Chapter Text
Mindlessly flicking slick magazine page after magazine page, Adam cannot seem to find any meaning between the overexposed images and text that is usually appealing to him.
Wiping between his forehead and eye with his roughed hand, he hoped to alleviate some of his intense headache, which means he likely forgot to either take his meds or brush his teeth. He couldn’t decide which one was worse. Most of his money was soaked up by his stupid arm and the pain meds he was conserving, so getting dental work done was out of the question. His only saving grace was to convince his shitty landlord not to kick him out on the promise of two months of pay at the end of the month. So he needed this job.
…Desperately.
“Adam?”
Flicking his eyes upward, he slapped the magazine down on the side table and stood up awkwardly. His tight posture, combined with his sling, made it hard to put one foot in front of the other, so he found himself clumsily padding towards the short receptionist.
Quickly scraping his hair upwards to hide the lack of volume (no water in the apartment meant no showers, so he’s gone without since the hospital, which means he feels even more awkward), he gave her the most gentle smile he could muster. She reciprocated and beckoned him into the door next to the receptionist counter.
The lady at reception, whom he caught as Pamela, ran as quickly to his side as possible with her red heels and led him past a couple of block doors trailed by walls covered in faded mint paint.
He could see places where childish stickers were either peeled off or faded off into unrecognition on some of the doors, placed so lowly as to have come from a little kid. Though he could make out a couple characters like Hello Kitty and Minnie Mouse, they must have been placed there ages ago. He wonders if it was Pamela’s kid or just some overactive kid waiting for their mom to sign the bill. Then he thought about Lawrence’s kid, as the little booger storm probably did the same thing at Lawrence’s practice.
His train of thought quickly subsided as Pamela pushed a door open quickly with her back and gestured to him to walk inside. It was kind of comical how excited she was compared to his nervous indifference. He wished he could muster up a greater amount of enthusiasm, but his lack of amenities and his pain were granting him a downer mood.
“Sorry for the mess; it gets pretty busy here, so we often just shove whatever is in the way in here. Storage room after all, hah…”
“No, it’s alright. I’ll guarantee I’ve been in sh--worse interview rooms. Thanks again for taking the time to interview me, Pamela.” Adam ended with a quick grin as he slid onto the cardboard box propped up next to a fairly clean desk.
That garnered a chuckle from Pamela, who huffed and scanned his resume.
“Just call me Ela... No GED, huh? High school kids gave me the hardest time too, but thankfully, this position doesn’t require that. Are you planning on going back to school any time soon?” Sensing his nervousness, she gave a light smile. “Don’t worry, your answer won’t affect your qualification for the position; I’m just trying to get to know you.”
“...Yeah, after my arm’s all healed up and I get a better apartment, I plan on getting my GED and hopefully pursuing veterinary.”
“Veterinary school, huh? Well, I see why you picked us. It also states you have experience in photography?” After Adam gave a sheepish nod, she pressed on. “I know you will be doing janitorial work, but make sure to bring some examples of your work to Dr. Mateo and our groomer Eli. They might be interested in your work.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.”
“Hey! No problem.” Turning to open the desk drawer and shift through a couple items, she adjusted her glasses a couple of times until she was able to find a pen.
Adam took this moment to take a deep breath and scan the room thoroughly around him, taking in all the junk and equipment that he’d likely be dealing with if he got the job. He’d somehow have to manage with the limited function of his arm, but it was the best-paying job that also catered to his interests, so he’d just have to take what he could get.
“So… Faulkner-Stanheight…” She scribbled through his resume, readjusting her glasses a couple of times as if bringing the lens closer would help her understand the information better. “You mentioned an arm injury...” She tipped her pen up and down toward his arm, and Adam’s blood ran a little hotter.
“Uh yeah, but it doesn’t affect my ability to work. My apartment is pretty much spotless right now as evidence of that, but it does take a little bit of maneuvering, but I would be able to handle this job confidently–”
"Breathe, kid, it’s alright,” Pamela huffed.
Flustering with embarrassment, he nodded his head. When did he get so pathetic? He took a couple breaths, and she seemed to relax a bit too, with a bit of a sheepish grin. “Sorry, what were you going to ask?”
“It’s alright; I can understand where you're coming from. Let’s see here…” She tapped the red pen against her cheek and bit her lip. Her hair seemed to comb around her head in dark waves, contrasting but blending enough with her dark skin.
A couple of dark spots told of a lack of sunscreen and wear and tear, but Adam thought it made her look very well put together. She reminded him a lot of his own mom, who he's been avoiding after the fight. A mole danced on the upper part of her nose, which he stared at until she turned her head to look him straight in the eyes.
“This may sound a bit generic, but what are your greatest strengths and weaknesses that you know of?”
—
The rest of the interview went fine, but Adam couldn’t tell if he was royally fucked up or Pamela was genuinely considering him as a possible candidate by the look on her face when he was leaving.
Hopping in his dusty gray Nissan Sentra, the musty smell of the fast food over the years and beer spilt by Scott during one of his drunk karaoke sessions hit Adam like an old pillow. Not enough to shock him, but stiff enough to remind him of what he dislikes about himself. It’s a sort of comfort in hating yourself because no other person could ever quite hurt you as much as what you’ve already dealt with.
... Except, of course, trying to convince a man chained to a pipe that you’re not, in fact, an actual serial killer. And by the time you came back for him, all that convincing was useless because he had just disappeared out of the disgusting basement air.
Of course, though, he left his fucking foot behind as a reminder that he wasn’t just a fucked-up hallucination.
He’s talked with his wife Alison a couple times on the phone, and she's been broken apart by it. They were apparently getting a divorce, but he could feel the care she had for him still held strong. Diana was dealing with it as well as any kid could, and he hopes he can somewhat buffer some trauma from it.
He’s dropped a couple of his old games at their house a couple times, just so she has something to do during all this. It’s the least he could do after leaving her father, who was probably dead somewhere.
I hope you like a super-burnt-out gameboy and a couple of dusty old games, Diana.
P.S. I got Yellow for you like you asked :)
– Adam
He's gotten a couple calls since then, but he wants to give them space to breathe. As if they’d want a complete stranger who stalked and took photos of Lawrence like a fucked-up voyeur to hang around, as much as Alison tells him otherwise.
Adam must have blacked out the entire ride home, because he sat there for a couple minutes before turning the engine off. His hands were gripped sheet white against the dark brown leather of the steering wheel, and he lowered his head and focused his breathing. Scott told him he’s become a pushover since the incident, and it’s sad to admit that he’s probably right.
Glancing at the stupid sock monkey dangling from his car mirror, he taps his head against the wheel and stumbles out and up the stairs to the entrance of his apartment.
Lighting a cigarette, he nearly runs up the stairs and through the apartment until he reaches his door. Slamming it behind him, he makes quick work of propping up the key as a weapon as he warily walks through his apartment. He flicks on the TV and shields himself against each door and peeks in.
Adam sucks a breath through his teeth.
After checking each and every corner of his shitty apartment, he flies back into his kitchen, tosses his keys onto the table, and plucks a wrinkling orange out of the corner of his fridge. He props himself against the counter and struggles with the tough peel.
“Orange and good ol’ cancer, who’s going to save me today?” He clicks his tongue as he takes another inhale of his cigarette.
He hopes it gets better.