Dancing on Broken Glass
This is for a writing challenge in a Telegram group I joined (link here if you're interested: https://t.me/joinchat/TXMB1RU1ETeKOakg)). At just over a thousand words, we would write a short story fitting a chosen theme. The new theme for this week is, "Choose a song and write a story using at least 5 lines from the story as narrative or dialogue."
For the song to fit this week's story's theme, I decided to choose "Dancing on Broken Glass" by Poets of the Fall. Do you think it's a good fit?
Finally, we have our Zack Leander and Bram Heathcliff crossover in the works! <3
“I'm going on lunch," I informed my coworkers. “He right back in an hour."
Everyone either shrugged it or ignored what I said as I walked away from the loading dock towards the break room. At Heathcliff's Remodeling Solutions, the contracting business I worked part-time for alongside my father and one or two of my several siblings, the building sometimes felt like a labyrinth. I stepped to and fro between large alleys of shelving, sometimes dodging forklifts on their way to a task. Plenty of people nodded in my direction, at the CEO's humble son.
Each and every member of the Heathcliff clan at one point would work at the family business, whether it be to get a higher allowance or to learn the value of a dollar. Me? I couldn't make the Paranormal Hunters Society a full-time venture yet, and as much as he loved me, Dad wanted me to earn my own income. The same one for my younger brother Jonathan and my younger sister Maria, both of whom were in high school. They were already eager for the future.
Meanwhile, my past had slowly been catching up to me. During the previous night, I had woken up to find multiple unanswered voicemails from an old Utah area cell number I didn't expect to see on my phone screen: Zack Leander.
“Braaaaaaaaaaaaaaaammm!" began the first voicemail, the caller on the other end clearly drunk. “W-Wuthering H-Heights! It's beeeeen a while! Been a loooooong fucking while! Too long! Too long!" I heard him burp and giggle. “Excuse me…"
God, how long had it been? When I walked down the memory lane, especially when it involved Zack, I never remembered him being that drunk. Or happy while drunk. If anything, I remembered being much more plastered than him. In particular, after my own impulses and poor decisions led to me breaking his heart.
“I want ya to know, I still love you!" he moaned in the second or third voicemail left in the morning. “E-Even though we…Even though we've been dancing on broken glass, all…ALL these motherfucking years! I still love you, Bram! Bram, I love you!"
A part of me wanted to believe him. Hearing it the first time that morning certainly made my jackrabbit tail start to uncontrollably wiggle. If only the lightweight calico wasn't drunk when he said it though. God, even after all of these years…why did he still have feelings for me? Why did I feel the same way? Didn't our relationship crash and burn enough for it to be beyond repair?
“And all of that hurt…and all of those words that we said," Zack hiccuped, “I get it. Are you maybe…maaaaaaaaaybe I reacted too strongly. B-But you humiliated me, B-Bram? Bram, Bram, Bram…Bram. Why didn't you wear a condom? Or tell me ya wanted to be open? Wait! Is Burger Knight open yet! I wanna get fries! Can you get me fries, Bram? Lost my appetite earlier during a case…"
The warehouse break room would normally be full of gazes and whispers, or often quiet conversations. Thankfully, it was Sunday and left deserted. So, I ignored my lunch and instead pulled out my smartphone. Then, for the second time that day, I called the number. I mostly expected another voice message to answer back when suddenly, something clicked on the other end.
“Hello, Bram."
“Good morning, Zack." I cleared my drying throat. “Good morning…How are you…y'know, doing? Are you feeling okay?"
“Honestly, not doing fine just yet," he answered after a moment. “I think I'm gonna lay off the screwdrivers for a while. Maybe the daiquiris too. And listen, uh, I'm sorry…I'm sorry about bothering you last night and sending all of those ridiculous messages."
“That's okay, I get it." I attempted to break the tension by asking, “Anybody ever told ya you're quite the drunken poet?"
He laughed out of the blue, and I started to as well. “Seriously, forget the private eye business. You should go be a lyricist over in Las Estrellas," I added.
The male calico stopped laughing to let out a groan. “God, I'm still sorry…"
“Don't be," I informed the feline, starting to relax my shoulders and lean back against my chair. “Take it from me; calling an ex-boyfriend to tell him how much you miss him and love him is textbook drunk. Everyone who's gotten blackout has done it. You don't need to be embarrassed."
“Why, because it's not the worst thing you've seen?"
“Ever gotten so drunk that you woke up with your boxers on your head like a crown, no memory of the past five hours, and at least one trending video of you puking all over an antique rug at a house party?" I asked. “Trust me, Zack. There's nothing you can do to shock me."
“Glad to know I'm that vanilla compared to you," he replied with that same dry tone I admired back in college. “So."
“So?" I asked.
“It's been over ten years since we really talked this much, hasn't it?"
“Has it?" I gasped. “Wow…time sure flies by, doesn't it?"
“Yeah, it sure does." Zack cleared his throat, and I heard him presumably set up from his bed based on the background noise of squeaking mattress springs. “How's the paranormal investigation group doing? I heard that you visited Goodbye last Halloween, and you did an interview for another case that made headlines."
“The one with reincarnation, yeah," I confirmed, feeling my tall ears begin to heat up. It couldn't be. Was my ex regularly listening to the P.H.S. podcast in his downtime? “I'm proud of that one. The trip to Goodbye, New Mexico, I mean. The interview about Fangcrest also got us a ton of more fans too."
“I'm glad your business is doing well," he said.
“Thank you," I replied, and grinned. “How about you, Detective Leander? What's it like being a hard-boiled private eye in the seedy criminal underbelly of Crossroads?"
Zack laughed. “It's been paying the bills."
“You finding Maltese Falcons on a nightly basis?" I asked. “Battling the mafia? Finding lost paintings? Proving to poor women that their husbands are having scandalous double lives?"
“That happens a lot more than you would think," Zack laughed once again. “It's ridiculous how much I have to deal with cheaters."
I hitched back a deep breath. He did too. Everything went uncomfortably silent. It felt as if the oxygen had been sucked from our lungs, and we both didn't utter another word. I dared not to feel the urge to automatically apologize. I doubted he wanted to hear me say sorry again, when I said it plenty of times in the minutes leading up to our breakup all those years ago.
“Anyway," Zack steered the conversation away. “I have to get going. My uh, my roommate wants me to help him downstairs with the morning rush. For his business. Can we…Can we talk again later, Wuthering Heights?"
I smiled softly at hearing that nickname again. It echoed in my eardrums like a soothing melody.
“Sure thing, Zack." I held back a yearning sigh. “I'd love to catch up with you. And don't worry about cutting this short. You go do what you gotta do, okay?"
“Okay," he answered. “See ya later, Bram."
“You too, Zack."
He was the first to hang up, even though I didn't want him to. I wanted to talk to him further. I wanted to apologize and ask what he'd been up to since I dropped out of our college.
Silently, I told myself to calm down. He wanted to talk again. That would have to be enough. I didn't need to fall back down that dark pit I fell into after my nervous breakdown. Instead of thinking on it further, I pocketed the phone and stood up to microwave my meal.
One of my coworkers, an older vixen named Marla, came in for her lunch. “So," she asked while sitting down and opening her bag, “how did it go with him, Bram?"
“It went fine," I replied. “Better than I expected. It went fine."
At the very least, we were talking again. Whether that was good or not, time would tell.