Glass Cutter

“Guess what tomorrow is!” Oliver’s excited voice chimed in my ears, the sound of it making me jump.

I knocked my head into the roof of my car, having been stuffed halfway into the backseat to try and sort the numerous books in my bag.

I pulled my torso back out into the cool, sunny atmosphere. “Oliver,” I gasped, throwing my hand over my chest to try and regain my composure.

He snickered happily and ruffled my hair, pulling parts of my layered fringe out from the two bobby pins it’d been held back with.

“Why do you pin your bangs back anyway?” he asked offhandedly. “They look so nice down.”

I felt my cheeks warm, and I swatted his hand away. “Stop it,” I hissed.

I tried to stay stern with him—I found that often times there was no other way to grab his attention—but despite how I’d been able to evade any suspicions from the town of my feelings concerning him, I couldn’t quite hide them from myself, thus decisiveness in my tone when denying him was frequently hard to possess. His affection and his upbeat antics made me happy and excited in ways that I didn’t really recognize. I couldn’t deny it, and more importantly, I couldn’t deny him.

He grinned and watched me closely as I pulled the two bobby pins from my hair. “Guess what tomorrow is,” he repeated again, still smiling.

“I don’t know,” I murmured, eying the auburn layers that had fallen over my forehead and against the side of my face. “Friday?”

He laughed, snorting a little, and rolled his eyes warmheartedly. “No, silly. It’s October fifth—the day I promised to tell you everything.”

I felt my eyes fall on him almost reflexively, and I swallowed hard. “Oh.”

Over the month that had passed since my friendship with Oliver Sykes had begun, I’d come to the conclusion that I no longer wanted to know why it was that he’d found sudden interest in me—because all that ever worried me was the fact that he was interested in me. I’d all but forgotten his agreement.

“Well why don’t you just tell me today?” I asked, trying to find whatever human was left in me.

He smirked and cupped my face in his hands. “Because that wouldn’t be any fun.”

I pulled his hands away, frowning, and cleared my throat. “Oliver, Delilah meets me out here everyday—why don’t we just meet up sometime later? I get out of work at eight—”

A groan from him interrupted me, and he rolled his eyes once more, this time the warmness and playful banter in them gone. “C’mon, Amanda,” he sighed. “We can’t be friends because of her? She doesn’t even give a shit—you’re the only one that does.”

I shook my head and closed the back door to my car. “You don’t know her like I do, Oliver,” I replied, more decisively than I’d usually be able to muster. “You know her legs, not her brain,” I muttered, and I immediately froze with my fingers around the handle to the driver’s side door, only realizing what I’d said after it had left my lips.

He looked at me blankly for a second before I watched one of his eyebrows disappear underneath his fringe.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” I sighed, swallowing hard. It was a concern of mine that I’d never wanted to share with him before, and the embarrassment ran cold through my blood from the realization that I’d just done it unwittingly—and, even more so, unwillingly.

He bit down on his bottom lip and glanced over my car to the front staircase of the school. It was as if he’d had a sixth sense because just as he did so, Delilah’s magnificent appearance took the first step down toward my car, where she’d meet me everyday after dismissal.

“Do you have work tomorrow?” he asked; and it was as if a switch flicked in his head, and he’d suddenly processed that his ex-girlfriend was approaching him as he was in the midst of flirting with her best friend—some “friend” I was.

I shook my head.

“Okay, good. I’ll text you a little later, then;” and I knew he’d be true to his word—he’d had a habit of texting me all day, every day.

He grabbed my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Don’t get all sappy on me, alright?” and without further hesitation, he was off to his own vehicle, heading away from Delilah, from an undoubted overreaction, and most disconcertingly, from me.

Delilah reached me with a disgusted and disapproving look on her face. “What did he want?”

“Chemistry homework,” I answered immediately, barely even taking a breath. It was the story I’d had set up in my mind for that exact moment, and I just hoped she wouldn’t notice the rehearsed tone in my voice.

She rolled her eyes. “What an idiot.”

