Like Glass We Break (Glass #2)

by Kari Fisher

  Lauren stares her down until the elevator stops at the sixth floor and she steps out. Lauren lets out a sigh of relief. Everyone else exits the elevator into Danis Accounting, walking into the reception area. They all seem to know the receptionist, as they walk right by her, but she stops Lauren.

  “Excuse me, may I help you?” she asks.

  “Uh, I’m looking for someone,” Lauren replies, visibly caught off guard.

  “Okay, who are you looking for?” the receptionist asks, pressing.

  Lauren leans in. “Well, you see—I was told there might be a position open, by a woman who works here—she said someone named Scott got her the job, but I don’t even know what her name is. I’m really terrible at this. I just finished college and I really need to find something. I was just hoping if I could come in and speak with someone, I’d have a better idea of what exactly they’re looking for. I’ve never had a job before, except when I used to work in the warehouse that my father owned and I don’t really know—”

  “Okay, okay,” the receptionist stops her. She pulls her out of the hallway, behind the counter. “Come over here. What’s your name?”

  “Lauren. Where are we going?”

  “The boss is really picky, Lauren. Did you bring a resume?” the receptionist asks.

  “No. I haven’t applied yet, I didn’t know how or if there was even an opening for sure—” Lauren’s voice trails off.

  “Okay, listen. We’re going to say that you are just finishing college and you’re doing a tour of our establishment to see if you’re interested in submitting an application. Then, if you like what you see, you’re going to come back here next week, dress all fancy in a suit, bring a resume, and speak with the boss personally. Thankfully, he’s not in today, because, sweetheart, you look like you slept in your car last night,” the receptionist whispers sarcastically.

  Lauren’s face turns red and she looks downwards self-consciously, discreetly checking for wrinkles. How did she know?

  Noticing Lauren’s embarrassment, the receptionist assures Lauren she was just being sarcastic.

  “Now, let me walk you through the office building, and then let’s get you out of here. Before you leave, I’ll get you Philip Danis’ schedule so you can come back next week while he’s in. Does that sound like a good plan?” she asks.

  Lauren nods sheepishly as the receptionist takes off through the hall, Lauren following close behind.

  “Whose office is this?” Lauren asks when they get to the first office on the right.

  “Scott Reed’s old office. He’s no longer with the company, though. I’m giving the tour, Lauren. Don’t ask too many questions.

  “Okay.”

  Further down the hallway, more offices. A few people look up from their desks, somber looks on their faces. Some women. Mostly men. Lauren actually feels like she’d fit in here, if she didn’t actually have to lie about having gone to school. She could dress and act the part. She’d probably catch on quick with the numbers stuff. Math always came really easily to her. Everything in school did. In fact, it all bored her, which is why her grades were terrible. Nothing was challenging enough so she ended up paying attention to things other than school, like boys, and getting into trouble. If she had been able to focus, she would have actually done really well at accounting.

  “Lauren?” the receptionist asks. “Hey, Lauren.”

  Uh oh. She hadn’t been paying attention. Good thing she didn’t actually want or need this job. There’s no way she’d actually be back next week with a resume, although it would be nice—the chance at a somewhat normal life—but how normal could this place possibly be? Scott probably fucked that all up.

  “Sorry.” Lauren looks over. The receptionist is pointing through the door to the staff room, where there is a fridge, a water cooler, and a coffee machine.

  “Lunch room?” Lauren asks.

  The receptionist nods.

  “Hi,” a woman in the back squeaks.

  Lauren looks over and their eyes meet.

  “Hi, I’m Lauren,” she offers.”

  “I’m Renae.”

  Renae. Renae. Renae. Lauren repeats the name in her head several times. She is beautiful. Oliver must have slept with her.

  Lauren senses she’s making things awkward by staring and backs off. She thanks the receptionist for the tour and assures her that she’ll be back again.

