The event changed everything, but a story can’t have a central theme unless there are walls to support it, roads that take you there and on, because I can’t just give you a fact and you understand it fully until I explain it. So here it is; I love Harry Styles, but the roads that I take you on to understand may not be one’s that you really want to travel, so heed the signs on the barren roadsides, and understand. I’ll tell you about the days, thirty before and thirty after, encompassing Harry’s attempted suicide.


43. 5 days after


I take the elevator alone and crawl back into my tent, straight to my corner of our temporary residence, and take up the letter. The desire to read it isn't strong, but I feel like I need to know what's going on. The tear of the paper is inaudible, and as I unfold the notebook page, I can see his scrawled, hurried handwriting, blurred in some places, like he had cried. Reading it is like pressing my hand against a hot stove, but I know I will hate myself more tomorrow if I don't read it today. By now, I should be dead, and I hope this is read by no one but you. You're the only one who will really understand the reasoning I have. Or at least, I hope so. I thought a long time about what I should get you as a present and decided that this was it, Lou. I will give you peace of mind, some rest that I know you deserve. I will give you freedom by removing myself from this place. I know you may be upset at first, but I think you will see it's for the better over time, and I know my gift will be worth it when you get over the initial shock. So I will give you everything I have. I know I was selfish tonight, by attacking you like that, but I think we fit together nicely in the end. I think this, more than anything else, will upset you the most, but I can't stay here and hurt you anymore, Lou. I can't make you baby-sit me. I won't be getting better. And I can't take you down with me. I love you Louis. More than you ever know and I'm so sorry for it. Maybe if I was a stronger person I wouldn't have to do this. The words swim behind my eyes, and though I want to tear the note up and throw it away, I neatly fold it and place it back in the envelope. Then I curl up and force myself away from reality and into dreams, where me and Harry are on the white hotel bed, and he is smiling and we are wrapped in one another in nothing but bliss. And he is fully alive.

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