“Yeah,” I mumbled, glancing down at the bobby pins in my one hand.

She ran her hand over my bangs and smiled, her demeanor lightening almost instantly. “Your bangs look better pulled to the side, babe. They make your face look kind of skeletal when you leave ’em down.”

I held my breath and bit down on my lip. “I know,” I replied, almost poetically—just like a puppet with her fingers controlling the strings, just like a glass doll with her hands crafting each part in every way she wanted. “I was just fixing them, that’s all.”

She smiled and combed a lock of my hair, her fingers gently pulling on the ends near my elbow. “Your hair’s so soft.” She sighed, and her attention went back to herself—from the split second it’d been on me.

“Anyway,” she continued, “I gotta get going. I won’t be in school tomorrow ’cause I’m gonna drive to Alex’s and spend the weekend with him again.” She grinned devilishly.

“His bed is so comfy.” She tossed her head back for a moment in ecstasy. “I really wish you’d just fuck someone already and lose your virginity—you seriously have no idea what you’re missing out on.”

I simpered, offering her the warmest affection I had to give, and opened the door to my car. “I’ll see you Monday, D. Have fun.”

She grinned once more and pulled me into a hug. “You, too, girl. Please try and hit on someone at work or something, okay?”

I nodded. “I’ll give it a shot and let you know how it goes.”

Her face lit up from the excitement. “Good! If I don’t pick up, though, then I’ll call you back when I’m done.” She laughed, and I chuckled back for the sake of entertaining her.


I wore my bangs down for school the next day, and the knowledge that Delilah would be absent had left me with an insatiable desire to look as sexy as I could manage—and as I could allow myself. The temperature was predicted to peak just over sixty, and I was excited for the chance to bring out a sweater. I felt incredibly foolish as I prepared for school, but I just kept trying to remind myself that Oliver seemed to like the way I looked...which unfortunately only made me feel even more foolish for putting so much merit in some boy’s opinion.

The day went as it’d always gone. Chemistry with Miss Grey was still boring, and Oliver still sat in his seat doodling. When I’d gotten home—because I was off from both Nanny Brook’s and the diner—the house was empty as it’d always be; and when I began my calculus homework, Oliver still texted me nonstop as he always would.

Oliver finally showed up at my house just after four o’clock, and the suspense of knowing what day it was upon his informing was excruciating. He’d only answer some of my texts, too—like when I’d ask where he was, how long it’d be until he arrived, or what color we were painting his room, which was his plan for the day—but he wouldn’t answer anything in regards to his promise. He’d just say, We’ll talk later, don’t worry, or, I said the fifth - I never said what time.

The grin on his face was practically immeasurable as I pulled myself into his truck, and the conversation remained lighthearted. He noticed that I’d fixed my make-up in the time between the end of school and his arrival; he asked me if I was hungry, if I was excited to start painting; he asked me what I thought of his choice to make the walls a light coffee color with black line designs; he offered to stop at the grocery store to pick up something to cook for dinner; and all the while, I wondered what it was exactly that our relationship counted as because I was in no way his girlfriend—because if I had been, he would’ve gone through the official motions of requesting it—and I worried that my feelings were exceeding in comparison to his.

I found myself standing awkwardly in his room, being the first time I’d ever seen the inside of his home, and I looked around the barren area. The only thing he’d left in the tiny cubicle was a dressed mattress, and he’d covered it with a large plastic sheet that reached all four corners of the room. The walls had already been coated and primed, and two metal buckets, as well as a number of different size brushes beside them, had been laid out on the protected hardwood floors.

“So this is my room,” he stated uncomfortably, his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. “I, uh...usually have more shit in here—like a dresser...but it’s all in the living room.”

I smirked and nodded, peering around. “I saw it before. The penis sticker on it kind of made me think that it probably wasn’t your mom’s first choice for living room décor.”

He pursed his lips, and he seemed oddly nervous—why he would’ve been, though, I didn’t know. It certainly wasn’t that he’d said something to merit any anxiety.

