Broken (EBOOK)

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Stella Johnson pressed the lobby button and rubbed at her back as the doors slid shut and the elevator carried her smoothly and efficiently down thirty-seven floors. The doors opened with a soft ding, and she walked briskly toward the atrium to the left of the front doors, holding her lunch bag in her hand.

Her stomach growled softly, and she patted her round tummy before smoothing her dress. It was one of her favourites. A chocolate brown maxi dress that clung to her full breasts but flared out around her stomach and wide hips. It fell to the middle of her calves as most of her dresses did. She liked to hide the depressing way her thighs touched, and she preferred to dress conservatively anyway.

Her shoes click-clacked on the tile floor of the lobby. Bright red and with a heel too high for the office, she loved them with the same passion she imagined a mother might feel for her child. Ridiculous, of course, but her love for shoes came by her naturally. Her mother had close to two hundred pairs of shoes, and Stella was certain not a single one of them had a heel less than two inches high.
“Stelll-lllaaa!”

She grinned at the short, blond man sitting behind the security desk. “Hello, Jimmy. How are you?”

“Can’t complain. Well, I could, but no one would listen.” He stood and stretched. “You’re running late today.”

“Amy had an appointment,” she said.

“Enjoy your lunch.”

“I will.” She hid her small grin as his face suddenly lit up, and he hurried around the desk. She didn’t need to look behind her to know that Jasmine, the owner of the small flower shop in the lobby, was walking behind her. The woman was a gorgeous piece of art. Slim and tanned with bright pink hair that should have looked ridiculous on someone her age but didn’t.

A month ago, Stella had coaxed Jasmine into sitting for her. She’d snapped photo after photo of the pink-haired beauty and was delighted with the results. Jasmine was a natural with the camera, and Stella hoped she could convince her to sit for her again.

The entire security team in the building constantly vied for Jasmine’s attention. As Jimmy said hello to Jasmine in a tone entirely different from the one he used with her, Stella smoothed back her own hair.

She knew it was her best feature. Dark red, it was a thick, curly mass that flowed down her back to her waist. Men and women alike complimented her on it daily. Although truthfully, she didn’t always understand the appeal. She longed for smooth, straight, dark hair. She’d almost cut it short last year, but her boyfriend at the time was horrified by the idea.

“Your hair is beautiful, Stella,” he’d said earnestly as they lay in bed. “If you cut it off, the only thing people will notice about you is the extra weight you carry around. Do you want people to comment on the size of your ass instead of your hair?”

He hadn’t understood her indignation. He honestly thought he was complimenting her. The relationship limped along for a few more weeks until she finally ended it. Although she was self-confident and mostly happy with her looks, her weight had always been a sore spot.
She’d made an appointment at the hair salon to cut her hair but chickened out. She told herself it was because her hair had never been shorter than mid-back, and it would be too strange to see it otherwise. But her ex-boyfriend’s words were always in the back of her mind.

She headed into the atrium, her gait slowing when she saw how full it was. She regularly took a late lunch, covering Amy’s lunch break at reception before taking her own. She didn’t mind. She liked the quietness of the atrium with the lunch crowd long gone.

Although it was never completely empty, there were always a few people milling about and Ford, one of the security guards, took his lunch at the same time. She suspected he also enjoyed the solitude, so she never spoke to him. Not that he even acknowledged her existence. He ate his lunch and then sat with a pencil and sketchpad in his hand. She was often tempted to sneak up behind him for a quick glance, but she didn’t have the nerve despite her curiosity. He might wield a pencil instead of a camera, but he was an artist like her, and she would have liked to talk to him about his work.

Today, all the small tables were full, and the loud chatter of people echoed in the atrium. She thought briefly of taking her lunch outside to the small park across the street, but the storm that was threatening when she arrived at work now lashed rain against the windows of the atrium.

Her gaze landed on Ford. He sat at his usual table, hunched over his sketchpad, ignoring the curious glances of the people sitting at the closest table. She had a feeling that he learned at an early age to ignore the looks and the whispers.

There was an empty chair at his table. Stella wasn’t surprised. She doubted anyone would have the courage to approach him and ask to sit at his table. If the sheer size of his body and the obvious hard line of his muscles didn’t deter them, his unconventional looks definitely did.

