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Also By Becca
A Flawed Short Story
Becca J. Campbell
Published by Surreal Media Studios, 2015.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
Written by Becca J. Campbell.
Cover Design by Steven Novak. Edited by Jessie Sanders.
CONSTRICTED
First edition. April 21, 2015.
Copyright © 2015 Becca J. Campbell.
All rights reserved.
Jade knew his secret.
Someone bumped Logan Henry’s elbow, jostling his drink, and he clutched the plastic cup tighter. A crowd surrounded him, but he was alone inside his mind.
If Logan’s world was a box, that box was shrinking around him, threatening to collapse and crush him.
He was a hairy freak of nature, and Jade Edwards—a beautiful, sensitive young woman—knew his secret. She had seen him in the woods and put the pieces together, and Monday night during dinner he’d bared his soul to her. On top of his transparency, he’d also asked to see her again. By Friday he’d grown skittish as a feral cat and had rethought asking her out a dozen times. He’d gone to the bookstore where she worked, half of him praying she had changed her mind about going hiking and the other half desperately wishing for more time with her, as if he wanted more opportunities to let her melt away his glass casing. The desperate half had won.
Yesterday’s hike had been glorious—perfect day, perfect scenery, perfect company. Everything about their date had been perfect until she’d embraced him. The unexpected gesture had not only knocked his camera out from his grasp and broken it, but it had also rattled his insides, further tightening the walls around him.
Since that moment, she hadn’t left him. Wisps of her floated into his mind as he lay in bed last night, smoky tendrils of her expressions, her laugh, all coming back to haunt him. He hadn’t slept. This morning she was still present as he dragged himself out of bed, scrubbed the insomnia out of his eyes, and performed his daily shave and trim.
He would’ve rather stayed in bed even if it meant chasing sleep all day, but he couldn’t avoid Harold Schneider’s shindig. When the head of the history department threw a crawdad boil and strongly “suggested” you come, you didn’t decline.
Two hours into brushing elbows with the department staff and receiving too many questions about his personal life, Logan was getting claustrophobic. His barriers were there for a reason, and the more people picked at them, the more exposed he felt. He forced the fingers curled around his iced tea to relax their grip though his spine was tight as a bowstring. Just a little bit longer and he could escape.
“Logan! So great to see you here,” Debbie Macalister said, squeezing his arm.
He forced a smile and a polite nod. “You too.”
Her smile wavered as her eyes roved over his head. “Wow, your hair’s long. Didn’t you just get a haircut a few days ago? I could’ve sworn it was shorter on Friday.”
“Uh, no…I’ve been wearing it longer lately.” Logan raised the arm holding his plastic cup and lurched forward as if there were someone he desperately had to speak with. He made it to the edge of Harold’s elaborately manicured back yard and sucked in a deep breath.
“Not your cup of tea, eh?” Next to Logan, Clancy Barber nudged his thick-framed glasses and took a sip from his own red plastic cup.
“What? No, this is great.” Logan adopted a pleasant smile. “Catching up with the faculty, it’s…nice. Haven’t seen most of these people all summer.”
Clancy deadpanned him, lowering his voice to a volume below the din of the chatter from the pockets of conversation floating around the yard. “Never have I seen you enjoy a faculty gathering, and this one’s no different.”
“I generally prefer not to eat with my fingers,” Logan said. “I’ll give you that much.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it. If Harold hadn’t made it all but mandatory, I bet you wouldn’t even be here.”
“Harold’s great.” Logan glanced toward the balding man who seemed to be locked in a debate with Albert, one of the history professors. Despite Albert’s looming frame, his hunched, narrow shoulders didn’t have the weight or importance Harold’s did. Harold’s broad midsection and emphatic gestures commanded attention, but mostly it was the authority of the position.
“You boys being good?” Cheryl Summers appeared at Clancy’s side, sending Logan a playful wink.
“Never,” Clancy said. “How about you? Staying out of trouble?”
“Only when I’m on campus, and it’s been a while. I just got back from Maui last week, and I don’t think I’ve totally sobered up yet.” Her red lips twitched with the hint of a grin. She raised her glass. “And this crawdad boil isn’t helping.”
“No reason to end your summer yet,” Clancy said. “It’s only the second week of July.”
“I can’t put off lesson plans much longer,” Cheryl said. “School’ll be starting again before we know it.” She turned to Logan, inching closer than necessary. “I heard you’ve been teaching this summer. I feel for you.”
“It’s not that bad,” he said.
“Aww. You’re such a good sport.” She sent him a sympathetic pout and rubbed his back with her free hand. Her musky perfume clouded his breathable air.
His muscles tensed at her touch.
“And you’re still so young and fresh,” she said. “I bet those students just love you, don’t they?”
Logan felt as if his whole body were frozen, paused and waiting for her to remove her hand from his back. The weight of Clancy’s watching eyes didn’t help, and though Logan didn’t look at him, he could feel the man’s gaze, enjoying the exchange. It might be nothing more than a good-natured break from the drudgery of typical course-related conversation, but to Logan it felt like he was on display. When his gaze trailed across Harold’s lawn, searching for a place to safely perch until the moment had passed, Logan caught the eye of several others looking their way, supporting the spotlight-on-his-fish-bowl theory.
