tour, just everything."
Lucky could see the pain in Jordan's eyes and wanted so badly to ask her what she was talking about, but she knew this one moment of vulnerability from her friend was the most she'd get. She hugged her tight and wished whatever hurt Jordan had gone through was in the past.
Chapter Eight
Jordan
Jordan meant every word she said to Lucky. She hoped she didn't make her feel bad, that was the last thing she wanted. The truth was she had never been happier in her entire life.
As she laid in the dark room thinking about how everything turned out, she felt at ease. Being on this tour was the first time she ever felt comfortable with herself. She got up and entered the shared portion of their suite and thought about how light she felt.
She wasn't worried about who she might run into in the dark, she knew she was safe. As odd as it sounded, traveling from hotel to hotel in that bus gave her the comfortable feeling she believed most people called home.
Flipping through her emails she re-read one from Ian Taylor, the photographer who shot Lucky. He wanted her to call him. She didn't even know how he got her email address. Figuring out the time in LA, she went back into her room and dialed his number.
"Yes what is it?"
Forgetting he had a British accent, Jordan was started by his voice. But it wasn't just his accent, Ian sounded demanding and rude at the same time. She wondered if she should hang up.
"Hi? Ian Taylor? This is Jordan Blake. I got an email–"
"Yes, my little pixie girl! How are you?"
"I'm ok, I guess."
"You guess? I need more emotion from you my dear. I know who you are. Like I told your friend, the camera sees everything and tells the truth."
"You must be mistaken. You didn't shoot me."
"Didn't I? Check your email."
Looking at her phone she realized she had a new email from him. She opened it up and saw a black and white close up of her face. Aside from the smeared black eyeliner, she saw her own sadness mixed with pain in her eyes, but with a hopefulness that covered her face. She only saw such raw emotion in documentary photographs, of which she was a fan.
"Yeah so? You took a picture I didn't know about."
"You and I, Pixie, we're peas in a pod. I know that look, that pain. You're just getting away from it now, aren't you?"
"Who the fuck are you, Dr Phil?"
She couldn't believe him. Who did this egotistical asshole think he was? And why would he even think she would open up to him about things she couldn't tell her best friend?
"You don't have to give me details. I know. I went through something too." His voice was tender and emotional for a moment. "Besides Pixie, I didn't have you call me to throw a pity party. That's not my style. I wanted to talk to you about a job."
"A job? You have to talk to Lucky. I don't know her schedule if you want to take more photos of her."
"No, its you I want. But not to take photos of. I want you to understand me like I think I understand you. Now what I'm going to tell you, I don't want to ever hear about again, ok? You ever bring this up or tell anyone about this and we're done. Capice?"
"Yes, fine. What is it?"
"When I was about your age, I had just graduated college. I majored in photography, even though my mother told me if I didn't become a doctor or lawyer I was wasting my life. It was also around this time that I had enough with the abuse I lived with at home and left. I swore no matter what happened, I would never go back. Sound familiar?"
Jordan nodded even though she knew he wouldn't know. She was too choked up to say anything. She never told anyone about what happened at home so to hear it from a stranger who recognized it from himself, it was too powerful for her. She softly began to cry.
"Jordan, you don't ever have to go back. I never did. I spent months sleeping on park benches or under bridges because I was too proud to ask anyone for help. You don't have to do that too. I wouldn't wish what they did to me on my
Lucky could see the pain in Jordan's eyes and wanted so badly to ask her what she was talking about, but she knew this one moment of vulnerability from her friend was the most she'd get. She hugged her tight and wished whatever hurt Jordan had gone through was in the past.
Chapter Eight
Jordan
Jordan meant every word she said to Lucky. She hoped she didn't make her feel bad, that was the last thing she wanted. The truth was she had never been happier in her entire life.
As she laid in the dark room thinking about how everything turned out, she felt at ease. Being on this tour was the first time she ever felt comfortable with herself. She got up and entered the shared portion of their suite and thought about how light she felt.
She wasn't worried about who she might run into in the dark, she knew she was safe. As odd as it sounded, traveling from hotel to hotel in that bus gave her the comfortable feeling she believed most people called home.
Flipping through her emails she re-read one from Ian Taylor, the photographer who shot Lucky. He wanted her to call him. She didn't even know how he got her email address. Figuring out the time in LA, she went back into her room and dialed his number.
"Yes what is it?"
Forgetting he had a British accent, Jordan was started by his voice. But it wasn't just his accent, Ian sounded demanding and rude at the same time. She wondered if she should hang up.
"Hi? Ian Taylor? This is Jordan Blake. I got an email–"
"Yes, my little pixie girl! How are you?"
"I'm ok, I guess."
"You guess? I need more emotion from you my dear. I know who you are. Like I told your friend, the camera sees everything and tells the truth."
"You must be mistaken. You didn't shoot me."
"Didn't I? Check your email."
Looking at her phone she realized she had a new email from him. She opened it up and saw a black and white close up of her face. Aside from the smeared black eyeliner, she saw her own sadness mixed with pain in her eyes, but with a hopefulness that covered her face. She only saw such raw emotion in documentary photographs, of which she was a fan.
"Yeah so? You took a picture I didn't know about."
"You and I, Pixie, we're peas in a pod. I know that look, that pain. You're just getting away from it now, aren't you?"
"Who the fuck are you, Dr Phil?"
She couldn't believe him. Who did this egotistical asshole think he was? And why would he even think she would open up to him about things she couldn't tell her best friend?
"You don't have to give me details. I know. I went through something too." His voice was tender and emotional for a moment. "Besides Pixie, I didn't have you call me to throw a pity party. That's not my style. I wanted to talk to you about a job."
"A job? You have to talk to Lucky. I don't know her schedule if you want to take more photos of her."
"No, its you I want. But not to take photos of. I want you to understand me like I think I understand you. Now what I'm going to tell you, I don't want to ever hear about again, ok? You ever bring this up or tell anyone about this and we're done. Capice?"
"Yes, fine. What is it?"
"When I was about your age, I had just graduated college. I majored in photography, even though my mother told me if I didn't become a doctor or lawyer I was wasting my life. It was also around this time that I had enough with the abuse I lived with at home and left. I swore no matter what happened, I would never go back. Sound familiar?"
Jordan nodded even though she knew he wouldn't know. She was too choked up to say anything. She never told anyone about what happened at home so to hear it from a stranger who recognized it from himself, it was too powerful for her. She softly began to cry.
"Jordan, you don't ever have to go back. I never did. I spent months sleeping on park benches or under bridges because I was too proud to ask anyone for help. You don't have to do that too. I wouldn't wish what they did to me on my
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