Gathering her courage, she weaved between the small tables scattered across the atrium until she stood before him. Engrossed in his sketch, he didn’t look up. She cleared her throat and tugged nervously at her hair. “Hello, Ford.”

She strained to see what he was drawing. It looked like a portrait, a woman with large eyes and high cheekbones and –

He put his arm over the drawing, blocking it neatly with his large forearm. He gave her a quick, fleeting glance. “Hello, Stella.”

“Would you mind if I shared your table? The atrium is busy today.”

He made a small backward twitch as if he were simply going to stand up and walk away before nodding. “Go ahead.”

She sat down as he slid his sketchpad into the large fabric bag that served as his lunch bag. He pulled out an apple, a banana, an orange, a block of cheese as thick as her wrist, a plastic container filled to the brim with roast beef, two hard boiled eggs, and a large muffin.

She opened her lunch bag and brought out her lunch. A small garden salad with an even tinier container of raw almonds that she sprinkled over the salad. Ford opened his container, and the smell of roast beef drifted across the table to her. Her stomach growled, and he gave her another one of those quick glances as she blushed.
“Sorry, apparently I’m hungry today.”

She nibbled at her salad, forcing herself to chew slowly as Ford ate his lunch. They sat silently as she finished her salad and put away her container. Normally, she would pull out her book and spend the rest of her lunch hour reading, but it seemed rude when she was sharing a table, even if Ford hadn’t said a word to her.

She looked up as two women she’d never seen before stopped a few feet from their table. They stared at Ford with curiosity and undisguised pity, and she glared frostily at them until they moved on.

If Ford noticed their stares it didn’t seem to affect him. Stella stared at her neatly painted fingernails. She’d worked in the building for nearly six months, and this was the first time she’d really gotten a good look at his face. Well, as good as she could with him staring grimly at the table.

She wondered if he would be surprised to know how much she wanted to photograph him. She was fascinated by the shapes and contours of his face. While others called him ugly, she thought his face was unique – almost beautiful in its ugliness.

Her stomach growled again, and Ford finally raised his gaze to her. She studied his face - the harsh angles, the bulbous nose, the heavy brow, and the black stubble that grew on his cheeks.

“You don’t eat enough.”

“I’m sorry?” She blinked at him.

“Every day, you eat a salad that wouldn’t be enough to fill up a rabbit. You need more protein.”

“I put raw almonds in it,” she said.

He snorted. “A few almonds aren’t a sufficient amount of protein. Protein fuels the body and the muscles.”

She grinned at him. “I haven’t got any muscles.”

“Everyone has muscles.”

“All right, fine. My muscles aren’t as well-defined as yours, and probably don’t need half a roast beef to make them happy. How often do you work out, anyway?” She eyed how his shirt hugged his broad chest and pulled at his shoulders and arms.

“Every day,” he grunted.

“Shocking.” She glanced around the atrium. “It’s busy in here today.”

“The law office on the seventeenth floor is having some kind of conference.”

“Oh.” She cast about for something else to say. She was a talker, always had been, and Ford’s silence unnerved her a bit. “You like to draw, huh?”

He gave her a cautious look before nodding and biting into his apple.

“I’m a photographer. Well, amateur, but I love it. I mostly take portraits. I convinced Jasmine to sit for me a few weeks ago.”

He glanced over to where Jimmy and Jasmine were still conversing in the lobby.

“Someone’s got a crush.” Stella grinned.

He grunted and stuffed his empty lunch containers and trash into the fabric bag.

“So, have you been drawing since you were a kid?”

He pushed back his chair and stood. “Lunch break’s over. Bye.”

“Bye, Ford.”

He didn’t return her smile. She watched him walk away as people naturally moved out of the way of his large body. She took her book out of her lunch bag and wondered what it must be like to be that intimidating. To never have to throw a thought toward personal safety. She was tall and weighed more than she would have liked, but she was also as weak as a kitten. She was being honest when she told Ford she didn’t have muscles. He opened the door behind the security desk and disappeared into the office. With a soft sigh, she opened her book and blocked out the sounds of the chatting and laughter around her.