Like Glass We Break (Glass #2) (15 page)

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.

“No, thank you. I brought a sandwich.” She points to the door behind her, leading to the staff room.

“A sandwich doesn’t sound like nearly as much fun as a slice of pizza. Are you a pepperoni and mushroom kind of girl?”

Esther nods, sheepishly.

“Pepperoni and mushroom it is. I’ll be back in a bit.”

Oliver is gone.

He glances back through the large glass hotel doors once he is far enough away, and Esther is still just standing in awe.

He’ll have her tonight.

Around the corner, the pizza place is small but it smells amazing.

“I’ll take two slices of pepperoni and cheese, and two pepperoni and mushroom, please.” Oliver speaks loudly, wondering if the man behind the counter even heard him, or if he’s too engrossed in whatever text message he’s replying to.

“Will that be all?”

Oh, he did hear.

“Yes, that will be all,” Oliver replies. He actually really wanted to order two slices of just sauce and cheese—no pepperoni—but each time he does that, halfway through he feels as though he’s missing something, so he decides against it. Instead, he’ll sit alone in his hotel room and carefully pick off the pieces of pepperoni. He’ll flush them down the toilet so the housekeeper doesn’t see how simple he really is.

He jogs back to the hotel to ensure the pizza slices are still warm when he gets back to the front desk. Esther looks as though she’s surprised to see him as he enters through the heavy glass doors.

“Here we go,” he announces, as he slides her two pieces out from the triangular brown bag.

“Thank you so much,” she says quietly with a smile as she accepts the still warm slices into her hands. “How much do I owe you?”

“Oh, don’t even worry about it. It’s all good,” Oliver replies. He smiles his handsome, irresistible smile and Esther melts—he can tell by the expression on her face. She’s all his now. It’s only a matter of time. “What time do you get off work?”

“I’m here right through until the morning, unfortunately. Night shift for me. It’s Friday. I don’t have school tomorrow, so I work overnight. Shitty deal, but I need the money. You’ll probably see me visit the coffee machine several times throughout the night,” she sighs.

“What if I need room service, Esther?”

“Unfortunately we have no room service after ten o’clock. It starts again in the morning at six. I’ll be off shift by then. Should I set something up to be delivered to you for breakfast?” she asks.

“No, that’s fine. I’ll get something from the restaurant. What if something breaks during the middle of the night?” Oliver grills.

“We have a maintenance crew. Call the front desk number but then hit number two and you’ll be directed to them,” she explains. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“What if I really just want to get you up to my room?” he asks bluntly.

“I really can’t do that. I can’t leave the desk.” Esther laughs, as though it’s a joke. Oliver isn’t joking.

He takes the elevator back up to his room. It’s a quiet ride up. He thinks they should at least play some sort of music or something in a fancy place like this. The entire way, he peeks through the top of the bag he is holding that contains his slices of pizza, staring down at the pieces of pepperoni. He begins pulling them off before the elevator even comes to a halt, and stuffs them into his pockets. Once in the room, he empties his pockets into the toilet and then holds down the lever, watching as the little pieces of meat are swooshed down the drain with a gurgling sound. He gently closes the porcelain lid and strips out of his clothing. He sits on the seat, cold and naked, eating his meatless slices of pizza in the fancy, brightly lit bathroom of the gorgeous hotel room. In the living room, the fire in the fireplace is still burning low, keeping the whole thousand square foot area at a warm, comfortable temperature.

Done with his pizza, Oliver reaches an arm into the shower and pulls on the faucet. He cranks the hot water up all the way and lets it run out of the shower head until the bathroom mirrors are completely steamed up. Still sitting on the toilet seat, he stares at himself in the foggy mirror. He is barely recognizable. For a second he can’t tell if he’s Oliver, or Scott, or both.

He steps one foot into the shower. The tiles are a beautiful dark grey with subtle swirls of dark pink. The pot light in the shower stall lights it up perfectly so he can see exactly what he’s doing as he steps the other foot in and places his head under the scalding hot stream of running water. It hits his head and then flows down onto his neck, stinging his skin and surely leaving a red mark everywhere it touches, down his back and onto his butt.

His left hand slides the shower curtain aside and grabs the cell phone that is sitting on the vanity. He dials the hotel number in his speed dial and hits the number one for the front desk, where he hears Esther’s voice on the phone.

He presses the button that sets the phone on speakerphone and places it back on the counter.

“Hello? Guest Services. Hello?” Esther’s voice, confused, squeaks on the line. “Maplewood Resort, Guest Services, this is Esther speaking. Hello?”

He closes his eyes tight, reaching his right hand in front of him and grunting as he thinks of taking Esther in this shower. He hears the click on the other end of the line as the cell phone goes silent and he lets out a final moan. He collapses against the grey tiled wall and feels it surprisingly cold against his sweltering skin. His cheek is pressed up so hard against the wall that he can feel the coolness on his forehead too. The water is still running but it is no longer hitting his body. He reaches back behind him with his last ounce of energy and shuts the faucet off.

He sinks down onto the cold tile floor and watches as the remainder of the water drains from the bottom of the shower. He remembers that he is alone.

He slides the shower curtain open and steps out onto the memory foam bath mat and it conforms around his toes. The fog covering the mirrors has not gone away; he still can’t tell if he’s Oliver or Scott, and he can barely feel his feet on the ground.