Monday
He doesn't want to be here right now. His head is killing him and he's tired. He didn't get a whole lot of sleep last night because this damned headache keeps coming back stronger than before. He was even stumbling around a little yesterday, as if the world was spinning. It's better now, but that just means that it could come back at any point. And that's something he's really not looking forward to.
Adam had to pull him out of bed this morning. Quite literally. He didn't want to move. So he didn't. And as a result, he was late getting to school. Not that he really cares at this point, to be honest. He's wandering down the halls, brushing passed people he knows and people he doesn't. He's heading for his locker to put the unnecessary shit away before he goes to first period. He doesn't want to learn, though. He wants to sleep, and make this headache go away.
Tommy shuffles along, keeping his head down, his hands on the straps as he stops by his locker, kneeling down and twisting the lock. It pops open easily, and he shoves the door open, shrugging out of his bag. He's in a short-sleeved t-shirt and a pair of jeans. Fortunately, the bruising on his arms faded, so he doesn't have to suffer under sleeves in this heat. But even still, there's sweat in his roots, and he grumbles to himself. Sure, this is a pretty ghetto school for Los Angeles, but they couldn't even afford air conditioning? Fans? Something? Shit.
He shoves the unneeded textbooks inside, before closing it again, throwing his bag back over his shoulder. He stands, and turns to walk back down the hall, towards the lobby. The halls seem even more crowded and nosier than when he'd be heading to his locker. He grumbles to himself again, slipping between students and teachers as easily as he can. He just wants to get out of all the noise and go to class, so he can see Adam again and feel better.
Just thinking about Adam makes him smile a little bit. Those beautiful blue eyes, that quirky smile of his. He's still certain that Adam said "I love you" on Saturday. But he doesn't want to make the wrong assumption. It's just… Ever since then, Tommy's been thinking to himself. A lot. How does he really feel about Adam? He knows he really, really likes Adam, that's a damned given. But… does he love Adam?
Tommy bites down on his bottom lip. He tells himself that he does, all the time. But that's when his father says things or he doubts himself. It's to make himself feel better. Does he honestly love Adam? Adam… Oceanic eyes that make him melt? That dorky, beautiful smile that makes his heart stop? Those broad shoulders and long arms that just wrap around him and make him feel like nothing in the world can hurt him? Yes…
Yes, he does love Adam.
It's just… can he say it out loud?
He knows he's going to. One day and one way or another (ha ha, that's a good song). He will. He'll have to wait for the right time, the right day, the right moment to say it, but he knows that he will. He can see it now; Adam's hands in his, fresh kisses on their lips and those beautiful words passing from Tommy to Adam. Those blue eyes lighting up like a sea at dawn, glimmering—
"Watch it, fag." Someone slams their shoulder into Tommy, causing the blond to stumble into a locker. The comment hurts, but Tommy bites down on his bottom lip and he ignores it. He stands straight and starts walking again, trying to block out his raging headache and the dull ache of the abused bruise from the person who ran into him. He tries not to dwell on the comment though; what do they know? That's just it. They don't. And that pisses Tommy off more than the comment itself.
He's walking, minding his own business when he sees the trademark buzz cut and the letterman jacket, and the hand that grips his shoulder and shoves him into the locks. His shoulder blade his the dial, and he hisses, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment as the football player laughs, turning to continue walking down the hallway. Oh, hell to the no. Tommy's not gonna let him get off that easy. He's tired. He's in pain. And, right now, he's beyond pissed.
He shrugs out of his backpack and follows the player, rushing up and slamming his shoe into the back of the older male's knee. The player howls, falling to the floor and rolling over to see who the assailant is. Tommy pounces, straddling the players chest, his knees pinning down the male's arms. He rears back, slamming his fist into the male's nose first, before switching to his other fist, slamming into the jaw. Tommy goes back and force, a scowl on his face as he punches the football player over and over, feeling teeth loosen and the bridge of the nose crack. Black eyes, bruises, and blood begins to appear, and people aren't doing anything to stop him. They're all shocked that someone so tiny and frail looking as Tommy is beating the shit out of the football player.
