It's Easier Than It Seems

“So where are they?” Dimitri Chekhov spoke with his thick Russian accent and grisly voice. He stood at 6'4''; towering above me. His face was chiselled so fine he looked like a sculpture, and his eyes were menacingly narrow. His hair jet black like the night sky, and it was slicked back with an unknown amount of hair gel; a tornado couldn't move it. There were times where I couldn't tell if he was being sincere or sarcastic because of how strong he stood.

So when I couldn't answer his question, my knees shook like an earthquake; you could probably hear them knocking together. I thought of all the possible things he could be asking about, maybe it was my latest assignment; however, that wasn't due for another two weeks, and my research wasn't due in for another two days.

When silence loomed over us for more than a few seconds, Dimitri snapped his fingers in front of my face. “Hello? I thought I just asked you a question,” He said, in a creepily calm tone.

I looked up at him, and it was like staring up at a sky scraper. I felt so small, like an ant he could squash under his foot. “They?” Was all I could ask my boss.

He let out a deep sigh and rolled his eyes. “The photographs of the steam explosion... Anna said you were there, so where are the photos? We could be making big bucks here, don't tell me you didn't take at least one photo.”

My eyes widened; that's what he wanted? I could have died! I was thinking more about my life than money for his damn company.

“I didn't,” But I couldn't fight him; I needed my job, and I was too scared he may kill me. I bowed my head to the taller man in submission. “I'm sorry. I didn't think... I... I didn't take any photographs.”

Dimitri gritted his teeth and let out a frustrated sigh. “Stupid girl, get back to work then.”

Stupid girl?

If I didn't rely on this job for the income, I would have slapped his finely chiselled face right there and then. The nerve of him!

A whole month I had worked here and he still didn't have an inch of respect for me. What was the point in wasting my time in a company that gave me nothing back? For a pay slip? What was I doing here?!

I imagined all the ways I could tell him I was quitting before realising I needed something to pay next month's rent and almost had to bite back the tears.

I held back my emotions and nodded in reply, walking off towards my office cubicle.

“Sooooo?” I heard a voice say. I turned around in my chair to see another one of my co-workers that I was friends with. “That looked intense.”

He rested his hands on the top of my cubicle wall, bouncing up and down with anticipation, his floppy blonde hair bouncing with him. I had never seen a man so eager to know gossip before, but well, that was Will for you.

Will was ten years older than me, and he was a much more experienced photographer. He wasn't sure how he ended up in this company, or why he had stayed for so long; he had always dreamed of working for Vogue. But he fell back on being 'comfortable'. He had a job, and he didn't want to jump boat just yet; he was scared he'd fall into the ocean.

“When is he never intense?” I grinned, raising my brow at him.

He giggled, running a hand through his shaggy blonde hair. “True, but he's kinda hot when he's really mad.”

Oh, and did I mention he was a homosexual? I was starting to believe all the perfect ones were gay.

I rolled my eyes at Will and shook my head. “Your taste in men fathoms me,” I quipped. “He called me stupid for not taking photos during the explosion.”

Willa’s eyes widened as big as the moon. “What? Stupid? Even for him that's a little harsh.”

I shrugged, not letting the situation get the best of me. “I'll just take some photos of the aftermath to make him happy,” I smiled softly. “I can handle it; I've heard a lot worse, trust me.”

Will's blue eyes lit up at my perseverance and he flashed a smile at me. “Haven't we all, sweetie?” He said, before returning back to his own work.

***

I spent the rest of the day hard at work, unable to stop thinking about what Dimitri had said to me, before returning home feeling more exhausted than normal. I felt like I had run a 20k marathon, right after competing in a swimming event.

But I had done neither, in fact besides lunch and the occasional toilet break I barely moved at all from my chair at work. Perhaps I had the flu, or a cold.

Maybe I was run down from all the stress I had at my job. I had been worrying so much about being called a 'stupid girl' that I found myself distracted most of the day, unable to concentrate on my actual work.

Damn you Chekhov and your perfectly slicked back hair.

I shrugged it off in hopes that it was nothing, but by 8pm I was throwing up all of my home-made lasagne I had put so much effort into. I made a mental note to stick to ready meals... it wasn't worth the hassle.

