Through My Own Lens by Mickie B. Ashling

Author:Mickie B. Ashling [Ashling, Mickie B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: NineStar Press, LGBT, intersex, gay, family drama, romance, contemporary, addiction, coming of age, mental illness
Publisher: NineStar Press, LLC
Published: 2017-09-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

ALEX HAD ACCOMPANIED Zeb on a tour of the 911 Memorial while Luca and I dozed on and off all afternoon. Eventually, the need to get out of the apartment to enjoy a Saturday night together became imperative. My rash was practically gone, so instead of taking another pill, I downed two cups of coffee to wake up. The Benadryl would have to wait until we got home tonight.

Since most of us were underage, Alex suggested Webster Hall in the East Village, which was a club that catered to nineteen and over. I was surprised to see so many familiar faces at the club—models, photogs, and their trusted minions—rushing over to greet me with enthusiastic hugs and air kisses. On the surface, it couldn’t be friendlier, but I hadn’t been around long enough to tell the phonies apart from the genuine admirers. They sized up my outfit—skinny black jeans and a cropped top—and checked out my companions to see if they were celebrities. Alex was well known, having graced several magazine covers already, and greeted a few friends but didn’t leave our side.

The surreptitious glances and cliquey clusters reminded me of high school, only this time the ante was much higher. Fame and fortune were at stake, and hanging out with people who could make or break a career was an art form in and of itself. It took time to cultivate connections, and more often than not, the ruthless pursuit of one’s career led to conniving and left little room for true friendship. I was one of the newer faces in town and hadn’t proven myself yet. Perhaps next year, or even in six months, I’d be considered an A-lister, but for now, I was another aspiring model trying to get ahead. It would take a lot more than the right name or clothes to become a part of the “in” crowd.

Still, I wasn’t invisible, and the sycophants hanging around the scene hit on my companions and me with one goal in mind—sex. Who you slept with was as important as who negotiated your contract. The gushing and playful flirting could knock down self-imposed barriers, and it was easy to fall into the bed-hopping trap.

If nothing else, my past had taught me to be wary of overt signs of friendship. The need to be accepted, carried over from my cheerleading days, had diminished considerably, but like an old wound that ached when prodded, it didn’t take much to revert back to the insecure teenager.

An aggressive blond with an impish grin flung himself at Luca and asked for a dance. Pushing the interloper aside, I inserted myself in the vacant spot and snaked my arms around Luca’s waist possessively.

“I was going to tell him to back off,” Luca said, bemused.

“Saved you the trouble.”

“Now he’s giving us the stink eye while he chats up your friends.”

“Those people aren’t my friends,” I pointed out. “They’re competition.”

“Isn’t there one person in that group who might actually give a shit about you?”

I glanced

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