The door opened and shut, but I didn't pay any heed to it. However, with my luck, it was probably Tommy coming back to call me some more awful names. But he couldn't break my mood, no. I was too happy with myself; I had finally stopped crying and I took care of it the old fashion way (or as you stereotypical bastards like to call it, the "emo way"). Sure, it wasn't the best method for relieving stress, but what other option was there? It's not like I can just run away from my problems…That wouldn't be fair to my fans…And I loved my fans. Yea, they can get annoying, or even aggressive sometimes, but they're always there for me, and they won't just ditch me for some bitch like Tommy obviously would.
"Shit, Emily…I missed you so fucking much…" I heard Tommy's voice mumbled into something and a woman gasped.
"Tommy, I feel the same way. I love you so much. I'm so glad we're back together. I'll never leave you again…" she cooed, kissing him. So I was right, it was Tommy. I didn't think he was a big enough jerk to actually bring his "girlfriend" back with him.
I could hear their sucking from thirty feet away. My eyes shut and I got up from the bed that I was originally going to stay in, but it was right in the middle of everything. I didn't feel like seeing that bitch and his whore at the moment, so I walked to the nearest door and slammed it shut, feeling the ground shake. I leaned against the wood and slowly slid down, tears rising to my eyes again and pouring down. So much for not crying anymore.
"W-What was that, Buttercup?" I heard Emily whisper and I just about threw up. Buttercup? What the fuck? Glitterbaby was so much better! No, don't think like that Adam. From now on, he's Tommy to you. Or, Bitchy Bitch located on Bitch Mountain in the center of Dick Field!
"Just Adam. He's such a drama queen. Leave him alone, love. Let's get caught up," he muttered, seductiveness trailing his voice, and my hot tears just kept pouring out. Fuck him. Fuck, fuck, fuck!
I quickly got up and ran to the bathroom that was attached to my room and searched around for another razor. Thankfully, I found one and tore off the gauze to my already damaged arm. It was dried with blood, but new liquid was trickling out, making a path of crimson down my arm and dripping onto the ground. I wouldn't even bother cleaning that up. Who was going to come into my room anyway?
With a heavy gulp I pressed the blades against my flesh for the second time today and went wild. I didn't do it gingerly at all. I just kept cutting, and cutting, just letting it all go. It hurt, but felt so fucking good at the same time! The cool razor cutting my pale skin just made all the anxiety disappear. Why wasn't I doing this earlier? Crying makes me look and sound weak, but cutting myself allows it all to vanish, and nobody will know a thing!
I groaned lightly and gripped the counter, panting lightly. I looked in the mirror and my eyes were still bright red from my new round of tears. My hair didn't fair better, and I suddenly got the sudden urge to dye it. Just fucking dye it any fucking color I wanted.
I walked out of the bathroom and to the phone, ringing down to the front desk.
"Hello, this is Jennifer," the woman answered.
"Hi, do you have any hair dye in your gift shop?" I asked, getting a bit jittery and just wanting to fucking jump off a cliff to get this fucking adrenaline down.
"Um, hold please," she ordered and I could hear her whispering to someone. "Yes. We have three colors: blue, green, and bright red. Would you like to choose a one? Then I can send someone up to your room and give it to you. We'll charge it to your bill," Jennifer offered.
Fuck yea. I didn't want green because frankly, I had no desire looking like a leprechaun. Red wasn't good because I was already a ginger, and there was no way I wanted to exaggerate that fact. So, I guess blue was the winner. "Blue," was all I said before hanging up and walking back to the bathroom.
I didn't even bother wrapping my arm and I let the blood pool around in puddles everywhere. I bent my head down to the sink and get it wet and wash it slightly. I grabbed a towel from the rack and dried it off, slinging it around my shoulders so none of the dye would coat my black shirt.
My wrist pulsed in pain, but my adrenaline overlooked that fact. I heard a knock at the door and practically sprinted to it, opening it up and grabbing the dye from the person. "Thanks…" I mumbled, running back to my bathroom and locking the door. I didn't need to read the directions; I've died my hair plenty of times before.
I ripped the box open and mixed the essentials together. I squirted it on my head and rubbed it into my hair (after putting on my gloves). Once it fully coated my once black mane, I was supposed to let it to soak in for an hour. In that time, I would just fucking sit in my room and think about more songs for my next incredible album. Too bad I walked out of the bathroom to do that.
"Oh, f-fuck, Tommy! Harder! Fucking harder!" I could hear Emily scream from the bedroom besides mine. They were having sex right in my ear shot and Tommy didn't seem to give an ever living fuck about it. No, I wasn't going to cry. I'm Adam Lambert, and I don't cry over some douche bag that calls me a 'faggot whore' and bangs his girlfriend purposely in ear shot of me. No, I don't care.
I walked out of my room, and out of the suit, my arm still dripping slightly from the blood, and my hair still a whitish-blue from the dye. And you know what? I don't care. I was going to go to the bus, grab my stuff, go back up to the room and blast some music. I was going to take a shower, get my amazing hair, and fucking ignore Tommy. Sure, I'll work with him, but that's it.
