Breaking Point Ch. 01

"Ma'am?"

It was late on Friday night. The lights of the Crossroads skyline glittered against the windows of the 48th floor office of Matilda Langley. A myriad of beads of rainwater clung to the glass. The steady patter of the weather against the building provided a soothing white noise, blotting out the bustle rising up from street level. Outside, people hurried about with their umbrellas. Outside, people traveled under cover of umbrella to dinner dates and discotheques. Outside, people disengaged from their professional capacities and shifted into the more pleasure-centered nightlife of the Great City at the heart of all possible universes. Outside, people went about their lives.

"Ma'am."

Inside the office, however, there was no pleasure.

"Ma'am."

Inside the office, there was only work.

Matilda blinked, long eyelashes fluttering behind thick lenses. She set her phone down onto her desk, the screen still glowing, as she lifted her eyes and attention back towards her secretary. "I'm sorry," she said, lifting her glasses to rub her eyes. "I'm sorry. You were saying, Jocelyn?"

Sighing, Jocelyn set her notebook down in her lap and tucked the pen she'd held behind her ear. The young woman was a sharp contrast to herself, Matilda thought. It was closing in on eight in the evening, and every button on her blouse was perfectly arranged; the dark red scarf around her neck, matched perfectly to her lipstick, tied into a symmetrical knot at the base of her throat. Legs clad in pressed, spotless pants crossed at the knees, while her shoes had not a single scuff on their polished surfaces.

Matilda, however, looked anything but neat or composed. Her shirt was untucked on one side; her hair, compared to Jocelyn's neat bun, had strands falling out from her ponytail. Dark circles colored the underside of her eyelids.

"Ma'am," Jocelyn said, voice bereft of any patience, "were you paying attention to anything I was talking about?"

Matilda winced. Her mind had wandered off some time before. It wasn't that she was disinterested, or didn't care. Not entirely. She was proud of the Crossroads Ledger; the city's financial paper of record had been in her family for nearly a century, and she was the first woman in her lineage to take the helm. But she would much rather be its editor-in-chief, her hands deep in the stories of the vicious battlefield corporate dealings in the City.

Instead, though, she held the office of its CEO, far removed from the grit and adventure of reporting. Her world was numbers and contracts, deals meant to keep the long-toothed paper from closing its doors in the face of a more technological, digital city. Her mind was already numb from meetings with shareholders and advertisers from the first to the last minute of the workday. Having to listen to her secretary discuss the acquisition of two of Crossroads' regional trade newspapers was, at this late hour, flowing in through one ear, and out the other. It was easier, she decided, to page through social media and district her conscious thoughts than have to endure more discussion and analysis.

"I..."

Matilda's voice caught in her throat. She tried to find something else to look at; something in the windows, something else in her office, something other than Jocelyn's piercing gaze. "I'm sorry. I lost track. I apologize."

Jocelyn closed her eyes. Was she angry? Frustrated? Did she too, Matilda thought, want to call it a night at this point? Not likely, she realized. They would both need to attend brunch the following morning, a courtesy to the owners of the papers they were acquiring. They would be making a joint press announcement about the purchase around noon. They needed to go through the outline of the announcement and what actions were to follow immediately after.

"Ms. Langley," Jocelyn said, uncrossing her legs, planting her feet on the floor as she sat up. "You've been struggling to keep up this entire meeting."

Matilda leaned forward, setting her elbows against her desk, the weight of her head resting against the palm of her hand. "I know. I know. I'm sorry. My mind just feels like it's going numb from trying to manage this deal, and I feel like I'm at a breaking point. I know this is mine to shoulder, but..."

"But?"

"But... I don't even know."

Jocelyn nodded. "You've worked late for several nights, now. Have you not?"

She had. Boxes of Chinese and Thai food had been her dinners for... a week? Two weeks? She had lost track of the late nights, the drives home that started well past ten at night, if then. The mornings that came far too soon; the back-to-back cups of coffee that made her heart palpitate and her hands shake, but kept her awake through the day.

"What about your weekends, Ms. Langley?"

A half-hearted laugh spilled from Matilda's lips. What even were weekends? The news was an around-the-clock business, but her weekends looked entirely like her weekdays. Early mornings, endless meetings, late nights spent trying to defuse conflicts between the editorial and advertising staffs, each working seemingly in opposition to one another. Too many long hours putting out fires, with not nearly enough water within her to address them all.