I started to panic that my sickness wasn't a usual bug and that I had something wrong with me. I had heard the explosion contained asbestos and my anxiety kicked in almost immediately. After that subsided I stressed about having a day off from work; I felt so trapped, I knew that Chekhov wouldn't let me have a day off sick just because I vomited up my dinner.

Stress didn't help, it made me want to vomit even more.

I spent the rest of the night either on the bathroom floor, or dangling off of my bed, and by sunrise I was exhausted. I managed to get an hour of sleep before my alarm clock woke me into a groggy state of confusion.

At first I wondered why my house smelt like a hospital, but then it all came rushing back to me as fast as the nausea did. Instead of getting ready for work I set out to clean the house from the mess I had made, but this, of course, made me late for work.

I was late by twenty minutes but it was as if Lady Luck had actually befriended me; Chekhov was also late.

I buried myself into my editing work, trying to distract myself from feeling even worse than the night before, but nothing was working. Even though I felt better by the minute, it was like I was clawing my way out of hell.

During lunch I slowly made my way to the canteen, dragging myself animated like a zombie. People clearly avoided me; they took one look at my pale and clammy complexion and walked around me like I had an exclusion zone around my body.

The smell of coffee and freshly made bread made me heave, but I had nothing left to throw up so I grabbed myself a drink of cold water and left the building, hoping that some fresh air would help.

“You look like death,” I turned my head to see Anna walking towards me. “Should I wear a mask?”

I smiled softly and nodded. “Probably, I think I have a bug.”

Anna stopped walking towards me and edged backwards. “Okay,” She said, putting her hand over her mouth, as if to ward off any evil bacteria. “Well, maybe you should go home—the boss is off ill too, you know.”

I raised my brows in surprise. “Really? No I didn't, must be something going around,” I sighed. “I could have stayed in bed.”

Anna smiled softly and let out a light laugh. “You should have anyway, you are in no fit state to work, missy.”

Groaning, I rubbed my temples in dismay. “I'm heading home then, I don't think I can make it through the rest of the day without puking on someone,” I half-joked, and stood up from the step I was sat on, brushing myself down. “See you tomorrow... hopefully,” I smiled, and started walking back home.

I started walking my normal route back home, but stopped when I realised it was cut off after the explosion. I remembered I said I would take photographs of the aftermath and slowly moved closer to where police tape was cutting off the scene from the rest of the world.

The things I do for money.

I shiftily looked around and then dove under the tape quickly. Acting like a ninja I managed to get some great stills luckily without being caught.

I still couldn't believe I had been a part of that, and thank God not a lot of people were hurt. It could have been a lot worse, but I don't think Dimitri understood that.

Then again I don't think Dimitri had ever held a camera in his life. He was a business man, not an artist. He didn't understand the concept, but only the conclusion. He was in it for the profits, not the inspiration. I could go on, bottom line was; it pissed me off.

I walked home the long way, hearing bed call me from afar. I knew as soon as I got home I'd fall into a coma of sorts, and that made my feet pick up speed until I reached my apartment. As soon as I got in, I flopped onto my bed still in my clothes and fell fast asleep.

***

“I just need to upload the profile photo and we're done,” Tré said, craning his neck upwards to look at Mike, standing behind him at the computer desk.

Mike looked uneasy—he knew this wasn't the right thing to do, but his friend needed something–anything, as a distraction. If he didn't take his mind off of Jennifer then his mind would wonder to other things—like alcohol, or worse. His mind would certainly not find music as a distraction, so why not a rebound of all things?

It seemed like the perfect plan, but it was the fact that it was behind Billie's back that made the situation all the more unnerving.

Mike let out a long sigh. “Are you sure this is--,”

“For the last time, yes, we've been through this!” Exclaimed Tré, standing from his chair. “I'm not taking all the blame for this when he finds out by the way, you can't just act like you aren't a part of this now!” Mike rolled his eyes, pissing Tré off further. “I'm being serious! You can't let me take the fall, Mike! This will be great for Billie, but he needs a shove to realise it's the right choice.”

