CHAPTER1
UNDER PRESSURE
MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE & THE USED
The screen’sbright light draws me like a moth as I doom scroll under the covers, phone clutched firmly in hand, waiting for the buzz of the morning alarm—so much for sleep.
I toss off the two blankets I’m huddled under and instantly regret that decision. It’s too fucking cold for California. I grab my hoodie from the foot of the bed and shuffle over to my laptop, flipping up the screen. I don’t expect an answer yet, but the ‘what if’ tickling my brain demands appeasement. The Wi-Fi searches for a network, then takes its time connecting to Beaches_LUV_my_WIFI. It’s my neighbor’s, and he’s a tool, but he’s been letting me use his connection.
Spam, sales, bill notifications—not what I’m looking for.
“You knew it wouldn’t be there, dumbass,” I mumble to myself.
My neck cracks as I roll my head and wipe the sleep I didn’t even get out of my eyes. When I sent in the application, they said it could take a week to sift through all the candidates and respond. But when your entire life is hinging on one email, a week can be longer than a year. I pick up my phone again and re-read the message from an hour ago.
Sam
Hey buddy, we got the okay to run with your photos AND the client wants to buy the rest.
Sam
Can you come by today and drop them off? Check will be waiting for you.
Sam is my one constant client. Over the last ten years, I’ve been doing regular freelance gigs for his company, so I’m not surprised to hear from him, but I am surprised he wants me to come in. I shuffle through the paperwork on my dresser and find the envelope of prints he’s asked me to bring in. I pick up the prints and frown. Apparently, I was using them to cover up the pile of bills with the red stamps that scream at me for money I don’t have.
If there’s something I need right now, it’s money and a distraction. Besides, people are always saying I should get out more. This counts, right?
The aroma of fresh coffee pulls me out of my wandering mind and down the stairs. I pour out two cups, stop myself, and dump one back into the pot. While heading back upstairs, I spot a bong, rolling papers, and an empty jar of weed. Also, my friend Trey passed out on the couch. I guess we hit that a little harder than we’d planned.
“Hey, man. Coffee is ready, and I’m leaving in a bit.”
There’s a shuffle and mumbling under the blankets, and I don’t wait to see if he’s alone. My home is on the verge of being rezoned as a frat house since I started letting Trey crash here.
Back upstairs, I dig through my closet for clean clothes and make a mental note about picking up some detergent. I hold the phone between my shoulder and ear, and somehow I manage to pull on a pair of pants, finding five dollars in my pocket just as Dani answers. Jackpot!
“Hey, Dani!” I’m trying to sound chipper to match her energy, but it’s not working. “Sam wanted me to bring the rest of the prints for that real estate agency. I should be able to get those together and be there in about an hour. Will that work?”
There’s movement in my periphery, and I spin around, finding something far worse than an intruder—a mirror. I stare into it and scowl while Dani talks to me. With a scrunched-up face, I watch a deep line form between my brows. I’m a few months shy of 34, a face that’s closer to 40, and a body that thinks it’s 106. This isn’t normal for my family.
After Dani says something in my ear, I remember that I’m on the phone. “Yeah, cool. I’ll make sure I grab you something on the way.”
Leaning in, I scrutinize the man who looks back at me in the reflection. New lines have appeared on a face I don’t recognize, along with dark bags that have become ridiculous. Who the fuck am I?
The splash of cold water on my face helps wake me up before I change into a white button-down with a grey vest. I go to reach for my tie and it’s not there. Shit. When I’m out shooting, I like to keep it friendly and casual when I can. It’s easy to move in and isn’t intimidating to camera-shy people. When I’m meeting clients, especially one like Sam, I try to step it up a bit, which should include a tie. At least, that’s according to my father.
I search under clothes and in the closet, but no luck. When I check the dresser area, I uncover the large envelope that’s been sitting on my desk for two months. I turn it over so I can’t see the giant URGENT stamp glaring at me. God, I hate red. I tear through the room until I find a blue tie and my dad’s old grey paddy cap. I give myself one last glance in the mirror. Yikes.
I need a haircut, and I haven’t shaved in a few days, but there’s no time for that now.
Instinctively, my hand reaches for the knob of the door to Dad’s room to tell him I’m leaving. I stop, looking down at the white knuckles of the hand gripping the knob. I thought I’d finally broken myself of this habit, but evidently not. It’s the smallest things I’m having the hardest time getting used to.
“Sorry, Dad. Still working on this,” I mumble to the door. The silence that follows is heavy, and I’m not ready for it. I should be by now. “Wish me luck, Pops.”
“Yo, man, you leavin’?” Trey calls out from the kitchen.
With no signs of any college girls with him today, I feel some relief. It’s both unusual and a welcome change from the last few nights.
“Yeah, I got a meeting. The kitchen is fair game, not that there’s much. Just, you know, save me a beer, okay?”