"When did you last take a vacation, Ms. Langley?"

Had she ever taken a vacation? She couldn't remember.

"Ms. Langley," Jocelyn said, lingering on her words ever so slightly, "when was the last time you interacted with another person outside of this office? Outside of your position here?"

She didn't know. Matilda's lips trembled. When was it? Work was her world, swallowing everything. Home was a bed to sleep a few hours in. Food was whatever she could find. People of her status should be living in luxury, and here she was, crumbling around the edges, bowed over her desk.

"I don't know," she sputtered, gritting her teeth as she fell silent, all while trying to fight the tears building behind her eyes. "I can't handle this, Jocelyn. I can't. It's getting to be too much and I don't know how much longer I can keep pushing myself."

"What if you didn't have to?"

Matilda spread her fingers, staring through cock-eyed eyeglasses to the woman seated across the room. Rising from her chair, Jocelyn walked to the credenza set into the wall on the far end of the room and opened one of its cabinets. Two bourbon glasses clinked against a polished, stone countertop, followed by the crackle of ice and the smoothness of liquor pouring over them. Carrying both by just the tips of her fingers on each hand, Jocelyn set one down in front of Matilda before walking back towards her chair.

Looking down into her reflection in the ice and whiskey, Matilda breathed in the heady, smoky scent of the alcohol before taking the glass and sipping at its contents. "I don't understand," she said, wincing at the burn as it slid down her throat.

Nodding, Jocelyn moved back towards her chair, drink in hand. Matilda waited for her to retake her seat, only to watch the young woman change direction at the last moment, approaching the furthest corner of the room, where the floor-to-ceiling glass windows met the interior wall. One hand raised her glass to her lips, while the other rested lightly against a tall vase, a pillar of translucent, crystalline stone that rose to hip-height. "This is quite a beautiful vase, Ms. Langley." Jocelyn lowered her drink, fingers resting lightly on top of the vase. "Where did you acquire this?"

Matilda blinked. Did she even remember? "I'm not entirely sure. It's just... been there. I think it was an antique, a gift from someone else in the city. An advertiser, investor..." She shook her head, finding that her drink did little to clear the fog of numbers and contracts from her mind. "I don't know."

Jocelyn nodded. Her fingers curled around the edge of the vase's opening. "You would say, then, that's it's valuable?"

"Yes, I would imagine. It's hand-made. One of a kind."

Jocelyn nodded again. "Very well."

The crash of breaking thin, hand-worked gemstone against the polished, hardwood floor was absolutely deafening.

Matilda jumped out of her seat, eyes wide at the broken shards littering the floor. "How," she sputtered, nearly speechless, "how dare you!"

Undeterred, Jocelyn crouched down, shifting her glass from one hand to the other to allow herself to pick up one of the larger shards of what had been the vase. "It's quite pretty," she said, looking through the rose-colored stone. Light shone through, throwing broken, angular shapes in shades of pink across the floor. "But empty. A thin shell with nothing inside to support itself, no structure to keep itself from breaking apart. The slightest push was all it took to shatter it."

Fists clenched at Matilda's sides, cheeks burning hot with anger. "I'll be taking the cost of that out of your salary!"

Approaching the desk, Jocelyn set the fragment in her hand down on top of a stack of papers. "You, Ms. Langley, are like this vase. A beautiful exterior, the perfect image of a successful executive. But with the slightest push, the right amount of pressure, you'll explode into thousands of pieces. You are nothing but a paper-thin likeness of a woman, barely holding onto appearances that you are in control of your affairs and your life. You depend entirely on me to keep this newspaper functionally and financially upright, do you not?"

Rage still vibrated within Matilda. That vase was her property! A gift to her! Jocelyn's words, however, cut down to the quick. What didn't her secretary do for her, arrange for her, process, analyze, and assess for her? She had heard the whispers around water coolers. Writers, editors, accountants; nearly everyone with the paper jokingly referred to Jocelyn as the true CEO of the paper. Hearing it over and over made something boil within her. How dare they disregard her so easily!

But, she thought to herself, looking at the tablet on her desk, filled with reports and spreadsheets prepared by Jocelyn; the notebook now sitting on the table beside the armchair the other woman had been sitting in, packed full of notes meticulously outlining every aspect of the purchase the company was executing. Jocelyn's mind was as meticulous as the most finely tuned clock. Her's, by comparison, was a sundial.

