A Short Story Of Louis Revealed: A Narrative Fiction

A splash of cold water hit Kelly’s face with a jolt. It felt good, reminded her that she was still alive. The bathroom tile felt cool to the touch, and she placed my wet palms on the counter for balance. A thin raised line etched down her finger, and she wondered how long the scar would last. It was ugly. A constant reminder of the past year. How could a single year of a person’s life leave such scars? But it wasn’t the surface wounds she was worried about; it was the deeper kind. The permanent kind.

I trip over the curb, spilling a few drops of iced coffee over the brim of my cup, as I attempt to keep my dog-eared notebook from slipping out of my grip. I twist and shove my way through the narrow street, apologizing to the owners of the stray feet I step on. I walk onto a larger street and let out a breath; the suffocating heat of an Italian summer is enough to cope with, without the sweaty skin of a hundred others pressing against me. I can’t say I didn’t want this—the air is thick with both moisture and stories. I sit down in a nook by a rusty water fountain and take out a pen.

I awoke today with the light streaming into my room and hearing the birds chirping in the distance. As I regained my conscience, I smelled the mold and felt damp room conditions all around me that imprisoned me. It reminded me of what would have happened only in a nightmare. It was only yesterday that Corey, Nurse, Hale and I had gone to help the accused women. So many times I felt that I could win the battle, yet just as many times I could feel the rope slipping through my fingers.

“I couldn't joke about the person who'd saved me from facing absolute heartbreak at home, who fed my family boxes of sweets,who ran to me worried that I was hurt if I asked for him. A month ago, I had looked at the TV and seen a stiff, distant, boring person-someone I couldn't imagine anyone loving. While he wasn't anything close to the person I did love, he was worthy of having someone to love in his life.”

“On the last night, with my trunk packed and my car sold to the grocer, I went over and looked at that huge incoherent failure of a house once more. On the white steps an obscene word, scrawled by some boy with a piece of brick, stood out clearly in the moonlight, and I erased it, drawing my shoe raspingly along the stone. Then I wandered down to the beach and sprawled out on the sand.

He heard a heavy sigh from the stairway. “You know if it wasn’t for me you’d never be able to survive.” He heard her footsteps go back into the bedroom. He peered through the dark kitchen from his seat, at the small white bottle. He had recently caught a cold, and would frequently forget to take the medicine. He shuffled under the blanked that lay over him. He hated having to take medicine to help his weekend

She decided to look down for the rest of the walk after getting glared at by a passerby. As she was watching her feet and skipping over the cracks in the pavement, something had yanked the back of her jacket. Whipping around, Becca saw a shambled family. They were tan and soaking wet; their cardboard home shaped the background of the frightening portrait Becca was faced with. A wave of angry words, desperate words confronted her, echoing without meaning her mind. The mother of the two children fell to her knees weeping, pleading for something Becca would never exactly know. The daughter, the girl Becca realized pulled her jacket, stared at her. Dark chocolate colored eyes were melting with the heat of her pain and her brittle lips smoked with the speed of her pleading words. Becca was being pulled away unknowingly when she heard a familiar rumble coming from the pit of the girl’s stomach. And just as soon as the encounter had happened, it was over. Concern replaced the sound of desperation and she let her family know she was fine. She went back to looking at her feet. In a couple of minutes, Becca’s family arrived at the

Esmé stood in the pouring rain watching her mother from the safety of the garden. Still in her school uniform, shaking like a leaf and with a never-ending flood of tears rushing from her eyes she stood motionless, just staring. As the rain attacked the windows at the back of 72 Russell Street, Esmé could only just make out the silhouette of a woman hunched over a bottle of what she knew was vodka. The woman got to her feet and swayed a little before falling to the floor with an almighty crash from the piles of liquor that she had landed on. Gulping, Esmé looked up into the black and grey sky and said a prayer to who-ever might be listening, but to Esmé this seemed to only make matters worse and the heavens opened and dropped buckets onto her

The sun was moments from rising as Danny and I walked through the empty neighborhood. The air was chilly, but tolerable, and slightly windy. There was no one in sight, probably because most were still sleeping at this hour, but not Danny. This was his favorite time of the day. It was peaceful, and no matter how many hours of sleep Danny got the night prior, He always got up this early. As we walked through the morning dew in the grass, he placed a cigarette in between his lips, and proceeded to light it.

