The Other One {Harry Styles AU}

16. Now

I am screaming. I can feel my throat growing hoarse, but I don't actually hear it. All I can hear is my own heartbeat and the thumping music of the club, which continues despite the carnage in the back. The crowd forms a circle around us, the photographer snapping shots the whole time. Fucking vulture.

Harry seems to have lost himself in the repetitive action of hitting Jonas' face. He doesn't respond to anyone or anything; he just keeps hitting him, and I am terrified. Not of Harry. For Harry. If he doesn't stop, he'll kill Jonas, and as much as I would like to spit on his grave, I really don't want to spend the rest of my life visiting Harry in prison. But I would.

Security arrives and pulls Harry off of Jonas. The bigger guard has his arms looped through Harry's and is trying to drag him from the club, but I grab his arm. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"He attacked the other one, so he has to go. The cops are already on their way."

I am shaking my head. "You have it wrong, sir. The other one was about to hit me. Harry stopped him."

The guard looks dubious. "You were screaming for someone to stop him."

"Yes, because I don't want him to go to jail."

"He might be," the guy grunts, and I know Harry is in serious trouble.

"She's giving it to you straight, man." The photographer pushes through the crowd to us. "I have it all on film." He opens the viewer of his large digital camera and scrolls through the photos. I can see the guard's grip on Harry loosening the further along they get, and finally he lets go altogether.

I reach my hand up to Harry's face. He's bleeding from his eyebrow and his bottom lip. I drape my arm around his waist and kiss his cheek. He buries his head in my neck. "I'm sorry," he whispers. My fingers rake through his hair, trying to soothe him.

But my voice is shaky and bitter. "Fuck that. Don't be sorry. He deserved it."

"I agree," the photographer says. I glare at him. "Sorry, I just. I heard what Jonas said to you."

"Thanks for, well, just thanks." I say awkwardly. I look over at the security guard. "Can we go?"

"No, we're going to need you to wait and give a statement to the police."

I look down at Jonas, who is moaning on the floor dramatically, a security guard examining his swollen, blood-stained face. Shit. He will press charges. I know him. I know he will.

I dig my phone out of my little clutch purse and dial my lawyer. "Jack, I need to retain your services for a friend of mine."

"What's going on?"

I detail the fight for him.

"Are the police there yet?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Okay, get out of there. Private security can't hold you unless they place you under citizen's arrest. If the police arrive before you leave, exercise your right to remain silent. Both of you. Do not talk to anyone unless I'm with you. Call me back and let me know what's going on."

I turn to Harry. "Come on, we're leaving."

As we reach the door, the security guard blocks our exit. "I need you to stay, miss."

"You can't actually force us to stay," I answer. He looks uncertain. He knows I'm right, but he is clearly not used to people questioning his authority. "Are you holding him on a citizen's arrest?"

"No."

"Then get out of my way," I growl.

Harry and I exit the club, only to be met by a crowd of cameras. I mean, fuck. The red carpet shut down an hour ago. These are just fucking paparazzi. The incessant click of their cameras and the blinding flashes of light make me dizzy. "What happened in there Maddie? What's going on?"