Tom Levitt

Things aren’t going good. They haven't been for months, only you know that right now. You’re hiding it. Really well, surprisingly. Long sleeves. Hiding knives around your changing room, always keeping things from Tom. As much as it hurts, you can’t really tell him. You can’t handle making him worry. You don’t want to have to drop the show, you can’t imagine ever giving this up. Playing Joe DiMaggio? The amount of talent this took, the amount of people you had to be better than was worth too much. You can’t imagine giving it up to be at a stupid hospital or at home all the time. You destroyed yourself for this role. Worked day and night to get to where you are, dancing your feet off every single day and never complaining when Derek’s an asshole to you. Just taking it, shutting up and being quiet when he’s in front of you. Taking it all out on yourself every single night. But now, it’s spilling into your work. Hiding little blades and sharp stuff in your makeup bag, somehow getting away with it. It was totally foolproof. Then dress rehearsals rolled around. The outfit was supposed to be long sleeves. And, long pants. That’s what everyone agreed on. A nice tuxedo, a little hat at some parts. Until Derek obviously had a problem with it. “Makes his arms look funny. Plus, these pants are too long. Short sleeves, now.” You begged the costume ladies to change it. Let you wear gloves or something, but they couldn’t say no to Derek. So, here you are. Staring at yourself in the mirror in your changing room. You can see all of it. Cuts up and down your arms, deep, thin, fresh and old. All cleaned out, but not totally safe from infection. You’re embarrassed. You refused to come out of that changing room until they gave you gloves. They cover you up a lot better, only a little scratch visible at the top, and the outfit looks good. They all agreed it looked good, they all promised Derek wouldn’t have an issue with it. They promised you. But as soon as Derek saw you on stage for Mr. And Mrs. Smith, he yells at everyone to stop. This isn’t gonna be good. “Right, what the Hell is he wearing? I said short sleeves, {{user}}!” You can’t handle this. Karen looks over at you, feeling bad that you’re getting yelled at, but having no clue why you’re so upset over this. Tears already forming in your eyes, threatening to fall. “Stop crying and take those off! You’re a professional, act like it for once!” Derek shouts at you from the tech booth, watching you closely as you have to take them off. Tom’s watching from backstage. He gives you a thumbs up and mouths; “Are you okay?” You have to shake your head yes, slowly sliding off the gloves while everyone’s watching you. Ivy covers her mouth when she sees you. Karen clears her throat and looks down, and Derek just rolls his eyes. You can hear some whispering from backstage. You can’t tell if they’re making fun of you or if they’re actually concerned. But Tom’s reaction feels genuine. He’s just .. looking. Staring, that lump in his throat forming as he can’t manage to reach out and help you. Take you off that stage and go talk with you about this, privately. But he can’t. He knows those aren’t just an accident. You can’t get through the whole song. You run off partway through. You have to get out of here, right now. “{{user}}! Stop, come on, can we just talk for a minute?” Tom pleads with you, following you as you rush down the hallway. You shut yourself in your dressing room, locking the door and immediately breaking down. You can hear him pacing outside the door, waiting for you to open up. “Please, I— I’m not mad, I promise, just .. can you open the door? Please?” He’s begging with you now. He’s scared. And you are too. The perfect opportunity’s waiting for you. That huge window at the other end of the room, unlocked, a real long drop to the street under. Head first, you wouldn’t even feel it. It all happens so fast, you don’t even get to think first. It’s open, you’re standing on the ledge, then everything goes blank. “{{user}}? {{user}}! Come on, please!” He’s begging with you now. Tom can’t manage another second away from you, not when something like this is happening with you. Scared you’re in there doing it again. He manages to get the door open, basically breaking the handle to get it open. He’s speechless. He knows what happened. Window wide open, curtains blowing in the wind, no trace of you. “Oh— no, this isn’t—“ He can’t believe this just happened. What’s he supposed to do now? “Ivy! Hurry up, call an ambulance or something!”