Glass Heart
A woman meets her soulmate but is reciprocated
I always avoided love. What did it ever do for anyone but shatter their glass hearts into microscopic pieces? The worst part about love is when it takes your soul away. You become a mere projection of what you used to be.
My dear friend Charlotte found her true love, or at least she believed, not long after starting law school. It was a beautiful love story: they went on vacations together across the world, and he even proposed in the Amazon Rainforest while macaws flew above them. It was too perfect; he was too perfect.
I investigated her dear Paul, as any good friend would do. He was a prestigious doctor who everyone loved in his local town. They called him Doctor Charming — real original. Sure, he was gorgeous with his locks of curly brown hair and his deep sea-green eyes, but he wasn’t anything special. Oh, he spent his spare hours volunteering at the local humane society or any charity that stepped into town. He was too good, but not good enough.
During my research, I did reveal some of his tomfooleries in high school, but nothing worse than some ding-dong ditching or prank calls with his friends. But I knew Charlotte shouldn’t trust the man, and I had to prove it before my friend’s heart shattered.
On Charlotte’s birthday, we went out to dinner, but poor Charlotte had a case of food poisoning and had to stay home. I had the opportunity to understand how Paul’s brain worked and expose him to Charlotte.
I met him at the Lakeview Grill, a steak restaurant about five miles out of town, wearing a scarlet dress and high heels. I never failed to make an impression, even for those who didn’t deserve it. Before entering the restaurant, I casually put on some crimson lipstick and checked for any flaws in the mirror. Nothing, even a strand of hair, was out of place.
Paul sat at a table with a view of the boats sailing across the lake. He wore an elegant emerald suit and tie, along with a pair of polished black shoes. When he noticed me, he frowned a bit.
“Victoria,” said Paul, wiping his sweating head. “I… where’s Charlotte?”
I twiddled with a strand of hair. “Charlotte? Oh, she couldn’t make it. A bit of food poisoning, you know. Poor thing, she looks so awful tonight, unlike her usual self. Didn’t she tell you?”
I supposed Charlotte couldn’t text; the last time I saw her, her head was in the toilet making revolting sounds. Paul grimaced. He started to shove his chair in.
“I better check on her.”
I grabbed his shoulder, my scarlet nail pinching into his neck. “Charlotte didn’t want you to waste your reservation, Paul. She insisted I come.”
I wasn’t exactly lying to Paul. She did seem a bit upset about having to cancel the reservation. I was the one who volunteer on her behalf to come — I just didn’t inform her.
Paul’s shoulders relax a bit, his green eyes meeting with my sparkling blue eyes. He motioned for me to sit down in front of him, and that’s when it all began for me. I felt my heart thump as I questioned him about his career and his hobbies. He enjoyed golf. Dull, but I loved it when he told me about his interest in watching Broadway anytime he ventured to New York or how he went to the Opera and enjoyed it. A man with similar interests.
As he spoke about a recent trip to a puppy mill, to rescue some poor unfortunate dogs, I felt a flutter in my chest. I couldn’t stop watching his pink lips as he spoke. I was mesmerized by his melodic voice, like a siren he lured me in. I don’t know how, but I had fallen in love with Paul.
When I arrived home that night, I headed straight to my room, ignoring Charlotte’s awful sounds coming from the bathroom. I pulled aside a scarlet chest from beneath my desk, where I hid printed-out pages of Paul’s social media posts, pictures, and other useful information about him. I dropped a few pieces of hair I gathered from his chair.
Without much thought, I took out a piece of paper and wrote my soul in a precious letter to Paul. He needed to know how I felt about him. Did he feel the same about me? Of course, we spent the night talking about our similar interests.
Dear Paul,
Your heart is unlike any I’ve ever met before: you help the unfortunate and care for every soul. I want to spend every evening with you on a boat watching the stars sparkle. I want to feel the cool breeze as we sail away across the Atlantic Ocean. I want to cuddle you while we climb Mount Everest. Everything is possible with you. Can’t you see how my heart yearns for you? Aphrodite has set our two paths together for us to intertwine. You are my love. Give me your heart as you already have taken mine.
I wanted to crumble the letter as nausea passed through. What was I thinking? Paul was dating my sweet friend. I couldn’t sabotage their relationship, not when they were engaged. But was it sabotage if he felt the same as I did? He loved me, didn’t he?
I put the pen down and walked away from my room. It was difficult to concrete on anything while Charlotte threw up in the next room over. I needed fresh air to clear my thoughts about Paul.
My keys jingled as I stepped down the uneven steps, stumbling on the way down. I headed straight to my red sports car, wondering if I should drive to Paul’s house. But I knew nothing would stop me from finding out the truth.
Oh, but fate was cruel. The night was gone before I had a chance to blink. I can’t recall much from the night, but I do recall a visit to a local bar for a few drinks. When I woke up in my bedroom, I was clutching the letter with tear marks on the page, along with a throbbing headache and red ink stained on my hands and nails.
