Rebel, Rebel. (h i a t u s)

▲ c h a p t e r s i x ▲

The heat was a wool bag pulled over my head. Hot, humid, I felt like I was suffocating. That's how hot it was outside. The heat was raw, and clung to every inch of my body. I wanted nothing more than to get out of this crowd of screaming, fainting little girls, and run and leap head first into the deepest swimming pool of the city. But, I know if I leave Carmen here alone she'll end up being another girl who falls to the ground shaking, foaming at the mouth, and being taken out of the stadium on a stretcher. I thought it was odd at first, that there were tens of ambulances and fire trucks, and police cars, surrounding the stadium, but, now I understand why. These fans are crazy, physco, deranged. Infected with One Direction Infection.

Also known as rabies.

Well, in my books, at least.

Thousands upon thousands of girls, first crying, screaming in the car on their way here. Then jumping and screaming, tears falling from their eyes, as they seen the stage in which their dream husbands will perform, then they recognize each other, as fellow fan girls. Hyping each other up, so high that eventually they're screaming in a gibberish language that only they understand. The audience fills, and soon there's groups of ten to fifteen girls, holding each other, hyperventilating. All trying to out-do each other on excitement. One of them will win. Which one will it be?

The one who sees the tour bus pull into the parking lot.

She gets so excited that she shakes, screams, and falls blank.

Only to be carried out of the audience on a stretcher by two men who are sure to be muttering obscenities.

I tightened my grip around Carmen's hand.

“Promise me you won't act like that,” I whispered close to her ear.

She nodded her head, a single tear streaming down her cheek.

I yanked her hand, telling her to stop it, signaling for her to stop.

“I mean it! Why are you crying? You were just with these idiots hours ago,” I said in a low voice.

She wiped a tear, “I slept with Niall, now I get to watch him sing.”

“Is he going to pull you on stage and kiss you hard, huh Carmen, is he going to say he loooves you?” I mocked, in a voice that the average person would use talking to a baby.

In just short of a second, she burst out in tears, screaming, she vigorously rubs her eyes, to stop the tears from falling.

“Stop playing with my emotions!” She barked, the words sounded like they were harsh against her throat. She chewed her bottom lip while palming at her eyes, like a small child who had just had their dreams crushed.

I laughed quietly to myself, and looped my arm with hers, pulling her along to our seats, though I knew I would be the only one in my seat, while the other 99.99% of the audience was on their feet, swinging their arms in the air and jumping.

These guys weren't anything to get your heart rate up to unhealthy paces for.

I mean, so what if they're all pretty good looking guys?

And so what if Zayn's dark eyes, and dark hair, and tanned skin is undeniably eye catching?

Wait, undeniably? Not in the least.

He wasn't near as attractive as he's made out to be.

And even though he is somewhat attractive, I'll deny it to my grave.

You see all these girls here, swooning over him, ripping their panties off for him.

He's mainstream. And I don't do mainstream.

Carmen and I plopped into our seats, waiting for that band to take stage. I could feel her heart beat in her hand.

“Calm down,” I squeezed her hand. “Why are you so hyped up, anyways?”

“This is my first concert,” She admitted in a pant, “And it's One Direction!”

“I don't think they're anything special,” I said for the millionth time, “And besides, it's not like you're watching your husband perform or anything. It'd be different if it were your husband up there.”

She slowly turned her head, looking at me wide eyes, her eyebrows lower than I'd ever seen.

She spoke deep and slow, “In my head...” she paused, “They're all my husbands.”

I raised an eyebrow to her.

Her eyes just stared into mine, round and serious, as glass coated them, and I could tell her excitement to be at this concert wasn't explainable in words. I shook her hard stare, and sat back in my seat, watching as thousands of crying, shaking young teenage girls filled the seats of the stadium, soon, it was so densely packed, that all of the chattered voices talking started to sound like a steady, high pitched buzz. The smell of cotton candy body spray and hot sweat engulfed the stadium. I leaned my head back to suppress a gag, the trademark teenage girl scent is vile in unexplainable ways when at such high capacity.

Carmen squeezed my hands, and as soon as she did, the lights in the stadium dimmed, while the lights on stage began to light up. The buzzing quieted to a faint whisper, and all too quickly, everyone in the stadium leaped to their feet, screaming bloody murder, arms flaring, tears sopping the floor, and already, there were 3 girls being carried out of the crowd.

Poor girls.

I had no idea what caused such an uproar, so I rose to my feet, stepping closer to Carmen, to ensure she wouldn't be one of the girls leaving on a stretcher.

We didn't have front row seats, but our seats weren't too horribly placed, though it was still hard to see over the thousands of crying screaming girls.

I leaned my mouth close to Carmen's ear, “What's going on?!”

Though I yelled it quite hard, I'm sure it sounded like a whisper, and right after the question slipped out my mouth, Carmen's hand raised and clasped tightly over her mouth as she began jumping up and down. Her eyes swelling more and more, then, suddenly, a flood came crashing down.

I didn't want to seem fan girl-y but I was growing anxious as to what was going on, so I leaped up to see the stage, and that's when I knew why the girls were crying and shaking.

Liam, Niall, and Zayn were standing on stage, waving, and smiling big, accompanied by the two boys I saw sleeping earlier.

Each of them were wearing an absurd amount of makeup, and it was noticeable, once you really saw them without it all on. They didn't need it, they were all good looking men in their own quirky way. But, sadly, with the harsh lighting, and the sweating, they would have to wear it.

When I came off my tip-toes, a voice rolled over the microphones, introducing himself and the band, though he didn't need to.

His voice was smoother than silk when booming over massive speakers around us all.

That same arrogant smirk proudly tattooed on his face. He knew his voice was silk.

The crowd was going wild, hands and hair and cellphones were in the air, all because of that band.

An unfamiliar feeling was churning low in my stomach, as I felt my cheeks blush, and the music of their intro song began blaring.

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