[EDITED]
Grace
"Grace, Mr. Harris needs you to sign this," Hayden, my assistant, tells me. I look away from my camera, setting it down on my lap and looking up.
"Pen," I ask, grabbing the clipboard out of his hands, reading over the papers attached to it. A second later a blue pen is in front of me, right near my nose.
"Hayden?" I question, curious as to why his hand was shaking.
"Y-yes, Grace?" He stutters nervously. I look up with my eyes, seeing him shake as he stood there.
"You can let go of the pen," I tell him and quickly the pen is out of his hand and rolling down the clipboard until it meets my hand. Hayden stood still behind me, looking like he was about to pee his pants.
I look away from him, turning my attention to the papers. I sign where I'm supposed to, and then I had the clipboard back over to him. Shaking his head, he leaves, jogging away from me and past other co-workers. I get back to working on my camera, replacing the old batteries with new ones. Looking at the camera my mind drifts off, my hands stop moving, and I'm just sitting there as the memory of being told my sister was dead flashes before my eyes.
I don't why my brain picked that particular memory, but I so wished it hadn't.
"I'm sorry Ms. Thompson, she didn't make it. The treatments weren't helping. The cancer had spread too quickly," his, the doctor's, voice was quiet and every word he spoke came out a whisper.
"You know what, 'sorry' doesn't count! She's dead and it's your fault! You hear me? Your fault! 'sorry' doesn't count!" My voice echoes, bouncing off the walls. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I glance over at the hospital room that was my sister's, the door wide open. In the bed lay a seventeen year old girl, body covered by a sheet as two nurses unplugged the machines by her bedside.
I look back at the doctor, glaring at him.
"It's your entire fault!"
"Grace!" I hear, hands on my shoulders, shaking me.
Being shaken out of my flash back I look around, surprised. My heart beats a little faster at the unexpected force, the person whose hands had just left my shoulders gives out a long sigh.
"Oh, Grace, I thought you would never snap out of it." I slowly turn my head, looking at the man before me. I give the man a soft smile, getting up off my chair and standing up on my own two feet.
"Mr. Harris. Hello." I say, greeting my boss. He gives me a disapproving look, crossing his arms and aiming his index finger at me.
"Young lady, how many times have I told you not to call me Mr. Harris? If I don't call you by your last name, you're not allowed to call me by mine. Understood?"
A dramatic sigh escapes my mouth, "Fine. Hello, Frederick."
Smiling, he asks, "Good. Now, I've heard that you've sign the papers?"
I give him a little nod, raising a curious brow, confused as to what he wanted. He had that glint in his eye that told me he was planning something.
"Yes." I answer.
His smile grows bigger, widening into a grin that spreads ear to ear.
What is going on?
"That's good. Hmm, why don't you go for your break?" He suggests, putting both of his pale, wrinkled hands on my shoulders gently and then pushing me out of my office. For an old man he sure was strong.
"But, what about all the work that needs to be done?"
Frederick doesn't say any-thing as he just shoves my knee high blue trench coat into my hands, along with my camera bag that held my baby, also known as: Olympus OM-DE-M1. He continues to push me toward the elevator, where I see Hayden keeping the door from closing.
Once close enough to the elevator Frederick gives me a hard push, sending me forward into the tiny space. Hayden, following bosses orders—I'm presuming—and swings his arm inside, pressing the button '1' that would lead me to the bottom floor. After he's done he moves away and just in time to see me glaring at him as the door closes with ding.
The elevator goes down floor by floor, the awful music coming through the speakers on the sides of the metal contraption. Going down from floor six to one it gave me time to put on my jacket and put the strap of my camera bag around my neck and then under my armpit. The walls of the elevator were like mirrors, reflecting my image back at me. On my head was a black beanie, hiding my messy hair and blue jeans and a long white sleeved shirt is what covered my body. I tap my boot covered foot on the ground to the rhythm of the horrible music.
The door opens with ding, just like how it closed and I step out, regretting that decision as I'm hit with the cold October air. The bottom floor was covered in Halloween decorations, paper bats, plastic spiders and white twinkle lights hung around the windows, doorways, and they even hung on huge reception desk. I walk past the reception desk, where Judy sat, typing away on her computer. Even though heat was blasting in from the vents, the bottom floor was freezing, the glass doors opening and closing as people and wind came by.
Opening the doors I walk outside and head left, not knowing where I was going. I let my feet lead me, the sun just barely making it through the clouds above. Everywhere I looked I saw adults and children wearing warmer clothing, the winter weather coming and the warm summer weather passing, leaving us alone to freeze. Trees had lost their leaves, and some were just changing color from dark green to a sunny yellow, bright red and a vibrant orange.
If only it could be just the leaves falling, and not the impending arrival of Jack Frost.
I hear the sound of my phone ringing, the ringtone low and quiet, but just loud enough for me to hear. Taking my hand I grab my phone out of my pocket, seeing that I had missed the call, but whoever had phoned had left a message. I quickly type the password in, and then I press the screen up against my ear.
At first all I hear is hitched breathing, and a few coughs before whoever left the message decided to talk.