Rain drizzled down onto them and inundated their bodies, clothing and all. They didn’t bother to move out of the way, they simply stayed in one place, both shivering only slightly. The body heat between them kept them from getting too cold and shivering more, but it was clear that there was a chilly tension between the two bodies. They seemed to have this unspoken pain between them that caused a sense of need and desperation. They needed to be touching but after everything that had happened between them, they just couldn’t seem to hold each other in a grip that fit, in a grip that felt right like it had only days before. Their bodies were no longer suitable together, they were no longer molded together to fit perfectly. Their bodies, both physically and mentally, had separated in a way that could not be mended. They could not be sewn back together after the betrayal and hurt that had taken place between them. He had caused her so much agony and as he held her in the rain, he could see the way his lies had affected her. But little did she know, she had affected him too. All the times she had hurt him with her words, they had argued and fought and slammed each other into wall after wall, them still being a couple was shocking in itself. Love like that can’t be broken and fixed. It can’t be torn apart and strung out and shredded and then put back together. Love just doesn’t enough forgiveness for that. Broken hearts can’t ever be fully mended. They can’t be fixed or healed or

The blistering sun beating upon her flesh, as this fine young lady’s eyes descends deeper into the back of her very being. Tears roll down, as if the sweat of a thousand working mules isn’t enough. Weeping she is, as she stands alone, outside of the same abortion clinic which claimed the nameless being of her first unborn seed. The phone rings, simultaneously as her ride pulls closer to the curb where she stands, she doesn’t answer, but taking shear breaths that could shatter the loving heart of a single mother upon hearing. She rides away.

She stood atop the rocky outcropping and stared down at all that lay beneath her. A world, full of mystery and wonder, excitement and adventure. It took her breath away, marvelling down at her creation. But she knew, deep down that she could never belong here. While she had created it, she had also destroyed it. She had all she wanted, didn’t she? It was now all a game, everything she had suffered was now no more than a distant memory. What more could she want? The hours of torture, weeks of pain and years of abuse had all become nothing more than a bad dream in a realm of happiness. The man who had defiled her with his experiments was now her best friend, and her family was happy again. Her father had found a wonderful job as a science professor

It was July, the sun wouldn't rise until much later, and in this sleepy town everything outside was so dark. The only thing she could see through the window she was sitting next to was her dishevelled form, clutching at a mug of two dollar coffee, the only change she had stored in her pockets. It somehow made the situation worse. Looking at the too bright floor reflected off of her glasses and burned her eyes, looking at the window reminded her of what a horrible person she was and what had brought her here. She settled for the half empty cup warming her hands.

Alive just enough to repent for all of it, my stomach doing flip flops as my throat burned. “There’s nothing else,” I would croak, begging. “There’s nothing left inside of me,” as I dry heaved. Another one of those instances where I resented being at the mercy of the physiological nature of it all, ruled against my will by this need for cleanse, and in the moment I was always so sorry as if I hadn’t thanked the liquor when I had it. Cursing it as if I hadn’t loved it when it offered me the only thing I’d ever wanted: freedom. Drunkenly uninhibited, finally able to connect with my body in a way that always seemed so impossible when I was sober. Loose and limber and alive, smiling, my motions fluid, the music never so easy to sync to as it was when my eyes were closed and the room was spinning and my giggles echoed the way they used to in the days before my body was a

“We are trying something new Louis.” Harry grumbled. Louis groaned tugging at the restraints. Nobody wanted to be punished but Harry was cruel. He always thought of new ways to torture Louis, out of love of course though.