Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 109038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
The only other times he’s asked me into the office, it was to pick up my paycheck. But I know today isn’t payday.
I follow after him like I’m walking the plank.
I start to think I actually might puke.
He sits down in his office chair and I sit across from him, running a hand through my hair and bouncing my leg.
He swivels his computer screen toward me, and starts playing security cam footage.
The footage is of me, on the top floor, entering Logan’s suite. It flips to another clip, where I’m doing it again, but the time and date are a bit later.
More clips play as he starts to talk.
“Another worker told me that they were aware of you using your access card to get up to the top floor. And the interesting thing was that we were informed the VIP in the penthouse suite was not in town that week.”
“David, he gave me permission. He was well aware—”
“And then I found out that you went up one day during the middle of a busy shift, outside the hours of your break.”
I forgot I had even done that.
Logan had messaged me, asking if I could check if he left a charger on his couch, and I stepped out of work for three minutes at most to go upstairs.
“David, I’m sorry. I can work for a week with no pay—”
“We are going to have to let you go, Chase. I don’t want my ass on the line. I’m sorry to see you go, because you have been a good worker, and the customers like you. But it’s just policy.”
It feels like my insides are being wrung out.
“Can I ask who told you?” I say, trying to stay calm on the outside.
“I won’t be sharing that.”
Don’t tell me it was Julian.
Please, please don’t say my brother did this to me.
I get up and head for the door, then turn on my heel.
“You were a good boss, too,” I tell him. “Best of luck.”
I’m about to leave when he speaks. “Um, Chase? Your access card.”
I pull in a long breath, reaching in my pocket for my Bellwood card. I place it gently on the desk, and then I leave.
When I walk out through the lobby, I feel like the ground isn’t stable beneath me.
I step out onto the street into the beating sun. A truck whizzes past me on the street as I take out my phone.
My fingers are unsteady on the screen as I text Julian.
Chase
Why did you do it? Deep down? Do you just want to see me get punished?
I shove my phone away.
I don’t know where I’m going as I walk down the street.
The city feels like a pressure cooker. It never usually feels overwhelming to me, and I always enjoy how busy it is, but right now I can’t take it.
How am I supposed to escape when the thing I want to escape from is myself?
I walk aimlessly and at some point I realize that I’ve ended up near my studio.
I head up the stairs, walking past a couple of the other artists working on the first floor, and I give them each a small wave.
I get into my small room and shut the door gently behind me, dropping my bookbag to the ground. I sit down on the floor in one corner, closing my eyes for a moment and breathing deep.
The faint scent of oil paints has always been calming.
Finally I muster the ability to grab my phone and scroll through the rest of the notifications, and when I open up social media, the world around me feels surreal.
There are posts people have made about me.
And other people are commenting underneath them, as if they don’t even realize I would see what they’re saying.
Is he with Logan, you guys think?
No, no shot. You think Logan Stone would be with a guy like this? He ends up with a movie star.
Why would Logan Stone work with a nobody? He’s hot as fuck, I admit, but he’s just a rando… idk.
None of the comments really touch me. When you grow up knowing that you’re unwanted, getting negative attention just feels like you’re coming back home. Sometimes, when my father hurt me, it made things finally feel easier, because at least the pain was predictable, and I no longer had to worry when it was going to come.
This is worse.
Because this is my fault. I would still have a job, if I were more careful. I would potentially be working with one of the best photographers in the city, if I were less forgetful.
I scroll, and scroll, like I’m holding my arms open to a barrage of input. Some people love my work, and are complimenting me up and down. Others are using me like a punching bag.
One of the posts looks innocuous enough. It’s the picture of me and Logan from the gallery show the other night, stitched next to one of Logan’s pictures from our shoot.