Glass Cutter

Oliver’s fingers felt like slivers of razor blades on my skin, the tips piercing my flesh with every hint of electric passion present. I couldn’t stop him from distracting me from a phone conversation with Delilah—despite even my best efforts—but as he gently laid me against his mattress, his smile bright with eyes dim, the falter in his expression was enough for me to regain conscientiousness.

His lips found their way to my collarbone, but I gently pushed him back, my hands flat against his bare chest. “What’s wrong?”

He tried his best to smile, but I knew Oliver well enough to be able to decipher what seemed to be just about every microscopic detail. His forehead wrinkled slightly, a deep V forming between his eyebrows, and his smile didn’t seem to light up the atmosphere the way it usually did.

“Nothing,” he answered, stroking the skin of my hip just beneath the hem of my gray tee-shirt. His eyes followed where his hand played, breaking the hold of my gaze, and he quietly added, “I just didn’t think Delilah would be so...responsive to you telling her we weren’t friends anymore.”

I swallowed hard, trying to quickly pore over the last month’s events, since he and I had decided to try and overtake Menlo through the Weston family’s fortune. No progress had been made in terms of my intended friendship with Alex Ward, but the lack of it there had been made up for in terms of my mended friendship with Delilah. Since coming to her and sharing the false news that I was no longer speaking to Oliver Sykes, my time had been forced to be shared between three duties outside of school, rather than just two. Instead of it being just Oliver and work, it had become Oliver, work, and Delilah.

I knew it was hard for Oliver to accept, but I also knew he had to have understood. Delilah only wanted to spend so much time with me to ensure that I wasn’t spending any of mine with him. It wasn’t a difficult concept to grasp, especially not for Oliver’s extraordinary mind.

“You know why she is,” I murmured sadly, my own eyes following his, begging for some comfort.

What he’d asked of me was difficult, and up until that point, it had felt bearable simply because I was sure it made him happy; but seeing him hover above me there, his one hand moving thoughtlessly across my skin and his face hiding from me behind his thick fringe, made it seem like my past month’s efforts had been for no avail.

“Yeah.” He took a deep breath, and his gaze returned to me, the wrinkles in his forehead gone; and without another word, he dropped himself beside me and only nuzzled his face into the hollow of my neck.


The next night, I found myself standing beside Oliver in a small circle of smokers outside The Underground Coffeehouse. A part of me had been worried that Delilah would show up there with Alex, but throughout the day, I had forced myself to feign comfort with Oliver’s invite and enjoy the outing away from Menlo.

The conversation between the group of seven—Oliver, his five bandmates, and their recognized friend, Jason—was focused on a musician named Tyler Carter, one that Jason had previously mentioned to me, and the record label that had signed the new artist, Rise Records. Apparently, Jason was sure that Bring Me The Horizon had potential for the major label to support them. I stayed as an observer to them, though, for a number of reasons.

The first was because I didn’t want to think about Oliver leaving me for fame and fortune—because no matter how much he assured me that such a business deal would never change him and no matter how much faith I really did have in his loyalty, I couldn’t help but worry about the other possible outcomes, which were closely related to my second concern.

Were things different between us after my blooming friendship with Delilah? I’d spent the entire ride to Bellingham, despite the constant conversation between us, pondering it. I couldn’t put my finger on the indications as to why I felt such discomfort, but as I stood with the circle of friends, never quite partaking, I just knew my stomach felt uneasy. Nerves shook my empty hands, the hands that I felt should’ve been touching Oliver in some way; and nothing but his black hoody with the colorful design and Of Mice & Men written on the back touched his skin, the way that I wanted to be.

“Hey,” Jordan’s voice finally caught my attention. “You alright? You look like you just saw a ghost.” He grinned at his lighthearted comment, and I did my best to nod and do so back, but I couldn’t stop the morbid thought from entering my mind; Have I? Am I watching the ghost of my relationship disappear?

I had so much faith in Oliver, more than I’d ever invested in someone or even myself, but as I stood there, watching Jordan reply and not hear him or the rest of the conversation take off, I wondered how big of a mistake I’d made by playing into Delilah’s game and by doing so not on her side.

A boy with royal blue hair popped his head out from the front door, calling, “Hey, band’s coming on now,” before disappearing almost as quickly as he’d showed.

