Frayed

by Layne Deemer

  I didn’t even try to argue with her. In fact, I probably would’ve suggested it myself if she hadn’t beaten me to it. Truth be told, after hearing her story about Gabe and the disturbing security camera incident at my apartment, I don’t think either one of us should be alone.

  I’d be lying if I said I didn’t still have some lingering doubts about Lydia. She explained away her assumption that my admirer is a woman, but I still can’t quite shake the feeling that there’s more that she hasn’t told me. Despite my apprehension, I’ve decided to take my chances. After all, maybe this is a keep your enemies closer situation, and in that case, I’m right where I should be.

  Deep down I don’t really believe Lydia’s behind all of this, or maybe it’s more that I don’t want to believe it. Even the thought makes me feel sick to my stomach, but I also know that I can’t entirely rule it out, either. In some ways, she seems like the likeliest of suspects. She has access to the socks I inspect. It would be really easy for her to slide notes into them. The handwriting doesn’t match up, but that’s not a deal breaker here. What does give me pause is the near exact resemblance that the penmanship bears to Sarah’s. How would Lydia even know what Sarah’s handwriting looks like much less attempt to replicate it? The whole thing doesn’t make sense. I feel like I’m right on the cusp of cracking the code. It’s right there, but just out of reach.

  I’m trying to act natural, but after all that’s happened, I’m not even sure what that looks like anymore. I’m leaning against the counter, trying to seem relaxed and failing miserably. I keep readjusting myself—changing the position of my foot, crossing and straightening and re-crossing my ankles. If Lydia notices my nervous behavior, she doesn’t let on.

  It doesn’t appear that today’s events have rattled her at all. She’s humming The Cure’s “Friday, I’m in Love” and swaying her hips as she opens the cabinet door above her and stretches her arms to retrieve a stainless-steel bowl on the top shelf. Tearing open the bag of popcorn, she dumps it into the bowl and walks it over to the coffee table. She glances in my direction and gives me a side-eyed look. “So, tell me something. Are you going to stand over there fidgeting all night or are you going to join me on the couch and help me eat this?” She taps the edge of the bowl with her fingernail, and it sings out in response.

  She looks almost ethereal standing there in an airy floral dress. The table lamp behind her casts an aura-like glow on the delicate waves of her hair making her look like a goddess. That familiar magnetic pull between us carries me across the room until we’re standing toe to toe. I reach down toward the bowl on the table, never once taking my eyes off of her. All the nerves and worry from a few minutes ago seem to melt away as our eyes remain locked on each other. Tossing a few pieces of popcorn into the air, I open my mouth and tilt my head around, capturing every last one in my mouth.

  Lydia smirks at me. “I bet you’re feeling proud of yourself, aren’t you?”

  “Pretty much,” I reply with a wink.

  She lets out a deep sigh. “Oh Owen, you’re going to break my heart, aren’t you? And the funny thing is, I don’t even care in the slightest.”

  The playful mood quickly turns serious. I take her hands and hold them to my chest. I feel compelled to put her mind at ease and deny her worries, but I can’t make promises I might not keep. I know I’d never willingly break her heart, but that doesn’t mean it won’t happen anyway. So we stand there in silence pushing away our fears, ignoring any warnings. With no room for second thoughts, we move without hesitation.

  I’m not sure I trust Lydia, but right now, I don’t care. There are some moments in life that require us to let our instincts take the reins. Thoughts are futile.

  Our fingertips kiss as we both reach to press the down button for the elevator. A smile passes between us as I take her hand. When the elevator doors open, Lydia and I step inside and join Mrs. Matz. She’s clutching FiFi in her arms and makes no attempt to hide the shock on her face as she eyes both of us.

  We travel down in silence and step out into the bustling lobby. I glance down at our joined hands as we walk across the parquet floor to the double doors that lead outside.

