Exposure • h.s.

CHAPTER6.

Still 313 days before the deal.

Still shaken and with swollen eyes from crying, I exit the small bathroom stall in which I've been hiding for the last fifteen minutes, as the epilogue to the chaotic scene I've just experienced.

Humiliation is a strong, stormy feeling. It's hard to digest and it drains a lot of energy, igniting and stirring up my searing sensitivity. As I adjust my skirt, I question whether the worst kind of humiliation is in the body or the mind, and I still feel overwhelmed by having experienced both. I take the blame and the consequences for giving in to Harry's tempting touch.

Once back inside the club, Tony's eyes widen when he sees me, and he lets out his Italian DNA as he exclaims, "Mamma mia, Mabel! Where the hell have you been?"

Oh, just around. I pretended to be a groupie, almost slept with and got humiliated by the artist of the year, I walked around for a bit, and now I'm back.

"Are you alright?"

"That thing we talked about earlier..." I stutter, my voice choked with tears. "I couldn't do it. I'm sorry."
I'm still deeply shaken, and my pride has been wounded.
I want to go home as soon as possible and forget what happened tonight.
I want to erase the memories of the black cat, his piercing eyes, and his betraying hands.

"Oh," Tony says with a sympathetic tone. "I'm sorry."

I shrug and give a compassionate smile, maybe more for myself than because he genuinely feels sorry.

"It's okay. At least I tried."

"We'll figure out something to tell Nellie, don't worry. There's always a solution to everything."

This is the first time Tony speaks to me in such a caring way, without any sarcasm or reprimand. Maybe he really wanted me to take his place.

Our brief empathetic exchange is interrupted by the guy still hugging Tony (clearly hammered), muttering: "Damn, I really want a cigarette right now. I had to throw mine away during security checks."

"But I think I saw some guy smoking in here earlier," I say, recalling the image of Harry lighting a cigarette in front of me, blowing smoke in my face with a playful smirk.

"Well..." the stranger says, "if I had known, I would've asked him for a drag."

Tony gets visibly annoyed by the guy's words, while I ask him: "why can't you smoke in here?", remembering that I have an almost empty pack of cigarettes in my purse - the same one that hadn't been checked earlier only because I said I had tampons in there. Crazy.

"I think it's because of the wooden interiors," the guy says, and Tony adds, "or maybe it's because of the alcohol. Imagine what could happen if a poorly extinguished cigarette came into contact with all that alcohol. We would all basically explode."

Bingo.

"Oh gosh," I exclaim. "I think I left something in the bathroom."

Tony glares at me, immediately understanding he would have to wait for me once again before being able to leave that place.

"Hurry. Up.", he says, and his urging tone sounds like a threat.

I nod and make my way through the crowded dance floor, squeezing past sweaty girls, middle-aged men in drenched shirts, and security guards watching everyone's moves to make sure no one gets near the VIP area where Harry must be having fun.

Yeah, not for longer.

In the background, I spot the bathroom door, the corridor leading to it packed with girls, presumably waiting in line for their turn.