too young for this { harry styles }

Chapter 30.

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The taste of the same cotton candy vodka was burning in my mouth when I found myself awake. I could feel the light flashing behind my eyelids as I tried to come to my senses.

I felt his muscular hand on my bruised one, as if he had been holding it in the same place he hurt it.

When I opened my eyes, I did not see the hotel room, or even Harry's hotel room, I saw men, groups of men crowded around myself and the sleeping boy next to me.

They were shouting, but I was far too drunk to hear what they were saying. Carrying cameras and shouting, I watched them through my squinted eyes as I kept waking up.

That's when it hit me. Harry and I were drunk, on the same park bench. It was still dark out and men with cameras, paparazzi, were taking pictures of us on the bench.

I removed Harry's hand from my arm, only noticing the fact that what I had predicted was true, his hands were placed in the same exact place.

"Harry," I slurred, my throat sore from vodka or singing to loudly earlier, or both.

I blinked a few times as I recovered from the cameras flashes. Now I tried to speak louder than the men shouting at us so Harry would wake up. "Harry! Wake up, damnit." I yelled, putting my hands out in front of us both to some of the paparazzi to block the cameras. I failed miserably at blocking them from taking pictures. I then took my hand and hit Harry on his arm, I had to in order to wake him up, I'm sure they got pictures of it.

I can just see the headline now. "Ivy Aldaine abuses Harry Styles."

But it worked.

"Ivy?" Harry whispered under his breath, his face was confused looking because his eyes weren't open.

"Dumbass. We got to go. They found us," I said, starting to stand up from the park bench and put things in my bag. The book, the vodka bottle, all of it.

After I finished, Harry was sitting there on the park bench murmuring something to himself as the paparazzi snapped photos.

"Harry, we got to go to the hotel." I said.

"Where are we?" He whispered, his eyes were halfway shut as his head faced the cameras.

"You're drunk- I mean, we're both drunk. They found us. C'mon." I pulled at his arm.

He lazily stood up from the bench and we both stumbled to wherever we were going.

I could feel the paparazzi following us as we walked to the direction we thought the hotel was in. Harry was carrying the black bag he had brought with a confused expression on his face. He was whipsering things, weird and mental things.

"Where is she. Where is she. Where is she. Where is she." He kept repeating as I held onto his arm so he wouldn't fall.

It was clear that neither of us we in stable condition, or legal condition.

"Harry," I grunted, "I can't pull you along."

He didn't aknowledge my comment. He kept whispering the same thing over and over again.

"Where is she."

It wasn't like he was asking a question, he was drunk and didn't understand what was happening.

I don't think either of us understood anything.

I slid my hand into my backpack, grabbing my phone. My hands shook as I typed in the letters of the person I was wanting to call.

A few rings later I heard his voice.

"Ivy. What the hell?" He said in his cool accent.

"Don't talk to me like that, Caspar." I ordered as a smile spread across my face.