  I’m struck by how quickly things can change. Twenty-four hours ago, I was making this same journey to work by myself and, at the time, I wasn’t even sure where things stood between Lydia and me. After what happened last night and again in the shower this morning, I’m feeling much more secure. I give her hand a squeeze as thoughts of her warm body pressed up against mine flash in my mind. Turning her head, her eyes find mine and a knowing grin spreads across her face.

  On our walk to work, I notice Lydia turn her head a few times when she thinks I’m not looking. She eyes the sidewalk and street in search of Gabe. The restraining order has done very little to quell her fears. I keep our fingers interlaced and gently rub circles on her palm with my thumb to reassure her. I’ve made it my mission to keep her safe. As long as I’m around, Gabe is not a threat.

  By the time we reach West Apparel, my body is practically humming with the desire to get Lydia alone. I inwardly groan when I think about the looming workday. There was a time when I welcomed the mundane chore of work. Now I would give anything for a Saturday.

  From the looks of things, Lydia feels the same way. Her eyes are practically ablaze as they assess me with yearning. We settle for a chaste kiss that’s sealed with promises of what’s to come and then make our way up the steps. Just before she steps through the doors, Lydia gives one last glance over her shoulder. I hate that she has to live this way. The first chance I get, I’m sneaking out to call Gabe.

  46

  I have no idea how many tube socks I’ve inspected over the course of my time working here, but if I had to guess, I’d say the number is well over a million. It’s hard to imagine there’s even a market for that many socks, but the demand has kept me busy so I’m grateful for it.

  I reach in to grab another handful out of the black plastic tub at my feet. This next bunch of socks is clumped together, and it takes me a moment to realize that there’s a thread woven around them, cinching them into a misshapen cluster. I grasp the loose string and begin to unwind the bundle, tracing the thread back to its beginning. It hangs off the opening on one of the socks and is still connected at one end. The top of the sock just above the stripes has begun to fray around the edge. The little fibers stand on end as if they’re reaching toward a release. They’ve been wound up tight, held together in a way that feels familiar—accepted by society to serve one purpose. But it’s exhausting to stay so rigid. Remaining constant only lasts so long. Nothing is permanent.

  I give the string a tug and watch as the stitching slowly unravels. The fibers unloop themselves, disengaging from one another until they’re nothing more than a pile of thread on top of my desk. Everything has a weakness, and if you pick at it long enough, it’ll unravel. All it takes is a frayed edge.

  I’ve made it through two full sorting bins in a little over two hours this morning. I usually sort at a rate of a half an hour per bin, but thoughts of Gabe stalking Lydia have been distracting me. There’s another bin waiting for me outside my cubicle, but I can’t put off this phone call any longer.

  I scurry over to the door without so much as a glance backward. If anyone sees me, they’ll probably assume I’m heading downstairs to talk to HR or some other suit in one of the corporate offices.

  I take the stairs two at a time and press my palms on the handle of the glass door, giving it a shove. I turn my head left and right glancing down the sidewalk in both directions. I’m not exactly sure who I’m looking for, but the action feels necessary. I spot a payphone across the street in front of Dilbert’s Drugstore and rush over to it with swift determination. I could make the call from my phone, but then Gabe would have my number. It makes more sense to play by his rules. He’s called Lydia from several numbers, but I have a feeling at least one of them will lead me straight to him.

  As I take out my phone to scrol
l to the photo I snapped of Lydia’s call log, it rings in my hand. I let out a frustrated groan. My mom has impeccable timing. I feel guilty declining the call, but I’m in the middle of something important right now and it can’t wait. I’ll give her a call later so she can stop worrying for five minutes.

  Picking up the receiver of the payphone, I start at the top of the list. The first few numbers are dead ends. They connected me with Pablo’s Pizza, Amy’s Nail Salon, and other wrong numbers.

  It takes me nearly ten minutes to work my way through the list. I’m almost out of quarters and I’m no closer to finding Gabe. I let out a sigh of frustration. There are seven numbers left that I haven’t tried yet. I randomly select one from the list and punch in the numbers on the keypad. Holding the receiver to my ear, I hear ringing on the other end. I’m just about to hang up when I hear a click, and a groggy voice croaks, “Hello?”

