"You're being let go. " The deep voice of my boss… ex-boss, reaches my ears. What I feared most has finally happened. "We're not able to keep the studio running… the profits just aren't coming in."
'You're not worth it anymore.' That's what he meant.
"But I swear, if I try harder, I can draw attention. I just need… a few days." Nothing seemed to work anymore, and my ex-boss just looked at me, expressionless. I caught a hint of pity, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared.
"I'm sorry, Noah. We simply can't afford it anymore. If it comforts you, it won't be just you. Several others will be let go as well."
Ah, yes. Knowing others will suffer too really makes me feel special. Thank you so much, asshole.
"Please remove your belongings by Monday, if possible. We want to free up space for… well." He waved his hand dismissively in my direction.
He was going to say "new hires," wasn't he? Of course he was.
The man stood up, staring at the wall as if his mind were filled with important thoughts, as if he were someone incredibly busy. He turned his back to me, and in that moment, I knew it was a lost cause.
"Don't worry, I won't need that long, sir. I'll take my stuff right now," I replied with more edge than I intended. His head snapped toward me, shocked.
"Why speak like that, Mr. Noah? I expected you, above all people, to understand our situation."
Oh my God. I was getting pissed.
"I don't know what you mean, sir. I just said I'll take my things." An innocent smile spread across my face, paired with the most obviously sarcastic expression I could manage. I stopped myself from blinking too quickly.
"Whatever." He sighed after a moment. "Take your stuff and leave."
Son of a bitch.
Before I could respond, the old man stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind him. As if he were the one annoyed.
Right after that, I refused to stay in that building any longer. I gathered all my things—which, embarrassingly, fit into a single medium-sized cardboard box. The humiliation of walking through the entire studio, the stares, the obvious smiles directed at me… it made me want to explode right there, but I held back.
I had other things to worry about now.
A job.
I'm unemployed.
The Queen, Zarah, would be disappointed in where I ended up.
Three years ago, I followed her advice. Took all kinds of courses—posture, runway movement, body and facial expression. But it feels like all my talent, if I ever had any, just disappeared. My mother supported me completely. She tried to nurture my interest, but… it's not working.
At eighteen, maybe I should look for a real job instead of clinging to those foolish dreams. It was a stupid idea.
On the way to my apartment—which I rented for three months with what little income I had—I cursed myself so many times I might've summoned a demon.
I searched for so long for the "raw" Zarah talked about, but it seemed like I simply didn't have it. I felt my dreams crumble in my hands in a matter of seconds.
As a model, I was never more than small gigs. Street shows, neighborhood events, a few shops that hired me for a couple of days. Sure, I made some money, but… it wasn't what I imagined.
And worse, even knowing it wasn't working, I kept insisting.
It was a lost cause. But… why couldn't I shake the feeling that if I gave up, I'd be leaving a part of myself behind? I just couldn't untie that knot I'd built with so much care and dedication.
Zarah probably didn't even remember I existed, but I remembered what we had agreed on. She would wait for me at the top. But… what ladder would get me there? Is there even one for me?
I got home with my head down. The anger was gone, replaced entirely by disappointment. If I were more… more… authentic. Maybe I could make it?
More expressive.
More friendly.
Success doesn't come for free, but do I really have to reshape my entire personality to achieve it? Is success worth more than myself?
No… this isn't really me. My personality had already been reshaped. Not by me, but by my mother's death, a year ago.
"I lost my shine," they said.
What once made me glow had turned into a thick, viscous darkness. It blocked any chance I had at life.
I stared at the ceiling with a hollow look.
I wouldn't get rid of this anytime soon—the weight on my back. If I didn't—
The doorbell rang. I jolted up from the chair. If I wasn't imagining it, that was definitely the sound. I wasn't expecting anyone.
I walked slowly, scratching the back of my neck as I peeked through the peephole. Jason. Showing up unannounced? How inconvenient…
I thought about leaving him there, but I cared about him too much for that. He was one of the few friendships from school that lasted more than two years.
I opened the door and was met with a grinning Jason.
"Hey, man! How was the promotion? I brought a ton of beer—we gotta celebrate!" He threw an arm over my shoulders, and I glanced down to see three cases of beer.