I was a complete mess with tangled strands of hair, massacre smeared under my eyes, and horrible breath. I had to clean myself up quick; I remembered Charlotte went out of town to shop for wedding dresses, and she needed my advice.
I had to ask Tony, Paul’s friend, for a lift to the boutique since my head would not stop pounding, and I couldn’t find my car. I supposed I took an Uber to get home since I’m always responsible.
In the back of Tony’s car, I thought I heard a thump, almost as if someone was trying to call for help. Thump, thump. Sweat dripped from the back of my neck, Tony had the heat on too high. No, I looked over; the heat was off. Thump, thump. I laughed. I was nervous about my own heartbeat.
“Are you feeling alright?”
Tony peered at me through his mirror; we were at a stoplight behind multiple cars. I supposed I looked a little pale from the long night. I smiled a bit; I didn’t want Tony to think I was peculiar.
“Of course, a little hangover never killed anyone now, did it?”
Our conversation ended with that. Tony never spoke much to me or anyone, so I was able to enjoy the car ride somewhat until I noticed the crimson stain on the seat. I shrieked, hitting my head on the back of the window.
Tony stopped abruptly; I slammed my head into the back of his headrest.
“What’s wrong?”
I didn’t respond. When I again looked at the stain, I recognized the splotch of brown — I freaked out over a mere mud stain, which would’ve been reasonable if it was my car.
“Nothing. Everything is fine.”
But I clutched my chest, afraid my heart might fail.
Inside the wedding dress shop, my shoulder muscles loosen, and my heart slowed down. Racks of dresses, most white, cluttered the store as future brides and their bridesmaids searched for the perfect dress. I didn’t hover to look for one myself. I headed straight to the back, where Charlotte’s friends hovered around her like a vulture waiting for her prey to die.
They were awing a dress Charlotte had tried on, but I didn’t understand how any of them could like it. The dress didn’t flatter Charlotte’s petite body — it swallowed her alive. I scrunched my nose up. She needed a more flattering dress; especially one without those little tacky gems.
A couple of Charlotte’s friends went silent as I headed straight over. The others kept complimenting her as if they didn’t realize how awful the dress was. Charlotte’s blue eyes twinkled when she noticed me, and the rest of her friends went silent.
“Victoria,” said Charlotte. “I… You’re here! I–I–”
I waved a hand. “I know usually I’m busy. But I couldn’t dare not show up. Now let’s find you another dress.”
I put a hand firmly on Charlotte’s shoulder and tried to drag her away, but one of her friends, Heather, stood up, almost knocking me down.
“What are you doing?” Heather asked. “She loves that dress!”
“It isn’t flattering. I know what Charlotte needs, Heather.”
I never understood why Charlotte befriended Heather. Heather was possibly the most unpleasant woman to talk to. She always excluded me from any conversation, especially ones I had useful input.
Charlotte cleared her throat. “You know what would be helpful, Victoria? I — I need someone to look at… um… flowers. It’s such an overwhelming task.”
Fluorescent lights were drowning me, and my headache grew stronger as I tried to block the lights. I knew my expert opinion about the dress was useful, but I needed an excuse to leave, anyway. It didn’t help Charlotte’s voice hit harder than a hammer. Honestly, the most annoying voice I ever heard.
As I walked out, I felt a drip from the ceiling. I glanced up — a mistake as the lights poured in my eyes — it was a piece of paper with crimson ink raining down, staining my hands. I didn’t hesitate to run out into the fresh air. But I couldn’t stop thinking about the paper. It looked identical to the letter I wrote for Paul.
Before dear Charlotte arrived home, everything had already fallen apart for her. She came home with bloodshot eyes and tears streaming down her face. I sat on the edge of the couch, scrolling mindlessly on social media. I never had a chance to show up at the flower shop since I had other important matters to take care of. She slumped down next to me, sobbing harder. Great, she was going to get me wet.
“H-h-he texted me,” said Charlotte. “He ended the engagement not much longer after I bought that horrible dress!”
My hand shook a bit, as thoughts swarmed back to the previous night: the love letter. Had I given him the dreadful letter expressing my love? But no, I was clenching it this morning. It was evidence against me, wasn’t it? I stood up, not saying a word to Charlotte, and headed straight to my room. The letter remained on the pillow as I had last seen it. Knowing what would happen if Charlotte found out, I stuffed the letter into the chest. My breath relaxed at once. Charlotte would never need to know, but inside the chest, I noticed a little crimson box I had never seen before. I touched it softly and felt a steady beat inside, similar to a heartbeat.
Thump, thump.
I slid my hand away from the box. My imagination was playing silly games. There was no heartbeat or anything to worry about. It was a simple box I had forgotten about. Yes, it was just a box. I withdrew from the room, trying to forget about what I heard.
