Broken Feathers

FourFiveSeconds

Chapter Seven: FourFiveSeconds (Rihanna, Kanye West, PaulMcCartney) 

  

Someone had it in for me. I didn't know who, and I probably never would but someone out there had it in for me. How else could one explain the sudden change in my good luck? Everything had been going so well and now...now I was right back to where I'd started off. 

I bitterly slapped paint down on the canvas in front of me, not caring that it splattered onto my wings, ruffling the bloody things irritably. The wings were the root of my problems, I was sure of it. If I was human this would never have happened.  

A knock on the door rang out through the silence of the flat. And for a moment I thought the person would leave. 

"Jay?" 

Star's voice. Star was outside. Star was at my door. Fuck. 

Star was at my door and I looked like hell had dragged me down and spat me back up. Entire body tensing, I ignored, hoping that she would just decide I wasn't worth the effort. Fuck knows, she'd be right. 

"C'mon, Jay," she murmured, knocking again. "Let me in." 

"Go away," I called out, standing like an eejit in the middle of the room, paintbrush poised in my hand. 

"I'm not going anywhere, so just let me in!" Star called back. Damn it. Why was she being so sweet now, when I explicitly didn't want it? I didn't need anyone to be sweet to me at this moment in time. I'd screwed up, I'd lost my rag. I got it. Now the world wanted to rub my nose in it. 

"Just go home, Princess," I sighed witheringly. 

"There's no need to be a dick to me," she shot back. I smirked to myself. It had been a while since someone had called me out on being a dick – at least three hours since Kalem had given me a lecture about it, probably. Shuffling wearily, back aching from the pendulous weight of my wings, I flung the front door open, staring down at the small blonde girl on my doorstep.  "What?" I demanded, trying to sound as threatening as possible. Instead of flinching away,

Star merely wiped her thumb over a smear of paint on my cheek, tilting her head to the side.

"You've made a mess of your face!" she trilled cheerily, walking past me into the flat. I blinked, still holding the door open for a good thirty seconds after she had gone past. "What do you want?" I asked once I'd regained the power of speech, slamming the door shut as I turned to face her. 

"I'm here to cheer you up!" she announced, throwing my bag at me. Well. I hadn't even realised I'd left this at the scene of the crime, and even if I had, I wouldn't have expected to get it back. "I get the feeling you don't like your wings being seen." I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. 

"Not if I can help it, no," I muttered darkly, standing by the door in case she decided to leave again. Not that I was going to stop her. She was more than welcome to walk out of my life, which was what she'd been trying to do for months. "You wanna talk about it?" she offered, suddenly peering at the canvases that lined the walls. Suddenly, I felt like squirming. This was too personal. I was all for people looking at my pictures, but not her. Hell, the majority of them were paintings of her. 

"Not especially," I grumbled, folding my arms across my chest, waiting for her to make a smart remark about my being a stalker or words to that effect. "Want me to shut my eyes then?" Star looked back to me, her eyes wide and expectant. Damn, it would be a sin for her to shut those beauties. 

"Huh?"  "So I don't piss you off even more by accidentally looking at those impressive wings of yours!" she exclaimed, her lips twitching. If she thought this was a joke, then the joke was on her. She had no idea what it felt like to permanently feel like a complete freak. She wasn't the kid in the corner who cried when we'd had to do Heaven and Hell as a subject in R.E. Because what kid wanted to discuss the fallen Angels, when they were a freaking Angel. "It's not like they can come out twice," I replied flatly, picking up my paintbrush again. I was more than happy to just paint and wait for her to leave. Only, Star crossed the room, wrapping her small fingers around my hand and squeezing gently in what felt like a reassuring gesture.