Jerking his gaze back to Cheryl, he briefly considered that maybe her curves, extra-thick, false lashes, and platinum hair were what had snagged several other teachers’ attention. Maybe they weren’t looking at him after all. Probably most of the men her age in the history department would snatch up an opportunity to hook up with her—possibly even the younger ones in their twenties or thirties like Logan. He hadn’t really considered it, and he wished he weren’t thinking of it now. But her fingers wouldn’t stop tracing circles around his shoulder blade.
“We should give it one last hurrah,” Clancy said. “Summer, I mean.”
“Isn’t that what this is?” Cheryl asked, gesturing to the people crowding Harold’s backyard.
“I don’t mean a faculty picnic.” Clancy said. “I mean something good. We should all go out for drinks tonight—hit the Red Carpet Club or something.”
“Just us?” Cheryl asked. Logan couldn’t tell if she were skeptical or intrigued.
“You, me, Logan…” Clancy’s gaze wandered for a moment before landing on the laughing smile of the history department’s receptionist. “And we should invite Jenny, too. You know she’s moving to Ohio next month.”
Cheryl nodded. “I like it. We could make it a going away thing for her.”
Logan felt his calm place inside shrinking, stifled by the warm air, by the odor of the musk, and by the plans that were trickling into place without his consent. They were nudging the walls of his box closer, and
it was beginning to rub him raw.
“Great,” Clancy said. “It’s a plan. Logan?” Clancy frowned as if only then noticing Logan’s stiff posture and taut frown.
“I can’t,” Logan said.
“Why?” Clancy said.
“You have plans?” Cheryl asked.
“Have to catch up on grading for class tomorrow.”
“Can’t it wait?” Cheryl asked.
Logan pretended to consider it. “Mmm. No. Unfortunately not. Actually,”—he gave Clancy a rough pat on the back and wormed out from under Cheryl’s fingers—“I have to head out. Catch you two later.” He crossed between them before either could protest and worked his way around the perimeter of the yard, avoiding as many gazes as he could. At Harold’s front gate, he tossed his plastic cup into one of the trash bins and released a pent-up breath. He was free.
As he drove, he took several deep, revitalizing breaths. He needed distance from all these people cramping his box. But out of the corner of his eye, the presence of a silent passenger further ate away at him. The broken camera sat in the seat next to him where he’d left it yesterday. Every glance its way brought Jade back to him. Her arms around him, warm and soft. Her hair against his chin, smelling of outdoors—of pine and hickory, of rogue winds and freedom.
But he wasn’t free. Couldn’t be, not while she pulled at him in this way. There were too many people in his life, stifling his air. Her presence, whether actual or in his mind, was one of many. Logan scrubbed a hand over his thick, cropped hair and groaned aloud, aching for release. What he needed was to get away. Isolation would clear his head, de-muddle his thoughts, and give his muscles that relief they so desperately needed. He checked the clock. It was nearly five on a Sunday evening, and he had class the next day.
His shoulders deflated.
Nothing in him wanted to face a room of students or anyone else. Even the thought of walking around campus made him cringe. What if he ran into Jade?
What if he didn’t?
Would he be tempted to visit her at the bookshop again?
An agonized, guttural moan escaped his chest. He was so ready to be done with this—all of it. To just leave Colorado Springs for good. The thought was a sudden blast of cold air, and it knocked the wind out of him. Maybe he should leave. Maybe what he needed was a fresh start. It had worked for him five years ago when he’d moved here.
At a stoplight, Logan squeezed his eyes shut and dug his fingers into the steering wheel. That thought seemed rash. He just needed to get away to figure this all out. But he had classes.
Screw it.
The debate was over: he was leaving for a few days. He’d call in sick or something, but he was packing a bag and getting the heck out of the city. Tonight. Right after he dropped off his camera to be repaired. Then he wouldn’t have to look at the thing anymore.
When the light turned green, Logan floored the truck and headed home.
~
In the last two months, Logan had already run into Jade twice near his preferred camping spot, so this time he drove the opposite direction. He hopped onto I-25 and headed north toward Boulder. As he passed the University of Colorado on his way through town, memories nipped at him. His old apartment just off campus, his favorite local coffee shop, the towering mountains enfolding the city like an arms-wide embrace. Little things had changed, new franchises popping up here and there, but it had the same vibe—quaint, old architecture mixed with hurriedly erected, trendy venues—all of it humming faintly with the vibrancy of hard-working college students.
He passed through the town and drove into the foothills, entering one of the designated camping areas and thinking how weird it was to now want running water and electricity when he never had before. Until his three-week stint in the woods he hadn’t minded letting his body hair get a little out of hand during a weekend camping trip. But now that he knew what it led to, he was wary of letting it go for too long. He found a secluded spot and pitched his tent.
