Tuesday

His stomach is hurting as he takes steps up the stairs of the front of the school. He's surprised that none of his ribs are broken from yesterday, and that he's even able to walk at all. True, the pain is breaching upon unbearable, but he'll live. He has to. For his mother, for himself, for his future. Especially his future; he's got plans he wants to accomplish. He wants to make it big one day and forget about all of this, but that doesn't mean he has no doubts about anything. Maybe he won't make it big, maybe he won't make it to tomorrow. Perhaps it's less of doubts and more like fear.

Tommy sighs softly, willing himself to not clench his stomach as he walks. He can't draw attention to himself, otherwise everything will get worse. He keeps his hands on the straps of his bag against his chest as he makes it to the top of the stairs, winded and aching all over. But he can't let it show. He has to keep his face calm and his voice sure. He's done this before, but it's not easy. And he knows deep inside that it'll never get easy. Not as long as his dad is alive, anyway.

You'll be fine. His mother had told him that morning as she kissed his forehead. Richard had been passed out on the couch again, his fists red from punching and hitting them both. Tommy shivers at the memory, wishing that he had fought back and that he wasn't so fucking weak. He promises himself and his mother daily that he's going to make Richard pay for everything that he's put them through. And eye for an eye, as the old saying always goes. Tommy breathes slowly, slipping between the crowds of seniors and juniors. People he's known for a few years, but doesn't all the same. He doesn't make friends very easily and doesn't trust himself to hold onto those that he does greet.

Tommy slips through the open doors, brushing passed students and teachers, even the occasional janitor. He walks down the wide lobby, and turns left, climbing a small flight of stairs and towards the first locker bay. He's at the end of the hall, the last locker on the right. It's kind of irritating having to go from his locker to the math hall— on the other side of the fucking school. He walks in step with the music in his head, his lips forming the words ever so slightly; today it's Madonna's Vogue. Shut up, he likes this song.

He slips between two massive football players, thankful for his size that he's able to do this from time to time. At least when they're not trying to grab him so they can flush his face into the bathroom toilets. He shivers once, remembering that one time they flushed his face when there had been piss and other questionable fluids swirling in the bowl. That had not been the best day of his life, needless to say.

Tommy drops his bag at his locker, amazed that he made it without trouble. His lungs are wheezing in his chest and he's got sweat on his brow from the aches in his chest and stomach, but he'll be fine. His only concern is gym class at the end of the day. Fortunately he always wears pants and under-armor beneath his school gym t-shirt. It's to hide the bruises that decorate his body like hideous tattoos. They never seem to go anyway anymore because fresh ones are created on a most daily basis. He kneels down, his face twitching in pain lightly before he rights himself again, spinning the dial and opening the old, creaky metal door. He swings his backpack around and open it up, pulling out his texts and books. It's a wonder he doesn't have back problems with the shit he hauls around. Then again, Mother did teach him to walk with his back straight.

Neatly placing his unnecessary books inside, Tommy starts to shove his journal into the small space before he pauses, staring at the cover for a moment. He retraces his moves, and places the journal back into his bag, zipping it up and slinging it over his shoulder again. Adjusting his grey and black striped sweatshirt, he stands and shuts the locker door with the toe of his shoe. The pains in his chest are dulled when he doesn't aggravate them, and he's trying his hardest not to. He takes a few steps, dropping his head and letting his short, messy blond hair fall just over his eyes. He's been meaning to let it grow out, but his dad made it a point to make him keep it short. Maybe one day…

He's not paying attention to anyone or anything, and he doesn't see the slightly taller male before they crash into one another, books and papers flying around in the classic chaos scene of every cheesy high school movie. Tommy lifts his head, his binder digging into his lower back as he sits up, his face twisting in pain, though he doesn't have to worry about hiding it, because the surrounding people would suspect it was from being run into. He looks over, seeing the reddish blond hair that he remembers from yesterday. He doesn't remember the blondness, but he guesses that's because he wasn't really paying attention. His neighbor's eyes flutter open and he, too, sits up, before they make eye contact.

Tommy is startled by the electrifying blue of the redhead's eyes. His breath catches in his throat and he looks away, pushing himself onto his hands and knees. He stands, dusting off his knees before holding out his hand to the blue-eyed male on the floor. The redhead nods once in thanks, taking Tommy's hand. Tommy tries not to stare at their clasped hands. They fit perfectly together, and Tommy wishes for the life of him that he remembered his neighbor's name now. He feels horrible about it, but he forgets that when the redhead blushes and looks so innocent. He's humble, and Tommy finds that very attractive. He, grudgingly, lets go of the redhead's hand and stoops down, gathering the fallen books and the papers. He doesn't stare at them, but he glances, seeing lyrics and chords. So the blue-eyed beauty is a musician and an lyricist, eh?

"I'm so sorry I ran into you… I, I wasn't paying any attention." The redhead stutters, his eyelashes sweeping over the tops of his cheeks and his blush darkens a little more. His hair is short and slightly wavy, somewhat parted down the middle and Tommy has the urge to reach up and run his fingers through it, but he doesn't. He bites on his bottom lip and hands the stack to the blue-eyed male in front of him.

"No, it's alright. It's my fault too, so it's okay." He says with a sweet, shy smile. The male takes the stack in his arms, his backpack pulled tight against his shoulders. Tommy readjusts his own bag, slipping into the awkward silence, though he wants to make conversation like you would not believe. There's a lot of things that he wants to do (none of them are sexual, you pervs), like take his hand and compliment his beautiful eyes. But he can't, because that would be even more awkward than the silence they are currently under. Tommy scratches the back of his neck, his fingers trailing over a small bruise. He fights a wince as the redhead looks up again.