  As soon as the elevator doors open at the main level, Lauren runs. She runs as fast as she possibly can. Once outside, she stops, out in the middle of the street, buckled over with her hands on her knees, breathing heavily. Several cars drive around her, honking their horns angrily, but she doesn’t hear them. All she can hear are the sounds of Oliver and Renae, having sex in her head. She can see them, Oliver on top, holding Renae down, thrusting violently at her.

  “He wished she was me,” she assures herself, tears streaming down her face. She kneels down onto the pavement, knees soaking wet in the puddles of water—soaking wet like the tears that continue to pour from her eyes, stinging and burning her cheeks, tasting salty on her lips.

  “Lauren?” she hears from beside her, as a hand gently rests on her shoulder. “Are you all right?”

  Startled, Lauren jerks back away from this person, falling sideways into the shallow puddle on the street. She turns her head to scan this gorgeous woman in a half-opened overcoat, holding an umbrella over them both. As she looks up through her own wet, straggly hair, she sees Renae.

  “Lauren? Come on, honey, let’s get you out of the middle of the street.”

  Lauren nods and slowly returns to her feet, as Renae gently helps her to the sidewalk, away from the traffic on the busy street. They enter the café across from Danis Accounting. Lauren wonders if Oliver had been on dates here with Renae before he brought her home.

  Renae eases Lauren through the crowd of people ordering their lattés, over to a quiet corner booth by the window.

  Sliding into the booth, and still quietly sobbing, Lauren looks outside at the rain. She’s always hated the rain—especially the sound it used to make as it hit the metal roof of the house she grew up in. She cringes as drops hit the window, and then she presses her forehead against the cold glass. A few inches away, the window is broken. The glass is broken.

  “I feel like glass when I break,” Lauren whispers, under her breath.

  “What do you mean? What’s going on?” Renae asks.

  “Nothing. I wonder what happened to the glass.”

  “It looks like someone threw something at it. Are you okay?” Renae presses gently.

  “No.”

  Renae asks Lauren if she would like a coffee, and when she nods in reply, Renae disappears from her seat to stand in line at the counter.

  Lauren slides her finger across the line of the broken glass, wondering if it could cut her. Perhaps if she saw blood, she’d know she is still alive.

  Renae returns to the table carrying two hot coffees. The steam is escaping from the lids. Lauren looks up, making eye contact with Renae, and forces a smile as a thank you. Then she pushes her finger onto the glass even harder. Attempting to distract her, Renae slides Lauren’s coffee toward her.

  “This will make you feel better,” Renae promises.

  “Did he tell you he loved you?” Lauren asks, ignoring her coffee.

  “Scott? No. It wasn’t like that.”

  “He doesn’t love anyone,” Lauren explains.

  “How do you know?”

  “He can’t love.” But I love him.

  “How about we take this coffee to go, and we go get you cleaned up?” Renae suggests. She points to Lauren’s soaking wet pant legs under the table. “You must be uncomfortable.”

  “Yeah.” Lauren nods.

  ***

  They make it all the way to Renae’s house, barely speaking. Lauren has decided not to volunteer any more information. She clutches a comb she took from Oliver’s apartment, and presses it to her side, against her thigh where Renae cannot se
e it. Her knuckles are white, she is gripping it so hard. Not long ago, Oliver held this exact same comb, and most likely ran it through his hair. She imagines it is still warm from his touch.

  “You can have a seat on the couch, if you’d like. Make yourself comfortable. I’m going to get you some dry clothes. Would you like to shower?” Renae asks, studying Lauren’s face intently. “Don’t be shy.”

  “Okay.”

  Renae opens a closet in the hall and emerges with a large bath towel and face cloth. She hands them to Lauren, who slowly extends her arms to accept them.

  The bathroom is beautiful. It’s decorated with modern colors and has a glass tile back splash behind the sink. Above the vanity hangs a chandelier, brightly lighting up the room. Lauren slowly undresses in front of the mirror, watching her reflection carefully. The person looking back at her in the mirror doesn’t look like the girl she once was. Now she stares back at herself with empty eyes and a broken soul. If she had a paint brush and some paint she’d throw it at the mirror until she couldn’t see herself anymore.

