Jumping Into Rivers

Elsewhere Louis was already far down the road. His head watching his feet scuff the pavement as the streetlights illuminated the dark London street. He didn’t know where he was going, or what he was going to do, but he just wanted to get away. Just for five minutes. Just to get some air and to cool down.

He tried to ignore the goose-bumps which covered his arms. He’d forgotten to grab a coat in his rush to get out of the house and now he instantly regretted it. The further he walked the colder it seemed to get. Then again it was the beginning of October. Several people passed him, trust up in heavy coats and knitted scarves. They gave Louis odd looks due to his out-of-season wear. But Louis of course wasn’t concerned about what others were thinking. In fact Louis was more concerned about where the fuck he actually was. Turning around on the spot he realised he’d walked further than he had realised, and he was now in a street that was completely unfamiliar.

He should have been more worried, but he just shrugged it off and walked in a different direction. Choosing to walk down a street that looked a little less deserted and creepy than the one he was currently in. This time – however – he didn’t walk past people in furry coats and knitted scarves, but teenage boys in Adidas trainers and tracksuit bottoms. Louis had to laugh at himself once passing a group of the boys. He was scared, and it was stupid. They were just teenagers. Sure they probably had knifes up their sleeves and drugs in their pockets, but why would they even pay any attention to Louis?

“Oi, mate!” ‘shit’, Louis thought, turning around to face the boy who had called.

“Yeah?” Louis replied, acting more confident than he felt.
The group of boys, around six of them walked up to Louis. Intimidating with their hoods up, shadowing their faces.

“You’re one of those gays, aren’t ya?”
“What?” Louis asked, genuinely confused and not in the mood to play around.
“You’re one of those cunt’s in that boy band” one of the braver boys said, the others laughing at his choice of language. Louis refrained himself from rolling his eyes. He forgot that fourteen year olds thought they were hard.

“Yeah, I am” Louis said, aware that the boys were closing in on him.
“You’re a fucking batty boy”
“Yeah, that’s me”
“Mate, you’re a fucking disgrace. Who the fuck do you think you are?”
“Look, will you just leave me alone. I’m really not in th-“
“You fucking what, mate?”
“Whatever” Louis said, rolling his eyes and turning away.

“Going back to your fucking boyfriends, are ya? Fucking homo!” one of the boys yelled again. However Louis was relieved when they didn’t follow him.

Simon had said they would get hate from boys, but Louis was always a bit nervous when it happened. Particularly in moments like these when there was no one there to protect him. And, although this was stereotyping, boys like those were always the worst. Because they would more than likely get into a fight if they felt like it. But in some ways, teenage chav’s like those weren’t the worst, it was the online abuse that hurt.

Trolls on Youtube commenting time and time again that the band should just go and die. That they should be shot and gassed and tortured. Just for playing music that wasn’t to their taste. Just because they were jealous. However, bizarre comments like that were not the ones that hurt the most, it was the ones that picked on Niall’s teeth or Zayn’s race – for example – that hurt the most. Because they were personal. The boys were insecure. They were told by thousands of fans daily that they were perfect and the hottest boys they had every laid eye on. But it only took one stupid comment online to hurt the boys. Niall and Louis were the ones who were affected the most. But as always, Louis didn’t let it show.

Louis subconsciously began rubbing his hands up and down his arms, trying to keep warm from the bitter weather. His teeth chattered as he looked around him, trying to figure out where he was. Instead all he saw was a corner shop. The typical Indian man standing behind the counter, the harsh florescent lights hurting Louis’s eyes. He found himself drifting towards the store. The store looking as if it could provide warmth, and sure enough as soon as he pushed open the door a wave of heat hit his freezing body.

The man behind the counter watched Louis, intrigued as to why a lone teenager would be in the store at 10 o’clock at night. But Louis avoided the glares and instead walked up and down the aisles, looking at the sweets and the magazines and the bottles of alcohol. His jeans pocket suddenly felt heavy, and once putting his hand inside realised his wallet was stuffed in there, with at least £50 in there.

“Are you buying?” Louis snapped his head up to see the shop owner was staring at Louis. Louis gulped “Vodka half price” the man tempted.

Louis squinted, and sure enough written in messy sharpie on a sticky note was the words “VODKA HALF PRICE – JUST £10!!”

“Um?”
“You troubled, yes?”
“Uh?” Louis lowered his eyebrows at the man.
“You troubled. Drink vodka” the odd shop keeper had already grabbed the bottle of Smirnoff from the shelf behind him.

Louis held a £10 note in his hand and looked the man up and down. Thinking, he realised a drink would be nice now. Walking wasn’t clearing his head as much as he wished, maybe a gulp or two of vodka would help him forget a bit. Just this once.

And the next thing Louis knew he was walking down the street swigging from a bottle of vodka like he was fourteen again. But he wasn’t fourteen, he was nearly twenty-one. And he was in the middle of London, drinking vodka on his own because he had been wound up over one stupid little thing.

