My mind shatters, like a pool cue hitting a cluster of billiard balls.
After everything I talked about with Logan last night, and after he broke down, I completely forgot that I had a meeting with Xander today.
“Shit.Shit.”
He’s been my favorite photographer in the city for years. I’d gone to art shows of his, and I once considered saving up three paychecks to be able to pay for an original framed print of his, before I realized I couldn’t possibly afford it.
I screwed it up.
Through my forgetfulness, my one-track mind, and because this is just what I do.
Last night, I could have set an alarm on my phone for this morning.
But I forgot.
I could have told Logan about the appointment, and he would have known to wake me.
But I forgot.
Just like I always forgot to do homework back in school, and it got so bad that I just stopped trying to do it altogether even though I knew I had the ability. And just like things used to slip from my hands when I took too many drugs or drank myself into oblivion.
Now there’s no excuse.
Chase Cameron
I am so sorry. Something serious came up, and I wasn’t able to make it. Can we reschedule for a later time?
Xander Rousseau
No, thank you.
Something feels dirty inside me, like there’s sludge coating me from within.
I navigate to my email in a flash and rapidly tap out responses, one after another, to other photographer opportunities that had arrived in my inbox last night, saying that I’m interested even in offers that I don’t investigate.
I’m grasping at straws.
None of the other offers are at the level of Xander. Nothing close. They’re smaller firms, and even a couple of event photography places, but at the moment I feel like I’d do anything.
Yesterday, at the end of my shift in the restaurant, I had been wondering if it might be the last time I ever had to work there. I had thought that I’d finally gotten a break. That I could start to make money in the creative field that I love.
Now I feel desperate.
My stomach still feels sick. I get up off the couch and head to the shower, letting the hot water beat down over me.
When I’m out, I scan through my email, and my gut twists again.
Not one, butmultiplepeople have replied, saying they no longer have interest.
What the fuck is going on?
I already have to get ready to go to work. Luckily I still have a clean uniform here in the suite from when I was staying here, and I toss it on, heading downstairs to the restaurant.
When I walk into the kitchen, though, David turns to look at me, his expression grim.
“Chase. Could you come with me into the office?”
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.
