This is all my fault. It isn't Will's fault, it's mine. All mine. Harry couldn't stand the thought of me being mad at him, I just know it. My heart starts pounding erratically.
"Harry, please don't do anything rash," I mumble, half to myself and half to the heavens. I've never been an overly religious person, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
I leap off of my bed and shove my feet into sneakers. I have to go find Harry. I really don't know where to look, but I have to at least do something. I'll go crazy if I stay here any longer.
My car makes a screeching noise when I try to start the engine and for a second I think it's going to break down on me and I'll be stuck walking, but it manages to pull itself out of its sleep and start up.
I drive down back roads and small alleys, searching for glimpses of unruly brown hair or his signature brown boots. I probably look crazy, repeatedly driving up and down streets, sure I saw Harry walking out of a house or turning a corner with his confident stride.
Every part of me is itching to do something useful, something that could actually help me find Harry, but I have no idea what to do. Eventually, I call Will.
"Did you find him?" Will's eager voice greets me in lieu of a hello.
"No, sorry to get your hopes up," I say, feeling a little bad that Will thought Harry showed up at my house. "I just wanted to tell you that I've been out looking for the past two hours and there's still no sign of him."
"I thought you didn't want to look," Will responds suspiciously.
"I couldn't sleep," I admit sheepishly. "I felt bad that I was just laying in bed when I could be out looking, so I drove all over town. I didn't see him."
Will sighs deeply. "I'm really worried, Louis," he tells me. "Like, really worried."
"I know," I say. "I am too. I don't know where he could be."
"I'm gonna try and get some sleep now," Will replies. "Do you want to look again in the morning?"
"Yeah, I'll try and sleep too," I comment. "See yah."
"Bye," Will says and hangs up.
I drive back home slowly, still craning my neck when I see someone out and about. Unfortunately, none of the people I see are actually Harry.
I pull into my driveway and just sit there, even long after the heat has turned off. I rest my head on the steering wheel. "Where are you, Harry?" I shout in frustration, banging the dashboard. The sound startles me even though I'm the one who initiated it, and for some reason it's enough to push me over the edge and I start to cry.
"Dammit Hazza, where are you?"