"I— uh, I don't think we've met, personally." He shifts the stack into one arm and extends his right hand, a smile gracing his freckled lips (has Tommy mentioned how much he loves freckles on boys?). "I'm Adam Lambert." He says. Tommy smiles wide, taking Adam's hand in his. So he was right, his neighbor's name started with an 'A'. Adam. Such a beautiful name.

"I'm Thomas Joe Ratliff, but you can call me Tommy." He says. Adam's eyebrow raises in a slight arch and his smile shifts to a light smirk.

"Ratliff? I've heard that name before—"

"We're neighbors. I'm in the faded blue house with the shitty lawn." Adam's face breaks out into one of the most beautiful smiles ever, and Tommy's ears are graced with a light, breathy laugh. He fights the urge to pull the male to him and listen deeper to that laugh. It's intoxicating, the smile, and the laugh is just all the more perfect. It's as if the world has fallen away and it's just the two of them standing together and laughing as if they've known each other for forever.

"That's right! My family gives you food during the holidays." Tommy nods once, his face starting to ache with how much he's smiling. He's never smiled this much before. He's never talked to someone this long before. He wants to give in and make a real, true, lasting friend, but in the back of his mind he can hear his conscious. 'Befriend him and you'll only hurt him. As soon as Dad finds out, you're going to hurt him. And you're going to lose him.' But Tommy shoves the thought aside as he shifts and walks beside Adam back down the hallway towards the lobby. He's ignoring the constant shouting in his own head to just leave Adam. It'd be for the best of everything, and he knows deep inside that he really should. But he doesn't want to. For once, he's doing what he wants, and he's not going to care what the consequences are.

At least not right now.

"So what's your next class?" Tommy asks as they shuffle passed a couple making out beside locker 69. Tommy finds the humor but he's done with the stupid 69 jokes. It was one thing in freshman year, but as a junior he knows better.

"Pre-calc with Howard." Adam says. Tommy finds his heart pounding and he smiles wide.

"Me too! Isn't he a douche?!" Tommy says, not afraid of stating his opinion. He's amazed that he's never seen Adam in that class before. Then again, before today, Tommy's never really paid any attention to who's in the class. He just goes to learn really, to get an education for his mother and himself. As a matter of fact, he can't remember who all is in the class with him. He's never noticed faces, just people.

"Oh my God, yes!" Adam says, his voice squeaking lightly, and he blushes a mad shade of red. Tommy stares for a moment and starts to smile again. But smiling isn't the only thing that happens. He starts to giggle— and giggles break into laughs. He stops laughing for a moment, astonished. He hasn't laughed since he was a kid. And at this he laughs again, feeling so light and so free that he laughs hard. And Adam is intrigued by Tommy's random laughing outburst that he starts laughing too. If this were any other school in any other place, people would stop and stare to try to figure out what the fuck they were laughing about. But here? No one cares. No one even turns. It's kind of nice, to be honest.

His sides aching from laughing more than anything, Tommy finally regains his breath and wipes away the tears in his eyes. He hasn't laughed in years, and to laugh that hard? His throat is sore from laughing and he's breathing hard. But it's so nice. It's so nice to be free and to be able to do this again, when it's been locked away for so long. Tommy inhales slowly, his face curled into a crooked smile and he can't find it within himself to shove that smile away and keep a straight face. He doesn't want to, and he's perfectly fine with that.

"What was that all about?" Adam asks him, wiping away his own tears of laughter. Tommy chuckles.

"Sorry— I… I haven't laughed.. like that in years." He adds those two words, 'like that', before finishing his sentence. He doesn't want to concern Adam terribly. That wouldn't be good.

"Oh. Well, I'm glad I was able to help." He says, smiling. Tommy has to keep himself from hugging the ginger. God, gingers are amazing people.

"Yeah, thanks." He says, still chuckling. They walk through the lobby, their packs and books held close. It's high school, but people are still known to snatch and run. Tommy steals private glances at the slightly taller male, and he smiles to himself again. He's so beautiful, Adam. Without thinking really, Tommy casually drops his right hand from the strap of his bag, and lets it hang beside him. Adam's got his books and papers tucked in his right hand, his left hanging free. Tommy side-steps around a passing cheerleader slut, his hand brushing against the back of Adam's. His head snaps over to the ginger at the same time Adam turns to him. They glance down at their hands, before pulling away; Tommy reattaches his hand to the strap of his back, and Adam cradles his crap in both arms, a blush on his face.

'Stop it, Thomas Joe Ratliff. You can't get attached like this. You're only going to hurt him in the long run, so just stop it. Leave him alone, let him live his life. You'd be saving him that way. For the love of God— do not fall for him…' Tommy rolls his eyes mentally and shoves the conscious thoughts away, not wanting to listen to rational thought. This is what happens after years of abuse. He thinks on the better behalf of those around him and doesn't consider his own happiness. Even in the ten minutes together or whatever, Tommy is happy with Adam, and he hasn't been happy in years. But he knows that by letting Adam into his life, he's putting the ginger at risk of his father's rage, of his past. He can't do that to Adam. But at the price of being happy, he's considering it.

'Fine, but if you destroy his beautiful soul, you'll have no one to blame but yourself.' He cringes at the thought, aching more from the bruises and the laughter. His heart is aching, and he's never cared for someone more than his mother. But Adam— fucking hell, Adam's a different case. Adam is beautiful.

'Fuck, Tommy. You're already in way too deep.'

And you know what? He doesn't care.