Slowly, everyone began to either toss their cigarettes and stomp them out or graze the half finished butts against the cement of the sidewalk to save for later. As everyone filed through the doorway, Oliver and myself lingering for last, he suddenly turned to me, taking my wrist in his hand.

“I love you, okay?” His eyes burned deep into mine, crinkles of concern cut into his forehead.

I nodded. “I know.” I swallowed back a lump of dry saliva, my voice obviously thick with nerves. “I love you, too, Oliver—more than anything.”

His lips quickly grazed mine, and before I had much of a chance to respond, his fingers intertwined with mine as we headed into the crowded venue.

The faces at Bring Me The Horizon’s shows always seemed the same to me, each one with distinct characteristics to set them apart and yet no justice done in my mind—piercings, tattoos, haircuts, makeup, any way to set two eyes, a nose, and mouth apart from all the same. One face stood out, though, by the bar—a colorless, milky white hand grabbing a clear plastic cup of dark soda. His long hair gave him away before the turn of his body did his face, but as soon as his legs made the ninety-degree turn towards Oliver and myself, much more than his identity was shown.

Maybe my fear was exaggerated, but a spark in Oliver’s temper sent shock waves throughout my body. His tall, thin frame suddenly strode away from me and towards the men’s bathroom; and I stood there, my arms limp against my sides, with no shield from the company that was more than likely Delilah’s.

“Hey!” Alex greeted happily, pulling me in for a brief hug. “I thought Delilah was busy today.”

A sinking feeling in my stomach seemed to rise at his question, but my confusion hadn’t. Why had Oliver left so suddenly and not even tell me to where?

“You’re not with her?” I mentally kicked myself for the eagerness I couldn’t hide, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“Nope,” he replied. “I figured when she said she was busy tonight, she was gonna be with you.” His eyebrows creased at the arising question—and I couldn’t help but think she was deceiving him in some way.

I shook my head. “I thought she was with you.”

He pursed his lips, disappointment clear in his expression; but almost as quickly as the happiness had disappeared from his face, it came back. “Well who’d you come here with?”

I swallowed hard, my body going cold with the lie I knew I was supposed to tell. Try to avoid as much of the field with him as you can, Oliver’s voice rang in my ears. Clearing my throat, I answered less decisively than desired, “No one.”

He cocked his head the side, his demeanor completely giving away confusion over the disappointment. “You didn’t come with Oli?”

I shook my head solemnly, glancing away from him for a moment to search for Oliver’s familiar, beloved face. My heart sank at the lacking vision of his tattoos and tight, faded black jeans. “I just wanted to see Bring Me The Horizon play one last time,” I lied. “They really are great.”

He nodded understandingly, tucking his hands into the pockets of his snug, gray jeans. “Didn’t work out, huh?”

I felt the tears burn my eyes with the felt truth in my reply to his question. “I guess not.”

He chewed on his cheek for a moment before answering, and suddenly a frown took over what I’d thought was eternal optimism in him. “I guess it’s not for me and Delilah, either.” He sighed, peering up to the ceiling, and I swore I saw his own eyes glass over. “She’s just different now,” he whispered, clearing his throat.

I nodded back to him, wishing I could say something for comfort. The truth was, though, that despite how happy Alex seemed to always endlessly be, words didn’t seem to be appropriate right then—so instead, I gently grasped my hand in his, burning with the wish that his skin was covered in color. It was meant as a friendly gesture in the sincerest sense, but I had to face it; since I’d joined the Russian Roulette game between Oliver and Delilah, not much of me seemed capable of sincerity anymore.

He smiled at me, his lips in a thin line, and he adjusted his hand so that it held mine instead. “We’ll be okay.”

I nodded again, my eyes dropping to the floor, away from his piercing blue ones. “’Course we will.”

“I’m gonna go out for a smoke. Wanna come?”

I peered up at him to his question, and just as I considered telling him no, I saw Oliver sitting on one of the couches beside Rayne, his knees touching her bare ones, a hand on her thigh, and a grin on his lips.

“Yeah,” I choked, the tears feeling closer than ever. “Yeah,” I repeated, looking away from Oliver and back to Alex. “Sure, yeah, let’s go.”