  She scans the bathroom for something she could throw at the mirror to break the glass, but then she stops herself.

  She turns the water on.

  One foot in.

  The other foot in.

  The water is so hot, she’s convinced it could burn her skin off if she didn’t keep moving steadily underneath it.

  Lauren adds a bit of body wash to the face cloth in her hand and closes her eyes as it explores her body. She knows that no matter how much soap she uses, or how much time she spends under this scalding hot water, she will never step out clean.

  The shampoo smells like coconut, and according to the bottle, it contains a moisture-rich mix of coconut, Argan, and Kikui nut oils. It runs out of her hair, down her back. She closes her eyes and presses her cheek against the cold tile of the shower. She shuts the water off, but doesn’t move. She inhales deeply and slowly. If she could just hold her breath long enough, she’d slip into oblivion, but her body takes over and she is forced to exhale. She touches the shower door and draws a straight line in the fog on the glass, then she slides it open and watches as the steam escapes from the shower, almost as though it’s running from her.

  Wrapping the towel around her, she steps out onto the bath mat. She is almost thankful that this time she cannot see herself in the mirror, with it being so foggy. She towels her body off carefully. Her skin is red. She realizes she has no idea how long she was in the shower—minutes, or even hours. She has no concept of time right now.

  Lauren dresses herself slowly, one leg at a time. Then she pulls the shirt over her head. Why is Renae being so kind to her?

  She opens the bathroom door and steps out, examining the room. Renae is standing in the kitchen, preparing food.

  “I have to go,” Lauren calls out. “Thanks for everything.”

  “You should have something to eat,” Renae offers.

  “I should really go.”

  “Where do you need to be?” Renae asks. She stops what she’s doing and turns toward Lauren.

  “I just need to get out of here. I don’t mean here—I mean this place. Everything,” Lauren explains.

  Renae hands Lauren a glass of red wine.

  “Have a seat,” she pushes.

  Lauren complies. She takes a sip of her wine. It tastes bitter and fruity.

  “What’s your story?” Lauren asks.

  “Me? Oh. Nothing special. I’m just me. I work hard, I live alone—I haven’t met anyone decent yet. I am pretty quiet. I thought Scott was decent…” Renae begins, but then her voice trails off and she goes back to chopping vegetables.

  “I’m really not hungry, Renae.”

  Renae nods, and takes a seat beside Lauren on the couch. She sips her own glass of wine and purses her lips.

  “Let’s not talk about Scott,” Renae says. She smiles warmly and tries to change the subject.

  The second glass of wine goes down even quicker and Lauren’s head feels fuzzy. She places the glass, with only a sip of wine left in it, on the coffee table in front of her.

  Renae is laughing; she throws her head back and her hair falls all the way down her back. She’s telling Lauren the story of an awkward blind date, set up by Sophie when she had first moved here—the drinks, the dinner, the awkward conversation and the way he leaned in for a kiss, but she ducked and his lips met her eye instead. He had pulled back, embarrassed, and Renae had giggled. They were sipping Sangria and although she was a couple drinks in, Renae couldn’t bring herself to return his kiss. The advances continued and eventually Renae had excused herself from the table. She did not return.

  “I really have to get going, Renae. I’m going to go out and hail a cab. You deserve better than that,” Lauren whispers. She brings herself to her feet and stands still for a few seconds, making sure she isn’t dizzy.

  “Better than Scott, you mean?” Renae asks, as her thoughts are brought back to reality as well.

  “Yes. Like I said earlier, he can’t love anyone. He’s put me through so much. I’ll bet he was seeing so many other women while your heart ached for him, and you sat by your phone, waiting for him to call.”

