Disenchanted 1/3
Disenchanted
Adam wakes up in a bush as the first few rays of sunlight break through the horizon. The bush is extremely uncomfortable and he struggles to get up with little success. He starts flailing around like a fish out of water and ends up falling down onto the wet grass with a thump. Which ow, but at least he’s out of the bush. He lets out a giggle and thinks he might still be a little bit drunk.
Adam looks around and it’s still mostly dark outside, but he vaguely recognizes a park. He’s still wearing his leather pants and high-heeled boots, but his mesh shirt seems to be ripped in places. He digs in his pockets and finds his phone and driver’s license. He also finds a business card that just says in black ink,
When you find yourself come visit me at the Novel Café.
It has no name but Adam recognizes the café as one not far from his apartment. He reads it again and can’t tell if it’s supposed to be inspirational or pretentious- probably both. He shrugs and shoves it back into his pocket and tries his phone. It miraculously still works and he calls Danielle to come rescue him.
***
Danielle does, in fact, come rescue him and brings him home; she even stays to make him coffee. And pancakes, well, she tries to make pancakes but they turn out really thin and crepe-like. He sits and cradles his mug of coffee at his tiny kitchen table in his tiny apartment. He figures he can wallow in self-pity this morning since he woke up in a bush. That’s like a get out of jail free card for wallowing.
He looks up to see Danielle staring at him and he narrows his eyes at her. “Don’t look at me like that.”
She waves a spatula at him. “Like what?”
“All judgey.” He can be petulant this morning too. It’s totally allowed.
Danielle puts a plate of crepe-like-pancakes on the table and asks, “When have I ever judged you?”
Adam gives her a look. She totally judged his shirt the other day; apparently she’s not a big fan of yellow and green.
Danielle just rolls her eyes at him. “When have I ever judged you over something important?”
Which is true and Adam can’t argue with that, so he bites into a crepe thing. Danielle looks smug for a moment before sighing. “Adam, I’m just a little worried. You know I party as much as you do, but I don‘t know,” she trails off before finishing, “you don’t seem happy.”
Adam has been unhappy, truth be told. He’s known for a while that he’s been unsatisfied and a bit lost with what to do with his life. His self-awareness has only gotten him so far though, as he still has no idea what to do about it.
Adam gives her a sad smile, “Yeah, well.”
She looks hesitant for a second before asking softly, “Have you thought about going back to theater?”
“I don’t know.“ Adam had left after a particularly bad run of a show and had hoped leaving would give him some perspective. So far he’s gained nothing. He doesn’t have anything to say other than that, so he takes another bite. He grimaces and pushes his plate away, “You really are a shitty cook, you know.”
Danielle nods her head and takes a sip of her coffee. “I know.” Then she smiles evilly at him and whips out her phone. “So who should be the first to know about your new found bush affinity?”
Adam groans into the tabletop.
After Danielle leaves, Adam decides to stay home from work and mopes around the apartment before giving up and taking a nap. He wakes up around late afternoon and makes himself some soup before fixing his ass firmly on the couch. He watches crappy TV until about dusk and then he randomly gets a bout of restlessness.
He’s walking to the bathroom, thinking about taking a long hot shower, when there’s a bright flash of white, like a solar flare going off in front of his face. It blinds him and he staggers, throwing a hand up to shield his eyes. He tries to turn away, but suddenly all his senses dull, like being plunged underwater, and his back explodes in pain. It feels like scalding hot blades are slicing into him and he falls to the floor. He bites out a scream as the pain intensifies and he feels his skin split open, his back on fire, and then something bursts out of him with enough energy to shove him across the floor. His world goes black around the edges.
His vision clears a few moments later, and the first thing he notices is that his back doesn't feel like it's being cut open anymore. It’s sore, like a pulled muscle, but it’s not agonizing. The second thing he notices is the weight. There’s a heavy weight sitting on his back and he’s sure he doesn’t want to know what it is. Then he grudgingly acknowledges the fact that he’s still face-first into the carpet.
He slowly lifts his head, which feels like it weighs a ton, and then lifts up onto his forearms. He sees a black blob out of the corner of his eye and he is five seconds from completely losing his shit when he realizes what is on his back.
Wings.
Huge, dark as midnight wings spread out above him like a wave. He very slowly gets up onto his knees and looks down at the soft cascade of feathers touching his arm. He reaches out a hand and touches one, finding them to be soft as silk.
Adam’s so immersed in them, in the motherfucking wings sprouting from his back, that he doesn’t realize he isn’t alone until he hears a small cough come from the couch. Adam freezes and steels himself to look behind him. There’s man sitting on the couch, wearing white pants and a cream colored shirt and cardigan. Adam looks up at the other man’s face and sees his own. He lets out a startled gasp and almost falls back onto his ass if it weren’t for the giant fucking wings getting in the way.