Mike sighed again and nodded. “You're right... you're right,” He agreed. “What did you use as his incognito name?”

“Billy Strong, guitarman1772,” Replied Tré, completely serious about his name choice.

Mike slapped his hand down the side of his own face. “You have got to be kidding me.”

***

I scanned the magazine I had settled down to read, half heartedly reading it. I hadn't felt sick since early in the morning; it was a relief to be able to eat and not bring it back up an hour later. I figured I had caught a 24 hour bug at work, even the boss had caught it. Though... I viewed Chekhov more as the bug.

I glanced to my phone to see a text from Will, asking me to come out for some drinks. I replied saying how I didn't feel up for it, and went back to being anti social. I started imagining all the fun things I could have been doing whilst feeling totally fine at home and put my magazine down.

Real life definitely wasn't like the movies.

I tilted my head towards the magazine; something catching my eye. That's when I saw an article regarding Billie Joe. My eyes widened and I grabbed at the magazine like it was the holy grail. My eyes darted back and forth as I manically read it.

Billie Joe, letting go?

After news he broke up with girlfriend Jennifer, Billie Joe had apparently buried his head into new material for Green Day's eighth studio album. But it appears that he hasn't seen the light of day! Hasn't he heard of a shaver? Or perhaps a shower!

I couldn't help but smile at the article, giggling at Billie's picture. He did look terrible; hair unkempt and sporting a beard. But then when I realised I was solely to blame I felt the pit of my stomach bubble up with guilt.

The more days I spent away from my old life the more pain I felt thinking back on it. I had gone over in my head a thousand times on how I could return but it just wasn't that easy. I had this picture perfect idea in my mind that I could just run back into Billie's arms and everything would be fine... but I forgot how we left things, I forgot how mad he was at me.

And I think I forgot just what I did to him... to everyone.

I felt like I was losing myself. With all the worrying and anxiety plaguing my mind, I had wrapped myself up in such a bubble it was hard to pop it and get out.

I sighed, and made Ben and Jerry my two new best friends.

***

“Tré, please explain to me why the fuck I have an email telling me I signed up to a dating site!?” Billie spat out angrily.

Tré almost shrunk with fear. He looked to Mike and pointed straight at him. “Mike suggested you join a dating site to take your mind off of Jenni so you can start writing again,” Tré rambled quickly, taking a big breath at the end of his sentence.

Billie slowly looked towards Mike with such rage in his eyes. It was like he had seen the red cape of a matador, and he was scraping his hoof on the ground, ready to charge.

The blonde widened his eyes at the look in Billie's eyes, and turned to Tré with the same rage bubbling up.

The three stood in a triangle, like cowboys in a western ready for a shoot out to the death.

“You bastard!” Mike shouted at Tré. “IT WAS NOT MY IDEA!” He launched at Tré full speed, and the drummer hid behind the sofa from both Billie and Mike.

“Guys... seriously let's stop fighting? Please,” He quivered, peering from behind the sofa at the two. “Okay so we both suggested it, and we are both to blame, and yes it was wrong to blame you but--,”

“Why the fuck are you two angry?! I'm the one you signed up to a damn dating site! DATING IS THE LAST THING I NEED RIGHT NOW!” Billie roared, shaking the room and silencing Mike and Tré from bickering. “Why did you think it was a good idea?”

Mike sighed and put his hands into his pockets. “As Tré said... you need a distraction that isn't Jenni or alcohol, and we need our band member back, we still have an album to pen, Billie. This is our career, it's serious, and you're starting to... well... crack.”

“Is that what you think I'm doing?” Billie asked quietly. Tré and Mike nodded in unison, causing Billie to slouch down. He ran his hand through his hair, realising that although they can be a pain, Mike and Tré were trying to do the best thing for him. “I'm... okay, I just... you know,” He looked down, he knew he wasn't 'okay', he was far from it... he was losing himself, too.

“We know,” Tré said. “You don't need to explain yourself, but you can't keep going on like this either. Mike's right—we need you back, as our friend... and our guitarist.”

Billie smiled softly at his two best friends. Who was he kidding? These two were all he needed. “Just one thing,” Billie said, pausing. “Billy Strong?”