"Ms. Langley?"

Matilda sighed, sinking into her seat. Defeat washed away anger; there was no way to disagree with Jocelyn's assessment and remain honest with herself. Her eyes dropped, looking back down into her glass. The ice had started to melt, diluting the golden brown color of the bourbon into a lighter tint. "You're correct. I wish you had... I wish you hadn't ruined my vase to make your point, but..." She laughed, an empty, dry sound bursting out from her lips. "You're absolutely right."

Finishing the last of her liquor, Jocelyn set the empty glass down on Matilda's desk. "Are you familiar," Jocelyn started, "with the art of kintsugi?"

Matilda blinked. The word seemed buried somewhere on the fringe of her conscious memory. She'd surely heard it in passing from someone; almost certainly from a party with the Nexus Corporation president. It carried no meaning in the moment, though. She shook her head. "I can't say I remember what that is, no."

"Kintsugi," Jocelyn started, reaching out to once more hold up the broken vase fragment from between the two of them, "is the art of making something broken into something more beautiful than it had originally been. Artisans would take shattered pottery and rejoin the fragments with lacquer, blended with the dust of precious metals, such as gold. The resulting piece would, in many ways, be more beautiful than it had been before it was damaged. Just as importantly, it would be stronger; more impervious to future damage because of the veins now running through it, binding its pieces into one, unbreakable whole."

The broken vase piece was tossed to the floor, tensing every muscle in Matilda's body when landed. "In every respect, Ms. Langley, you are no different from the vase in the moments before it fell. Teetering on a breaking point. You are hollow; you carry nothing within you to give you structure. You are so incredibly fragile that one push will drive you over a precipice."

Matilda pushed back further into her seat, her heart racing faster as Jocelyn spoke. "What becomes you then?" Jocelyn shook her head. "Nevermind this business, your family's legacy, the future of journalism in this city. What becomes of you when the pressure becomes too much, when you can no longer handle the weight of your responsibilities and the City's expectations of you?"

Matilda opened her mouth; her voice cracked, letting out only the smallest of sounds. "I," she said, her words barely above a whisper, "I don't know."

"I don't expect you to know." Jocelyn closed her eyes, a thin smile on her lips. "I do, however, have a solution I wish to offer you. If you are prepared to accept it."

Struggling to push words past her racing breath, Matilda pressed against the back of her chair, forcing herself to sit upright. "What is it," she asked, her voice shaking in her throat.

"Let me to be the one to break you."

"What?"

"Allow me to shatter that fragile shell of yours into fragments. There is space within you for so much to grow, but before it can, all that you have been to this point must be torn asunder. You must trust me, absolutely. You must surrender and submit to me, entirely. I will break you free of your anxiety, of the fear that is strangling what life you have left in your heart." Jocelyn leaned forward, her palms flat against Matilda's desk, her face looming above her superior's. "I already manage every aspect of your world. Give me permission to manage you."

"I," Matilda stuttered, breaking her eyes away from Jocelyn's gaze. She looked about the room. Around the desk, she could see the furthest scattered fragments of the vase her secretary had broken. Outside, rain pattered against the windows. Outside, people were hurrying to catch buses and ride-shares. Outside, people were toasting their ups and downs over a warm meal. Outside, people had lives.

Unlike her.

"I'm scared," she said. A tear welled up at the corner of her eyes.

Jocelyn nodded. "You're well within your rights to feel scared. What I propose, however, will transform you. Just as surely as gold and lacquer would transform your ruined vase."

"What if I become too scared? What if I can't... if I can't handle being broken, what if..."

"If we come to a point where you must stop, then we will stop. But you cannot allow yourself to overthink this." Jocelyn stood back, holding her hands, one atop the other, at her waist. "Do not let the questions consume you. Too many questions, and the unknown remains exactly that. I will ask you again, Matilda Langley: do I have your absolute trust? Will you give me your permission to break you, so that you may be remade?"

Matilda looked down. Her hands lay on top of one another in her lap.

"Ms. Langley?"

Lips parted. Teardrops landed against the back of Matilda's palms.

"What is your choice, Ms. Langley?"

Matilda swallowed, closing her eyes. Fingers curled inward, nails pressing into her palms.

"Do it," she said, her voice shaking, her voice quiet. "Break me."

Jocelyn smiled, then gestured towards the door. "Then follow me."