Exposure • h.s.

CHAPTER28.

⋆｡°✩ surprise! Happy friday the 13th! 🐈‍⬛

"Now we fucking run."

Harry's instructions ring clear in my mind, cutting through the chaos like a tolling bell. The emergency exit swings open with a single twist of the handle, and we push through, our bodies pressed against the door panel for leverage.

This daring escape frees us from the merciless crush. The frenzied shoving  fades to a distant memory, though our aching bodies still bear its imprint.

"This way, Mabel!" Harry shouts, gripping my hand, blood clinging to it as a reminder of the earlier violence he endured. The touch isn't repulsive, it's as reassuring as the gentle touch of a teacher guiding you to write. Harry is somehow teaching me how to run.

My legs quiver, threatening to give way at any moment. Adrenaline has a surgical effect on me, severing my conscious control of the lower half of my body, leaving it to its own devices, as it just seems to go.

The staircase seems endless, and I teeter on the brink of surrender, entertaining thoughts of halting, planting my feet on the ground, and putting an end to all this chaotic madness. But Harry, who's leading the way, perhaps senses my struggle, because he encourages me with a heartfelt, "Come on, Mabs. You've got this."

The stairwell reverberates with voices, and the rapid footfalls become a symphony of urgency. Drew leads people behind him, shouting, "You dirty fucking asshole! I'll be the one to make you pay, forget about your goddamn bad luck!"

I swallow. Harry still holds my hand.

Finally, we reach the bottom floor, having navigated the seemingly endless spiral of stairs. The secondary exit is just before us, and Harry guides me through with the patience of a caring guardian.

Outside, there's no paparazzi, only Zayn, who must've managed to slip out of that situation, escaping the tumultuous crowd. He waits for us in Harry's Range Rover, ready to drive us away.

"We did it!" I think to myself.

And indeed, thinking is the only thing I can do.

Because in reality, things didn't go that way.

"Now we fucking run!" Harry shouts, propelling me forward to clutch the door handle.

The mob swirls around us, and it's hard to tell if it's mostly fans seizing the opportunity to approach Harry or Drew's friends attempting to reach Harry, with the intention of giving him a thorough beating in their friend's name. As for what they're avenging, it's anyone's guess since Drew's girlfriend was also part of the sloppy kissing session, so the "blame" for this situation should be split right down the middle.

My hands quiver, drenched in sweat. Chaotic, jumbled thoughts pound in my temples, as if they want to break free, explode out of my mind, and command all my senses, making me unconscious.

My throat tightens, breathing becomes nearly impossible.

Getting physically assaulted by a crowd of people jostling you from all directions is not fun at all, as one might imagine. It reminds me of that unpleasant run-in with the paparazzi outside the Jim's Night Show studios, where they treated me like a punching bag in disguise.

We're on a rooftop, but oxygen doesn't reach my lungs.

"Damn... it won't open," I mutter, my voice strained by tension. Harry's eyes flash with pure panic as he quickly lowers his head, perhaps to evade the relentless pics of him being taken from all angles.