Clipped Wings

Just Talk About It

Tommy puts me down eventually, and I run over to my bed, sitting down on it with my legs crossed, glaring at him.

"You can act like a child all you want, but this time I'm not letting you out of my sight," he tells me. "What did the interviewer do to you anyways?"

"You think I know?" I scoff, "other than ruin my life, my career, everything? I don't know."

"Have you considered talking to him again?"

"No." I pause to think about it this time, maybe that wouldn't be a bad idea, "but maybe you're right. We should, let's go." I head towards the door again.

"No," he stops me, "we can do that later, but right now, I need sleep. It's three in the morning." I hadn't realized it was so late, or early, and I feel a sudden rush of guilt.

"Alright. You go to sleep. I'll try too." I once again cross the room, flopping on the bed.

"Yeah, well as I said, I'm not letting you out of sight. Come on," he beckons for me to follow him, and I do. We enter the guest room, and he gets dressed in his pajamas. I don't bother changing clothes, I'm still in my t-shirt and sweatpants that I wore in the hospital.

Tommy puts some pillows and blankets on the floor, "there's only one bed," he explains, "and although you may not have a problem with it, I'm not sleeping with you." He chuckles a bit, "you can sleep on the bed or the floor I don't care."

I decide the floor, maybe to make up for the way I treated him, maybe not, I don't really know. He shrugs, getting onto the bed, then reaching for the lamp on the bed stand next to him, turning off the light. "G'night, Adam," he sighs.

"Goodnight," I reply, trying to fill that word with words that I wanted to say but couldn't. I feel awful for the way I've been acting, but something tells me that I'll act that way again. I don't know whether it's the interviewer's fault or my own, but I do know that I'm different, I can only hope I'm not like this permanently.

I hope I can stop acting this way, I hope I can go back to the way things were. I just hope that I can be me again, be Adam again, because whatever I am now, it's not Adam.

***

I wake up around 9PM, Tommy is already up, dressed and all. "Get ready," he says when he notices me awake, "we'll go after breakfast."

My first thoughts are where are we going? but then I remember, to the interviewer's place. It all sounds kind of crazy now, but I suppose it's too late to turn back now.

I get up and head to my room, aware of Tommy following me. I walk into my closet, trying to decide what to wear, not that it's really important, I just don't want to go in a ripped t-shirt and sweatpants. I decide on some leather pants and jacket, with a grey top under the jacket, nothing much, except for the feathers on the elbows of the jacket.

"You not going to watch me while I change," I snort to Tommy.

"It's for your safety," he pretty much giggles, enjoying this way too much.

"Yeah, whatever," I scoff, "but I'm not undressing until you at least turn around. What I've got under these clothes is none of your business." He does turn around, thankfully, and I get into my clothes. Then I head into the bathroom, "this actually might take a while," I bite my lip, "I've got a lot to do, seeing as I couldn't do these things at the hospital."

"Alright, but lets eat breakfast first, it's already ready, no sense letting it go to waste as you take time to apply your beauty."

"Apply my beauty? That sounds dumb," I laugh, "and you made me breakfast? So sweet." I smirk.

"If putting waffles in the toaster counts as making breakfast, sure." He laughs too. We quickly eat, not wanting to waste too much time. The interviewer's building is pretty far from my house, it'd be nice if we could get there before lunch.

After breakfast I head back into the master bathroom. The mirror is still broken, I note, but most the glass is still in place. I brush my teeth first, then my hair. Then I pull out hair dye from under the counter.

"No, Adam, you can do that later," Tommy sighs impatiently.

"Yeah but I can't go in public with my hair like this, it needs cut, and like an inch of it is the wrong color," I argue.

"Later," he repeats, taking the dye and putting it under the counter again.

"At least let my clip and paint my nails," I plead, "they're awful."

He gives in, "don't take too long." He lowers the lid of the toilet seat and sits on it like a chair. "I don't want to be waiting long, although I know with you there'll still be a great wait."

"Come on, I don't take that long," I say as I apply a medium layer of eyeliner around my eyes, after putting on some concealer. "Besides, I've got to look pretty before I beat up that man."

"You're not gonna beat anyone up, Adam," he sighs as I pull out the nail clippers and polish.

"But he pretty much ruined my life, I think I have the right, Tommy."

"No, you don't, you don't ever have a right to beat a person up. It's just wrong," he sighs again, "I still have hopes you'll get over all this mental drama that you have."

"Yeah, well it just might not happen," I've finished clipping my nails, and I'm about halfway through the first layer of nail polish. "Not too much longer," I say out loud, hoping to change the topic.

He gets that I don't really want to talk anymore and shuts up. Eventually I finish, and we are both ready to go. I don't know whether to feel relieved, nervous, excited, or just angry, but there's no way I'm turning back, not when there's a chance to fix me, whether I'm broken or not.

"Ready?" Tommy asks the semi-rhetorical question as I open the front door and head to the car.

"Yes I am."

(A/N: Sorry I'm taking so long to update. I had sort of given up on writing this, and I was working on another story that I'll publish hopefully soon [and it's probably much better than this one :P] so thanks for reading and sticking with it. <3 )