Pain and Pictures

Prologue

I. Hate. Myself....... a lot.

My name is Jordan, and I'm a photo journalist. At least, it's what I used to be. Now I'm making money as a paparazzo, not exactly what I'd planned on doing with my life.

There are plenty of us that are perfectly happy doing what we do. I'm not one of them. But, life is shit and here I am. Taking pictures of anyone famous, for fucking money.

Not money used for fucking, no. Fucking money. I hate it! I hate that I have to stoop so low, just to eat. Just to have a roof over my head (even though that roof is being shared by four other people). Just to have clothes that don't make me look like I really don't have a fucking roof over my head!

Okay, I'm getting worked up now.

I always do this. Every time I have to wait outside a hotel or restaurant, hoping to catch a glimpse of some spoiled, rich asshole. The same people that vilify everything I do, then turn around and get paid millions to take a picture in front of a fancy backdrop.

Pricks.

Yes, I hate what I do. But I hate the subjects of my photos even more.

Don't get me wrong, some of the paps I 'work' with deserve every fist thrown at them, but for those of us that attempt being civil, getting thrown around by a bodyguard isn't all that fun.

I work in New York. Hence the reason I share a two bedroom apartment with four other people.

Guess who sleeps on the couch, that's right, me.

David and Brandon are a couple, so they get their own room. Mike and Morgan are brothers (and officially own the place), so they share a room with two twin beds (yeah, they're twins that sleep on twin beds).

I met Morgan one day while I was at a journalist function, we hit it off and when I lost my loft because I lost my job, he stepped up and offered a place to stay. It's not ideal, but I'm not going to complain.... too much.

The rent is cheap (for New York that is) so I've learned to live with a backache.

Once I start making a decent amount of money, I plan to buy a new couch, a comfortable one. I looked into finding a new place, but everything within my price range was in an area I just can't handle living in.

I'm not stuck up! I've lived in far worse conditions, I just can't go back there. Too many bad memories. It's bad enough when one of the guys has to forcibly wake me up from a nightmare, being around constant yelling and sirens is far more than I can handle.

At least I like my roommates. It could be much worse. David is a chef, so we tend to have good food on a regular basis. Mike is a model. Apparently not a very good one, five people in a small apartment... you do the math. That being said, he's an attractive man. If you're into men, which I'm not. The reason I know he's 'hot' is because he's a total manwhore and has slept with more women then I've ever even met! Don't get me wrong, I'm not a bad looking guy, I've had my fair share of one-night stands. I just don't seek them out. Nightly!

Plus, I'm certainly not going to bring a girl home to my couch.

So then there's Brandon, David's partner. He works as a bouncer at the nightclub downstairs. Oh, did I not mention that we live over a nightclub? Yeah, we do. It's a good thing I'm usually out late working. I don't know how the other guys do it. Sure, Brandon is usually also working late, but Morgan and David work all day. They both work for LeRouix, a fancy restaurant downtown. Morgan is the head manager, which is how I met him. He facilitated the catering at the event I attended. I was bored out of my mind, and when I saw him stressing over some peice of shit diva who just had to have a specific meal, I intervened.

Morgan called me about an hour ago to tell me that there was a VIP at LeRouix. It's always a good thing to have friends. Especially when they need rent money and know that the only way to get it is to sell pictures.

Did I mention that I hate my life?