Like Glass We Break (Glass #2) (11 page)

He grabs onto the towel and tries to wriggle it out from under her, failing miserably, as it’s trapped quite snug underneath the weight of him being on top of her. He manages to break free from her grip long enough to sit up, grab a handful of towel between her breasts and pull it down her body. She arches her back to free it. The moonlight from the window shines against her body, almost like a scene from a movie. He flings the towel aside the moment it’s loose enough, and leans into her stomach to start kissing her body. She smells so delicious from her shower he can’t control himself and begins to bite at her hungrily. As he works his way up her sides and her front, she grabs a handful of hair on his head and pulls him back up to her lips, kissing him deeply once again.

Renae grabs at the open top of his dress shirt and nearly rips it open, a button flying off and a slight tearing sound being heard. He stops kissing her for just a moment from the shock, and she giggles while looking up at him with those piercing eyes, showing him she means business. Renae knows he’s not used to seeing this side of her, when he’s the one who’s supposed to be in control.

As Scott kneels on the bed, she swiftly sits up, pulling away his shirt from his chest, her hands caressing the muscular build that she adores. He fumbles to get the rest of the shirt buttons undone, but before he knows it, she’s already got his belt buckle open and is pulling at the button on his pants. Once the last button is undone, he rests back on his heels, anxiously watching her every move.

She wastes no time in placing him into her mouth, as she looks up to see his head cock back in ecstasy with her eagerness to please him. As she works on him, Scott’s body responds in kind—his hands running through her hair, his hips thrusting toward her, and his member throbbing in her mouth. He tries desperately to pull her away, but she’s having none of it—she releases him from her mouth for a moment while stroking him, only to look up at him with a devious little smile before she slides her tongue along him.

He lets out a groan of sexual frustration, which just entices her to go faster with a moan of her own. She can feel him growing, but doesn’t want to finish him off this way.

She pulls off of him and slinks back onto the bed, slithering her body around against the bedspread, showing off for him—his eyes are locked on her every move. She moves her fingertips up her stomach, tracing a line up to her breasts, pulling lightly on her already hard nipples. As she does this, her hips push into the bed, and she spreads her legs open to tease him.

She’s never felt this empowered around him before and she likes it.

Renae watches his eyes as they scan her body while she’s being playful, and smiles as she guides where he’s looking with her actions. She slides her hand back down between her legs and starts to rub herself gently, squirming to her own touch.

Scott’s eyes are darting back and forth between what her hands are doing, the moans coming from her mouth, and how the rest of her body is reacting. He’s never been this turned on by a woman before. His heart is beating hard in his chest and while he wants to jump her bones, he’s too invested in this moment to interrupt her.

Renae works herself up a little, then slows down to raise her hand up to point at him, turns her hand over, and beckons him over with a “come here” crooking of her index finger.

Scott crawls up over the top of her, eyes locked on hers the entire way. As he gets up to her mouth, she kisses him intently, then slides her mouth to his ear to whisper “Fuck me.”

He slides his pants off his legs and positions himself between her legs. Without pause, he pushes himself into her, both gasping aloud at the intense pleasure of the feeling. She wraps her legs around him, and he wastes no time in pounding his hips against her body, hard. They both moan and breathe heavily, exchanging words of how enjoyable it is. It doesn't take long before she feels him burying himself deep inside her, pulsing and filling her as her body responds by tightening around him.

Scott collapses on the bed beside her, exhausted.

Renae curls up in his arms, laying her head on his chest, listening to his heart still pounding hard and his labored breathing. The quiet swish of the fan calms them, as they both slip off into a restful night of sleep.

Chapter Eleven

Renae wakes up and Scott is gone from her bed. Half expecting to smell bacon and eggs, she pulls the sheets off of her naked body and puts her pants on. Tip-toeing down the hallway, she glances into the bathroom—he’s not in there. The living room—not there either. The kitchen is empty too. He’s gone.

She gives up and sinks into the soft cushions on her couch. Of course he left. Why wouldn’t he? How could she think this would have been any different now? He’s probably gone to make breakfast for Sophie.

The sunrise shines into her cozy apartment and lights up the room. It looks bright and spacious—exactly how it looked the day she had signed her lease, and it was one of the reasons she had. She loved it here when it was sunny. If only she had someone to share this space with.

She can’t believe she willingly gave so much of her body to Scott, over and over again, and he could just leave in the morning like this as though she meant nothing to him. She’s certain now that he’s just using her. Typical man. They never change. He’s the same as every man she’s ever dated. He’ll never be any different.

“I’ll make my own bacon and eggs,” she mutters, as she gets up from the couch.