This is officially the weirdest fucking day and Adam’s mind scatters into a million jumbled thoughts. He finally settles on the loudest, a litany of what the ever-loving fuck.
His freak out is interrupted. “You have wings.”
It’s his voice; he should know; he’s heard it a million times on recordings. But Adam hadn’t moved his mouth.
His clone or maybe an evil twin has a bewildered look across his face. He didn’t know his eyes and nose could scrunch up like that. Adam shakes his head and accepts that he’s either gone nuts or he’s in the middle of the realist hallucination of all time. “Yeah, they’re a pretty recent development,” Adam says this so calmly that he wants to pat himself on the back but, you know, wings. “I didn’t know I had an evil twin either, so.”
Evil twin looks affronted. “I’m not the evil one. You’re the one with black wings.”
Adam looks back at his wings and thinks other him has a point. “If I‘m the evil twin would that make you the good one?” he asks, mostly rhetorically. Trying to rationalize this is hurting head.
“If we were twins, yes,” apparently Good Adam says, “but I don’t know what we are. Or what you are.” He moves forward and touches Adam on the shoulder but jerks back quickly, like Adam might bite him.
Adam snorts, “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Good Adam looks confused. “You feel real. Like really real.”
“Of course I do. You’re the freaking hallucination!” Adam says incredulously.
“You’re the one with wings!” Good Adam sounds just as incredulous. It’s weirdly mimicry and Adam frowns. He reaches out and grabs other Adam’s arm hard. It’s warm and solid, and then Good Adam jerks his arm back. “Hey!”
The movement causes Adam’s shirt, which has been hanging on by strings, to finally give up the fight and fall off. Adam looks down at the scraps of his shirt and doesn’t remember putting it on at all. He frowns and sees that it's just one of his plain black tees. Weird.
He becomes aware of Good Adam looking at him and suddenly feels naked, and he crosses his arms. Then immediately feels silly for being embarrassed in front of what’s probably a hallucination of himself- at a good version of himself at that. He’s going to ignore the part where Good Adam didn’t feel like a hallucination at all. It’s the only thing keeping him from becoming hysterical in a very violent way.
He stands up but it takes him a moment to balance himself with the extra weight. The wings really are enormous- at least six feet long for they brush the floor when he walks to his closet. Adam examines the wings in the floor-length mirror that's on the back of the closet door, twisting and turning to get a better look at them.
“They really are gorgeous,” other Adam says behind him and Adam startles.
Adam frowns at himself in the mirror, “They’re heavy.” He looks at his naked torso and gets pissy. “And how the hell am I supposed to wear a shirt with these things.”
Good Adam gives him a funny look but shrugs and says, “Put a button up shirt on backwards.”
It's going to look ridiculous, but he's really not inclined to run around half-naked, so he takes out a plaid shirt from his closet. He pulls it on backwards and glances behind him. “Could you?”
Good Adam nods and pushes his wings aside, getting underneath them to button up the shirt. He pauses and then Adam feels fingers brush between his shoulder blades. He slides his fingers to the left and then down to where the wing meets skin. It’s still tender and Adam inhales sharply, and other Adam brings his hand out covered in small flakes of dried blood.
Adam turns and lifts the wing, trying to find where it came from, but only sees small, downy feathers where the wings merge with his back. “I think it’s from when they came out,” other Adam tells him, sinking his hands back into the feathers. He finally finishes buttoning the shirt, only getting a few buttoned on the top and the bottom, but at least the shirt will stay on.
Good Adam lets his hand flow through the feathers as he pulls away. “They’re so soft,” he says, almost reverently.
Adam holds back a shudder at Good Adam’s touch. And, wow, apparently the wings are really freaking sensitive. Good to know.
Good Adam seems reluctant to stop touching them and asks, “Can you move them?”
“How the hell should I know?” Adam snaps, irrationally irritated all of a sudden. He’s had these things all of five minutes.
Other Adam rolls his eyes. “Try it.”
Adam glares at him but figures trying can’t hurt anything. Nothing happens for a few minutes and Adam gets frustrated, the fuckers won’t move, when they suddenly snap out from his body. One of them hits Good Adam in the face and knocks him down.
Adam starts laughing, partly because he’s happy he figured it out, but mostly because other Adam landing on his ass is hilarious. He’s laughing so hard his wings are shaking and Adam pulls them back, then folds them up against his body. They move like any other limb, but they're weak, probably from never having been used before.
Good Adam gets to his feet with a wince. “I didn’t say brain me to death with them.”
