Camera Shy || Ben Barlow

Twenty Six

"Essa, you're gonna want to see this," West mumbled, stumbling onto our bus with an issue of Kerrang! Magazine that I hadn't bothered to buy; I hadn't been into Kerrang! since I'd been approximately thirteen years old and even then I never read the actual articles. 

"Are you sure?" I hadn't done much in the context of seeing things since the band's last show. I'd literally gone out and bought new pyjamas, stocked right up on Cadbury's hot chocolate and chilled at the table underneath a blanket. I hadn't even touched my camera. Cara and Zach, however, were back to scheming about Ben's stupid book. 

"I'm sure." He shoved the disappointment of a published work into my hands. The headline read Mediocre at Best. Not only was it a bad Mayday Parade pun, but it was also a pretty shit insult. Like I've said before, and I'll say it again, Ben Barlow was never mediocre. But apparently, I was. 

I sat up properly, pushing my jumper's hood out of my eyes and peeling away the blanket to read the magazine properly. "What the fuck?"

"That's what I said!" West genuinely looked as stressed about the situation as I did. West and I weren't as close as I was to perhaps Dani or Fil (let's not talk about Ben any more than we have to), so it really warmed me to know that he cared. He possibly cared because the article kind of discredited Ben as well, but I'd liked to have thought otherwise. 

"I was your photographer for years before Ben even spoke to me... I-" I was distraught that they'd even imply that I only got my job because I'd fucked the front man. But they didn't imply it. They'd literally straight up written it. 

"I know! It's disgusting, right? And are they your pictures? Ben was adamant that they are but I'm shit with photography so I've got no idea." The mention of Ben made my heart hurt. He'd told me he loved me for the first time and I'd basically told him to fuck off. I turned my eyes from West back to the page only to find that yes, these were my photos. 

"I took these," I said, my mouth pressed into a firm line. "They're not in the public domain." My favourite picture of Ben was in there. He'd been wearing an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt and a terrible pair of shorts I sincerely hoped to never see again (he still owned them, much to my disgust). He looked terrible, but his proud grin remained on his face for all of the world to see. I loved that grin. I loved that boy. 

"Yeah, we thought so." 

"I need to go get dressed," I said, forcing my way out of the little table booth that I usually used to edit my photos in. 

"Don't let me stop you," he said, looking kind of scared. Apparently, I was capable of being intimidating despite my height, but only when I was determined to fuck someone up. Today's someone was the entire fucking Kerrang! team. 

Not having time for anyone's bullshit today, I grabbed a pair of black sweats that probably didn't belong to me and a Simple Plan tee that definitely didn't belong to me and forced a brush through my hair. Half up, half down would have to do. I didn't bother changing my socks, deciding that Christmas squirrels were completely acceptable and laced up my shoes. I forced some painkillers down my throat, dry, in an attempt to get rid of the headache that had been plaguing me all morning. 

"I thought you were getting dressed? West said you..." Ben trailed off, looking at me as if I'd shatter if he came any closer. 

"I am dressed," I said, my mouth pressed into a firm line. I wanted to tell him that everything was okay and let him hold me. I wanted to hold him, tell him I was sorry for being petty. And I was sorry, but not for being petty. For upsetting him. 

"That's... Is that Fil's t-shirt?" I shrugged my shoulders and sniffed the collar as I watched the light in his eyes die, mine probably following soon after. I couldn't look at him any longer without crying, so decided to take it upon myself to leave the bus myself, since he didn't look like he was going anywhere anytime soon.