In the kitchen, she finds a note.

I have to leave. I’m sorry.

“You have to leave? That’s really convenient,” Renae reads, shaking her head. “See you at work tomorrow, jerk.”

Renae tears the note up into tiny pieces and throws it into the thrash. She turns the element on the gas stove and watches as the flame shoots up. Carefully placing a frying pan over the flame, she cracks an egg and waits for it to sizzle. It breaks—like an ironic metaphor for her heart.

***

Scott

Scott opens his car door with force and jumps out. He runs up the steps to Sophie’s house and opens the door with her key. Inside, the smell is overpowering. Almost indescribable, it smells like rotting meat with only a few drops of cheap perfume. Rancid but sweet.

A rat scurries away as Scott tramples through the hallway, up the tall staircase, and into Sophie’s bedroom. He scoops up the pieces of clothing he left here when he moved in with Sophie a few weeks ago. Before he leaves, he grabs his toothbrush out of her bathroom, too. He wipes down the bathroom sink for prints, as well as the knife that lay downstairs beside Sophie’s body and the glass he drank out of.

It was time for him to leave, and he had to go soon.

***

Renae

There’s a knock at the door. Renae jumps, startled, and then looks to see if it’s going to open on its own. When it doesn’t, she decides that it’s probably not Scott, coming back for more.

“Just a minute!” she yells. She runs into her room and throws on her bathrobe.

There is a second knock at the door just as she opens it, revealing two police officers with their badges extended outwards in their hands.

“Police,” the young woman officer says. “May we come in?”

“Uh, yeah, I g-guess so,” Renae stammers.

She looks around her apartment. It’s a mess. Had she known they were coming, surely she would have cleaned up a bit and not lazed around all Sunday morning doing nothing productive.

“We need to ask you some questions. Do you know this man?” The male officer holds up a picture of Scott.

“That’s Scott,” Renae whispers quietly.

“How well do you know Scott?”

“Uh, we work together,” she answers.

“Why were you at the airport with him in Philadelphia?”

“We had gone to a conference for part of the week. We were flying back.”

“Did he fly back with you?”

“No.”

“Why did he decide to drive?” the woman asks.

“Why did you ask me if he flew back if you already know he drove?” Renae responds, not answering the question.

“Please answer our questions.”

“I don’t know. He didn’t want to wait around at the airport all day. He didn’t tell me that he was going to drive,” Renae explains. “He just got up and left. I watched him go out the door. I didn’t know if he had changed his flight or what. I’m confused, what is this about?”

“He’s wanted for the murder of Cora James,” the male officer jumps in, being stern and strict.

“What? I just saw him last night—” her voice trails off. The two officers look at each other.

“When did he leave?” they ask.

“I don’t really know. Sometime during the night. We fell asleep and when I woke up, he was gone.” She is embarrassed and ashamed. How could she get so close to this man she didn’t even know, a man who has done this horrible thing to another woman?

“Here’s my card,” the woman offers. “Please call me if you hear from him. Don’t let him back into your apartment, okay? He’s dangerous.”

“Oh my god—Sophie!” Renae exclaims.

“Who is Sophie?”

“She’s a friend of mine. I introduced them a few weeks ago. They dated for a while. I haven’t heard from her in a long time. It’s not like her—we usually talk every day. She’s not answering my calls lately,” Renae explains, panicked.

“Write down your friend’s address for us, please, and we’ll check on her,” the woman says, softly. Renae nods and complies right away, jotting down Sophie’s address as fast as she can. Then the officers are gone, leaving her alone in her apartment with only her terrible thoughts to keep her company.

“I fucked a murderer,” she whispers to herself in the mirror over her bathroom sink. She splashes cold water on her face and then pats herself dry with a towel. She pulls her medicine cabinet open and pulls out a container of sleeping pills. Usually she’d only take one of them. This time, she’s taking three. She checks for the eighth time in the last ten minutes if the deadbolt on her apartment door is locked—it is.

She curls up in her bed and pulls the blankets over herself. She decides to sleep until she can’t sleep anymore.

Chapter Twelve

The phone rings.

A groggy Renae struggles to open her eyes. It’s dark and she has no idea what time it is. She’s not even sure if it’s the same day, or if she’s slept through an entire day and then some. More ringing. She moans and stretches to reach her phone from her nightstand. She isn’t familiar with the phone number but she answers it anyway.

“Hello?”

“Renae?”

“Speaking.”

“This is Officer David. I’m calling with some bad news. I regret to inform you that your friend, Sophie, is dead. I am so sorry,” the voice on the other line explains.

