Birds With Broken Wings

8* How It Started

Ironically, I don't think anything can happen to me right now that will be more terrible than getting tossed out of something I worked hard for.

And only finding out through your manager to my manager.

My right hand fumbled for the rubber band on my left wrist and I found myself pulling it till it almost snapped before I released it.

The shock sent an instant ripple of pain through my veins and my entire body and if Jay noticed, he didn't say anything.

It was a habitual act, something that I always find myself doing without even meaning to and when I started to get close to Jay, he noticed and tried to talk me out of doing it; he even advised me to talk to my therapist about it when he realized it was habitual and he maintained that there's no little self-harm.

Well, I don't think any self-harm would hurt like how he'd hurt me.

And well, none of us was talking about it so I guessed we were just going to pretend everything was fine.

Another bout of silence started to stretch as we drove closer and closer to school until he spoke again, "I got you a gift from Dubai, the only gift I know will make you smile," His voice sounded like he was smiling and yes, when I looked at him, he was really smiling.

"That's it on the back seat, in case you haven't noticed." He continued, his voice sounding genuinely amused and I hesitated before I turned to look at the supposed girl.

He wasn't joking tho.

There was really an expensive-looking paper bag that had Stuart Weitzman written on it.

My heart did a double flip as I reached for the bag and lo and behold, it was Stuart Weitzman's pencil heels.

I couldn't even explain the kind of happiness I was feeling as I stared at the red button black shoes, kept staring at the limited edition in my hands...

"See," Jay spoke up again, his voice sounding even more amused than earlier, "See how you're smiling at shoes. God! I can't believe your obsession with shoes."

He wasn't lying. I was obsessed with shoes. I didn't personally oversee my clothing or all those other stuff but shoes... They were different. I loved collecting shoes, loved seeing them, loved staring at my in-built shoe rack, at the brilliant arrays of different colors of pencil heels. I didn't own a single wedge.

And as irrational and unbelievable it might be, Shoes were one of the few things that make me happy.

And as I stared at the piece of art in my hands, I couldn't even explain how euphoric it made me feel.

Shoes...

"So," He started, then trailed off, almost awkwardly which was weird because Jay was never awkward with me and I found myself turning to look at him. He was partially looking at me and when our eyes met, he smiled almost awkwardly before tilting his head towards the shoes.

"Do you like the shoes?" He asked me before focusing on the road once again.

"I love the shoes," I replied immediately, in a voice that didn't quite feel like mine.

"Ohhh cool, I was thinking... I thought..." He trailed off, almost pathetically and that made me realize what this was all about.

I felt a sharp and instant weight and pain on my left palm and I looked at it that I had started to press the sharp and penciled mouth of the heels against my palm.