Across the Pond (Prince Harry #2)

Chapter Twelve

Meredith wanted to stay in bed all day, but she knew it wasn't possible. Paparazzi had returned last night, Tabitha said. They were just in time for Halloween. Rolling over, she tried to ignore any thoughts of going to class today, but she knew if she didn't go, she had no idea how computer science worked. Groaning, Meredith rolled out of bed.

Walking over to her door, Meredith stepped onto a piece of paper that crumbled underneath her foot. Meredith bent down and picked it up. In the dim light, she barely made out the words. It took a few times before she finally turned on a light.

The handwritten note said, You don't deserve him, and you'll die because of it.

Meredith threw open her door and ran into the hallway. She looked down both directions. No one stood in the long hallway besides her. Meredith's heartbeat thundered, as if it would wake up all of her residents. Meredith flashed back and forth, waiting for someone to come out swinging. Yet there was nothing. Swallowing, Meredith went back into her room and locked the door.

Walking over to her desk hastily, she grabbed the scissors off of it. She checked both of her closest first, before she dipped herself under her bed, flashing her phone in all directions. After a thorough look, she decided no one was under there and she stood up again. Meredith put the scissors down and stared at the note in her hand still. She wanted to rip it apart, burn it if need be, but she only placed it down on her desk for later.

Dressing and doing her makeup, Meredith's eyes kept glancing over to the note. Meredith couldn't take any chances because of last time with Jack, but it was also Halloween. Perhaps someone meant to scare her. Either way, Meredith knew she had to tell Harry as well as Campus Safety. This couldn't be stood for.

With coldness moving in, Halloween was one of the last days to wear a skirt, and Meredith took the chance. After how she reacted on Saturday, even though it was the paparazzi's fault, she needed to make amends. Meredith decided if she looked more feminine for a day, perhaps they would cut her some slack. She needed it.

Meredith's eyes slid over to the paper. If she was going to die today, at least she was going to die pretty.

Stepping out of her dormitory, the paparazzi stayed back, though their cameras did raise. Without the flash photography, she only heard the clicking sound. Meredith went down the stairs, and they yet to move toward her. She kept eyes carefully set on them as she descended down the steps. Sunglasses on, she tried to keep her face as plain as possible.

"Ma'am," said a paparazzi. She slowly turned to him, lips pursed. "Your knees are bruised."

"I fall a lot," Meredith said evenly, fully knowing the bruises on her knees were because a paparazzi tripped her.

"Or you're on your knees a lot," the paparazzi said and then made a sucking sound.

Meredith's fingers curled into her skirt, holding on time. Taking a few more steps, she stopped in front of the paparazzi who said this to her. Her head tilted to the left and then to the right, measuring him. "Are you calling me a slut?" she asked. "We all know what you were referring to, and it was a blow job." Even as the words tumbled out of her mouth, Meredith's head told her to shut up. This was a terrible idea. She was going to get into so much trouble; this would never be forgotten.

Then let's make it good, her heart said. Her mind had to agree.

"That's what you're referring to," Meredith repeated. "If you plan on slut shaming me for having bruises on my knees, you should ask why I have bruises on my knees because it isn't from sucking someone's dick. It's because one of you tripped me on Saturday, and I fell." Meredith turned away, but then turned back. She wasn't quite done yet. "No girl really enjoys having that in their mouth. We're not dogs with a chew toy."

Meredith flipped her hair back and walked away from the paparazzi. They didn't follow her.

"Ma'am, you don't give any shits, do you?" asked a different paparazzi.

"Wrong." Meredith turned back to the men. "I give many shits. I don't take shit." Waving her hand, Meredith walked to class again.

All of it was caught on camera, and many people wouldn't have anything nice to say. But at this point, there wasn't much she could say or do to stop people from forming their own opinions. In this moment, she couldn't find it in herself to care. Someone threatened to kill her that day, and because of her past, Meredith believed the person. There couldn't be any chances taken.

Also, the paparazzi deserved it. Meredith may have a dressed as a lady, but she wasn't a true lady. Training was needed for that. For now, she was going to be who was, and who she was a loud mouthed badass. She had her moments, and she needed to prove that to the world.

Though she loved Harry, she couldn't certainly give up the part of her that made her so unique. There was a box for her to fit into, and she couldn't bring herself to care enough. Perhaps it was the threat because she wasn't scared anymore. Jack had tried to kill her, and perhaps he was supposed to win. Or maybe it was something to get used to: the threat of death.

As she entered the union, Meredith glanced back and the paparazzi hadn't moved from their spot. None had followed her, and now they lounged around, waiting for her to come back. Without something to do, the heap of men looked lost and alone. A part of them backed up, noting Meredith wasn't like the rest of them, whether or not that was good.

Meredith walked on.