“What? I don’t understand.”

“It seems she was murdered. That is all I can tell you for now. Please let us know if you hear from Scott. He is extremely dangerous.”

Click.
Dead air.

The person on the other end of the line is gone.

The sleeping pills that Renae took have still not worn off. She is so exhausted that she can see spots and it feels like her chest is tingling. Her eyes are squinted and she sways while sitting up on the bed.

“Sophie?” she mouths the words, almost inaudibly. She falls back onto her pillow and her heavy eyelids shut.

Chapter Thirteen

Scott/Oliver

I wish the world would stop rotating for a minute so I could just stand here and feel what it’s like to be in complete silence, making sure my feet are actually on the ground. Although, gravity would release its pull on me and let me float away. Right now I feel like I’m floating away, anyhow. The feeling of losing control and drifting into darkness is almost a relief. It feels as though a giant weight has been lifted from my shoulders.

I’m sitting in my car on a plateau, overlooking the Gulf of Mexico. The sun is shining bright today and there are barely any clouds in the sky. It is a bright blue—almost the same color as my shirt. The few clouds that are visible seem light and fluffy. It doesn’t look like they are going to bring rain today.

I wish this could reflect on my mood, but it does not. Inside, I still feel as though I am broken. I feel heavy and weighed down. I am burdened. I came here to start a new life, but it wasn’t as easy as it seemed. A new start—a new identity—that’s all I wanted. I wanted to become Scott Reed, executive accountant at Danis Accounting. Though I hadn’t obtained an accounting degree from Hudson University, as my resume stated, I figured it couldn’t be that hard to fake. I was, after all, a doctor of psychiatry—after almost ten years of school, I should have been able to fake whatever I wanted to, even if it happened to be in a different field. How difficult could it possibly be to punch numbers into an Excel sheet? Faking the new identity wasn’t the issue, though. The urges were. They followed me everywhere.

I met Tara when I was halfway through college. She was studying to become an arts teacher. She fell in love with me immediately but of course, she played hard to get, so I had to date her for months. It was the longest four months of my life. I wanted her so badly, but she wouldn’t give in, despite the amount of wine I fed her almost every Saturday night at the Lion—the campus pub.

Finally one night, completely sober at her place while we were studying and her roommate was out, she put her book down and looked me in the eyes.

“I’m ready,” she whispered, biting her lip.

I literally dropped my sociology book. It landed on the plush burgundy carpet at my feet, in the dorm room at our university. I slid over to her side of the couch and slipped my arm around her. We kissed, pushing our lips together passionately as though we never had before. We had—it had just never felt like this.

I pulled back just a bit, and whispered, “You are exceptional.”

In one swift movement and before I could even object, had I wanted to, she was on top of me. Our arms were tangled. I had to move one of mine as she slid her hand down to the waist of my jeans, and tugged playfully—her tongue still teasing mine.

My jeans were undone; slipped down to my knees. Without hesitation, she lowered herself onto me. She moved her hips back and forth, grinding—throwing her head back and moaning.

I held onto her hips with both of my hands, guiding her. As we both finished, she collapsed onto my chest—her heart pounding against mine.

Once my body relaxed enough to move again, I flopped back into the corner of the couch as she rolled over onto her side. We were both spent. Neither of us moved for the next few minutes, other than our chests heaving like we had just run a marathon.

I laid my head back for what only felt like a moment, only to get startled awake by a noise in the hallway. As I popped my eyes open and raised my head, I noticed that she was in a different curled up position, hugging the pillow we had used to muffle her screams. She looked so cute.

I got up and quietly got dressed, so as not to disturb her, because I really didn’t want to have any of that awkward ‘after-sex’ talk that all my buddies were complaining about if she woke up.

She made love, and I fucked her, using her body exactly how she had used me to pay for every one of her meals for the last three nights.

After that night, we were almost inseparable, except for the nights that I spent with other women off campus, where Tara would never find out. We never officially became labeled as boyfriend and girlfriend, which was what made it okay in my mind, to continue lying about sleeping with other people when she’d ask about a woman’s number on my phone.

Eventually, I loved Tara. I loved her with everything I had—but I just couldn’t change who I am. I am Oliver Fallon: psychiatrist, player, and murderer. After years with Tara, I was bored. Along came Lauren Blue—damaged, and easily manipulated. She let me take her, over and over. The only problem was she got pregnant and soon everyone was going to find out, so I had to do something about that. I caused her to have a miscarriage. Everyone found out about the affair, anyway. My medical license was revoked and a warrant was issued for my arrest.

I ran.

I got out of that city as fast as I possibly could, and I never looked back.