When I got to the lobby, I (not surprisingly) got stares from strangers, both in awe and disgust. I must have been a sight. But I didn't care. This was by far the worst day of my life and I could care less about how other people perceived me right now. When I got to the bus I tore through my luggage and got everything I would need, but I couldn't help but see Tommy's beloved black creepers…Fuck him. I'm in charge of this band and can do whatever I damn well please.
I grabbed his prized shoes and walked to the small and confined bathroom. With a smirk, I dropped them "accidentally" into the toilet flushed it and they became soaked. But I wasn't done. I looked through some cabinets and found bleach and peroxide. I poured both bottles into the toilet along with his shoes. But just to be even more of a douche bag, I got some milk from the fridge and poured the entire gallon in there too. Let's see that bitch wear those creepers now.
With a snicker I picked up my stuff and hopped out of the bus and back up to my room. I could still hear them fucking through the walls, but I just smiled and put a mix CD into the CD player and blasted it at full volume.
"Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh, Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh, Caught in a bad romance, Ra Ra-ah-ah-ah, Roma Roma-ma, GaGa, Oh la-la, Want your bad romance…"
The banging on the walls (along with their pitiful moaning and groaning) ceased and I just grinned, humming to the tune that penetrated my ears. I had locked the doors so Tommy couldn't barge in and ruin my 'me' time.
"I want your ugly, I want your disease, I want your everything, As long as its free, I want your love, Love love love, I want your love…"
Listening to Gaga reminded me of writing 'Fever' with her, and I suddenly smiled a bit. When I was composing it, the only person I could think of was Tommy. That song was meant for him, and he didn't even realize it. Now I regret ever putting him in my thoughts when I sang that stupid tune.
"I want your drama, The touch of your hand, I want your leather studded kiss in the sand, I want you love, Love love love, I want your love…"
Just listening to music soothed the pain, and I began to take off my heavy attire. First all my necklaces; earrings; rings; bracelets; gloves; shirt; boots; socks; and tight skinny jeans. Now I was left with wet dyed hair, make-up, and a torn up arm.
"You know that I want you, And you know that I need you, I want it bad, A bad romance…"
After taking off my heavy artillery, I began to sing to the lyrics, draining out any other noise than the sound of Gaga's voice and my own. I neatly folded my clothes and took out a pair of clean boxers that I was planning to wear to bed. With a smile I walked back into the bathroom and washed off all my make-up so I was just Adam. Not broken Adam. Not Glam singer Adam. Just Adam, and that's the Adam I love. I danced to a couple more tunes of Gaga and jumped into the shower, using the special conditioner that was supposed to lock the blue into your hair.
The shower calmed me, and my head was cleared from all the drama. I looked down at the drain and blue swirled in a little whirlpool of bubbles and water. I smiled to myself, excited as to what my hair would look like. But then sighed, realizing this was going to be the next biggest thing since I shaved half my scalp. I mean, come on! I'm sure the media has something better than the main headline being 'Adam Lambert dyes his hair blue!' Seriously, when I was in Wicked, there was no headline saying I had an immense cold after the show like there would be now. Being famous is great and all, but it does come with this crap…
The shower and pounding of the cold water made my mind wander off to depths it normally never does soar too, but today was different. Today was one of the worst days I've ever experienced. I loved Tommy, I really did. He was the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with (or so I thought). Was Cassidy right? Did I really force all this on myself? Or was Tommy involved? Well, of course he was part of the problem. He's such a fucking bitch! I mean, I'm not cruel enough to bring a girl to my hotel room and bang her right besides my ex-boyfriend. But obviously, he didn't care. No; he never cares. I was right when I said he only cares about himself because truly, he's selfish.
And to think about everything I went through for him. Sure, I didn't want him to by my boyfriend out of pity or anything, but you could think he would have some kind of courtesy to not fuck his girlfriend with me in the same room. I got the crap beaten out of my by some random homophobe because I walked home alone. Apparently, Tommy couldn't stay with me for the rest of the shopping spree. And fuck! How much were those earrings? Fifty dollars? I should take them back when he's sleeping…
I could feel the blood run down my body and to the floor of the shower. I grunted slightly and leaned against the wall, closing my eyes and slowly breathing. If I had known cutting myself would be like drugs, I would never have started. But unfortunately, it was too late. Once you sniff the crack, there's no going back. Once you cut, you can't stop. And now I'm in this predicament…
I stepped out of the shower and dried my hair, my eyes shut as I faced the moment of truth. Here it goes…
I opened and my blue orbs went wide. My hair was still a bit damp and poking out in all directions. And the blue color was electric. It was the same color as my original blue streak, but it was my entire head. I grinned at the result. "Not bad, Adam…" I complimented myself. I grabbed gauze and wrapped it around my now clean (but still clearly damaged) wrist. After I endured that pain, I pulled on my clean pair of boxers and walking out of the bathroom into my bed.
Paparazzi was playing now, still at full blast and I turned it down to 50% so I could go to sleep, but still not hear Tommy and Emily fuck.