"Grace? It's your landlord, Allen. I was just leaving this message to tell you your lease is up on Monday and that the rent has gone up another fifty dollars. If you get the chance, call me back and we can discuss whether you're going to stay or leave."
"Shit," I curse, stuffing my phone back into my pocket. The rent was already a hundred dollars and now he wanted to add fifty more bucks on top of that? The fifty bucks is what I used to buy my food, clothing and sometimes film for my cameras.
I tug my beanie off my head, running my hand through my brown hair, my fingers gliding through the strands. I let out a yell, standing there on the sidewalk as other people passed by giving me weird looks, the stress of the day hitting me. I stomp my foot in frustration, trying so hard not look like I was throwing a tantrum.
On my left side a lady and a young boy - probably her son - stare at me, the little boy's mouth hanging open, holding a red lolly pop in his hand.
I look at him, glaring. He cowers behind the lady's legs, shielding himself away from me.
The older lady looks down at the boy and then back up at me.
"You scared him!" She accuses, and I shrug.
"I may have 'scared' him, but you should really teach him not stare." I tell her, and she walks away with the little boy in her arms. As she walked away I could her mumble, "See, honey, this is why God made sane people like us."
In anger I spit back at the women, "Hardly!"
Still looking at her, I see that she had held up her middle finger when the boy wasn't looking my way. My nose crinkles, "Bitch".
I continue walking aimlessly, passing a McDonald's, getting a hot chocolate and then moving on. Christmas music blasts through speakers outside of a few shops, but I didn't see the point as it was only October. I found a bench and sat on it, drinking my hot chocolate. I breathe through my mouth, seeing it come out looking like smoke.
I look down at my camera bag, and slowly zip it open with one of my hands while I set my cup of hot chocolate down on the bench. I grab the camera, deciding to do what I do best—photography.
I wait patiently as the camera turns on, using this time to take the lens cap off. After the camera was on I aim it up to where I want, holding it with both hands I start to take pictures, my left index finger on the button. I take a few pictures of coniferous trees that still had their leaves, a picture of Starbuck's sign. I did all of this while walking around, forgetting my hot chocolate that was probably cold by now.
Standing on the sidewalk, I stand still, closing one eye and focusing on a little store that was just across the street. I snap the picture, not noticing that my finger had slipped and zoomed in on something until the picture was taken. Looking at the rest of my photos, I end up on one that wasn't at all what I was trying to take a picture of.
Right there, on my camera was a guy about my age standing near the building that I was trying to get a picture of. It seemed to be a thrift store. Staring more closely at the image, I could see that the guy had shaggy, short blonde hair that was almost uneven and dull blue eyes. He wasn't all that bad looking.
I got all that from a picture I accidentally took.
As I continued to stare at the photo I hadn't noticed that I was being spoken to. I felt a sudden tap on my shoulder, one that made me recoil at the person's touch. I turn my head, raising an eyebrow at the person.
"Hey, you took a picture of me," he states angrily, his arms crossed. Confused, my brows scrunch together. I focus on him, squinting, and then suddenly my brain registers what was happening.
"So?" I ask, not understanding.
"I saw the flash from across the street, and I would like it if you delete that horrid picture of me out of your camera." He explains, passing me three ten dollar bills.
Was he seriously bribing me?
"Okay, listen: How do you know I wasn't taking a picture of something else?" I question, and he looks at me like I'm crazy.
"Because, I'm William Reed, and everybody wants to take a picture of me." He answers simply like saying his name and being egoistical dick would explain everything. He shoves the money back at me before he continues. "Now, if you would just delete that silly little photo of me we can move on, and never speak to each other ever again."
I look at him, step away from him slightly. "Okay, look, I don't know what kind of crack you've been smoking, but I've never heard of any 'William Reed' before in my entire life."
"That's a lie." He says, sounding like a child. "Everyone knows who I am. People like you always know." Self-centered much? Seriously, what is this guy on?
"People like me?" I ask, but he rolls his eyes, ignoring my question.
"Can we hurry this up, I have a photo-shoot to get to and I don't want to be late. So please, just delete it!" He demands, and I shake my head. Without hesitation he rips the camera out of my hands, inspecting it, not knowing how it worked.
I reach for the camera, but he tugs it away, focusing on it. His brow knit together in frustration and confusion as he stares down at the camera, being completely dumbfounded by such an easy thing to understand.
"William is it?" I ask and he glances up at me, nodding.
"Okay, William, could you just hand me back my camera? It's really expensive," I say, reaching out slowly to get my camera, but again he yanks it away.
"How do you work this thing anyway?" He mumbles, fumbling with the camera in his hands trying to figure it out. His blonde hair, as I look at it, fell swiftly in front of his eyes, making him run a hand through it.
William's hair was in desperate need for a trim— side of his hair just barely making it down over the top of his ears. His eyes changed color from how the light it them. If the sunlight was shinning directly at them, they looked like old, aged whiskey sitting on a counter top at the bar, left forgotten by the bartender, the sun from through a window shinning straight through the glass bottle and hitting the brown liquid. Other times, like when I was looking down at the photo him in my camera, they seemed to be blue.
