*

Upon realising, a few months back, that the world was not as nice as he'd ever imagined, Louis had slowly become a part of its cruelty. He was ever so slowly changing from a boy who saw everything and everyone with those same loving eyes, to a young man who had his closest friends behind him, and everyone else was an enemy. Of course, you couldn't tell that his views had changed; even Harry or Niall couldn't, for Louis was a liar.

And he lied as easily as he lived.

*

"This is not my room, Mother." Louis said for the seventh time, standing at his bedroom door where the smell of mould leaked from to waft over him. He coughed, his lungs clearly struggling, and looked back up at Mother. She held a wine glass in one hand along with a lit cigarette. The other stroked Louis' cheek. She bent down and kissed him on the forehead. He was lead away from the bedroom to the landing, almost as if Mother understood that the mould was causing his health degrade.

"Wait here, my Darling." Mother said, and walked downstairs to the living room.

Louis didn't know why she'd left, nor if she'd return anytime soon, and he didn't really care either way. She'd probably forget he was waiting as she usually did. He put his hands in his shorts-just because he didn't have any pockets-in attempt to warm his hands. Winter was approaching fast, and the leaves had already fallen from the trees. People were wearing their warm coats and long trousers, now, and Louis wasn't. He was still in his shorts and tee-shirt, but it was alright..

In any case, Louis had done a lot of training for the Ballet in that time-so much, in fact, that his feet were swollen and covered in both bandages and plasters. Harry had bathed them in warm rose water and praised Louis for his hard work, but it didn't stop the pain, and Louis could barely walk, let alone run or skip or pirouette around as everyone expected him to.

Harry was beginning to dance again, and he had a prosthetic arm just as he had a prosthetic leg. He knew how to work both as if they were a part of his own body, but he never lifted Louis up anymore, but instead would watch the yellow ribbon flutter around.

Louis smiled at the thought of Harry, and then shook his head to realise that Mother still hadn't returned, and she was sniggering to herself downstairs. Louis decided to linger there a little longer, just because Mother would worry if he weren't there, should she return, and then she'd panic and beat him and Louis couldn't run this time; so he stayed put.

If he looked to his left, he could see into the bathroom. The small bath tucked into the wall was still grimy and had stained rings around it. A big brown cockroach crawled out from a cracked tiles walls to fall into the bath where it scuttled down the plughole. A group of mushrooms sprouted from the corner of the wall behind the toilet, brown and looking awfully poisonous. Louis almost wanted to point them out to Mother in the hope that she'd eat them but he refrained himself from doing so. A spider hung from the ceiling, big and black and furry, and it was wrapping a smaller spider in silk with the intention of devouring it. What if Louis did that to Mother? He could tempt her to the bedroom just as the spider had tempted the other, then he could roll her up in a sheet until she'd suffocate to death. Perhaps he could eat her afterwards, but he didn't really like the idea of eating another human, especially one this pallid and skinny.

"Mother?" He called down the stairs, "It's Louis. Where are you, Mother?"

Her sniggering stopped and she poked her head around the living room door. It was early morning, and she was sober for now, even if her eye sockets were hollow and her pupils retracted to tiny dots. "Who is Louis?" she asked.

"Your son." Louis replied, "I am Louis, your son. My name is Louis Tomlinson, seventeen years old, and your name is-"

"I know who I am, stupid child, and I know who you are. Of course I know who you are, Louis." She snarled at him and threw her wine glass up the stairs. It caught Louis on the arm and shattered at the contact with his skin. He yelped-more surprised than hurt in that moment- and grabbed his arm, stumbling back a little, shoes crunching over shards of glass and a pool of wine. He was bleeding. A lot. And he was also quick to realise what had happened, and the realisation brought a very large amount of pain. He couldn't see any glass in the gaping wound just below his left shoulder, but the large gash that had been sliced through his skin would definitely leave a scar. He whimpered and pressed his hand to it, blood trailing through his fingers. He was afraid to stain his clothes. His other pair of shorts and other shirt were stained in urine because Mother had locked herself in the bathroom all day and Louis hadn't had anywhere to go. His other shirt was also covered in cigarette ash and nail polish because he'd accidentally upset Mother, and Mother had a bad temper.

"Louis? My Love? What happened to you?" She asked suddenly, making Louis jump as she stood right beside him at the top the stairs. Louis instinctively backed away from them to press his back against the wall outside the bathroom. His breath was wheezy, and he needed his inhaler but it was in his room with the mould.

"Nothing, Mother." He smiled, "We are safe. We are happy."

"Did you break my wine glass?" She asked harshly, pointing to the floorboards. She dropped her cigarette and Louis leant his foot out to stamp the tip before it'd catch fire. Mother was approaching him, heels clicking on the uneven floor. She had nothing in her hands which reassured him. She didn't usually do too much damage by herself; only leaving a few bruises and sometimes a cut or two.

"Wine glass? But the floor is bare, Mother." Louis said, letting a curious look hide the fear and pain that was permanently engraved into his face when he was around her. "There is nothing on the floor."

"Are you trying to make me go mad, child? Do you not see the glass and wine? It's all over the floor." She snarled at him, and he looked back curiously.

"I don't see anything, Mother. Maybe it's just your imagination or a trick of the light. The floor is spotless and completely bare. I cleaned it before you woke up."

Mother turned to him. She had a distort look of both someone who believed and didn't believe what was being said to them. "If you see nothing, prove it to me." She said. "Lick the floor."

Louis forgot every lie he'd ever told for a second and his sinister eyes changed to a fear he'd never experienced before. mother never asked for proof, never doubted Louis' words; and he no longer recognised her. She was dominating him.