He glanced over his own shoulder, and when his face came back to me, an expression of understanding seemed to overwhelm his soft features. He looked concerned; and despite how disheveled my insides felt, I wanted to flatten the wrinkles of worry on his forehead.

As soon as we reached the cold outdoors, the January temperature chilling me through my coat, Alex pulled out two cigarettes from the black and blue pack of his Camel Crushes. He pointed one out towards me with his one hand as he put the other between his lips.

“I know you don’t smoke,” he began as he patted his back pocket in search of his lighter, the cigarette still between his lips, “but it just seems like you could use it.” He finally pulled the cigarette from his lips and sighed.

“You don’t have to take it if you don’t want,” he added after a moment without me answering.

I hesitated, but as the muffled sound of bass and guitars blared through the door, I took the white-filtered cigarette from his hands and placed it between my teeth to avoid messing up my red lipstick.

He glanced at me shyly once finding his orange lighter and held the flame closer to my lips. “You look nice, by the way,” he murmured before pulling the lighter back and igniting his own cigarette. “Red lipstick suits you.”

I felt myself blush at his compliment, and I couldn’t help but remember that Oliver hadn’t said anything about my appearance over the course of the night—my makeup, my new jeans, or my new black heels.

“Oliver’s a lucky guy,” he added, seeming almost to himself more than me.

I inhaled a drag off the cigarette, my chest burning at the concentrated, polluted air. “Why is that?”

He exhaled, answering with a gray cloud of smoke from his nostrils. “Because he has a girl willing to love him and share herself.” He frowned, his eyes falling to the cement beneath our feet. “I guess I just don’t know if Delilah could ever really love me.”

I nodded, momentarily pondering all the damage that she had caused. “You can’t take that personally,” I murmured.

He nodded and looked around at the blazing streetlights, his neck craning to see a bit of all the different views. “How does a girl like you become so close to someone like Delilah anyway? You guys are just so different.”

I took another drag, this time lightly coughing. “I don’t know...We’ve been friends since second grade. I think we’re both just used to being friends, like it just wouldn’t be right if we weren’t;” and that was the truth. Why would I ever bother sticking around otherwise? No answer seemed accurate.

He bowed his head solemnly, his hair falling in front of his blue eyes, and he pursed his lips, avoiding my steady look. “Do you ever feel like she’s using you, Amanda?”

I accidentally scoffed, really snorting a laugh, and I felt my cheeks immediately heat up from the slip. “Um,” I stammered, embarrassed and clearing my throat to try and cover up the sound. “In all honesty, Alex, I just think that’s what Delilah does; but it’s like I said before—it’s really nothing personal.” I almost regretted speaking less than highly of her, but the way Alex peered up at me then, his eyes seeming to have brightened from my comment, made me feel like if there was anyone in the world that would keep my criticism safe, it was him.

He smiled, inhaling another drag from his cigarette. “I like you, Amanda. You’re a good person.”

I simpered back to him—but I still didn’t quite feel the expression sincerely. “I like you, too, Alex;” and I really did, but something in my gut just felt odd admitting it, like I was wronging Oliver by not disdaining the boy that was in love with Delilah Weston.


Bring Me The Horizon was the last band to go on stage. I’d felt odd in doing so, but after seeing Oliver with Rayne, I’d stayed clear of him—and all five of his bandmates—and remained closely at Alex’s side. We’d bonded over quite a bit of chatter, joking about this girl’s pink hair and that guy’s stretched earlobes; and at more moments than I would’ve liked to admit, I actually found the pit in my stomach fading from lovesick thoughts of Oliver Sykes.

It only really felt odd, though, when Oliver was inside the venue, his eyes straying from Rayne’s for only a second at a time, watching me laugh and smile with Alex sitting beside me on one of the dark green couches. Oliver and I weren’t really broken up, though—so why did it feel so much like we were?

By the time Bring Me The Horizon’s set was announced over the sound system from the boy with blue hair, Oliver was already striding past Alex and me with Rayne’s hand held firmly in his; and I couldn’t help but feel a lump of betrayal rise in my throat. You wouldn’t want to be friends with me, but I guess we can still be anyway, I heard her soft, chirpy voice ring in my ears.