  My hand grips the receiver tightly and I lean in. “Hi. I’m looking for Gabe. Is he there?”

  There’s a loud throat-clearing followed by a few deep coughs. “Yeah. This is Gabe. Who’s this?” His voice is gravelly. It sounds like he just woke up and this is the first time he’s speaking today. Glancing at my watch, it’s after ten here, but that would mean it’s only just after eight where he is.

  I take a deep breath and think of Lydia. The asshole on the other end of this line has terrorized her for the last time. I decide to get right to the point. “I’m a friend of Lydia’s. You’ve been threatening her, and I’m calling to tell you that it ends now.”

  Gabe spits out a laugh so hard that he chokes. Once he regains his composure, his voice on the other end drips with amusement. “Is that what she told you? Oh man, bro, I’m sorry to tell you this, but you’ve got it all wrong. I want nothing to do with her. Never have. She wouldn’t accept that, though. She kept coming around and calling me up at all hours of the night. I even changed my number a few times, but she always figured it out. I’ll tell you this, she is one psychotic bitch.”

  I can feel my veins searing with heat as my blood pumps with rage. “I know what you’re trying to do, and it won’t work. I know Lydia, intimately.” I pause as I let those words sink in. “I know you’ve been calling her and texting her. I know about the photos you took of her parents, you sick son of a bitch! You’re delusional if you think you’re going to turn things around and start blaming her.”

  “Whoa! What the hell are you talking about, man? I’ve never even met her parents!” The shock in his voice sounds almost sincere. He’s quite the actor.

  “Fine. I’ll play your game,” I spit. “I know you’ve been calling her, harassing her. I overheard her telling you over the phone in no uncertain terms to fuck off. And a few days ago, you sent Lydia an envelope with pictures of her parents inside their home. You openly threatened their safety. I’m sure you’ve already received the restraining order?”

  He lets out a slow breath. “Man, she’s got you fooled. I’m sorry to tell you this, bro, but you need a reality check here. For starters, I never called her. You heard a one-sided conversation, my friend.” He chuckles, as if there’s anything funny about his disgusting behavior. Of course, he’d try to make it look like Lydia was lying, but how insane would she have to be to fake a phone conversation? No way.

  Gabe continues his defamation. “I did send her an envelope, but there weren’t any photos inside. You seem so sure that she’s telling you the truth, but let me ask you this. Did she actually show you pictures? I sent her a letter from my attorney warning her to stop all communication with me. If she didn’t comply, I’d be forced to file a restraining order against her. She took things too far—breaking into my apartment and even going so far as threatening my girlfriend’s cat. Look, I feel sorry for the girl. She’s obviously unstable. But she just wouldn’t back off. I had no other choice.”

  I can’t seem to find my voice as I process everything that Gabe just told me. He’s right, Lydia never showed me the photos she claims he sent her. I took her word at face value, but what if she lied? I imagine her soulful eyes so filled with fear as she recounted all the ways that Gabe had threatened her. She seemed so sincere.

  Gabe breaks the silence, snapping me back to the present. “Listen, you sound like a decent guy and I can tell you care about her. I’m sure this all comes as a shock to you. Believe what you want, but don’t let your guard down around her.” There’s a deafening silence on the line. I start to think that maybe he hung up, and then his voice fills my ears with foreboding. “The next time you see her, ask her about her tattoo.” I hear a click and the line goes dead.

  I pull the receiver away from my ear and return it to its cradle. My mind is racing as my thoughts try to play catch up. My conversation with Gabe spun out of control so quickly it left me dizzy and breathless. I’m not sure what or whom I believe, but of one thing I am certain. A small seed of doubt has been planted, and if I don’t find a way to squash it, it will continue to grow—sprouting roots and smothering everything in its path.

  47

  The rest of the workday drags as I mull over what Gabe told me. I’ve decided not to tell Lydia that I spoke with him. It will instantly put her on the defensive. If she has her guard up, getting to the bottom of things will be nearly impossible.