"Mother.. Mother, there's-there's nothing there." He laughed stiffly. "The floor. It's bare."

Just then, Mother grabbed Louis by the neck and lifted him up. She was tall and thin, perhaps, looking as fragile as a a sheet of paper, but Louis was unnaturally light, and his feet no longer touched the floor when she raised him.

"Prove it, brat." She snarled. She threw Louis on the ground and thankfully for him he fell neither over the banister nor onto the glass. "Lick the floor."

The little boy in Mickey Mouse plasters whimpered and stood up. He limped towards the puddle of wine. A lightbulb swung from the ceiling at the landing, and as Louis approached the wine, he saw every single tiny piece of glass glint back at him.

"Mother.. It's me. It's Louis.." He turned to her, standing in the pull of wine, tears in his eyes. "Please, Mother."

She looked back with no recognition and with eyes that showed what terrible things she'd do to Louis next if he didn't do as she demanded.

With one last plea, he turned around and got down on his hands and knees. Plasters prevented them from getting hurt, but when he lifted his hand just the slightest to see the result, glass had slashed the the Mickey Mouse plaster and torn it open in many tiny places.

Just then, a kick came down on his back and his spine cracked in a hundred different places. "Lick it!" Mother screamed at him. Louis lifted his body from the floor. His arms, chest, legs and chin were bleeding, and the blood on his cheeks was clear water from his eyes, and his lungs were bleeding poisoned air, and he was bleeding his heart out until he wished once more that it could stop its beating.

He put his tongue out, and scraped it ages the floorboard.

And he felt that sensitive piece of flesh tear apart with every tiny movement as the glass shifted beneath it. Some tiny shards bored their way into his tongue, and when he lifted it, he could feel the ridges and lumps where they were buried.

"Again!" Mother's shoe came down to slam his head back onto the floor. He yelped, and his nose cracked, and the burgundy wine began to mix with crimson blood. Louis had a larger shard of glass wedged into his right cheek, between the cheekbone and his nose, and he could already feel his tongue swelling up.

He licked the floor again, glass cutting and wine poisoning and floorboards splintering.

She kicked his spine again, and it no longer cracked but merely shifted beneath her shoe. He could still feel it, still move his legs, but glass was wedged in every part of him. He submitted to her as he'd done so many times before, only this time, she was sober, and Louis took the risk of trying to lie to a sober woman.

Just then, the front door rattled. Louis stopped licking the floor and lay his head down. He was facing the opposite way, but he couldn't bare to move.

He then heard the door bang open, and his heard began beating with hope that Zayn or Niall's Granny or someone had come.

It was a man's voice that spoke.

And there was no hope left for the little boy in Mickey Mouse plasters

"My little slut. After all of these years, I've finally found you." it said, and beside Louis, a young Mother's blood ran cold.

Heavy footsteps came up the stairs and resonated through the floorboards. They stopped half way and the man stifled a gruff laugh. Louis felt his gaze on him and wondered what he saw.

And he saw his slut's baby boy, the one she'd tried to keep a secret, all grown up. He saw a tiny boy, frail and looking no older than fifteen. He saw a boy with plasters all over him, shards of broken glass lodged in his skin, blood in his hair, wine soaking his clothes. He didn't see Louis' face, and assumed the child as dead.

He turned away from the body to look at his precious little slut. She was ghastly, now; not the beautiful girl he'd known. The only recognisable thing about her were those eyes. Those blue eyes.

"Why do you look so afraid, my beauty?" He asked, grabbing her by the neck. He shoved her against the wall, his hand growing so tightly around her neck that she couldn't breathe anymore. He looked ten times the man he was back then, twice as large but it was all bulging muscle. He had a knife in his pocket, and the mother reached for it but he was quicker in turning his hips away.

She opened her mouth but couldn't speak a word, only gape and feel the blood rush to her eyes and brain which made her dizzy. And then a hand was under her dress, feeling up the slit in the material and moving upwards.

All she saw was her baby boy on the floor, she heard a baby's wail; her baby's wail, but Louis was silent as she could see that. He was bleeding all over and nothing was moving.

"Y-killed-k-him.."

"I killed him?" The man said, smirking at her. His fingers were inside her, or somewhere close, but she could barely stay conscious. She could only see a blurry image, now, and her son.. Her son..

"L-ouis.."

And then, the boy's head turned. He said nothing, and the man had not seen his movement, but both he and his mother felt each other's pain. They felt each other's love. The love that had been stolen from them years ago.

"Run-" The Mother said, "Louis-run!.."

The man shover her against the wall, and her body shifted up and down against it when he pushed into her. She could barely stay awake, could barely hear the man's voice saying "Stupid bitch, he's dead."

She reached out to her son, to Louis Tomlinson, seventeen years old and the best person in the whole world, and said his name one final time.

Louis closed his eyes, listening to grunts and moans, and reached a hand out. He grabbed the stair, and used every moan he heard as a signal to drag himself towards it. His spine was so painful, his nose broken, but he managed to stand, and he managed to limp down the stairs. Half way down, however, he made the horrible mistake of looking to the bathroom and seeing the man pressed against the landing wall. He made that horrible mistake of seeing Mother wedged there, and she was still alive, for a single tear slipped down her cheek when she looked at him.

"...Mummy."

With one last look towards the fallen woman, the boy in Mickey Mouse plasters walked downstairs and left the house that had imprisoned him.

And it was only hours later that he was discovered by a passerby, lying at the top of a very steep driveway where a famous Ballet dancer lived. In his hand was a ribbon. A yellow ribbon with his name.

*

With my love, Lucy.