She didn’t even have the guts to look at me as they passed. Her head remained turned away from us, leaving just a curtain of blonde hair and a formfitting, short, plum-colored dress for me to look at.

I had never really understood what it meant for a person’s heart to sink until I watched Oliver’s lips meet Rayne’s cheek at that moment, once they reached the stage. It was an awful feeling, one that I could’ve gone my whole life without feeling. I wanted to throw up, the nausea engulfing my entire conscious and my stomach tightening as if a rope had been wrapped around my intestines. I felt the taste of blood on my tongue, and I could hear my heartbeat pulsing between my temples. A pressure formed behind my eyes, seeming to be pushing them from their sockets. There was no sound besides a simple humming in my ears.

I felt stupid then. I had worn this dumb outfit, these supposedly sexy heels, all for Oliver to be paying attention to Rayne’s simple, purple attire. How had I ever thought the night would pan out differently? How had I ever let myself leave my home in such a dumb costume, such a dumb faҫade that I could’ve never even hoped to fulfill?

Everything seemed to stop, though, when I felt a warm hand grasp my knee. The atmosphere froze—it was as if I no longer felt anything at all.

“It’s his loss,” Alex said, his voice soft and delicate.

I peered at him to see he was already gazing at me, a sad look in his eyes. It was like he pitied me, like I was a pathetic marionette that a master puppeteer had successfully played with and finally gotten tired of. I wanted to cry, but when he went to go hold my hand and gently squeezed my palm between his fingers, I only bit down on my bottom lip, and control seemed to once more be mine.

“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice cracking with emotion.

He took a deep breath and sighed. “What d’you say we get out of here? Bring Me The Horizon will have other shows that we can go to another time.”

I nodded and stood up, a sense of relief overcoming me; but how desperate did I look for Alex to give up his night of fun in lieu of comforting my fragmented loss of hope?

As I pulled one sleeve of my coat on, Oliver’s sweet voice suddenly tantalized my ears; “What’s going on, Bellingham?” The crowd cheered. “Today’s set is gonna start off a little slower than usual with a new song we’ve just recently written. It’s called ‘And The Snakes Start To Sing.’ I hope you enjoy it.” He sounded more calm in front of the crowd than I’d ever heard.

An alternating mix of a piano and guitar began to dance in the stuffy atmosphere. A pound from the bass drum pulsed into me, shaking my insides, and Oliver began to sing softly, his hands wrapped tightly around the mic so that his knuckles were white. I felt like I could vomit from the sadness I wanted his voice to hold.

I only stood still, though, my jacket halfway on, and listened.

“I’ve lost the plot again,” he began, his voice gentle with emotion. “Tell your friends to sharpen their teeth. There’s a few quid to be made; and my soul’s a sorry state, so come on down, you empty lovers.”

Jordan hummed in the background, “Worms come out of the woodwork...” Oliver finished the sentence more forcefully; “And the snakes start to sing.”

I swallowed a wad of dry saliva and yanked my other sleeve on. “Let’s go,” I murmured to Alex, already rushing towards the door without even checking to see if he was following.

We entered back into the cold Bellingham air, our silent breaths showing in the freezing temperature. We said nothing as we walked, and it stayed that way for two blocks before he cleared his throat, making the first sound between us.

I had no idea where we were headed—I wasn’t even sure Alex knew where we were heading—but I was worried that if I spoke to ask, I would only be able to blubber out heartbroken words.

“What was the real reason you came tonight?” he finally asked as we neared the corner of a third block.

I shook my head, feeling a tear sink down my cheek. “The night wasn’t supposed to end up like this,” I muttered, not really answering his question and wondering at exactly what point Oliver had decided I’d done something that warranted him to cause me so much misery.

“It’s never supposed to;” and the devastation in Alex’s voice was actually enough to distract my thoughts for a second just long enough to make me question what had really been happening between him and Delilah—because it obviously wasn’t such a happy-go-lucky relationship like I had been led to believe.

I glanced at him. “And how were things supposed to end up with you and Delilah?”

I saw him purse his lips through the corner of my eye. “Happily, I guess. How do any of us want things to, really?”

I shook my head once more, suddenly bitterly laughing. It was all just so funny to me, how pathetic each and every one of us were, the whole lot of us—me, Oliver, Delilah, even Alex.