“Well, uh, let me get you a shirt so you don’t fuck up your sweater,” he finally declared abruptly.

He walked to the lone white door placed into the wall adjacent of the entrance, stepped into the walk-in closet, shuffled around for a moment, and returned back out with two white tee-shirts and two pairs of denim shorts in his hands. He handed me one of the shirts and the black pair of shorts.

“These are for you, madam,” he informed, smirking with a sudden ease.

He turned his back to me, pulled his gray V-neck over his shoulders, and quickly slipped the white tee on.

He faced back to me, and the rare occurrence of a blush crept through his cheeks. “What?” he asked.

I felt my own cheeks stain with heat. “Nothing,” I answered quickly, turning my own back to him. I studied the clothes in my hands and left the room without another word, heading toward the bathroom for some—if completely honest, unwanted—privacy.

The truth was that I had grown severely attracted to him over the past few weeks, and seeing his pale back with no clothing on it for the second time had left me overwhelmed with hormones and emotions. I just wouldn’t ever share that with him, I promised myself.

When I returned to his bedroom with his clothes on my back, he was just closing the closet door.

He grinned at my sight. “You look good in my clothes.”

I peered down at my mismatched socks, trying to evade yet another blush. “The shorts are a little long, but...” While the navy blue pair he’d kept for himself ended just halfway over his kneecaps, the black pair he’d given me loosely hugged my legs down to the top of my calves, appearing more like capris than anything else. “They’re certainly comfortable,” I finally finished, hesitating.

He smirked and walked over to me, leaving just a few inches between us. “They look better on you than me,” he murmured, his smile widening.

“Oh,” I choked, swallowing hard with nerves. “Thanks.”

I tried to stifle the growing anxiety, but it happened just about every time I saw him. I would’ve thought that after a month of being so close to him, I’d get over it, but no such luck had been gifted to me. Every little compliment he’d give, every little flirting comment he’d make—it all made me feel so giddy and flustered, all at the same time.

His smile waned a little before he crouched down beside the paint cans and began opening them.

The painting process started off with a lot of small talk and lighthearted banter, and neither of us made much effort to keep the colors on the rollers and brushes, rather than ourselves. At first, the splattering remained accidental, but once I’d knelt down in front of one of the room’s corners, began designing a simple, black floral pattern with one of the smaller brushes, and felt a disturbance within my loose pony tail, I immediately knew he’d taken our antics to the next level.

I turned around to see him on the opposite side of the room with his right hand covered in the tan paint and a huge grin on his face. “Sorry, you just looked so serene—I couldn’t help but disturb you a little bit,” he informed cheerily. “You turned your back to me. That was your own fault for trusting me with paint.”

I pursed my lips and peered down at the black color staining my left hand from perfecting parts of the pattern. “Oliver, you’re just something else, you know that?” I replied absentmindedly.

He frowned, obviously thinking my statement was serious. “I was just kidding.”

I smiled and dipped the brush into the bucket. “I know,” I answered; and without giving him a moment to really respond, I flung the paint brush at him, splattering an entire mess over the front of his shirt and pants.

His mouth fell agape. “I didn’t think you had it in you!” he exclaimed. “I mean, in that case...” He formed a sort of bowl shape with his one hand, dipped it into the bucket by his feet, and threw the overabundant amount of tan liquid at me, most of it splashing onto my face.

“Oliver!” I shrieked. I pulled up the neckline of his shirt to try and wipe the coloring from my skin.

He giggled. “Okay, okay—I’ll admit that was taking it a bit too far.”

He held out a paper towel for me to wipe my face with, signifying his truce, but the excitement of the frolicking still ran through me, and so I quickly grabbed the can of black paint from the floor and jerked it forward to splash the rest of it onto his entire body. Streaks of the liquid flung into his hair, his face, and the majority stuck to his shirt and arms.

He squeezed his eyes shut to avoid contact and gasped, yelping, “Oh!”