Adam’s laughter slowly dies off and then he’s just staring at his own face- which is not getting any less weird.
Good Adam still seems a little grumpy when he asks, “So what do we do now?”
Which is a good question. “I have no idea.”
***
What they do is talk a lot and find out that they have the exact same memories. And birthmark. Because they are the same person. Obviously. The main difference seems to be Adam’s mystifying appearance of wings. But after Adam gets past the incredibly strange sensation of talking to himself, he realizes that their personalities seem to be opposing. Like total opposites. He honestly doesn’t remember himself being that sensitive. Or that perky. The good (hah!) thing was that he really only wants to punch himself in annoyance once, so he counts it as a win.
“So then I puked in-” Adam recounts the night of too much tequila. Or one of them anyway.
“-in her purse.” Good Adam finishes for him and puts his face in his hands, like the memory is too much for him to take. “I can’t believe I did that.”
Adam laughs because, yeah, that hadn’t been one of his finest moments. He yawns and stretches an arm along the back of the couch. He’s sitting angled towards Good Adam, wings making it uncomfortable to sit back against the couch. “Say I am having a complete and utter mental breakdown, why would I hallucinate myself in a cardigan?”
Good Adam looks like he’s about to complain and Adam waves him off. “Fine, fine. If you’re hallucinating why would you hallucinate me?”
Good Adam seems to mull it over before saying, “Maybe it’s cautionary? Show me what I could become?”
Adam laughs and says, “What, I’m the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come with wings?” He leans his head against his arm and thinks out loud, “Besides what do I get out of it? Don’t ever wear white pants or become obnoxiously nice?”
Other Adam concedes his point, “Yeah, I guess not.” He’s silent for a while and then says, “Maybe we’re not hallucinating at all. Maybe… maybe we were split in half and I’m the good part of me and you’re the evil part of me?”
“I resent that, you know. It’s not like I’m out kicking puppies in the street,” Adam says, mildly insulted. “And I like this all being a figment of my imagination idea better.”
“I was going with evil relative to me but, yes, obviously the definition of evil is puppy kicking,” Good Adam deadpans.
“Obviously,” Adam echoes him and yawns again, realizing how late it’s gotten. He sits up and says, “I’m tired. You can disappear now or sleep on the couch.”
Good Adam ignores the first part and says indignantly, “And you’re nuts the couch is two feet long.”
“Fine, sleep on the floor; I don’t care. I’m going to bed.” Adam walks to his bed and starts pulling back the covers.
“I know when these floors were last cleaned and if you think I’m sleeping on them, I’m dumber than I thought.” Good Adam follows behind him and continues, “Besides the bed’s mine too and big enough for the both of us.”
Adam’s too tired to argue anymore and is already busy trying to figure out how to sleep with these big-ass wings. “Alright, but you kick me in your sleep, I’ll smother you with feathers.”
Adam shakes his head at him and says, “You’re kind of an asshole, you know that?”
Adam ignores him and struggles to get comfortable. He finally rolls clumsily onto his side, and when that doesn’t work, he flops onto his stomach. His wings fall around him to encase him in warmth. Good Adam crawls into bed and turns so his back is facing him. “Goodnight,” he tells Adam.
Adam keeps silent for a moment before saying, “I’m not going to tell myself goodnight, jackass.” He softens his words by moving a wing to cover Good Adam though.
A weary sigh is the last thing he hears.
Adam jerks awake to what feels like a jolt of electricity going through him. He rolls over and to his amazement his wings have vanished. He hears thrashing and then a solid thump, then screaming. Adam scrambles across the bed and sees Good Adam panting harshly against the floor.
He’s also sporting a brilliant pair of white wings.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
***
It’s morning and Adam easily figures out what that means. He had his wings all night and other Adam got his at dawn. His were also dark as night and Good Adam’s are bright as day. The symbolism is blatant enough to choke on. He just wishes he knew what he’s supposed to get out of it, or why it‘s happening at all.
Adam wordlessly takes off his shirt and hands it over. He then walks to the kitchen and makes some coffee. He has a feeling he’s going to need it more than usual today. Good Adam pads into the kitchen still looking a little shaken up. Adam knows how he feels; the wings bursting out fucking hurts.
Adam silently buttons him up, a reversal of last night. He lets himself stroke a finger down a soft feather before saying, “You‘re not a hallucination and I still have no fucking idea what‘s going on.”
He sits blearily down at the kitchen table and continues. “What about you?”
Good Adam turns the other kitchen chair around and sits backwards on it, wings spreading out slightly behind him. He shakes his head. “Obviously something happened to cause this. Or someone? But I can’t fathom who or why?”
