She wanted to stay up here all night but her wings were already strained from the exertion. She drifted slowly down to the city and landed on her rooftop. Shaky legs carried her back to her apartment and into bed.
Angela spent the next couple nights in the sky, flying over areas she’d never visited on foot. She skimmed the treetops of Victorious Park and inhaled the salty air above the ocean. She’d almost forgotten how much she enjoyed being outside.
But on Saturday morning, she awoke with a pain in her back and a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She sat up and reached over her shoulder.
The wings were gone. In their place were two scabby spots on her back where they had initially burst through her skin. She could still feel them, though; they twitched and fluttered like the phantoms of severed limbs.
She touched her face and realized she was crying. A few days ago she’d practically begged Dr. Hassan to cut the wings off, but now she felt like she’d just lost an integral part of herself. And she wanted it back.
She grabbed her phone from the nightstand and did a search for “window cleaning companies”. She found a few in town and was about to call one of them when she finally came to her senses. She pocketed the phone and crawled out of bed.
She felt sluggish, heavy, like she was wearing lead weights around her ankles. She plodded to the living room and approached the window. The sun was shining and people were out in droves. She tugged the curtains shut and turned away.
Her phone buzzed and Genesis texted, “You doing anything tonight?”
“No, why?” Angela asked.
“My ex invited me to a party and I could use a wingman,” Genesis replied, then added, “Um, no pun intended.”
She stared at the messages and every fiber of her being screamed at her to say no.
“Yes,” she typed. “I’ll go.”
“Awesome!” Genesis replied. “I’ll pick you up at eight.”