  “You’re right, I do,” Renae whispers. She had fallen for his charm and she trusted him. “I deserve better than that. So do you, Lauren. There’s something wrong with him. The night that Sophie died—cops warned me away from him too. I know he didn’t have anything to do with what happened, but I can’t help—”

  “Just stay away,” Lauren pressures.

  “I plan on it,” Renae assures her.

  “Good,” Lauren sighs, relieved. That’s right. Stay away from Oliver, you dirty slut.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Scott/Oliver

  The snow is sticking to the trees as far as the eye can see. Everything is white—the sky, the ground. It is breathtakingly beautiful. Light, soft-looking flakes are still descending from the sky, swaying as they fall, as if to dance to the sounds of the songbirds perched on the white branches.

  Oliver stands outside on the balcony of his hotel room. It’s cold, but not so cold that he is uncomfortable. Everything is just so pretty. He is complacent in his hotel-provided robe. It’s white, long, down past his knees, thick and pleated, made of cotton and embroidered in gold with the hotel’s logo. What a shame. He would have loved to have taken it with him when he checked out of this place. Now, it would just look silly if he forgot about the logo and put it on in the comfort of his apartment, around a woman he was courting, and she asked what the logo was from.

  Well, I stole it.

  You stole it?

  Yeah, I rented a hotel room at a really nice resort at a ski hill in Vermont and it was comfortable so I took it home.

  That’s rude. I have to go now.

  Don’t go. We’re not done here yet.

  I’m leaving.

  No, you’re not.

  Oliver sighs and returns to the warmth of the hotel room, where he unties the bathrobe and slips it off, placing it carefully on a hanger back into the closet by the door. He then takes a seat on the couch by the fireplace, feet up on the footstool, wearing only a pair of tight black boxer briefs.

  The fire has already been burning for some time, and is sweltering. He feels the blistering warmth on his bare skin. It touches him the same way the sun in Texas had touched his skin over the summer, when he had used the pool at his apartment complex, with that woman he was dating, who happened to live in the same building. He had watched her swim in her bikini, sometimes several times a day—before work, after work, on her day off—he’d leave a rose on her towel while her head was under water.

  The fire cracks and Oliver jumps as he realizes the scorching heat is too much. He gets up to tend to the fire, and throws some clothes on. It’s time to get out of his room for a while; perhaps find something to eat.

  There’s a new girl working behind the desk in the lobby. Oliver nods as he makes his way out of the main door.


  “Have a good evening,” she calls out after him.

  “It’s not quite evening yet,” he points out. It’s almost five o’clock. The sun is just starting to go down, which means this entire beautiful town will go to sleep soon.

  “If you’re looking for something to eat, there’s a really great pizza joint just around the corner,” she suggests.

  “Thanks. I might check that out.” He looks back at her. She’s pretty. Simple, yet elegant. She has long, flowing brown hair with red high lights, and big brown eyes. When she smiles, he sees that she has braces and dimples. She is certainly in the holiday spirit, with a shiny red shirt and a white scarf. He’s unsure what color pants she’s wearing with the counter in the way. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

  “I’m Esther,” she says, smiling as her cheeks turn the same hue as her shirt. She’s obviously a shy girl. Oliver doubts anyone pays much attention to her. She isn’t outstandingly beautiful—but she’s certainly not ugly. She’s just nothing special. Perhaps she already has a boyfriend and he knows this. Maybe he doesn’t give her the attention she craves because he knows he doesn’t have to—no one else will, either. He knows she’ll stick around. She’s got nowhere else to go. No one else will ever want her when they could have someone much more intelligent, beautiful, and funnier than her. Someone that will let him hang out with the guys every night of the week without nagging and wondering when he’ll spend time with her, cuddling or watching stupid girl movies.

  Esther’s only seventeen. She’s lived in Newport, Vermont her entire life and there’s not a wide variety of men here, so she figured they were all the same.

  “Would you like a slice of pizza, Esther?” Oliver asks politely. Esther is visibly surprised that this stranger is actually showing her kindness.