Author's Note: I don't know what I'm doing with my life. Ah well. Here, have a story about Dez! I apologize in advance for bad writing. This was mostly practice to get me back into my writing-mojo. And cause Dez needs more stories about him, yes.
I don't really know how this is going to turn out yet, as it hasn't been fully planned, so bear with me here.
"Not good enough…Not good enough!" the freckle-faced teenager shouts to his best friend. "This is not my vision, this is completely wrong!" Frustrated, he rips the backward-facing beret off of his dome, and tosses it onto the ground. He sits himself down, taking hold of his head. His temples throb relentlessly as his stress levels rise from the built-up pressure.
"Dez! Dez, you really needa relax, man," his mop-haired friend takes a seat beside him and pats him gently on the back. "You're stressing way too much over this, buddy. It's going fine and I think you sh-"
"-No! No, Austin, it is not fine. This video has to be perfect. It has to be. If it's not, there's no chance of me getting into UCLA, or even NYU!"
"Dude, you're a great filmmaker and videographer. I'm sure you'll get into a awesome school! And it's cool that you're aiming for those two, but c'mon…Wherever you go, I'm sure you'll do great, man!" Austin pushes him on, cheerfully. Usually Dez would be the optimistic one in terms of career; Austin's never seen him stress out so much in his life. Granted, this is about his future…
"Austin!" a familiar voice calls out to the blonde. Ally rapidly makes her way over to the two boys, her chestnut-brown locks bouncing on and off her shoulders as picks up the pace. The look on her face shows urgency. Upon reaching them, she doesn't hesitate for a single moment as she starts to chide her partner, "Austin! Are you two done shooting yet? We have a song to write, remember? I told you, I'm going to be really busy most this week, so we need to get this done as soon as possible!"
"Wow. Seems everyone's stressing out recently," Austin stares off in a random direction for a moment, contemplating whether or not he, himself, should be worried. The fact that he isn't starts to concern him. "Everyone's stressing out about their future, but me! Is that bad?"
"Well, you seem to have a solid music career ahead of you, Austin. But…You do need a back-up plan, just in case…" Ally states, not noticing how gravely this affected Austin.
"Oh, no...In case what?!" Austin starts to panic, caught off-guard by his songwriter's statement. "You mean it won't last forever?" Ally sighs, patting him on the back as if reassuring a small child that they could, in fact, be a superhero if they truly wanted to be.
"I'm sure you'll be fine. Now, come on, we have a lot of work to do if we're going to get this done by tonight!" Ally forcibly links arms with Austin and starts dragging him away. She then stops for a moment, realizing that she forgot something. She turns to the redhead, quickly acknowledging him, "Oh! Hi, Dez. Good luck with your video! Bye, Dez." She then proceeds to drag the pop-star along with her, wasting no more time. Austin gives his friend Dez an apologetic wave as he is hauled away by the determined girl.
Dez hobbles over to his fancy, and quite expensive, Canon Eos camera - unscrewing and slipping it delicately off of its tripod. He skims through the collected footage that he and Austin had shot together. Dez needs something hard-hitting for this particular short film. It would have to be important, he decides. A film that wouldn't just impress, but "wow" the schools he's applying to. None of the shots they had filmed seem up-to-par with what Dez had in mind. Granted, he isn't quite sure, himself, just what he's going for.
What if I'm not good enough? he questions himself. What if in all this time that I thought I was doing a great job, I turn out to be nothing more than an amateur? Sure, his music videos of Austin performing had gotten managed to attain plenty of hits - helping Austin reach the fame that he now has. Most of that credit goes to Austin, Dez figures. Maybe I'm not cut out for this…
He tucks his camera away into his bag, tripod following it in soon after being folded. Slinging the bag over his shoulder, he takes a seat on a wooden bench nearby. He folds his hands in his lap and stares somberly into space, his anxieties clouding his mind. So deep in contemplation, he fails to notice the arrival of yet another friend of his - trying her best to get his attention.
Trish waves her dainty digits in front of Dez's face, a gesture that finally gets him to snap out of his self-induced trance. "Hm?" Dez looks up at his curly haired friend for a moment, groans, and then continues staring off at nothing all the while murmuring, "Oh. Hey, Trish."
"Well that's one of the quietest hellos I've ever gotten from you. You okay, Dez?" she asks, clasping her hands together and leaning forward, as if trying to figure it out by reading his expression. Trish actually being genuinely concerned for him? On a good day, he'd rub it in her face. Today isn't one of those days.
"No," he responds simply, continuing to stare at the nothingness that seemed so very interesting to him at the moment.
"Well, stop being mopey, you doof," she shakes her head, irritated by him already. She clears her throat with a loud 'AHEM', then proceeds, "Guess who got a job at FilmTools?" She gets into her signature 'guess who?' pose, holding her palms facing up at her sides.
"Oh...That's nice," Dez verbalizes his inattention. As he is completely zoning out, Trish flicks him behind the ear with her fingers to bring him back. "Ow!" the boy cries out, rubbing the tender area behind his ear in pain. "What the heck was that for, Trish?!"
