How It's Going To Be [h.s.]

Chapter 28

"Harry!" I finally screamed when I realized the person was not letting go.

The yelling of the crowd was so loud I couldn't believe he heard me. Harry turned on his heel and the smile that had been on his face disappeared as he saw me pulled against the barrier with a hand on me. His face hardened and he stormed toward me with his eyes, now an unfamiliar darkened shade, fixated on the hand that was hurting me.

Before Harry reached me, I felt the hand being pried away. A bodyguard helped me to an upright position and ran his hand down the expanse of my arm that had just been imprisoned by the stranger. I winced at his touch. "Alright?"

"Yeah," I breathed.

"Are you okay, Kate?" Harry was right in front of me.

"Fine," I waved him off. "It's okay."

The bodyguard put an arm around my back protectively. He stood up tall and looked to the other bodyguards who were scattered among the other boys. "We're done! We're getting out of here. Boys, to the cars. No more stops!"

Obediently, the boys stopped waving to the fans and their smiles turned into blank stares as they made their way quickly to the car. None of them had seen what happened, but they didn't question security.

It was like the rest of the world closed off. My breathing was labored and rapid. I could hear my heartbeat in my ears perfectly. The crowd sounded like they were far away. I could see nothing but the pattern of Harry's coat as he rushed along in front of me. I could feel nothing but the bodyguard's hand on my back. I could think of nothing but stopping the tears that were brimming in my eyes from spilling out for everyone to see.

                 

I stared at Harry's hand resting on my thigh as we sat on the plane. I was chewing the gum he had given to me to help with my ears and the pressure from the ascent of the flight. We were gaining altitude and I felt the force of gravity pushing me back in the chair. I focused on the dull, rhythmic ache from my upper arm. I was still shaken from the incident outside the hotel.

I knew Harry felt badly about the whole thing. He kept telling me he was sorry and saying he should have been more careful with me. It wasn't his fault; it wasn't anyone's fault. He couldn't always be there to protect me. And as much as I tried to ignore the thought, I knew he wouldn't always be there to protect me.

"When we get back home, we have to talk," I said quietly.

"About?"

"What's going to happen when you're on tour," I whispered.

Harry leaned forward and rested his forehead against mine and his hand on my thigh tightened its grip. I tried not to think about the stranger's hand on my arm. "Yeah, we'll talk."

"And can we go to your country house? I want to be alone...with you."

"Of course. We'll spend the rest of the week there."

"Thank you," I whispered.

I pulled away from Harry's face and stared out the window. I spent the next thirty minutes of the flight pretending like I wasn't crying and pretending like I didn't know Harry had noticed me crying.

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It was the early hours of the morning after we returned to Harry's house from the airport. Instead of lying in bed, Harry and I were sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace side by side. Our eyes were hooked on the dancing flame in front of us and our mouths were silent. We were both mulling over what we needed to say. It was the conversation we had been avoiding for weeks, but there was no more waiting to be done.