i hope you die when another has your heart

he awoke to the sound of harry's voice. his words were licking with flames, causing louis to flinch at the malice that seemed to cling to the younger boy's lips. he'd seen him angry before, but never with such intensity; the kind that was ready to plow down anything in sight. harry hadn't seemed to notice that he'd regained consciousness, since he only continued yelling at his phone, which he was holding so tightly, so severely, that louis thought it would shatter in his hands.

"i don't fucking care, nick. i don't care how high or drunk he was! find out who he is, and find out now, so that i can hurt him. the fact that you'd invited someone like that in the first place is ridiculous!" harry paused. "how dare you? you should have seen what louis looked like when i found him. you try finding the person you love bleeding, shaking, drenched in another man's fluids. he was raped, nick. you're a piece of shit for not believing it. i guess there's no point in arguing with someone with shit for brains. you know what? fuck you and fuck anyone who agrees with you. i can't deal with this." he slammed the phone down, still seething.

nick, louis remembered, was the person that hosted the party, the person whom the house belonged to. "harry?" he rasped, voice still scratchy and painful.

"fuck, you scared me. you're awake? how are you feeling?" harry immediately softened, a completely different person from before. "are you sure you don't want to go to the hospital?"

"i'm sure. just want to go home." the ocean boy replied, not even considering it. the doctors didn't actually care about these kinds of cases, after all. he'd go if he began noticing infection, but otherwise, he didn't want any more trouble than necessary. no one would ever help him before, so why now?

besides, he technically gave consent. not at first, but near the end—he was the one who let it happen. it was his fault. he wished that he could articulate that to harry, but the boy refused to listen.

"i think the guy would be better off in trouble, no? so he can't hurt anyone else like he hurt you."

"no. i- i know this is selfish. i'm selfish. but i really don't even want to ever think about it again." and fuck, he was about to cry again. "just let this go, yeah? i'm sorry for ruining your night. what time is it? is it new year's yet?"

"hey, stop. that's the least of my concerns right now. it's nearly one o'clock. but i don't fucking care about any of that. right now, i just want you to worry about yourself right now."

"happy new year, i guess," louis said bitterly, knowing that nothing he could say would change the boy's mind. he remembered the feeling of the man blow a load inside of him, filling him up with red-hot filth, with unworthiness. the memory made him want to claw through his skin and rip out his guts. he wanted to hurt. he wanted to bleed himself dry; clean of the impurities. "i'll be fine. want to be alone."

they pulled up into the garage connected to louis' apartment complex, harry swiping the keycard that he'd since kept in his car after getting close to louis. "alright. we can talk about things in the morning. i just want you to be safe. i love you, lou."

now, more than ever, he was unable to respond. so he just nodded, and harry took that as a cue to continue talking as he parked.

"i'll give you all the time and space you need. again, i am so, so sorry. so unbelievably sorry. for leaving you alone, for assuming you were fine on your own, for not looking for you earlier. fuck, it's my fault this happened in the first place. if i hadn't-"

"it's fine. seriously. i'm-" this kind of thing is all i'm good for, the only thing i don't fuck up. and even then, i'll find a way, he thought, but couldn't say it aloud. "i didn't exactly resist the guy. so it was on me, anyway. just don't worry about it. i'll get over it in due time, i promise," he said weakly.

"that doesn't give anyone the right to do that to you. you were crying. shaking. and he still didn't stop, the sick bastard. please don't let this ruin nights out for you, lou. i'll do better next time. i'll stay with you. i want you to be able to have fun."

"there's a reason i didn't want to go in the first place," he mumbled, just quiet enough so that harry couldn't hear, before raising his voice back to its usual level. "you shouldn't have to babysit me. i should be able to take care of myself. i'm not a child, harry."