"For not listening to me, mush-for-brains," she justifies her actions, chuckling softly as Dez continues rubbing his sore ear. "Anyway...FilmTools, Dez. Got a job there. And I'm telling you this is 'cause I can get you a discount on any supplies you need for your short flick," she explains. It's not often that Trish would do favors for him, without wanting something from him in return, that is. Dez grows uneasy.
"Now c'mon! Let's go before I'm fired!" she urges him as she grabs his arm, pulls him up onto his feet, and attempts to tow him over to her place of work. Usually, he wouldn't resist the opportunity, even if it did mean Trish had been plotting against him. However, he cements himself to the ground - adamant on staying. "Dez, move it! What's wrong with you?"
"I…I can't," Dez shakes his head, his eyes fixating the ground beneath him.
"Sure you can. What, you got something better to do right now? This is grade-A equipment we're talking about here, Freckles! You'll be missing out on a pretty awesome employee discount. Now let's go - and don't say I've never done nothin' for ya," Trish retorts, positioning herself behind him and vehemently pushing him forward.
Dez catches himself, nearly falling over due to the sudden force from behind him. "Trish!"
"Sorry, guess I don't know my own strength," she shrugs, seeming apologetic. Short-lived it is, however, as a look of smugness takes over, "Nah, I do know. That was a pretty great shove."
Dez pouts at her, crossing his arms, looking like a incredibly tall six-year-old that just had their favorite toy taken from them, "Stop it."
"How about you stop throwing a tantrum and come on already! The store closes in an hour, Dez," she bellows at him, her agitation growing and her patience wearing thin.
"Trish, I-I can't," Dez responds shakily, as if ready to crumble on the spot. Trish observes him, noting the bags under his eyes, and that his skin is about two shades paler than usual. His frame stands before her feebly, hunching over just slightly. It's certainly not a usual posture for him.
"Dez, what's the problem? You're acting weirder than you normally do," she snarks, stopping herself as she notices how distraught the look upon her friend's face grows. She figures it'd be best to take back the subtle insult, "Sorry, I didn't know you were that upset. This is pretty serious stuff, huh?"
Dez nods slowly, still looking shaken-up. His gaze still fixed at the ground, he mutters something under his breath that just narrowly escapes the scrappy girl's hearing range.
"That better not be an insult," she lets out a soft laugh, trying to lighten the mood. When he doesn't respond, she starts waving her hands in front of his face, yet again. "Dez? Hey! Earth to Freckles! I haven't got all da-"
"-I give up!" He cries out, loud enough for others in the general vicinity to hear. They all stare his way for a short moment before moving on with their lives, wishing to avoid him at all costs. Trish's stare doesn't waver, however. She observes him, feeling a bit frightened, a tad worried, but mostly confused.
"Give up what, exactly?" she inquires, raising a brow. She observes Dez's trembling, sickly form. It seems as if he hadn't been sleeping properly for weeks.
"This," he announces, taking his camera bag off of his shoulder and placing it onto the ground. He finally manages to lift his gaze up to the girl, "You can have it. You can have all of it. Sell it or something, I don't care. I can't do this anymore, I can't-" his stops, voice starts breaking as he chokes up from the confession. Trish stares back at him, eyes wide and mouth agape. She could not remember the last time she had seen him in such a broken state.
"Dez! Are you out of your mind?" That kind of goes without saying, she reminds herself. She shrugs it off, figuring it would be in his best interest not to voice her thoughts aloud. However, this certainly shook the very roots of his happy-go-lucky nature. She extracts her phone from her tight jeans pocket, muttering a few things along the lines of women's pants needing larger pockets, and then starts scrolling through her contact list.
"Don't bother te-telling Austin or Ally, I'll tell them m-myself," Dez's offers, his gaze finding itself back on the ground.
"I'm not calling them, I'm calling a shrink," Trish states matter-of-factly, eyes trained on her never-ending contact list.
"Wh-why do you even have a shrink's numb-" Dez starts to ask, looking back up at her.
"-Shush. Ah, here it is!" Trish cuts him off, smiling at her tiny triumph, "I knew I still had that number." Just as she's about to dial, however, Dez takes the opportunity of her distraction to snatch the phone away from her. "Wh-hey! Give that back!"
Dez pockets the cell quickly, then holds out his hands in front of him, slowly pulling himself together. "Trish, I don't need therapy! I'm just…Reconsidering my direction in life, that's all," Dez urges himself to relax a bit more, but the tenseness stays - gripping him by the neck. "I'm quitting filmmaking, Trish. Film, videos...Everything. I just...I can't anymore."
Trish stares him in the eyes, tilting her head and studying the expression on his face, trying her best to figure out whether or not this was some kind of elaborate joke. No, she decides. As far as she can tell, he is all too serious.
She gingerly picks up the camera bag he had laid in front of her, and holds it out to him with a look of determination on her face, "Are you sure you wanna give this up?"
Author's Note: That's all for now! Stay tuned for the next chapter, whenever I get that done. That is, if anyone actually wants to read it.