Through the lens

Having a bad day?

Through the lidded slits of his eyes Mark could see the mirage of dancing lights. The sunlight's harsh glow pierced through his pupils and its heat penetrated his body. There were persistent beats drumming within the flat - what the hell was it? Irritated rappings clouded his ears.

"Mark, get the fucking door." There was a muffled mumble from the other side of the wall. Roger's grating voice. Mark swiped his eyes tiredly and pushed off the sheets of his dormitory bed. The knocking grew louder - incessant. Mark pulled his clothes on, each legarthic movement emphasised with a great yawn.

The door never stopped vibrating with the knocks as he padded across the apartment floor. Threads of sunlight sliced onto the floor. With one final languid stretch, Mark swung open the door.

The girl instantly withdrew her hand, and rubbed her raw knuckles self-consciously. She frowned at him.

"Mark Cohen?" Her voice was apprehensive, tinged with sarcasm. She looked impeccably professional; she had a black saddle bag slung over her shoulder, black military jacket and her dark eyes were stern. Her ebony face scrutinised him.

"Yeah..." Mark said, still yawning. He was having a rough morning, and all he could do was think about crawling back into his bed and wait for the hangover to wear off.

"I'm Tyra Walker," She said. Mark's face flashed incomprehension. "The photographer?"

"What?" Mark's voice came out louder than intended. His throat was definitely burning.

"Didn't Alexi tell you?" Hope stepped inside the room of her own accord. Mark was stunned by her boldness. Her eyebrows arched dangerously and her hands came to rest on her petite waist. "You're having a photography session today."

"W-what?" Mark said in disbelief. "Alexi never told me..." He cut himself off. He had been incredibly drunk last night - but he vaguely remembered receiving a message from Alexi. Cautiously, he approached the answering machine and pressed the flashing button.

"Mark, Alexi Darling here. The photographer will be at your place one o'clock sharp tomorrow, to promote your new film. I hope that you will be professional because I hired the best photographer I could find..." Mark closed his eyes. Fuck. "...and she agreed this would be the only time that she could take photographs of you. Don't screw this up, Marky."

Mark desolately switched the answering machine off.

"I have a very tight schedule." Tyra pursed her lips and checked her silver watch. She flicked the sleeve of her jacket back onto her wrist. "Call me when you're ready." She walked out.

Mark rested his head in his hands and breathed in deep.

"Who the hell was that?" Mimi entered from Roger's room, kimono barely covering her bronzed body. She walked over to the tabletop and swung a cold mug of coffee to her ruby lips.

"I don't know." Mark said tiredly. Mimi's bright eyes smiled at him.

"Milk." She slung open the small fridge, which was half broken, and threw him a carton of milk. "See you later." She glided back into Roger's room, making sure to shut the door tightly behind her. Mimi might dance in a strip club, but she preferred privacy in her relationships.

Mark's eyes stung as he rubbed his temples. His eyes closed in fatigue, yet his animated heart pumped intoxicated blood to his brain, each throbbing pulse smashing against his head.

"I'm having such a fucking bad day." He muttered to himself. He slid down to the floor and rested against the leg of the table, partly hidden in the shadow of the furniture.

He flicked off the lid of the carton and brought the lukewarm box to his lips.

The carton was empty.