Memoirs of a Wild Child

Memoirs of a Wild Child by Cassandra P Lewis

Book: Memoirs of a Wild Child by Cassandra P Lewis Read Free Book Online
Authors: Cassandra P Lewis
bound for Tokyo, I was exhausted.
     
    I had some amazing work opportunities in Japan and found myself taking a different kind of photo in my free time too. I was focusing on soft against hard, a cherry blossom tree in front of a huge skyscraper, or a sweet little girl in pigtails next to a punk rocker with a Mohawk. I was learning every day. My work was getting better and better, and more and more people were noticing it.
    I ticked Japan off the map a few times, and then I got an email inviting me to a meeting in Seattle in four weeks’ time. Chalk, a rock band, who were huge in the States, and just starting to make it in the UK had been in Japan when one of my shoot’s hit the magazine stands there. They liked my work and wanted to discuss working with me. It was a huge opportunity, and I couldn’t miss out on it, but I had to go home first.
    When I arrived back in London, I had some loose ends to tie up. Some work to get finished and Shane was in town. He’d been booked to walk in a show during London Fashion Week, and it would have been rude not to get my rocks off while he was here.
    I called him when I landed to see where he was and arranged to meet up for dinner.
    “How was Japan?” Shane asked, smiling.
    “Great, work went really well, and I felt really inspired there.”
    “Yeah it’s great isn’t it, I love it. Haven’t been for ages, though.” Shane had already told me before I left Australia, that he had been to Japan. He travelled around Asia with some friends a few years ago; it was nice that I could talk about it knowing that he had been there and seen the things I had seen.
    Shane came back to mine that night, and before I realised it, he had been there for three days, but by the time he was due to start work I was glad, it was getting too cosy.
    He was crazy busy once the shows started, and I didn’t see much of him.  My bed wasn’t cold in that time though, it was fashion week, there were models all over town, and I was a photographer… it was like dropping a sugar cube into an ants’ nest. I was swarmed.
    The last night of fashion week was an absolute blast, I went to an insane after-party and woke up next to two male models and two gorgeous female models. I couldn’t remember, exactly what had happened, but I ached from head to toe so knew it must have been good.
    I went back to my place, ran a bath and chilled the fuck out, only to be disturbed after an hour by the doorbell ringing.
    “Shane.” I was surprised as I opened the door wearing just a towel, and a little annoyed. You don’t just ‘show up’ at someone’s house, especially not someone you’ve only fucked a few times.
    “Hey, I’m heading home tomorrow, and I just wanted to see you before I left.” He smiled and from behind his back, produced a bunch of red roses. I smiled to hide the bile rising in my throat; he wasn’t to know, but I fucking hate red roses.
    “Wow, Shane, you didn’t have to.” I stepped aside to let him in and took the roses into the kitchen, putting them into a pint glass and filling it with water. I turned and saw him looking at me strangely, “I’ll arrange them properly later, can I get you a drink?” I changed the subject; there would be no ‘arranging’.
    I poured us both a glass of wine and sat on the sofa. I was cold and wanted to get dressed, but thought we’d probably be fucking soon anyway so I might as well stay in the towel.
    “I love you.”
    I coughed as my drink went down the wrong hole, and Shane rushed to pat my back. “Oh my god, are you okay?” He asked in his smooth Australian accent, as I tried to move away and get my breath.
    “You, do, not.” I gasped standing and patting my chest.
    He stood, “Pippa, I do, I love you.” He stepped towards me, and I backed away. If this had carried on it would have turned into a Benny Hill sketch in my living room. I held out my hands to signal him to stop.
    “Shane, I’m sorry, but that’s not what this is. I’m not going

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