“I feel like I should point out that this is absurd, like, completely and utterly absurd. Just, you know, for the record.”
Good Adam smiles at him and lifts a wing. “Noted.”
Adam sighs and says, “Alright, let’s backtrack. What did we do yesterday that was weird? Out of the ordinary?”
Good Adam gives him a blasé look. “Bush man? Ring any bells?”
Adam scoffs, “I was drunk, that’s not-” He cuts himself off as he suddenly remembers. He jumps up, making the kitchen chair skids across the floor as he runs to his pile of dirty laundry. “Oh my God, we are so, so stupid,” he exclaims as he rummages in his leather pants pocket.
He pulls out the crumpled card and waves it at other Adam. “I can’t believe I didn’t remember this sooner.” He reads the card again and mutters, “When you find yourself... isn’t that just a barrel of laughs?”
Good Adam’s grinning at him, excited, but then abruptly looks dejected. “I can’t go anywhere with these things.” He ruffles his feathers for emphasis and Adam laughs at him.
“No, not unless you want to be on the six o’clock news,” Adam calls out, “And trying to convince people that you don’t know Jesus!” He chuckles to himself and roots around for clean clothes to put on.
Adam gets ready in record time and hears an overly cheerful “Good Luck!” before he’s out door.
***
Adam waits in a back booth for twenty minutes mainlining coffee and getting increasingly twitchy. The waitress probably thinks he’s in the middle of a crack withdrawal, and he’s waiting for who the hell knows what.
He’s humming Knocking on Heaven’s Door and drumming on the tabletop when a short dark haired guy slides into the booth opposite him. The dude’s attractive, handsome face, and all wiry muscle. Adam watches him order a cup of coffee from the waitress and thinks the guy must be the least intimidating person alive. The dude’s really short.
The guy turns to him and smiles knowingly at him. “Adam, hey, I was wondering when I’d see you again.”
Adam picks his words carefully; he should probably get as much information as he can before choking the little shit to death. “Yeah? Funny, since I don’t remember ever meeting you.”
“No?” the guy pauses to thank the waitress for his coffee, “Alright, let me refresh your memory then. It was late and you were all alone, sitting on a park bench. When I walked by you were rambling to a lamppost about, and I quote, ‘If life is a meaningless string of occurrences then why wasn’t I born a bush. Bushes don’t fail at life.’ Only said with quite a bit of slurring and a few more hiccups.”
Adam winces and vows to stop drinking for the near future. “So did we talk?”
The dude’s smile turns up a notch. “I gave you my card and you said, ‘Thanks, wee little man.’”
Adam refrains from banging his head against the table. “So what’s your name?”
There is laughter in the dude‘s voice as he answers, “You can call me Luka.”
“Okay, Luka,” he lowers his voice, “Tell me how to fix it.”
“You are in some desperate need of some self-love, my friend.” His smile widens and, wow, that is getting creepy. “Show yourself some.” The waitress arrives again and asks if they need anything else before topping off their coffee cups.
When she‘s gone Adam says, “That’s it?” His voice raises in disbelief, “What does that even mean?”
“Hmm.” Luka doesn’t answer as he takes a drink of coffee. “All you need is love,” he singsongs and Adam’s two seconds from beating his smug face in with his own coffee mug.
“Are fucking kidding me? Why would you do this?”
Luka’s eyes turn eerily dark and Adam has to suppress a shiver. “Because you don’t believe in yourself. Your self-confidence and self-worth are abysmal. It‘s a pity, really.”
That stings a little. “What’s your point?”
Luka’s eyes flash with something, like they’re reflecting candlelight, and it’s doing an awesome job of freaking Adam out. “You could be great, Adam. If only you would let yourself.”
Adam’s freaked out enough not to say, ‘Yes, Yoda,’ but he’s got to know one more thing. “And the wings? What the hell are they for?”
Luka gives him a blank look. “Wings?”
“You know, the giant black and white wings,” he spreads his hands apart indicating the giant fucking wingspan, “Sprouting out of us!” He flails out a hand for emphasis.
Luka blinks at him and then bursts out laughing. “You’re as subtle as a bomb going off, aren‘t you?” he wheezes.
He’s totally laughing at Adam’s pain. “It actually hurts. A lot.”
Luka wipes his eyes and says, “Listen, I just set things into motion, you’re the one who decides how it happens.”
What. “What.”
Luka just grins and drains the last of his coffee. “You can send me a thank you card in four or five years.” He gets up from the booth and winks at Adam, “Just show thyself some love, Adam, and you’ll be golden.” Then he nonchalantly strolls out the door.
Adam stares blankly at the door and tries to process the conversation. It doesn’t work so he orders himself some pie. Everything’s better with pie.
Part 2