Distortion

The cold light stung the eyes, especially when night fell outside in the early summer. Pushing a glass coffee table close to the firm sofa, Lauren and James leaned over the papers. Barnes tilted his head, looking at the girl, but she was making notes on a sheet of paper with her neat handwriting. He couldn’t understand how she still looked the same after twelve hours as she had in the morning. He wasn’t thinking about the slightly smudged lipstick at the corners of her lips, not about her low bun, slightly mussed from the collar of her shirt, but about her face, which showed no trace of fatigue, about her straight back even in such an uncomfortable position, about the hand that firmly held the pen, forming each letter. Where was the real Lauren hiding? In what details should he look for her? “I think that’s enough for today,” James straightened up, feeling his lower back ache. Lauren raised an eyebrow, but he couldn’t see her face. “One more hour,” she replied calmly, tapping the stack of papers on the table. “We agreed on 'one more hour' three hours ago,” the man stood up, showing this was his final decision. “Enough.” “As you wish, Mr. Barnes,” gathering the papers into a single stack, the girl stood up. Without leaning on anything, she carried the documents to James’s desk and took her jacket from the back of the chair. “Until Monday.” “Wait,” Barnes grabbed his phone from the table and approached the girl, afraid she’d disappear through his office door. “I know a bar nearby.” Lauren froze, her mouth slightly open as if ready to object. “My treat,” he countered the silent reproach. “Please, not for long,” Lauren, draping her jacket over her elbow, nodded. “One hour,” James smirked, and the girl realized she’d have to answer for her actions. Outside, the air was fresh from the recent rain, and droplets covering everything reflected the streetlights, turning into tiny fireflies. Lauren, stepping along the wet asphalt, thought only of how she dreamed of taking off her heels—that product of corporate culture. Instead, she had to avoid puddles so her shoes, unsuitable for such weather, wouldn’t fall apart. “Do you prefer not to talk outside of work?” James, walking beside her, searched among the signs for the one they needed, glowing with a soft yellow. “You’re perceptive,” her voice was playful, but Barnes immediately detected sarcasm—Lauren’s face showed no emotion. “Didn’t think you’d be so easy to rattle,” he opened the door, letting the girl go first. “You are my work,” she tiredly dropped her shoulders, throwing her things onto a chair at the first free table. “And it’s quite a substantial job.” Letting her words go in one ear and out the other, Barnes ordered drinks for them, then sat opposite Lauren at the round table. “And what will they write, having photographed us here through the window?” James nodded toward the window next to which they were sitting. “Many things,” Lauren lightly tapped her fingers against her forehead. “I really am tired.” “Just breathe out for once,” he smirked as a glass was placed before them. “Work is over.” “This isn’t the kind of work that stops at five PM,” Lauren looked at her glass, then carefully took a sip. “What is this?” “Gin and tonic. Thought…” James faltered, catching himself. “Thought you’d like it.” “I like Margaritas,” the girl shrugged. “Something more sour.” “The next one will be that,” he nodded to his own thoughts. “Tell me about yourself. You know almost everything about me, and I know nothing.” “My family are among the last of the true aristocrats who managed to solidify their position with 'old money' and new businesses,” Lauren exhaled silently. “So I had to grow up at social gatherings, conversations about the weather, and constant reminders that I, too, was destined to participate in their affairs. After school, I went to university, then a few years of practical experience, strengthening connections, and here I am. Valentina hired me on a recommendation.” “Weren’t you in the army or anything like that?” Barnes took a sip from his glass. “Your file mentioned it.” “No,” she shook her head. “It’s just that not all businesses comply with the law, and one of those was supposed to come to me. My father dragged me to every sports club, and as I got older, he just hired me a trainer to cut down on driver expenses.” “Didn’t think you could cover for something like that,” James understood this was a 'different' Lauren, and he was uselessly searching for what might remain of the 'previous' Lauren. Valentina had done her job well, showcasing all her (or perhaps not hers) creative abilities. “Many mistake kindness and politeness for weakness,” Lauren smirked, downing her glass in one go. “I’ve satisfied your curiosity.” “More than satisfied,” he replied, but both heard the lie in his words. “I don’t know,” the girl said quietly on an exhale, turning to her reflection in the window. “Sometimes I think I don’t feel emotions at all. People must see that.” “You don’t have to be the best at everything,” Barnes caught that thin thread of melancholy stretching from Lauren. Her figure, soft, huddled in the corner in a crumpled white shirt, shouldn’t have been covered by the coldness of burnt-out emotions. He remembered himself, lost, without memories, only with the aftertaste of someone else’s blood in his thoughts. “But I have to,” she blinked slowly, coming back to herself. “I can’t do it any other way now.” “I’ll order you a Margarita,” James wanted to get up, but Lauren stopped him. “Tonight isn’t the best evening for a long stay,” she straightened her shoulders. “The paperwork really drained me. Maybe we can continue this psychotherapy session another time?” “I’m sure next time it will be some reception again,” Barnes sighed, standing up and handing the girl her things. They stepped outside, and the cool wind quickly chased the alcohol from their blood, bringing relief. “I did plan a visit to a public place, if that’s what you mean,” Lauren smiled with the corners of her lips, holding her jacket close. “Being closer to people is useful.” “Especially under camera flashes,” James touched the girl’s shoulder, seeing her to the taxi that had pulled up. Lauren turned, bestowing him with a calm, slightly sad look, reaching for the door handle. “See you, Barnes,” her voice, not metallic at all, warm like the setting sun, put a period at the end of their evening.