I sniggered with the happiness of my accomplishment. “Now that was a bit too far.”

“You’re gonna pay for that!” he exclaimed; and within the next second, he knocked me to the ground, straddling my hips, and shook his hair to fling it all over me.

We both laughed uncontrollably at the banter, and I covered my eyes with my arms to keep the paint away.

“Oliver!” I cried, gasping for breath from the giggling. “Stop!”

With his one hand, he held my wrists together, and with the other, his fingers ran over every part of my face, discoloring my skin with a mixture of the tan and black paints. “I’m gonna make you regret that,” he threatened, his voice low and gruff—and admittedly, severely sexy and attractive.

“Oliver!” I squealed again, writhing under his weight. “Stop!” The fact that I was laughing as I tried screaming must’ve sent mixed signals because he continued on with emptying what was left of the tan paint onto my face and then proceeded to finish off with smearing it all over my neck.

“There,” he declared, smiling and patting my throat. “You’re all done.”

I took a deep breath, finally able to inhale properly once more. “Oliver, you’re a psycho!” I felt the drying paint crack on my cheeks from the movement of my jaw.

He grinned and jumped up. “Alright, alright—playtime’s over.” He scratched the back of his neck, eying me as I sat up, and laughed. “I, uh, finished the last of the paint on your face...so I guess we gotta find something else to do now—definitely not one of my more productive days.” He chuckled again.

I tried my best to glare at him, but the playful glimmer still present in his eyes made it difficult—and the fact that it was probably the most fun I’d ever had with him before didn’t help, either. “I need to wash this crap off before it dries,” I declared, standing up and smirking at him; “and you’re gonna help me because I need to make sure it all comes out.”

His face lit up. “Oh, a shower together? I never knew you were into that sort of thing.”

I playfully hit his chest and walked out of the bedroom. “I’m not even taking the shirt off, fool,” I called as I entered into the bathroom. “You’re gonna help me wash my hair and face, and we’ll clean up whatever mess we make afterwards—clothed.”

“Aw, that’s no fun,” he grumbled, approaching behind me. He turned the faucets of the shower on, and he seemed to make no effort of avoiding contact as he reached over me and allowed his hips to graze against my lower back.

“Maybe some other time,” I replied with as much frolic in my voice as possible.

He began rinsing his arms and hands under the warming water. “Tease,” he mumbled, still smirking at me.

I shook my head, knelt down beside him, and started to rinse my own arms. “If anything, you’re the tease in this relationship. I can’t ever get a straight answer from you. At least I tell you an answer either way—now whether you like it or not is a different story, but I’m definitely not a tease at all.” I didn’t want to ruin the fun we’d been having, but the looming disaster in my head made the time hard to bask in anyway. I needed to know what it was that he wanted from me, and the sooner I learned the true facts, the better off we’d all be. That was my way of transitioning the conversation over.

He pursed his lips, as if about to speak, but said nothing. He just reached over to my hair and gently ran his damp fingers through it, pulling out the elastic tie as he went along.

“It’s because I’m afraid of what might happen if you don’t like my answers,” he finally murmured; and a wave of seriousness washed over the atmosphere of the bathroom.

He gently pushed me forward so that he could run the water over my head, and I turned my neck to face away from him, letting him run his fingers through.

“Well if you never tell me, I’ll never know,” I responded quietly; “and I wanna know the real you.” I swallowed hard and studied the bleach white tiles of the shower. “I don’t wanna like a phantom, Oliver,” I added in a whisper.

He tapped my back to signal that he was done rinsing whatever paint he’d been the cause of, but he still remained silent.

I wrung my hair out, tossing the mess over my shoulder, and closed my eyes as he approached my face with a wet washcloth.

“All I’ve ever asked you to tell me is why you suddenly started coming onto me after all the time we’ve known each other,” I pressed. “I’m not asking for you to give me your life or something. All I wanna know is why you never showed interest before.”