"and look where that's landed you," the younger boy bit, a little too sharply. "sorry. i didn't mean-"

"you're right. don't apologize. i'm pathetic." he was done with this conversation, moving to undo his seatbelt, wanting nothing more than to just lay down. the exhaustion was seeping into his bones.

but every movement he made caused for sharp, unrelenting to pain shoot up his bottom, through his back, and to his head, leaving him to fall back into the limp, half-laying position he was originally in. "let me help you, love. it's alright."

normally, he would have protested, but he was just so tired. he wanted to relax and imagine that the earlier events hadn't happened. it would just become one of the many things he kept behind that heavy vault, buried and never to be dug back up again. if he started forgetting now, he thought, maybe things would be easier. maybe he'd be okay sooner.

but when harry scooped him up, he felt himself back up against that sink, against the tile floor, against the cold walls. or even worse, in that new york penthouse. or that dark, musty closet. and as if experiencing all of it once again, he started shaking and thrashing about, panic outweighing the physical pain tearing his bum open. "let me, let me- let me go, letmegoletmegoletmego." his eyes were now foggy, dull, and gray rather than the blue harry always found himself drowning in, filled with what could hardly be described by a word as simple as fear—if anything, it was hysteria.

"babe, no. calm down, sunflower. calm down." harry hoped—prayed—that maybe his voice would calm the boy down, would ground him back to reality. like things always worked out in the movies, the novels, the stories. but it wasn't that simple, and it hadn't worked out that way. louis only continued flailing, letting out breathy screams that weren't exactly screams; they were closer to heaves, so much that harry was worried that the boy would vomit all over him in this moment.

he had no choice but to set him back down in the passenger seat, allowing him to breathe heavily, feeling helpless with his inability to do anything at all to help the boy. the sight was heartbreaking, bright red patches covering the boy's cheeks, bruises in the shapes of hands climbing up his throat. harry wanted to be sick right then and there.

snow began to fall outside, large white flakes falling in stark contrast to the pitch black sky. it felt like a reminder that spring would never come. it made the pain feel so much more permanent than it ever had. what harry always thought was something beautiful, almost warm despite its nature, was now heartless, it seemed.

he wished for nothing more than a dreamless sleep.

they eventually made their way back to louis' apartment, having to take so long with small and steady steps, in consideration of louis' behind, that it'd almost reached two in the morning by the time they'd settled down.

the ocean boy insisted on being alone that night, and harry couldn't exactly argue with him. he didn't want a repeat of what had happened in the garage, nor did he want for louis to remember anything he didn't have to. they compromised that louis would leave his bedroom door open while the younger boy slept on the couch, so that if anything happened, he'd be there, not even a door away.

the dried blood hadn't completely been washed off of him, louis noticed, and a shower was everything he was craving at the moment. but he was just so overcome by a thick layer of exhaustion, one so incorrigible and cold, he'd fallen asleep instantly as he came into contact with his shitty mattress.

-

his mother's cousin, whom he called matthew, always carried a pocket bible around with him. he had long hair, similar to that of the man in the bathroom, but it was almost pulled back into a neat, tight bun. he wore small, circular glasses and spoke with a slight stutter, one that made all his ideas seem reluctant, uncertain.

he'd bring toy trucks for louis, visiting often and looking after him while his mother was at work. he acted almost as the father figure the small boy never quite had the access to. they'd play footie, with his long hair flapping in the wind making this smacking sound, as if it were made of rubber, and the wind was repeatedly stretching and releasing it.

the first time it happened was when louis was only six years old. it was spring break for his primary school, and it was when his mother's working hours were the most harrowing. so she'd requested matthew to look after the boy during the day, at least until the afternoon so that he wouldn't have to stay home alone for more than a couple of hours. he woke up excited; excited to see matthew, excited to show him what he was learning at school. he'd always been a bright child, lightyears, it seemed, ahead of the other boys his age, reading books written for middle schoolers, flipping through encyclopedias when he figured he had nothing better to do.

matthew arrived at around eight in the morning that day—a comfortably warm april day, as if summer was already beginning to bleed selfishly into earlier months. bright white petals clung to tree branches until they no longer could, embedding themselves all too often in peoples' hair or clothes.

