🥀| ‘We were born sick..you heard them say it.’

I can still taste the cigarette smoke on my tongue, the bitter reminder of the sin I won’t let myself name. The church bells ring in the distance, a cruel mockery of the prayers I whisper at night—prayers I don’t believe in, prayers I hope will cleanse me of this. Of him.

Louis is laughing beside me, his blue eyes catching the dying light of the evening. He looks holy like this, like something pure, something I could never touch without staining.

“You alright, Haz?” he asks, nudging my shoulder, his voice so effortlessly warm it makes my stomach twist.

I force a smirk, taking a drag of my cigarette like it’ll steady me. “Yeah,” I say, exhaling smoke between us. “Just thinking about how ridiculous you look in that jumper.” It’s a lie, a cheap deflection, but I know it’ll land the way I need it to.

Louis rolls his eyes, shoving me lightly. “Piss off, you love this jumper.”

I do. I love a lot of things I shouldn’t.

I glance away, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Nah, mate. Not really my style.”

Lying is easy. Easier than the truth. Easier than admitting the way my heart hammers when he smiles at me like I’m something good.

Because I’m not.

I can’t be.

And if I hate myself and him enough, maybe—just maybe—I’ll stop wanting him.