But was it stupid? The more vodka he sipped the more his thoughts seemed to sink into depressive thoughts. Maybe there was a real reason he didn’t get solo’s. He realised that it had been bugging him for some time. Subconsciously. And that now the thought of solo’s actually frightened him, because he didn’t believe he was good enough. That was the thing with Louis. His self esteem was practically non-existent.

He took another sip. ‘I’m never good enough’ he thought to himself. He was the least favourite of the group. No attention was ever paid to him unless it was surrounding the idea that he was gay, and even then the attention was hardly ever good. He didn’t really even participate to anything in the band. He was the extra, the spare. They had the heart-throb, the serious song-writer, the Irish one and the dark-skinned one. What was Louis? The other one. The one who couldn’t sing. The gay one.

It always bothered him, the gay thing. Because people were just so convinced. Him and Harry were an item! They fuck every night! They’re in love! Louis’s gay! Look at the way he dresses. He’s a faggot, a homo, a bumder.

Louis didn’t even realise, but he was saying all the words to himself. Muttering them under his breath.

What must his parents think? His dad? His son, in a boy band? Spending all of his time cuddled up to four other boys. Gay. An embarrassment. He amounted to nothing. He was pointless.

Eventually Louis emerged somewhere he was familiar with. In front of him he could hear the running water of the Thames. The path he was now standing on so empty and quite compared to its usual mad rush due to the tourists and market stools and general people just trying to go about their daily business. Westminster bridge was sat directly in front of him, empty and much wider than it looked usually due to the lack of people on it. Louis took another large gulp, realising already half of the bottle was gone and this his brain was starting to blur and his words were starting to slur.

Slowly he began across the bridge, running his fingers across the thick railing. Glancing at the London eye to the left of him, and Big Ben behind him. At any other time it would make him smile, how beautiful London looked at night, but it didn’t. Because of the alcohol in his system it only allowed him to think of upsetting things. Only allowed him to be selfish and think of how much he hated himself and how useless he was.

He stopped suddenly, and walked to the edge of the bridge, leaning over the side to see the dark dirty water move beneath him. He stood like this for a few minutes. Repeating words in his head. Making himself more disgusted at his own being every second. Without thinking he sat on the railing, swivelling his legs around so that his Tom’s were dangling above the famous river.

Louis had that sudden urge just then. Everybody has had them before, and if anybody has never had this feeling they would be lying. The urge to do something without even thinking just to see what would happen. What would happen if you cut off all of your hair just because you were holding a pair of scissors? What would happen if you just ripped up all of your homework despite spending hours on it? What would happen if you just jumped into the Thames because you were depressed from intoxicated thoughts for no reason at all?

Louis had that urge. And the more he felt himself edge forward the more he got excited and nervous. What really would happen if he jumped? If he hit the icy water? Would he be able to get out again? Or would he just drown under the current? Would he be missed? Would he not? What would his parents think? What would the boys think? Would they cry? Would Harry cry? Would Harry care? Would Harry ever be able to find another best friend? Someone better than Louis? What would the fans think? Would they care? What would it feel like to die? Would it be exciting? Scary? Would he see his life flash before his eyes like the movies say? Would he regret it? Would he cry? Laugh? Smile? Would it hurt?

He would never know, because he was interrupted.

“Looks pretty cold, that water” a female voice said from the side of him. Louis jumped a little at the voice. Seconds ago there was nobody around, and he was sure of it, because he had looked up and down the bridge and seen no one.

Louis turned towards her. She was pretty. Pale, almost ill looking, with dark circles around her ocean blue eyes. Freckles dusting her delicate nose. Her long blonde hair blowing around her face despite a wind not even being present.

She turned to face him, and there was a certain look in her eye. But Louis couldn’t place it. But it made him feel something. A wrench in his stomach. Like nausea.

“The current’s fast too,” she continued, turning her head back towards the water, placing her thin fingers on the railing and looking down “Probably wouldn’t even be able to get back up, you’d die for sure. Painful too,” she turned to look at him again, almost like she knew “it would be awful if someone were to fall in, wouldn’t it?”

Louis just stared...who was she? How did she appear out of nowhere? Why did her blonde hair look so familiar?

“At least we can be sure that nobody would attempt to jump in. Because that would be foolish. It would be selfish, jumping into rivers, wouldn’t it, Louis?” she turned to face him then. Looking him directly in the eye and not looking away, not even blinking.

He was about to reply casually, when he noted she used him name.

“You – you know my name?” panic shot through him. What if she was a fan? What would she do, who would she tell?

“Of course I do. Don’t worry though, I’m not a stalker” she said it as if she had said it so many times before, almost with a sigh. Her voice calm and gentle.

Louis had a thousand questions, but right now his fuzzy brain wasn’t really letting him process it, instead he just asked something simple but could be answered in so many ways.

“Who are you?”
“I’m Diana”