"t-t-the flowers suit the darling boy that you are," matthew would always tell him, which made him smile widely. although he loved football, louis was never a super boyish kid, preferring reading over mucking around with other children. he never really understood why they all seemed to be so obsessed with coming off as rugged and manly. he'd much rather be called pretty, if anything.

they went to the park, where the pedals were the most abundant as they drifted through the air weightlessly, tickling louis' nose in a feathery way that reminded him of being showered by his mother's kisses when he was younger, when things were a little simpler. that wasn't to say he was unhappy now, but it was true that he missed how his mother would hold him like he was the only thing in the world.

he told matthew about how he scored top of the class on their spelling quiz, beating everyone by more than any student in their first year of primary school should ever. o-o-of course you did, l-little one. m-my pretty little boy, he said in response, ruffling louis' hair, giving him a wet kiss on the cheek. he bought a small cup of pistachio ice cream for him as a reward.

they returned him at around noon, louis' mood higher than it had been in ages, lips still sticky from the ice cream. his mother never allowed him sweets, saying that they'd rot his teeth, so when matthew snuck him lollies and raspberry gummies, he'd treat them like some sort of holy grail, savoring them as slowly as possible. for the gummies, he was always sure to split each into four bites, chewing slowly until the flavor was long gone. matthew teased him for this, assuring him that he'll get more in the future, but louis insisted upon eating in his particular manner. and everything was perfect.

it was perfect until matthew proposed that they played with toy trucks and dolls in his mother's walk-in closet, where it smelled of dust and dampness. it struck him as an odd suggestion, since they'd always played in his room, where everything was available. but he hadn't questioned it, since it was only matthew, and maybe it would be fun, after all.

but the toys were pried out of his hands and set aside when they'd entered after matthew had double, triple-checked that the door was securely closed.

"what are we doing?" he'd asked naively, "why did you take my truck?"

"w-w-we're playing something different today. it'll be fun." he responded with that stutter of his, sliding his arms around louis' small, fragile body.

"what are you doing, matthew?" louis squeaked, as the man pressed his body, hard, against his own. he smelled sour, almost sharp to his nose. "what are we playing?"

"shhh. j-j-just trust me, lou. i'll keep you safe."

"safe from what?"

"t-t-the world. everything."

his hands pulled at louis' elastic waistband, sliding down both his little joggers as well as his red boxer briefs, which matthew had just bought for him the month before. he just stood still and allowed for it to happen—they had taken bathes together before, and he figured that this was just something like that.

"i'm a big boy now," he said, "i can dress myself." but he could hear no bath running, and the man showed no intention of opening the closet door anytime soon.

"j-just stay still, okay? be a good boy." he stroked between louis' legs, gently, as if it were something to be worshipped. it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up, and his entire body stiffen. they'd hugged and given each other pecks on the cheek before, but nothing ever so intimate. and it never felt so wrong.

but he owed matthew, he thought. he should trust him. besides, he instructed louis to be good; after everything, how could he defy the man that had always provided so much comfort before? "okay," he nodded, eyes screwed shut.

"you l-l-love me, right?"

"yeah. i, i do."

he felt the man's lips close around his member, wet and slippery. it filled him with this nauseous feeling, and all his instincts told him to run, run as fast as he could. "what kind of game is this?" he whispered, trying his best not to cry. he couldn't do that now. "are you having fun?"

��y-y-you're being perfect. i'm having s-s-so much fun, louis. j-j-just a little longer." matthew's hands now found his way to louis' behind, cold fingers nestling right inside of him. it hurt; his nails were grown out and sharp.

"are we going to be done soon? is mummy going to be home soon?" his voice was now shaking, which matthew interpreted to be pure pleasure.

"w-w-we don't have to be done if you don't want to be. your m-m-mother won't be home for a few hours. s-s-so we have all the t-t-time in the world."

"o-okay," he was crying now, shaking like a leaf. "i want to, i want to sleep."

"w-w-we have to stay in here, okay? so that people won't see us. if people see us, bad people would take you away from me, understand? y-y-you can't tell anyone about this." his stutter almost made the situation laughable, as if louis were the one forcing him to do these things, to stay locked in the murky room. like he was the one forcing his dick (if it could even be called that—being so undeveloped) down the man's throat.

if this was so right, then why would people disapprove? louis thought, but nothing would come out of his mouth. matthew just continued dragging his tongue against the boy's body like some kind of transient slug.

by the time it was over, he all the energy drained out of him. even walking steadily was difficult; despite the lack of penetration. matthew kept trying to get him to play like they normally had, as if none of it had even happened. like it was a sick joke, like it was all an ugly dream he'd conjured up feverishly. when his mother returned home, he was still not able to act completely normal. she questioned his odd behavior, but figured that he was simply catching a cold.

"cheer up, love," she joked, "it's spring break, so faking sick won't get you out of anything."