Tommy stands, grabbing the collar of the jacket and rearing back again, punching the male one more time and feeling a little more than satisfied when he falls back to the floor, kay-owed. People are gasping and murmuring around him, some of them are even cheering and telling him to keep going, and his heart is beating in his chest when he feels a gentle hand on his shoulder, pulling him away. He glances back, seeing Monte dragging him down the hall, both of their backpacks over his shoulder. Tommy squirms a little, finding that resisting is futile, and he follows Monte out of the building towards the back parking lot. The backpacks are dropped on the stone steps, and Monte sits down, motioning for Tommy to sit beside him.
Monte pulls something out of his back pocket, and Tommy's almost screaming with joy at the sight of a pack of cigarettes. Monte plucks one out, and hands it to Tommy, giving the blond a lighter in pursuit. Tommy sticks the cigarette between his lips and lights it, greedily sucking in and feeling his agitation beginning to fade. He hands the lighter back to Monte so the older male can light his own cigarette. He holds the cigarette between his fingers as he exhales, suddenly exhausted and a little dizzy. There's nothing but silence and the drags of cigarettes before Monte speaks.
"You realize you've pretty much shattered that guys nose and probably even knocked out a good number of his teeth. Not to mention, you made his ego go down the drain." Tommy glances down, licking his lips a little before he takes another drag.
"Yeah." He says softly, running his fingers through his hair slowly as he exhales, smoke wafting around his face like a veil.
"What possessed you to attack him, Tommy?" Monte's voice is low, concerned. He's not meaning to sound angry or disappointed, and Tommy's knows that. He knows that better than most, because even though he hasn't known Monte long, he knows well enough that Monte means well.
But, truth be told, Tommy isn't sure what possessed him to attack the football player. He just… He remembers being very, very angry for five moments in time, and that was all he needed to lunge. Whether or not he actually tells Monte that, he's undecided. For the time being, he takes another drag of his cigarette and remains quiet, staring at the cars in the lot, few and far between. Oh, how easy it'd be to bust a window, hot wire and take off. He could get out of here. With Adam and Monte.
Oh, wait… Monte has his own car. That's right. Fuck.
"I don't know." Tommy says with a slight smile. He wishes he had something other than a cigarette right now. But, see, he'd be in deep shit if he had anything else. Damn.
"How's your head, man?" Monte asks, and Tommy frowns for a moment. Oh, yeah. His house. How many times did he hit his head? He can't remember at this point. He shrugs, taking another drag before stamping out the cigarette butt. Monte scoffs, finishing off his cigarette as Tommy gathers a clot of saliva in his mouth and spits off into a bush. Ew. Disgusting. Fucking cigarettes.
"Could be better. I just got a fucking knarly headache." The blond says with a cringe, looking back over to Mr. Mohawk. Monte looks worried.
"Is it still hurting from Saturday?" Tommy nods once. Monte looks even more worried than before. And that, in and of itself, frightens Tommy.
"Dude, you should talk to the nurse or see a doctor. That can't be good. And you know what Adam would do to you if he found out something was up." Monte's voice is low, and Tommy looks away, licking his lips slowly. He knows he should probably see someone, but the idea of letting someone else in and informed… No.
"I don't know, Monte. I'm sure it's nothing." Tommy says, kicking at a rock and watching it fall down the stairs. Monte sighs softly.
"Nothing, Tommy? Please." Monte says. Tommy looks over at him, before rolling his eyes.
"Whatever. I'll get it checked out after school today." Tommy says, standing and grabbing his bag. Monte looks up at him with a curious and somewhat hopeful look on his face.
"Promise?" Tommy nods, walking back and opening the door, slipping back into the building. He walks down the small hallway and making a right, heading towards the lobby. It's easy enough, it's just walking, but his head is really, really beginning to hurt right now. He blinks a few times, the edges of his vision getting fuzzy and he stumbles once into the locker. Whoa, shit.
"Crap…" Tommy mutters to himself, falling to his knees. His head is pounding and he's beginning to feel sick. He needs to lie down… How about here… in the middle of the hallway… Yeah, here's nice. He falls, stomach flat on the ground, head turned to the left. His eyes are closed and he feels better, now. So much better, that he doesn't even feel the hands on his shoulders, pulling him to his feet. He's gone. Out like a light.