I heard him sigh. “It only seemed sudden because of the way I went about things, Amanda,” he finally answered. “You know how it is in this town, though—nothing can ever be easy. I mean, you never even looked at me before this year, and that was all I wanted—just a fucking chance.” He paused, but my silence—the silence from confusion and being taken quite aback—told him to go on.

“Have you ever had that before?” he asked. “When you don’t even know someone, but you really, really want them to at least just say hello or something? I don’t know what made me think it was okay to play that kind of game, but it was the only way I could think of to get closer to you;” and the bits and pieces of the puzzle began to make sense immediately.

“I tried asking Laura Heely about you—what kinds of guys you were into, some of the things you liked, shit like that—but she didn’t really know much of anything,” he went on. “She was the first person that had any idea about me liking you, and when we went to Roy Radke’s Halloween party last year, she started talking about it with me, and I got really drunk, and that’s the only reason why I fucked her. I tried pretending she was you—” My body went cold at the notion. “—and I know that’s sick, but in my drunken fucking mind, I thought that was okay; and then I realized it wasn’t, so I told her to piss off.

“And then Delilah came along and started fucking with my head. Laura apparently told her how I was so into you, and it really all did go downhill from there. She’d tell me you said something; then she’d say you weren’t interested; and then she’d pretend to go and fix things to try and help me out. I don’t know exactly when I realized she was just jerking my chain, but by the time I figured it out, I was so pissed off that I just wanted to kill her. I’d never even liked a girl before. I didn’t know what it felt like; I didn’t know how to go about it—and there she fucking was, pretending to help me and have my best interest in mind.

“I don’t know what it was about you then, Amanda. I mean, of course, now I do, but I didn’t know anything about you back then. It was just this feeling in my gut. It made me go crazy thinking about you; and I figured that if I went out with D, she would eventually start bringing you around—’cause girls always seem to want their best friend’s approval for whatever reason.

“But none of that happened. She never brought you around; she never spoke about you; she barely ever even acknowledged that you existed; and once three months passed, I lost hope for any of it to happen, and I realized it wasn’t worth it. My plans backfired, and she started developing actual feelings—meanwhile I thought she was the safest girl in the planet to fuck with ’cause I was sure she would never have feelings for anyone but herself.

“And I realize how stupid all of it was of me, and I should’ve just asked you out and taken the rejection like a man—but I just wasn’t ready for any of that. I’ve never actually liked a girl before you, and I wasn’t ready to hear that I wasn’t good enough.” He swallowed hard. “After my dad left, I never wanted to hear that I wasn’t good enough again—he made it more than fucking clear that I wasn’t that time around.” His voice shook at this, and my entire body mirrored the action exactly.

“I only ever fucked her because I wanted to get close to her for you, Amanda,” he whispered. “I know you think I’ve got all these notches on my belt, but most of them were before I realized how much I liked you, before I even knew you existed. Liking you made me wanna be a better person—because you’re such a good person, and I wanted to measure up to that. With you, I felt like I had a chance, like I could be good enough.

“Then the summer came, and I never saw you anymore. I even resorted to fucking praying that I’d run into you, that Delilah would maybe take you to one of Roy’s parties, but it never happened; and then school started again, and we were scheduled together for chemistry, and I felt like everything changed—for the better. I finally got my chance to ask you out.

“And then I ran into you at the bookstore, and I got to see with my own eyes that nothing about you is a façade. It like...reignited this thing inside me—I don’t even know what it is—” He breathed out a nervous chuckle. “—or what it’s called. It just gave me this new feeling of determination.

“I wanted you more than ever when I saw your name card next to mine on the first day of school. I needed to at least try and get you. I needed to get your attention. I was going crazy—crazier than before ’cause you were just so close then.

“And I just never wanted to share any of this with you because I was so afraid of how you’d respond; but I couldn’t lie to you, either. I have my flaws, Amanda, but I’m not a liar; and so when you asked me to tell you the truth, I just wanted to put it off for as long as possible—because you’re worth the truth, but I was afraid that the truth would scare you off...that it just wouldn’t be worthy of you.”