A revelation came to me with my cynicism then, and I didn’t know I could’ve been so stupid. “What if Oliver and Delilah were just playing with us all along, Alex?” and we exchanged a long look with each other at my postulation, finally pausing at the fourth block.

“What makes you say that?” He sort of looked at me as if he thought the heartbreak had made me go mad.

“Delilah telling you she loves you when she doesn’t, Oliver always pointing out to me how much of a devil she is, the way they both always manipulate us into doing every single thing they want—it’s all gotta be just a fucking joke. None of this can be real. It’s just too cliché.”

He sighed a long breath and tucked his hands into the pockets of his plain, black hoody. “So you think we’re just pawns in a chess game?”

I grunted, laughing at myself for how stupidly pathetic I’d been. Oliver’s plan about stealing Mr. Weston’s money and putting it in a Swiss bank account, having me fake a romantic involvement with Alex Ward, his claim that he’d only dated Delilah to get to me—it was all just one complex lie to manipulate me to get back at her for something, whatever it was, that she’d done to piss him off. It was all just so humorous, really.

“My only question is what Delilah’s next move is gonna be,” I muttered, the two of us still not moving from the street corner or breaking each other’s stare.

He shook his head, finally turning around to scoff, and threw his hands up in the air before facing back to me. “I’m just a pawn,” he suddenly growled, shaking his head again. “I’m just a fucking pawn.”

I bit down on my lip and watched as he paced back and forth, trying to wrap his brain around the whole thing. He was probably doing the same thing I was—trying to pinpoint at exactly what point we’d been recruited to play, why it was that we’d been specifically chosen, how it could be possible that we’d been so blind for so long, et cetera.

“I can’t believe this,” he groaned, finally coming to a halt.

“Yeah.” My voice faltered with disappointment in the boy that I’d fallen so deeply in love with. The hurt literally stung my chest. How could Oliver have played me so shamelessly—and so effortlessly?

“Well what do we do?” he suddenly demanded, a frantic tone taking over his voice. “We can’t just let them get away with fucking around with us like that. I mean, we gotta do something.” He stared at me, his eyes expectant with a solution that I didn’t have.

I shrugged. “It doesn’t matter anymore. They already got away with it. They got what they wanted.”

He shook his head, a glossy sheen covering his eyes. “No, it can’t be that easy. We can’t just let them get away with it, Amanda. There has to be something we can do.”

I just shook my head back, sighing. “Well if there is, Alex, I don’t know what it is.”

“There’s gotta be something,” he mumbled, pacing once again.

“This can’t be the end of the game,” he said, suddenly stopping. “Neither of them won, Amanda—it can’t be over yet.”

I furrowed my eyebrows at him. “Well how does a person even win in this case? Is it when one of them finally just loses their mind enough to kill themselves? C’mon, Alex, even you’ve gotta be able to see that they couldn’t be that dramatic.”

He shook his head again. “I know that. Both of their egos are way too big to do something like that. I don’t know what the winning move is, but I just know that this game isn’t over. It can’t be—not just like that. We were their pawns for a reason, so what is it that we could possibly give to them that they don’t already have?”

I shrugged once more. “I have no idea, Alex. I just know that I don’t care because I’m done trying to be a checkmate for somebody that doesn’t even give two shits about me...for somebody that never gave two shits about me.”

He nodded, a small V creasing between his eyebrows. “But you don’t even wanna know what they used us for, what grand plan this was all for?” he murmured softly after a long moment of silence.

I frowned, finally feeling the tears spill over. It felt like the wind had been suddenly knocked out of me, like I had fallen and crashed onto my back. It finally hit me: Oliver Sykes had used me. I couldn’t believe that I hadn’t seen it coming, but it made so much sense once I finally did. I just couldn’t figure out why he hadn’t made it so obvious to me, the way he’d done to so many girls before. He’d made it seem like I wasn’t just a notch in his bedpost—but what had he gotten from it? What had I ever done to him? I gave him my love; I gave him my heart—so why did he take it if that was never what he’d wanted?

I felt Alex’s arms wrap around me in a strong hug. “We’ll figure something out, Amanda,” he whispered into my hair. “I’ll take you home tonight, and we can try to sort everything out tomorrow.”