Exposure • h.s.

CHAPTER20.

Mabel Donovan

"Mabel? The fuck are you doing? Where the fuck is Fran?" someone right in front of me yells over the loud music and swirling colors.

All I see is Harry, who is pushing through the crowd, getting curious and confused looks as he goes, anger pervading his shiny emerald eyes.

"Heyyyyyyyyy Harry!" I shout when I see him. "You having a good time? 'Cause I'm having a fucking blast, dude."

Harry's gaze sweeps over the scene in front of him, which is a bit blurry due to the drinks I've downed.

"I told you to stick with Fran. Where is she?" he asks again, sounding pretty insistent.

"She went to get a drink with... Serena Van... no... Selena. Gomez. Selena Gomez. Can you believe it? Selena Gomez!" I explain, bursting into laughter.

I follow the music, swaying to the beat, and... the two middle-aged guys that have been dancing with me up until now seem to do the same.

One's got his hands on my hips, and the other's holding onto my shoulders, leaving a trail of damp kisses on my bare neck. At this point, I'm way too tipsy and confused to make any sense of it all - so much so that these wild scenes just feel like the natural progression of a night that's all about living in the moment. Shapes, figures, and sounds all mix together into a hazy jumble of images that flash around me.

All this is probably due to the drink the sleazy old man bought me as an apology for earlier: since drinking it, I'm struggling to keep my eyes open, to control my moves or rein in my inhibitions, which seem like they've completely disappeared. That must've been one strong drink.

Harry must be disturbed by that sight: he frowns, his gaze seeming even darker than before. He notices the old guys latching onto me, my body completely under their control, while I can't really process the whole situation.

He stares at one of them with a fierceness and anger I've never seen in his usually brooding stare. Then, out of the blue, he offers me his hand, probably expecting me to take it. But I don't; I give him a puzzled look, overdoing it a bit.

Harry comes closer, and the two guys holding onto me catch on and instinctively let go, as if they've seen a ghost. Or better, a black cat.

Why did he come here to ruin my night? He could've left me to enjoy this intoxicating madness a bit longer.

"Mabel," he calls my name again, his tone rough yet sounding like a request, cutting through the loud music.

"No," I reply, as if he'd asked me a question.

The two guys by my side back away, while Harry gets dangerously close. They give him space, like he's got a higher rank in some unspoken hierarchy, seeming almost scared.

Harry keeps his eyes on them, his semi-transparent black shirt sticking to his skin, probably wet with sweat.

Then he comes closer to me, his hand finding my waist and gripping it.
It's the first time he's touched me... like this: his movements are angry yet carry something delicate as they break against my skin.

He leans down to my level, his curls caressing my cheek.

"Dance with me," he says, his lips brushing against my ear, sending an unexpected shiver through me.

"Yeah, as if," I reply again, trying to find his green eyes in the dim light. He's still fixed on the guys behind me, who are now having a hushed conversation and sneaking glances at him.

"Styles," one of them says, and I recognize Michael's voice, the creepy old guy from before. "She's dancing with us."

"She's done now."