But, right now they were a dark shade of pine tree green, becoming a darker color from his mood. His eyes probably shifted from light to dark colors, from brown, to gold, and lastly to green and perhaps a tinge of blue.
He doesn't say anything after that, leaving us in silence as we stood on the sidewalk, people and cars passing us. Nobody looked him, his head down and mouth shut as he concentrated, trying not to draw attention to him-self. As I stare at me, preferably his eyes, something from my coming from behind him catches my eye. Peering over his shoulder I could see a bunch of men dressed in black clothing, cameras in their hands as they jogged our way.
"Ugh... William?" I mumble, stumbling on his name, unsure of how it sounded as it rolled off my tongue. He glances upward, and I point behind him. He turns, looking behind him and then back at me, giving me a worried look.
Suddenly, he's grabbing my hand as he says, "Follow me."
Not letting go of his hand, he passes me back my camera as he leads me to God knows where. We pass different shops, unfamiliar people, and it was all just to get away from the men trying to get a picture of him. His pace was fast, not slowing down at all, looking behind him every once and while to check and see if he had lost them.
We spent ten minutes of running around the city, down and up streets, going through moving traffic, passing hot dog venders on every street corner. Stopping, I look around at my surroundings, seeing we had run to Central Park.
Breathing hard he gasps in a breath of air."This is why I hate being me."
I don't think his comment was directed at me, more likely himself. What was he even talking about? His hands rest on his knees, hunched over as he breathed in the cold air, his breath looking like smoke or misty fog. His back moved up and down rapidly as he breathed in and out, coughing.
"Are you alright?" I ask and he nods as he continued to cough.
"Y-Yeah, fine," he breaths out slowly, standing straight up.
"If you say so," I mumble, not believing him. I look down at the camera in my hands, pressing the a few buttons and ending up on the photo album part of the camera. I go through the pictures quickly, and ending up on the one that needed to be deleted. Without thinking, and making sure he wasn't watching me, I slip the memory card out of the camera and place it in my trench coat pocket.
"I deleted the picture," I lie, putting my camera back into the bag that it belonged in.
"Thank you," he says half heartedly before he turns away. I watch him walk away as his own jacket blows up in his face as he walks.
"Hey! I have a question!" I shout, jogging up to catch up to him. He stops and turns around, giving me a weird look while his brow is raised.
"What!?" He asks sounding annoyed.
"What did you mean when you said 'people like me'?" I question, crossing my arms.
"Paparazzi are all around here, and you have a camera." He states, walking closer to me.
I raise my eyebrow, "So, why does any of that matter?"
Giving me a weird look he asks flabbergasted, "You are a pap...right?"
"No, no I'm not."
I don't know why, but anger came over me. He actually thought I was the paparazzi? A damn pap? I've never heard of this guy before, and here he was calling me one of those rats.
Seeing my facial expression - that was no longer a blank canvas, but a glare and a frown - he tries to apologize.
"I'm sorry..." He stops, not knowing my name.
"Save it. Tell someone who gives a shit." I move past him, walking away and down the sidewalk. I was heading back to work, wanting to make it back before my break was over. But, I probably wasn't going to make it anyways.
A twenty minute walks from where I was in Central Park to here, at work. The place seemed like it always did, busy, but never hectic. Standing in the elevator, my legs killing me from how much walking and running I had done in the past hour and a half. I wasn't used to this much physical activity.
The door opens with that familiar ding, and I step out of the metal box and into a huge room that was filled with all my co-workers running around in a hurry. When the elevator doors close with a little slam everyone in the room stops what they're doing and look at me. At first the expressions on their faces were fear and then relief washed over them, making them all look more relaxed.
The closest person near me was my friend, Kimberly Ash-wood, also known as Kim or Kimmy for short. She runs up to me, looking really happy to see that I was here.
"What is it, Kim?" I ask, and she points over to my office that was built into the wall at the back of the room.
"Fredrick and a man were asking for you," she explains, taking her fingers and prying pieces of her chestnut brown hair out of her mouth that were sticking to her lips because of the shinny pink lip-gloss that looked like it had only been reapplied just minutes ago.
"Alright."
I walk away from her, patting her on the shoulder lightly before leaving her side. My strides were slow with my arms swaying slightly as so did my hips. The heating the building was much warmer up here, seeing as I had instructed everybody to not open a single window unless you were a level down or you were in your office. Everyone here listened to me, and if they didn't they got to deal with Fredrick.
I end up standing in front of my office door, hearing the low banter coming from the other side. I put my hand on the door knob, twisting it and pushing the door open. When I open the door I'm met with a surprise, inside of my office stood an older man who was like a second father to me and a blonde haired, different colored eye guy.
Just like when I had came out of the elevator, they both stopped talking, looking at me.
"Grace what a wonderful surprise." I smile at the old man, keeping my profanities to myself as I look over at the younger man in the room."I don't think you two have met," Fredrick says, seeing me and the younger guy looking at each other.
"No, I don't think we have," I say, flashing a smile at guy.
I hold out my hand, "I'm Grace Thompson and you are?"
Connecting his hand with mine, he shakes it.
"Niceto meet you Grace, I'm William Reed."
Thanks for reading :)