8 nights in hell [Billie Eilish]

NIGHT II.2: he fucking pushed me

• pov: Mara •

Ricky could be a pain in the ass but somehow I was glad he had interrupted us.
I found him the hallway, disassembling our main camera. "Can you get the mikes?"

As soon as Ricky had learned about my internship at the Hunted Hall and experience as a sound technician, I had become his main audio editor. Now I was mostly working on the audio tracks of the tour videos or whatever else we were shooting. Getting to do any actual camera work was more of an exception. It was not exactly what I had imagined when I had taken the deal Billie's manger had offered but it was still the biggest opportunity I would ever get.
If I earned the respect of these people and made connections I could build a solid foundation for a career. More importantly, Billie was still planning to let me shoot her next music video. That could possibly end up getting me more attention than I actually wanted.

Ricky and I packed up the equipment in silence for a moment. He zipped up the camera bag and stood. When he started rolling up the sleeves of his white henly shirt, I was reminded of my first impression of him. Upon getting introduced to him I had automatically assumed he was part of security. Ricky did not look like whatever I had expected a content manager to look like.
He was short, broad, almost bald except for a few whips of hair and had a thin mouth and eyes that always looked suspicious.
From the corner of my eye I tried to catch a glimpse his tattoo. When I had first seen it, I had been impressed with the details. It was a snake or another reptile, I could not remember exactly.

Something dark stretched over the bare pale skin of his forearm and disappeared under the sleeve of the shirt.

The camera microphone fell from my hand and cluttered to the ground. It was not just any snake. It was a cobra.

Ricky looked at me as I rushed to pick the microphone up. "Sorry."

It's just a tattoo, I reminded myself as he was staring at me. It was not my face he was looking at, though. He was looking at the leather jacket I had taken off and hung over a tripod. For a split second something like recognition flashed across his face.
Come to think of it, I should not have worn my favourite jacket to commit a crime but I had not exactly expected my boss to be the accomplice.

His narrowed eyes met mine.

"You," he just said.

I stumbled backwards. "I'm- I'm gonna... be right back."

Without looking over my shoulder I turned on my heel and walked down the hallway. I felt his eyes on the back of my head and wanted to run. I clenched my right fist, a hundred thoughts racing through my mind at once.
What were the chances of me booking the same errand as him? I really had the worst luck in the world.

I focused on walking slowly and opened the first door I reached. Like the rest of this venue the staff toilet was freshly renovated. Everything was white stone and polished high-grade steel. I almost walked into the translucent glass wall that separated the men's and women's area.

I rushed over to one of the sinks and splashed cold water into my face. My hands were shaking slightly. The obscure meditation flute music playing softly in the background did not help ease my panic at all.

He doesn't have proof, I thought in a frantic attempt to calm myself. Keep your shit together.

I could not let on that I recognized him. If I did I had lost and then I might as well hide in a cubicle, sit on a toilet and start typing out my will on my phone: My headphones to Finneas, my vans to Maggie, all of my hoodies plus my analogue camera to Billie.
I did not own a whole lot at this moment. That was my whole problem. If I could pay my rent or ask for help like any normal human being I would have never stolen a van Gogh with my annoying boss and ended up in this mess.