  I’ve been staring at the same stitching for the past ten minutes as I try to picture the key tattoo on Lydia’s ankle. Gabe told me to ask her about it. I’ve noticed it a few times, but never really looked at it up close. It never even occurred to me that there could be some hidden meaning behind it, but now that I think about it, why wouldn’t there be? When someone gets a tattoo, there’s almost always a reason behind it, even if it’s something as simple as getting an avocado tattooed on your forearm because avocados are your favorite food. Chances are, the key on Lydia’s ankle is there for a reason, and the urgency in Gabe’s voice makes me think it must have something to do with him.

  My phone hums in my pocket. I glance at the screen and see a text from my brother. I can’t contain the groan that leaves my mouth. My family has impeccable timing.

  Andrew: Hey, O, I think you should call mom. You’re not being very fair here, man. You know how she worries.

  I type out a response.

  Me: Oh, is that so, Andrew? Since you seem to need a reminder—I’m an adult with my own responsibilities. I really don’t owe any of you anything.

  That’s what I want to say, but then I’d have to deal with the shit storm that would surely come my way if I hit send so I backspace the entire thing and start over.

  Me: I’m fine. Just a really busy day at work. Can you do me a favor and let her know I’ll call her later tonight?

  Andrew: Okay, I’ll tell her, but just make sure you call. Tonight. Don’t forget.

  I swear my entire family thinks I’m incompetent at life. I’ve wasted too much time already so I type out a quick “Thanks” and hit send.

  I shove my phone back into my pocket giving it an extra push for good measure. I really don’t need any more diversions. I have enough on my mind without adding my mother’s incessant worrying and my brother’s self-righteous indignation to the list.

  After losing so much time trying to track down Gabe this morning and dealing with family distractions, I work through my lunch break. Lydia stops at my cubicle on her way out to see if I want to join her for food. I thank her for the invitation, but motion to the overflowing bins both outside and inside my cube, telling her I’m so far behind I can’t spare the time. Her smile falters slightly with disappointment, but she recovers quickly and tells me she’ll bring something back for me. The truth is, I am busy, but I told her I couldn’t go to lunch because I’m not ready to be alone with her just yet. I need more time to make sense of things.

  Lydia returns from her break a half hour later, clutching a familiar white bag. She walks straight over to me and proudly places the bag on my desk with a warm smile. The unmistakable scent of Nigel’s wild rice soup wafts through the air.


  I’m reminded of the first time I asked her to join me for lunch. It feels like a lifetime ago, but in reality, it hasn’t been that long. So much has happened since then. Lydia and I have moved far beyond the friendship we established that day.

  Her kind gesture was more than just about bringing me soup. She managed to break down the walls I’ve been starting to build. In that moment, I’m not thinking about Gabe’s warning or any lingering doubts that I have. I’m just looking up into the eyes of a girl I’ve fallen in love with despite my plan to stay unattached.

  Office buildings and cafés dot the landscape that surrounds West Apparel. Four thirty seems to be the universal time for most workdays to end or shift changes to occur, and the traffic on the sidewalk is usually at an all-time high when we’re heading home.

  Too preoccupied by my thoughts, I barely register the mass of people milling about as we make our way back to our apartment building. If Lydia notices that I’m distracted, she doesn’t let on. She seems lost in her own thoughts as we move through the crowded sidewalk in silence.

  Standing at the street corner waiting for the light to change, a loud horn from a passing car jolts me out of my thoughts. I look up just as a taxi drives through the intersection. I catch a glimpse of the passenger in the backseat and rub my eyes in an attempt to clear away the mirage. It’s no use. Sarah’s striking turquoise eyes find mine, and a smirk forms on her crimson lips. I’m stunned speechless, and all I can do is stare as the cab drives away.

  “Owen?” Lydia’s voice brings me back to the present. “Is everything okay? You have a strange look on your face.”

  I give her a reassuring smile as I slide my arm over her shoulder, pulling her into my side. “Sorry. Yeah, I’m fine. I was just thinking about dinner. Are you hungry?”