The box and chest continued to flood my mind as the days went by. I checked every day to ensure no one saw the crimson letter or opened the box. It remained untouched. No one knew anything about my scarlet secret. But I wasn’t the only one not doing well.
Over the past weeks, Charlotte remained in her room after coming home from work, avoiding me at all costs. She spent more hours at work than her schedule required. Sometimes, I was asleep long before Charlotte arrived home. Poor dear, Paul shattered her heart and left before anyone picked up the pieces. I didn’t bother coming to her room. Who would want to witness whatever mess she left inside?
About two months after Charlotte’s breakup, I found her in the living room, mindlessly watching TV with the sound on mute. When she heard me, she flicked the TV off and turned toward me, her mouth trembling a bit.
“Have you heard from Paul recently?”
Thump, thump. I heard the steady beats above me, but I shook my head. I hadn’t seen or heard from Paul since Charlotte’s birthday. The letter swarmed in my mind. Had she found out about my undying love for Paul? I thought of running back to the room to search for the letter.
“Why?” I asked.
I tried to my voice even, but it sounded a bit squeaky.
“Tony hasn’t heard from him,” said Charlotte. “The last Tony heard, Paul sent a message saying he needed to take a road trip, but Paul hasn’t texted anything else.”
Good for Paul to ditch such a spineless friend. I tried to smile, but the thumping grew louder, to the point I couldn’t hear my own thoughts.
“I’m sure it’s all fine,” I said. “I better get going. I have a blind date that Heather set up for me. I suspect she wanted to make a truce with me. Not that I ever did anything wrong.”
I grabbed my scarlet purse with the leather straps. I hadn’t used it since Charlotte’s birthday, but today seemed like the perfect occasion since I was back to my old self. When I touched it, I noticed crimson ink stained on the leather strap. My head spun worse than the time I rode a teacup ride. I couldn’t believe the misfortune. I dropped the purse on the floor.
Thump, thump.
The beat came from within the purse — I kicked it aside. I could use something else, anything else. Instead, I took out a worn-out grey purse from the closet, and no thumping came within.
The car drive to my date’s house was oddly pleasant. Clouds blocked the blinding sun, making my Prada sunglasses worthless, but I pleasantly embraced the cooler weather instead of another day of melting like an ice cream bar.
When I arrived at my date’s house, I felt a bit lightheaded. I recognized the white house with a green garden gnome sitting on the porch. Heather set me up with Tony. I should’ve known the wretched woman would ruin my first date in months, instead of trying to bring peace between us. I thought of driving away, but my hand landed on something wet and sticky. I glanced at my hand; a red substance covered it.
I swallowed a scream. Keeping calm, I wiped it off with a paper towel. No one needed to know about it. There was no reason for anyone to find out, right? But I had no desire to stay in the car with the substance, so I headed straight to Tony’s house. At the very least, he might offer a glass of water, and I could be on my way once my nerves calmed down.
When I made it to the door, I rammed my fist as hard as I could. Tony opened the door within seconds of my ramming. He didn’t smile when he saw me, instead, he frowned. I supposed Heather didn’t tell him either.
There was no need to greet him. I headed straight to his kitchen without another glance. I felt as if I stepped onto a stage with far too many lights. As I walked past the light switches, I turned them off until I felt like I was inside a pitch-black tunnel. Anything to keep my mind clear.
The kitchen was a tight space without enough cabinets for his overflowing groceries. When I turned on the sink for a simple glass of water, red liquid poured from the sink like a fresh open wound. The glass dropped from my hand and shattered in the sink.
I backed into the fridge. When I turned, I noticed a letter written in crimson ink — Dear Paul — the ink dripped from the letter staining the green tiles. In the center of the letter, a shattered heart pulsed. Thump, thump.
The room spun. I slipped on the liquid and fell into the puddle of blood, drenching my clothes. Thump, thump. The floor shook with a steady but fading beat.
Tony entered the kitchen shouting, but I heard nothing except for the steady beat. Every paper I saw had the same sprawled handwriting on it with the same ink flowing down it like a waterfall. At any moment, the room would be filled, and I would drown.
I don’t recall leaving Tony’s house or driving back to my tiny apartment. All I could think about was the crimson letter in the chest. I needed to find it. I had to set my mind free from the torturous prison before anyone found out about my love for Paul.
No one was inside the dimly lit apartment — I supposed Charlotte was out with Heather drowning her sorrows — I walked by my desk with stacked up unpaid bills and my final paychecks from my old job.
Thump, thump.
The chest quavered — trying to spill out its scarlet secrets — dried blood stained the hinges. When it opened, I found the smudged letter on top. Without hesitation, I ripped the old love letter until it turned into pieces of confetti. I thought I would feel the weight off of my chest but I still felt suffocated. I could still hear the steady beat inside the little scarlet box.
I grabbed a knife with dried blood from the chest and held it above the box. I opened it, revealing what I had rightfully taken. Months ago, Paul shattered my glass heart, so I stole his.
