Page 42 of The Pursuit of Happiness

“Fuck,” he complains, an edge to his voice.

I look around his body to see what he’s talking about and look around, confused. “What?”

“There’s way more paps than normal,” his voice is dark.

I frown, “Probably because we posted pictures together.”

He nods before looking down at me, “We can just make a break for it and run to the car.”

I take a deep breath, “Okay.”

Sly grabs my hand tightly in his. “Let’s go,” he shouts and starts running, me behind him.

As soon as the cool night air of Los Angeles hits our faces, we realize we made a terrible mistake. There seem to be about a million paps, all of whom are blocking our path to the limo. They shove cameras in our faces and shout obscene questions all in desperation to make a quick buck off of us.

Sly tugs me closer to his back and tries to shield me from view with his body. I appreciate the attempt though it doesn’t work because they’re pressing in on us. They’re getting so close that we can’t even move. Their bodies keep us prisoner on the sidewalk and I start panicking. I’ve been in hundreds of clubs where bodies press against mine but this is entirely different. The attention is on us, they’re targeting us, and they don’t care that they’re harassing us.

Sly looks down at me for a moment and when he does, his expression contorts into undiluted rage. His nostrils flare and his jaw tightens. He looks like an angry God, a deity of war. He tries to push through the crowd with me in tow, walking closer and closer to the limo.

My breathing gets faster and my anxiety starts to rise. I feel claustrophobic and anxious. I squeeze his hand with mine and use my other to squeeze his forearm so hard I’m worried I may be leaving crescent marks in his tattooed skin from the pressure of my fingernails.

We’re almost at the limo and I feel a small seed of relief starting to sprout in my stomach when I realize we’re almost free of them. Just as we make it about two feet away, one specific reporter shouts right in my face, louder than the rest, “Being a whore again, Aria? What do you have to say now that the entire world has watched you get fucked?”

I feel my stomach clench, bile threatening to rise up my throat along with my vodka cran. I feel like a deer frozen in headlights, completely unsure how to react. This isn’t the first time a pap has shouted in my face or harassed me, but this is the first timeI’ve been trapped against a sea of paps with no room to so much as move my body. This is also the first time a pap has been this close to my face. I retreat in on myself, moving my face back further from him and the camera he shoves in my face.

Sly stops moving, frozen in his tracks. He slowly turns his head to face the pap that yelled the obscenity at me and growls, “What the fuck did you just say to her?” Sly grabs me, not gently, and ushers me ahead of him and to our driver who grabs me and starts trying to push me into the limo. I fight his grip, not going anywhere without Sly.

I watch as the pap shouts, “What was it like to fuck Aria Kane? The world wants to know what it was like to fuck that whore.” I really take the pap in this time, noting his shoulder-length greasy looking hair, his pornstache, and his seedy black eyes. My lips curl in distaste, not only at the sight of him but at the vulgarity of his words and how they’re aimed at me.

Sly clenches his hands into fists at his sides and looks like he’s fighting some kind of internal war. He must lose whatever war he’s fighting because I watch as Sly breaks, reaching out at the speed of light and snatches the camera from the pap’s hands. He then uses the camera as a weapon, smashing it into the pap’s face. The pap stumbles and Sly drops the camera, steadying him by fisting the front of his t-shirt, making animalistic noises the entire time.

I gasp, covering my mouth with my hands, in complete shock. I have no idea what to do. I’veneverseen Sly this angry. I never thought Sly could get this animalistic. This is so far out of character for him, it alarms me. What alarms me even more is the feral look in Sly’s eye. It’s as if he’s not in control of his own body, some kind of darkness taking over and acting.

Sly thunders, “Don’tevertalk about her like that again,” before he reels his fist back and punches, cracking bones in the pap’s nose.

“Sly!” I shout, absolute panic taking over my voice.

He doesn’t seem to hear me. He only continues his blows until the pap falls and even then, he continues throwing punches. The driver tries to shove me into the limo most likely to help Sly or pull him off but I don’t move. Ican’tmove.

Cameras are on Sly, taking picture after picture of him assaulting this man. The severity of the situation sinks in and I realize I have to act. I try to run to Sly to stop him, grab him, dosomething,but the driver grabs me, wrapping an arm around my waist and commanding me to calm down and get in the car.

I ignore him, wriggling around in his arms instead, trying to break free of his hold. “Sly! Please! Stop!” I scream, tears lining my eyes.

Sly hesitates, stopping for a split second to turn his head and meet my eyes. The cold, dead look in his eyes has bile rising in my throat and threatening to come up. His eyes soften when they land on me, seeing something in my face or hearing something in my voice. He stops, pushing off the pap and rises to his feet, completely breathless and spent. He has blood on his knuckles and on his shirt, looking suddenly like a serial killer from one of my favorite horror movies.

Paps try to close in on him but he pushes away from them and rushes to the limo, his eyes on mine the entire time. His eyes possess a dark look, but also hold regret and apprehension. He stops only when he’s in front of me, commanding the driver to release me and get behind the wheel. Sly grabs me and pushes me into the car, slamming the door behind us.

Once the limo starts moving, we’re a mess of sweat, ragged breathing, and disaster. Sly could’ve just killed that man. He was so violent and so…lost in himself. I’ve never seen him like that and I never want to see him like that again. I didn’t know he had that in him.

Tears start streaming down my cheeks and I clutch my facewith my hands, silently sobbing. Why am I crying? I’m not entirely sure, but I think it’s a mix of worry for what’s going to happen to Sly because of this and guilt because it was my fault.

Sly gently sweeps my hair away from my face and whispers, “Kane, are you okay?”

I tear my face away from my hands and snap, “AmIokay? You almost just killed someone, Sly!”

He makes a pained expression before looking down and avoiding my eyes, “I’m sorry.”

I shake my head, sobbing, “No,I’msorry.”

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