Exposure • h.s.

CHAPTER13.

^^ little teaser to set the vibe
I'll be making some more throughout the book!

Harry Styles

That fucking bitch. How dare she?

She wants to play the prima donna with me, boldly challenging all the negativity and rotten darkness I have inside me, and that I'm ready to offer her. The feeling of contempt I have towards her intensifies the burning sensation corroding the walls of my stomach.

In a way, I almost pity her.

I'll gladly strip away her desire to "work" and "make herself heard," which has only caused damage so far. And I'll do it personally.

Mabel Donovan, I'll turn you into a true star.

"...fucking pissy writer..." I mutter under my breath as I burst into the basement where my home recording studio is.

As usual, the boys are lounging on the black leather armchairs inside: Niall is glued to his cellphone, Liam is toying with the mixer, while Zayn, true to form, is absorbed in his stupid Nintendo, perhaps oblivious to the fact that we're now 24 year old men and should be preparing for the intense days of work ahead of us.

"Thank God you're always in such a good mood, Harry" Liam remarks, turning slowly to face me. "Are you PMSing or something?"

The bitterness is still bubbling in my gut, taking control over my emotions.

I should've taken her out as soon as I could, maybe using my usual method. But this time, I decided to do things differently, and I screwed myself over.

"Are you done with your stupid ass remarks, Liam?" I snap back, venomously, scorching him with my gaze.

The guys chuckle in the background, amused by my bad mood.

"Here," Niall says, handing me a pre-rolled joint he pulled out of the front pocket of jeans so tight that I doubt blood circulates properly in his lower body.

"Chill out a bit."

I accept the offer, lighting up the joint that holds my hopes of calming down. Thick and pungent smoke fills my lungs as I take a hit, inhaling deeply, waiting for the intoxicating effects to loosen up my tangled nerves. I don't let a single puff escape, allowing it to flow back and forth between my mouth and nose as I close my eyes under the weight of that potent weed.

Niall really outdid himself this time: it's a fucking top-notch joint.

I indulge in it, savoring the smoke. I can tell my friends might want a hit, but I don't let them.

"Why so tense? Nervous about tonight?" Zayn asks, eyes fixed on the screen of his glowing console.

"Nah, I don't give a fuck about tonight," I lie, my words tinged with the lingering smoke in my throat.

"Whatever you say," he replies, and I decide not to say anything more.

"Maybe he's just stressed about the work awaiting him after the interview," Niall whispers, his face devoid of any emotion.

"What the hell are you talking about, Niall?" Liam interjects, hands behind his head. I observe their conversation with disinterested detachment, holding onto the one thing that gives me a shred of peace in that instant—weed. "Post-interview is nothing; we've all gotten used to it."

"This is his first live interview in months, after the tour got canceled. The whole world will have their eyes on him. It's obvious he's fucking nervous," Zayn adds, joining the discussion and, as always, taking my side.