Page 3 of Finding Haven
If only I could wash away my demons just as easily.
1
Quinn
I’vebeenstaringatthe pile of bills in front of me for what feels like hours. I’m hoping that if I glare at it hard enough, the stack will magically disappear along with all my problems. I’ve been trying to prove that I can be independent over the last four years since moving out of my parents’ house at nineteen. Our relationship is as good as it can be, and they would’ve been more than happy for me to stay, but at the time, it felt like something I needed to do. Yet every month that passes, where I’m barely scraping by, leaves me feeling more and more like a failure.
My only saving grace has been my best friend and roommate, Becca. We’ve been friends since high school, and if there’s anyone who knows all of my struggles, it’s her. Which is why I’m enlisting her help with figuring out another job that I can tack on to my schedule, as if I’m not already busy enough. Between working part time at Buttersweet Bakery, trying to build a photography business, and managing a chronic illness, my mind already feels like it’s at maximum capacity. When I was a child living under my parents’ roof, I took for granted the assistance I had in managing my diabetes. They were always there to help monitor and track what I was consuming and figure out the proper insulin doses. As someone who has always struggled with math, being a type one diabetic seems like some kind of cruel joke.
I’m not sure how much work Becca and I are getting done at this point. We’ve both been doom-scrolling various social media apps as if doing so will provide any sort of solution. She’s lying on her stomach across the foot of my bed, her legs bent at the knee with her feet up in the air as she scrolls through her phone. Her collarbone-length brown hair hangs in her face, pops of blue strands slipping out from underneath as she stares down at her phone, her focus locked on whatever video has captured her attention.
I’ve stopped my job search entirely. Instead, I find myself watching posing videos and studio tours from other boudoir photographers.
And maybe the occasional thirst trap video.
I know that I have what it takes to own a photography studio. At least when it comes to the actual photography aspect, I do. The management side of it is why I would love to get my business degree. I know that having one isn’t a necessity for owning and running a business, but it definitely couldn’t hurt. If something ever happens where I just can't hack it as a business owner, I would have an education to fall back on.
Becca’s audible gasp has me setting my phone down and turning my attention to her.
“I’ve got it! I know what you should do!” she chimes, tossing her phone in my direction as she shifts into a seated position. She folds her legs beneath her as a smile spreads across her face.
I can’t help but giggle at her excitement. “Do I even want to know?” I ask, grabbing her phone from beside me where it landed. The video is paused, but it appears to be of a woman talking to the camera. “Why am I scared to watch whatever this is?” I ask, brows pinching together as I look up at her.
“Just watch it. You can thank me later.” She crawls across the bed and sits beside me, our backs pressed against the headboard. Shaking my head, I glance back down at her phone and hit play. It’s a video of a woman explaining how much money she makes. . .wait.
Doing what?
“Bex, there’s no way I could ever pull something like this off,” I tell her, my focus remaining on the video as the woman explains basics like lighting and a few things she uses to hide the details of her bedroom.
“Why not? I know you have all the things she’s talking aboutandyou already have that fancy shmancy camera,” she says.
Okay, she has a point. I’m sure a ton of…creatorsuse their cell phones, but I have a professional-grade camera. I mean, it’s a lower-end camera and nowhere near as nice as the one I would need to have for a studio someday, but it’s still gotta be better than my phone.
“I have the things and the camera, but I don’t look like that.” I nod my chin towards her phone.
“That’s bullshit, and you know it,” Becca scoffs, shifting to her knees and snatching her phone from my hand. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and sits back on her heels. Her fingers fly aggressively across the screen as she types out something and scrolls through videos.
I’ve never been a super self-conscious person. Despite what most of society thinks, I’m perfectly comfortable with my softer belly, wide hips, and thick thighs. However, I also know I don’t meet the common “beauty standard” and am probably not what people would expect to see when browsing through a site geared towards adult content. I get plenty of looks when we go out dancing, but the idea that someone wouldactually pay money to seemetake my clothes off for the camera almost seems comical.
“Ah ha! Here we go,” she says, holding her phone out towards me again. “You’re just as hot as these other women posting about their content on social media, if not hotter. You could totally do this!” The excitement that laces her tone is contagious. Butterflies swarm in my stomach as the idea takes root in my mind. The women in the videos that Becca has found all have different body types, but they do have one thing in common. They're all plus-size, like me, and it gives me the little boost of confidence that I need to allow myself to truly consider the idea.
“I mean, I do like that I wouldn’t really have to buy anything. I already have the things that would cost the most, and I’ve got a few outfits that would work to start.” I’ve always loved wearing lingerie, even if nobody else sees me wearing it. Knowing that my body is covered in lace underneath layers of clothing makes me feel sexy and desirable.
“Sooo. . .you’re gonna do it?” she asks.
“I don’t know, Bex. What if I do it and nobody subscribes?”
Her lips press tightly together as she looks at me. “Okay, I hear you. But what if you do it, get a shit ton of subscribers, and it completely changes your life?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “That’s a bit extreme. I don’t need it to change my life. I just need to be able to pay my bills and not feel like I’m completely drowning.”
“C’mon, Quinn. We’re gonna manifest this shit! You gotta at least try.”
I can feel the weight of her gaze as I scroll through more photos and videos. She has a point. I’m already stretched thin between working atthe bakery and booking boudoir clients whenever I can. This could be the perfect way to bring in more money on a schedule that works for me.
“Okay,” I sigh. “I’ll do it.”
We spend the next few hours getting me set up with an account on Frisk, a website that allows creators of all kinds to build a fanbase and offer paid subscription tiers. She also helps me take a few tasteful photos that I can post immediately for promotion to try and gain some traffic. By the time she leaves for work for the evening, all I have left to do is choose which photo or two to share with strangers on the internet.
