Free Fall (Harry Styles)

Chapter Six

A/N: HEY!!! long time no update and I'm so sorry I'm the worst! Enjoy this little update as I write the next few chapters which will be much longer and much, much more eventful :) See you tonight or tomorrow with that update! Enjoy! 

After that bizarre encounter towards the end of the night and after Marley had signed the contracts, we made our way out of the club without another run-in with mystery man, or "Harry Styles," as he introduced himself. If I can even call that an introduction...

The following morning was a classic post-club morning: a giant fucking headache, a ton of greasy takeout food, and a day spent on the couch watching shitty television with Marley and Fenway. The next week comes and goes with nothing out of the ordinary popping up. Apparently, God heard my prayers, begging him for my life to return back to normalcy. That night of clubbing was more than enough for me and for a while. I liked my little life here. By the time Friday rolls around, I am greeted by my regular group of teens, who seem to be packed to the brim of excitement over the most recent books I had recommended to them the week prior.

By Friday afternoon, Mr. Grant is already shoo-ing me away, begging me to enjoy my weekend like a "normal kid." Boy, if only he knew the normal ship had sailed for me a long time ago. Despite my protests, he made me leave early, leaving him to close up the shop. I always hate leaving him alone there, especially knowing he is going home to an empty house; it truly breaks my heart. As I walk home, I let myself enjoy the weather. I've never minded the rain. In fact, I happen to love springtime; there's the promise of new life blossoming everywhere you look and the rain is a sign of that life being nourished. It makes me hopeful. Hopeful for life and hopeful for new beginnings. I let myself get lost in the music playing in my headphones, not paying particular attention to what was playing but bopping my head to the beat regardless.

My walk is interrupted by screaming, which I manage to hear over my music, making me realize that whoever is screaming is screaming really fucking loudly. I look up and see not a person screaming but a literal mob screaming. A mob of... teenage girls? And a lot of men with flashing cameras?

Curiosity piqued, I paused to observe the scene. The air was electric with anticipation, and the girls appeared to be in a frenzy. Whispers of excitement passed through their ranks, their faces adorned with awe and impatience. Some clutched their phones, eagerly refreshing their social media feeds, while others fidgeted with hastily made signs adorned with hearts and the name of a mysterious celebrity. The girls anxiously awaited the arrival of a celebrity—an individual whose name was uttered in hushed tones but whose significance eluded me entirely as I could barely make out what they were saying over the girlish screams and giggles. Their fanaticism reached new heights, with giggles and shrieks of excitement breaking out sporadically.

Oh god, what have I walked into? Before I can pivot away from the scene, a flock of girls comes running towards me, entrapping me in the mob. This is not how I wanted to start my calm and rejuvenating weekend. I don't even know why these girls are here.

"Have you seen him?! Has he left the hotel yet?!" I look over, and a young girl, probably about 16 years old with dark eye makeup and bright green braces, screams to me. "Who?!" I scream back over the pandemonium, "HARRY!!" She yells over the crowd, "he's supposed to be leaving for a performance right now!!" I shake my head no, "I have no idea who that is. I kind of got stuck," I shout back. The girl looks back at me and rolls her eyes, disappearing into the crowd. Damn. Tough crowd. Literally. I turn and shove my way out. Being 5 feet tall is really a disadvantage sometimes; I can't see shit.

I finally make my way out of the boisterous crowd and catch my breath. Jesus fucking Christ. I turn the corner of the hotel, hoping to get away. I find an alley and make my way down it in an attempt to walk around the crowd. I scurry and keep my head low to avoid any more crazed fangirls, and suddenly, I bump into someone. Okay, maybe I really need to start watching where I'm going. "Oi! How the fuck did you get back here?" I look up to see a huge man who could be a security guard. Before I can even respond, he grabs my wrists and drags me down the alley, "HEY," I scream, "get your fuckin' hands off me," my Boston accent always becomes apparent when I'm angry or cussing, or in this case, both. "Shut up. You're not getting near him. I swear you girls are all psychos," he huffs as he continues to drag me. Without his relent, I leave it up to my own devices. As he's dragging me, I kick him square in the nuts and instantly feel his grip release. The man crouches over, and I swat him on his stupid bald head. "I don't know who "he" is or what you think I'm trying to do, but I'm just walking home from work. Don't fucking touch me, you bald prick," I spit as I straighten out my shirt and bag. Suddenly, I hear whistling and a slow clap. As I look up, I see none other than the lovely Harry Styles with a giant smirk plastered on his face, and I immediately scoff.

"Wow. I didn't peg the bookworm to be such a badass," he says, his words dripping in sarcasm. "Oh please, can you just fuck off," I retort. Can this man go back to wherever he came from? I'm sick of seeing him and his stupid fucking face.

"Stalking me already? Have you not gotten enough?" His eyebrows raise and the left corner of his lip lifts, forming a devilish smirk.

"Excuse me, you think I'm stalking you? That's rich coming from you, Ha-" Before I can even finish my sentence, his hands cover my mouth. What the fuck is up with this dude and personal space, or lack thereof.

"Don't say my name right now," he seeths as his hand covers my mouth and his eyes dart around to check our surroundings.

I quickly slap his hand away, "don't fucking touch me, you worm," I spit back. Okay, not my greatest insult, but I'm trapped in a dark alley with this strange British man and not in a great creative headspace. I have to crane my neck to look at the man standing right before me to see him holding back a laugh. "This," I hit his chest, "isn't," another slap to his chest, "fucking," one more for good measure, "funny!" I scold him, getting more pissed that he seems to find this amusing.

"Now, if you and Baldy," I gesture to the large bald man standing a few feet behind him, "don't mind, I will be headed home, as I intended to before I was so rudely interrupted."

Harry lifts up his hands in surrender, still sporting that stupid smirk, "Please, be my guest, Topanga." Hearing my name come out of his mouth makes me want to vomit, specifically right on his stupid face, but before I get the chance, the crowd's screaming intensifies, and to avoid that clusterfuck again, I take that as my cue to leave. I look up and give Harry one last eye roll, turn on my heel, and walk away with my middle finger held up in the air.