Logan woke with the sun the next morning and crawled out of his tent in flannel pants and a ribbed tank top. He stretched and absorbed the fresh air, letting it seep through his body, awakening and revitalizing him. Mornings were the best part of the day. His frustrations were already dripping away, the thoughts of her slowly fading, shrinking to vapor-thin wisps. He wondered how long he would have to stay out here until she was out of his mind for good. But he’d have to go back and face it all eventually.
Or did he?
Logan rubbed his chin, grimacing at the stubble that had grown since last night. He’d missed a shave, and it was showing. He winced when his finger scratched the tender flesh on his neck. His nails needed a trim, too. Sighing, he entered the tent, threw on some jeans, and grabbed his bag of toiletry items.
The trek to the public restrooms took a good ten minutes, but he enjoyed it, taking in the scenery and feeling the walk loosen his muscles. He passed several silent tents on his way, noting that he was one of the few, if not the only one, up this early. Good. He’d have the bathroom to himself.
After a quick shower, Logan began his daily trimming routine. He decided he could forego cutting his hair and just take care of the basics. Refreshed and in good spirits, he was tempted to hum softly as he worked, but he held back, thinking it might carry beyond the walls of the restroom. He didn’t want any curious eyes peeking in on him. He’d almost finishing shaving when a piercing scream from outside made him jump. His hand lurched, and the razor bit into his skin. He let out a sharp curse and the instrument dropped into the sink.
The scream came again—close. It was a woman.
Logan darted for the door as if it were second nature, alarm pulling at him more than curiosity. That incident with the bear two weeks back must’ve altered his brain chemistry—now something in him automatically perked up at the first sign of trouble, giving him an instinct to protect instead of flee. The scream had sounded bad—like someone was hurt. Stumbling down the steps outside the small toilet building, he searched for the source. No campers were out, but movement at the nearest campsite caught his eye. A small, blue tent shook as if a tussle were happening inside.
His heart stuttered.
The tent’s front door was facing away from him, so as Logan hurried toward the site, he angled around, cautious but quick. An SUV—one of those fancy Lincoln ones—was the lone car at the site, parked a short distance from the fire pit. He crept closer to the tent, eyeing the partially unzipped door. It wasn’t open wide enough for him to see inside.
More shouts and yells erupted from the tent, accompanying frantic rustles of blue fabric. Fear gripped Logan for an instant, temporarily paralyzing him. What would he find inside?
There were at least two voices, and he thought at least one was female but couldn’t be certain, with the grunts and shrieks.
“Get that thing out—”
“You get—”
More clipped phrases followed, but he couldn’t catch them. Swallowing his trepidation, Logan strode forward and peeled away the tent door, the zipper protesting in a squealing sound. Inside, two young women turned their tousled heads toward him. Wide, frantic eyes met his and then darted across the tent at something near the opening.
Logan’s eyes homed in on the movement. A sleeping bag jerked, snarls and hissing coming from beneath the bulk.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I don’t—” one of the girls said. She had long, blonde hair that was in bad need of a comb.
“I think it’s a badger,” the other one said, the majority of her face covered by her own unruly auburn hair.
“Did it hurt you?” Logan asked.
The blonde shook her head.
“It won’t let us past,” the auburn-haired one said. Squatting, she crept forward toward the door, her gaze glued to the lumpy pile of bedding. She managed two small steps, but on the third, her bare foot nudged the sleeping bag. A frenzied rush of snarls flew at her as the beast rose from its hiding spot, raised up on its h
ind paws, and bared pointed fangs at her, claws extended.
She screamed.
Logan stifled a curse. It was a badger, a violently angry one. It stared her down as if daring her to move forward.
“Don’t come any closer,” he warned. “Those things can be vicious.”
“Tell me about it,” she said. “It’s gonna take my toes off!” She shrank back to her corner of the tent.
After a moment, the badger turned its back to her again, rooting under the blankets for something. Logan bet it was food of some sort.
“Wait just a second,” he said, pulling his head out from the tent. He searched the nearby ground for something to use. Near the edge of the nearby trees, he found a fallen branch that still had some leaves attached. He dragged it back to the tent, hoping it wasn’t too large to fit. At the tent’s opening, he popped his head in again. The girls were still huddled in the far end.
“Can you two move a little more to this side?” he asked, hoping the badger wouldn’t feel threatened if they weren’t approaching it directly. “Try to move slowly.”
The auburn head bobbed, and she jabbed her friend, who hadn’t responded. They scooted around the edge, a little nearer the door, leaving Logan enough room to attempt his plan.
Pulling out of the tent, he grabbed the branch and shoved the large, leafy end inside. It got stuck a few times at the canvas opening, but he was able to get the majority of it inside. When a renewed hissing rose from inside the tent, Logan stuck his head in the opening, first checking on the girls who were still huddled against one side then turning his focus onto the creature that continued to spit and sputter.
“I think you’re freaking it out,” the auburn-haired one said.
He couldn’t quite see the badger for the mass of foliage, but he was sure she was right. Logan angled the stem of the tree limb so that the branches closed in even tighter around the animal. It was going to be madder than hell when he was done, but hopefully the girls could escape by then.
Constricted: A Flawed Short Story Page 1