Exposure • h.s.

CHAPTER16.

tw//anxiety; blood

Three days later.

The last three days have been wearing me out. I feel like I've been running on fumes, my existence dwindled down to a few breaths and sporadic movements made under the covers. I feel so tired. Exhaustion has taken its toll on me, and my thoughts are racing at a speed my brain can't keep up.

Once again, I sense a persistent buzzing coming from between the bed sheets. It must be my phone, impatiently waiting to be answered. The slight vibration stops, and I breathe out a sigh of relief. But then it starts again, this time with even more intensity.
Letting out another sigh, I finally decide to pick up the call.

"Oh my God, Mabel! You picked up!" a concerned voice chirps on the other end of the phone. In those few words, I can feel the tension that must've built up in Liz fading away.

"Yup," I manage to say. My mouth feels dry, mirroring the drought of words that has been striking me these past hours.

"I've been trying to call you for three whole days. You scared the shit out of me!" scolds Liz, and her worry gives me a little boost. "How you doing?"

Those words burst the bubble of emotions I've been trying to suppress.

"Well... how am I? " I reply, my voice constricted as I grapple to find an answer. "I'm definitely existing."

"Oh, Mae... please don't say that. You know how much we all care about you. Ali's here with me, and she sends you a big hug too," she whispers, desperately trying to comfort me. Ali's voice chimes in, asking Liz, "has she read all the articles?"

"Of course she has, babe!" Liz replies, trying to keep her voice down, though I catch every word distinctly.

"I've read every single one of them...," I confirm, only for my words to dissolve into the heavy silence that now fills the phone.

"You shouldn't be giving a fuck about anyone, Mae! You know how the industry works, you've worked in that world too... tabloids fabricate all sorts of nonsense just to attract people and make money. Journalists would sell their own mothers to have more readers! Everything's gonna be okay, alright? It's not that big a deal."

"Liz," I call her name, sitting up. My body feels worn out, as I haven't moved in the past twenty-four hours except to go to the bathroom. "Those articles lowkey bashed me."

"C'mon, drama queen," Liz responds, trying to tone down my gloomy words. "It's not as bad as you think."

"Mabel Donovan: the girl that went from unpromising writer to being Harry Styles' publicist; Mabel Donovan: all the Cornell alumna does now is getting coffee for music industry's black cat; Harry Styles has a new flame. It's Mabel Donovan, the so-called journalist who made him leave the music scene, now taking it all back," I mechanically read from the screenshots on my phone, which serve as the self-inflicted painful reminder I go back to every time I start feeling slightly better.
"And those weren't even the worst ones."

"But you don't just get Harry coffee. See, tabloids only make shit up!" Ali tries to reassure me, while Liz remains silent, lost in her own thoughts after my words hit her.

"Tell that to all the people sending me death threats online. I had to deactivate all my social media accounts, but my photos and personal stuff are still circulating. Everyone is making fun of me," I say, feeling tears welling up in my eyes.

"Are you talking about the pics where you're wasted as fuck or 'The Inheritance of Pain'?" Ali asks candidly, adding some precious pieces of information to the conversation.