I'm not usually like this, but at that moment, I broke. My chest tightened, and the weight became too much to carry alone. So yeah… I dumped everything on Jason all at once. I doubt he understood a word.
"I just… I'm useless… maybe I should just die already…"
"Hey, hey, hey. What the hell, man? What happened with the promotion?" he asked, confused and worried.
I couldn't answer. I just hugged him tighter and shook my head.
"Damn, man. I'm sorry." He patted my back, and in that moment, my respect for him went up at least ten points.
***
"That bastard said what?" he slurred, drunk. Turns out we actually drank. Guess tragedy turns me into an alcoholic. "That screwed-up guy acting like some mafia boss? Nah, that's not happening. Not at all."
I stopped him before he could call his dad.
I was sure Mr. Heart could make that place disappear like it never existed. But I knew there were honest people working there who needed that place just as much as I did.
"Man, if you'd just let me help…" Jason clung to me again, his face completely red. This was an old conversation. He'd been begging to support me financially ever since I decided to become a model. I always refused. I didn't want to depend on anyone.
That's just who I am.
When some of his thin brown hair got into my mouth, I pushed him away—and realized he'd passed out.
He said it took two cases to get drunk, and he got wasted on the third can. Idiot.
But one of my favorite idiots.
***
At 10:00, the doorbell rang again. With Jason asleep next to me on the couch, I had no choice but to get up.
I swear, if it was one of those idiots who treat fashion shows like football, I'd lose it again.
I opened the door stiffly and said, in the harshest voice I could manage:
"Who is it?"
But no one was there. Instead, there was a card on the ground. A blue card with red details around the edges. I looked around, but there was no sign of anyone.
The idea of someone dropping something at a door and running away made me laugh. Reminded me of something from a while ago.
"What's that in your hand?" Jason's voice pulled me out of my thoughts, still sleepy. "Is it one of those rich party invitations? Man… I've always wanted to go to one of those."
"You're literally rich, idiot," I replied, but my attention was already on the plastic card. It had a number and a QR code.
"Details, my dear. Anyway, sit down." He tapped the couch beside him, blinking slowly. Probably still drunk.
I sat down heavily. I was tired.
"What if it's one of those reality show cards? Like… what's it called again? Round Sex?"
"Round Six" I corrected with a grunt.
"Sex, six… same thing."
I didn't bother correcting him again. Lost cause. I pulled out my phone and scanned the QR code. A site started loading, and Jason practically shoved his face into my phone.
"Wait, idiot!"
"I have anxiety, don't do this to me…"
"Since when do you have anxiety?"
"Got diagnosed with generalized anxiety a few months ago." He shrugged.
"And I didn't know? You didn't think to tell me?"
"You didn't ask."
"I… right. We'll talk about that later."
I made a mental note and focused on the screen.
*
Attention! You, Noah Allison, have been selected for a position at Kap Co. Models. Would you like to take this opportunity? If yes, press "Yes." If not, press "No."
[Yes] - [No]
*
The world seemed to stop. What the hell was that? Kap Co. Models? Wasn't that a female modeling agency? The same agency as Zarah's?
Wait… was this her doing?
The thought came and went just as fast. Impossible, right?
What are the chances of getting fired and receiving something like this on the same day? And why would a female modeling agency want me? Did they mix up the name?
People have said "Noah Allison" sounds feminine. I don't disagree, but… would an agency like that make such a mistake? Impossible.
"Ha!" Jason let out a loud breath after reading. "Accept it! Why are you hesitating?"
"What if it's a scam? Why would… well… who would want me? And it's a female agency—"
"Come on, it didn't even ask for your ID. If it wanted your info, it already got it while you stared at that blank screen."
He wasn't wrong, but still…
No. I don't care.
I clicked [Yes] on impulse—and immediately tensed.
*
[Thank you! Please come to our headquarters. We will be waiting for you.]
*
I almost sighed. No way I'd go to some random place. And worse, what if it was fake and I showed up expecting to be hired…
I scrolled down—and froze.
*
[Good thing you accepted, kid. Otherwise I'd have come to your house myself. Do you know how long I've been waiting? — From your first fan/stalker, Zarah]
*
Okay.
Maybe I was losing my mind.
But no matter how many times I read it, the words didn't change.
Yeah.
Looks like I'm not unemployed anymore.