Camera Shy || Ben Barlow

One

Sleeping in my own bed was a luxury I didn't often get to appreciate. Sure, I had a bed in a little flat in Nottingham, where I stayed when the band I worked for weren't doing anything noteworthy, but the bed at my parents' house felt much more like home. Either would be an improvement on tour bus bunks and budget Haven Hotel beds. 

The only problem was my mother.

I hadn't asked for anything difficult, anything revolutionary. Just a lie-in worth thirty minutes. I didn't want a fancy breakfast in bed, or a brand new camera to reward me for the grace of my presence. Nope. Just a bit of sleep.

"You know I barely sleep on the road, right?" I groaned, rubbing my eyes as my mother ripped the quilt from my body. 

"That's why your job is so impractical."

"Oh, is it?" I retorted, forcing myself into a sitting position while fumbling around for my glasses. "Are you trying to tell me Elliot actually sleeps?" I said, of my older brother. Miles more intelligent than myself, he'd used his talents to wrap himself up in the stress that came with Britain's warped judiciary system; Elliot had become a lawyer. Lawyers were practical.

"He must. He's extremely successful."

"I'm not sure you know how success works, mum," I said around a yawn, clambering off of my bed and sighing as my toes hit the cold reality of the hard-wood floor. Sleeping in this bed was slowly becoming less worth the agony. 

I shuffled around my room in a too-small t-shirt I'd found in a drawer upon arriving, and some comfortable underwear, looking for anything that resembled clean clothing. I eventually settled for old joggers and left my t-shirt in place, hoping for the best as I raked my fingers through the blonde tangles I liked to call hair.  

"How's work, dear?" My mother very loudly asked my brother as she spotted me stumbling into the kitchen. My fully dressed, entirely presentable, older brother rolled his eyes as he sipped his coffee. Elliot was an adult. I was a thirteen year old in an adult's body, trying my best to bullshit my way through a career. 

"Stressful. I'm barely sleeping." I snorted, opening the over-sized black fridge, only to discover that we didn't actually have any orange juice. Outrageous.

"I can relate," I said, stretching up onto my toes to reach a glass from the top shelf of an overhead cupboard, my voice strained. 

"How's your job going, Es?" My brother asked, a bemused glint in his eye.

"I hit two million Instagram followers last week," I told him, suddenly wide awake and ready to move. "The crew literally threw me a party. Most of the people there had no idea who I am, but it's the thought that counts, right?" Elliot laughed and took another sip of his boiling pit of Hell. I wasn't adult enough for coffee, yet. 

"Dear, followers don't mean anything. They're not real people, Essa."

"Yes mother, they're all robots. My friends are robots, too. Hell, the band are holograms and no one in my life really exists. I don't even own a camera!"

"Oh, calm down. I'm just saying. You need a proper job and some proper friends." Golden child frowned into his mug, as if something was wrong with his coffee, besides how vile it must have tasted. 

"I have a proper job."

"But is it at a nation-wide successful law firm?" 

"No. It's on the road with a worldwide successful band. I don't find pleasure in lying to keep criminals out of prison. I find pleasure in taking photographs of people doing everything they love. No offence, El." Elliot nodded and lifted his mug.