Only Your Arms (Harry Styles Fan fiction)

Chapter 25

"That was the worst show I've ever seen," I said as Harry and I basically stumbled out of the theater. The laughter wouldn't stop. The Fifty Shades trilogy may be good, but the Fifty Shades Musical was something else. It wasn't a good type of something else though; it was a "what the hell" something else. It was full of confusing scenes, awful acting, terrible songs, and dreadful jokes. 

"That was pretty bad," he said back and I laughed even harder. 

"Like, I really have no idea what the hell I just watched. That was terrifying," I told him and his head was thrown back as he laughed. Once our laughing fit ceased, Harry shook his head.

"That was an awesome time," Harry said and I nodded back.

"Yeah, it was a privelege to watch possibly the worst show ever with you," I said in a serious voice and he looked at me. At first, both of us looked at one another with contemplative looks. Then, laughter erupted once again. 

"How is that show even legal?" Harry took my hand as he asked this question. 

"Michelle. Harry. You're going to need to exit from the back. There's a crowd of people back there,  but not as bad as the front. I'll meet you guys by the car in just a little bit. Follow Josh here out back and I'll see you in five," Gary told us and we nodded at him. The large security guard led us towards the back exit.

I entered our previous conversation once again. "You'd be surprised how many shows that bad exist. Once, when I was like 17, I watched this show called Batboy with Ashley and, well, that might have been the worst show I've ever watched actually."

"Worse than this?" Harry asked, shocked.

"Yeah, surprisingly enough, worse than this." We both laughed. The back doors were opened to let us out and we were greeted by a mob of people. I held onto Harry for dear life as fans and paparazzi alike attacked us with cameras and questions. 

I tried smiling as much as I could, but smiling becomes a foreign thing when you're being bombarded by everyone and everything around you.

"Harry. Michelle. Would you guys mind turning to the camera and saying hello?" One paparazzi asked. The two of us ignored him. Girls continuously stuck cameras in our faces and we attempted to stop to take pictures with fans, but it was almost impossible. Some girls were yelling, others crying. The flashing cameras were everywhere and it was hard to breathe.

"Mich, you okay?" Harry whispered and I squeezed his hand as reassurance that I was fine. Suddenly, a cameraman overstepped his boundaries and a fan, who looked about 14 or 15, tumbled down into the crowd. Afraid she might get trampled, Harry and I pushed everyone off. 

"Oh my god!" I yelled as Harry tried making room to pick her up off the ground. 

"Babe, I have no room. Try making them move back," Harry told me and I nodded. 

"Guys, guys, move back. Move back. She needs to get off the ground. Move back, please," I screamed through the crowd. The girls around us began taking steps back and Harry, as well as our guard, managed to pick her up off the ground. Furious, I turned to the paparazzi that caused the trouble.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I asked him and he looked at me.

"Don't fucking talk to me like that," he spat back.

"Oh, give me a break. Get over yourself. You just caused a teenage girl to fall on the floor because you wanted a stupid picture. We're human. You don't need to take pictures of everything we do, my god," I replied tumultuously. He just glared at me with angry eyes.

"She was in my way," he replied and I just stared at him. Was he kidding? She was in his way?

"That doesn't mean you fucking trample her man. I'm sorry about that Michelle," another cameraman said. I shook my head.