Glass [ENG]

22. The Others

Her heart was beating loud like a church bell.

She looked around the shops, keeping her eyes away from her companion. On shoe stores, dress stores, stands and even on suits for men. She kept Georgia's pace, although sometimes it occurred to her that maybe it was Georgia who had to speed up to match the pace with h e r.

In order not to reveal anything, she tried to keep the conversation going, even when it turned into a monologue.

"I have to find a dress for the festival."

"I thought you were going in a two-piece." Georgia's voice was low and lacking any sort of interest. Her eyes wandered into space in front of them. She watched the shoppers pass by as if they were interesting enough.

She was right, but she couldn't have tripped. Not that day.

She shrugged, masking the tension.

"I forgot you had one a year ago. I don't want people to think I'm a copycat." She took a chance and checked from the corner of her eye how did Georgia receive this version of events.

She didn't seem to receive it at all.

She was looking instead at the homemade bandages on her hands. Because they didn't look like the ones a doctor would normally put on. They weren't thick or wrapped all over the place, but they definitely caught the eye.

Especially when the hand wrapped in them was slapping someone's coffee, spilling it all over the school hallway.

She was about to start another, daily topic, when on the left side of Georgia, a child walking in the opposite direction threw a bottle of water high above him. Unfortunately for them, the bottle was unscrewed, and the water spilled all over the place.

Including Georgia.

It was not a complete drenching, but a large number of stains was enough to make the girl stand still, suddenly frozen. Georgia tensed in a second. Eyes closed, breathing deep, and hands motionlessly spread to the sides.

That sight made her stomach shrink.

It was terrible.

The mother of the child wanted to apologize and almost put her hand on Georgia's shoulder, but she rejected her and at the speed of light moved towards the exit. As usual, it was followed by a paralyzing chill.

She knew she should have done something.

But she didn't do anything.

She didn't say a word...


Seeing the screenshot sent to her by Estera, she felt dark clouds gathering over her head. Over
the heads of everyone involved. All over the globe.

She put the twisted strand behind her ear, grabbing the phone in both hands. Green painted nails hung over the screen. She sat on the bed again, forgetting about her pajamas. She was supposed to go to the bathroom and wash off another fake day, but the news changed everything.

And the certainty was given to her by another, with the address of a well-known club in their city. The biggest and most frequently seen by her until a few months ago. She remembered, oddly enough, most of the parties and who she was with on most of them.

That's why, despite all the fears and voices in her head, she grabbed the phone.

She wanted to do something.

That one time.

I haven't had this much makeup on my face in a long time.

When I saw the address message minutes ago, I knew I couldn't go in there in my usual clothes. I didn't recognize my attitude. Well, the whole prep thing was annoying, and I didn't want to dress up.

I just wanted to get it over with. Pack up my problems and fix what else I could.

I finished the black line on the eyelid, and, annoyingly, I knew the techniques that made it perfect. I've wasted too much time on this in my life. I took my eyes off the reflection, and then I got up and went to the closet. Dark, like most of the furniture in the room, which I happened to occupy in the past.

Despite my long absence, some of the clothes that were not in the apartment landed and were still in this place. I opened the heavy door to see shiny, provocative clothes. Intact. I felt a tightness in my chest.

As the closet opened, something hit my feet. A piece of brand shopping bag.

Suddenly, the sound of my phone dramatically cut the room's silence. I pulled it out of my pants, and I saw an unsaved number on the screen. But it was no stranger to me.

I remembered the first digits. The same ones I recently deleted from my contact history, wishing they'd never appear on the screen again.

I looked up from my cell phone and took another look at the bag.


Getting home, the only relief was the absence of parents. They were still at work, so I boldly went to the room to change clothes any dry. I was so angry that when I was at the bed, I threw new clothes in a bag across the room.

When the bag hit the wall, I took a deep breath full of irritation. I grabbed my head, tilting my body forward. The world began to spin. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out. Control. Breathe in, breathe out.

I straightened up after good few minutes, and when my eyes fell on the bag, all the pieces of the puzzle formed a whole. They jumped into their place unexpectedly and violently.

Clothes.

She was wearing the same clothes in the evening and in the morning the next day.

Rita never wore the same clothes twice. Unless she didn't have time to change by morning.

Just like after every party.

The party.

And I already knew. I knew it. And all the pictures around have ceased to have any value.

If I was angry before, then I felt a real fury.


I held down the lock button and waited for the phone to stop glowing. When it was completely turned off, and there was nothing on the screen but darkness, I threw it on the bed behind me. Then I turned firmly to the closet and chose the one thing that didn't discourage me right away with its appearance.

I chose, feeling a fluid determination in my veins.

I was in my own city.

I stopped running.