I've Long Forgot Exactly, Who I Am. (( HIATUS))

Cherry Waves

I wasn't sure what to do anymore.

I had spent days, weeks and before I knew it, 2 months of taking pictures. I decided to get a side job since I still wasn't paid for my story I sent back to Seattle, I wasn't' surprised. I decided to keep in contact with my lawyer in case I was getting cheated out of a decent paycheck and my original work. Taking pictures of models was more entertaining and I was paid more since I utilized my own materials. The girls were nice, and I had no issues with the magazine or even the CEOs who owned the company. I had been typically to so busy that I haven't spoken to Pelle since he informed me about his stalker. I told him I wasn't concerned since I had moved to a different part of Oslo and had no reason to go to the party's anymore.

I could tell he was a bit hurt by what I stated, but I had to prompt him and myself that I would be going home soon. We spend the rest of the day watching movies, and he even showed me his art portfolio I hadn't noticed before. Solely thinking about him made me feel guilty since I had been avoiding him and his bands mates. Varg would come once in awhile to see how I was doing and would try to persuade me to vacate my private apartment. I maybe left with him once to a coffee shop since I was humbly craving their sweet cakes and mild coffee.

Varg said Pelle wasn't doing so effectively and that they would be fleeing for Germany to perform a grueling tour. I genuinely thought about Varg's offer to ride with him on the express train and contact him a hotel. I had the money to go, but my key obstacle would be seeing Pelle and having to explain myself to him. I had a feeling he comprehended I was avoiding him, but never bothered to telephone me or visit. It was possible he too was eluding me, and I really didn't condemn him for that. My only reasoning was so I wouldn't get attached than I already was since I actually liked being around him. I felt bad because I knew I had missed out on an undoubtedly good friendship that was impossible from the beginning.

I genuinely considered Varg's offer, but I had to return home and see how much my mail box had filled. I had a house sitter, knowing how lazy they were and would expect payment for doing nothing. The concert would be in a month, so it would give me enough time to get my fairs in order, but I was skeptical. I would undergo four more sessions with the models, but I already had a few of my things stowed. I did lack the extra money and after all,I did plan on coming back to Norway for some last minutes shots. For now however, I had some decisions to make and that thought of going home only added to the pile of stress I already had. I knew there would be piles of mail waiting for me and of course my job which I was starting to loath. I could just be a part time photographer, but the trade itself was competitive and it's something I didn't desire to fall back on. I can't really imagine myself taking pictures of people in the same poses, trying to come up with ideas for backgrounds.

I placed myself on the windows ledge, drinking my last cup of scalding tea for the bleak night as I thought about sleep. I wondered if I should call Varg to ask to see if Pelle was home so we could talk. I needed to manage the uncomfortable feeling out of my body before I left, but Pelle wasn't easy to talk to. I was certain that maybe I was making a big deal out of this and that I would only be squandering Pelle's personal time.I just wanted it to be pretty straight forward, but no one likes to be cornered and asked invasive questions. I hated thinking about these sorts of things since I was trying my best to unwind from two weeks worth of work. I was given four days off since the photo shoot was a success and I would be called If I was needed to take more shoots.

I sighed, going eagerly to the kitchen to properly clean my tea cup and left in the cherry wood cupboard since it will not be traveling with me. I placed my hands over my face, letting out the deepest sigh of frustration as I walked back to my living room. I knew deep down I didn't at to go back to Seattle and wanted to be blissfully ignorant in Norway. I should have just allowed someone else enjoy my lease and resign my job if I knew it was going to be this difficult. I thought more about my mail box being over filled by my mothers constant apology letters. I knew it was a way for her to try and coax me to come and visit her, but I was no fool. I kept the letter anyway in a box under my bed to see if maybe there was something useful in them. My first letter, she gave me her and my fathers wedding ring which of course I kept. I just stopped reading the letter due to the pain and the excuses she would make for herself. There was no hope for my mother to ever accept the responsibility of what she had done and would always blame someone.

Every week or some times, every other day, a letter would show up to taunt me to open it. I wanted to open them all and read them, but I can never look at her inked lies. It's unfortunate enough being rejected by both sides of the family due to conflicting views on both sides. I knew from day one that I was never truly accepted as a member of the family, but sometimes they send my cash. I don't know if it's out of guilt or if it's payment to keep me from silent from saying anything bad about them. a number of news outlets wanted to know about my mother and her past, but I refused and hide from the world. After awhile, it stopped and they tired to find any family member that would talk about the murder. Thankfully, no one talked out of sheer embarrassment, but my grandmother always said my mother was innocent and blamed my father.

I chuckled grimly at the thought, oh yeah, it's my deceased father's fault my crazy bitch of a terrible mother snapped.

None of my family members knew about my job, where I occupied or barely grasped what I looked like. They only got my addressed because of my mother who guilt tripped them into sending me extravagant things. I remember I was going to write a private book about how fucked my family was and then give it to the media to expose them. My mother's side was rich and own businesses, private homes, local dealerships and even a makeup company that sells expensive skincare products. As for my fathers side, they lived in Arizona and owned a few elegant restaurants in phoenix. They don't call or send me things, but they did send me my fathers old records and clothing when I moved to Seattle. I never bothered to reach out to either side since I was a painful reminder or because I was a mixed race. I could only image how easy it would be to let their precious lifestyle crumble into a millions pieces if I ever did release the book.

I had to be careful with that sort of thing since they possessed money to make the issues go away.

I decided now would be the time to open that bottle of wine and forget about these negative thoughts. I was going to save it for my last day in Noway, but there was no point since the time was slipping fast. The bottle had been neatly wrapped up in a crimson ribbon and carefully cradled in a brown bag. I popped the top off, taking my first swig and then it turned into a few gulps as it sloshed around the bottle in waves. I took another large gulp, letting the bitterness slide down my throat and forgetting what I was thinking about.