Free The Fray Theory: Resonance by Nelou Keramati

shoulders.
    And then, it slows down along Dylan’s neck like an unwanted
caress, warm and invasive.
    As though savoring the kill, it fills the space around
Dylan’s throat, curves along his jaw, and creeps up to his gaping mouth.
    It lingers at the brim of Dylan’s lower lip, taunting him
with false hope. And then, like a merciless wave, it dives into Dylan’s throat
and fills his lungs with pain.
     
    Gasping for air, Dylan
soars into consciousness in his bed. He clasps his hand onto his throat,
heaving wet coughs, but the wretched sensation of drowning refuses abandon.
    He feels like such a fool
for thinking—even if for the briefest moment—that he would ever see an end to his
suffering.
    He can’t do it anymore. This
burden is too heavy for him to keep carrying on his own.
    He pulls his phone from
his pocket and sits up in his bed. It’s desperate, and probably futile, but
what has he got to lose at his point?
    He clears his dry, aching
throat, and dials Alex.
    Pick up . Just pick up and —
    It goes straight to
voicemail, reminding Dylan yet again of how things may never be the same.
    “Hey, Alex… Um—I’m sure
you’re really busy. And it’s been forever,” he exhales, wishing he’d rehearsed
what he was going to say. “Do you think that maybe we could… catch up?”
    Catch up ? He cringes. Just cut the shit .
    “Alex, they’ve gotten
worse. Way worse. I’m—”
     
    Drowning .
     
    With nothing else left to
say, he ends the call. This was it. He just played his final hand. If after
hearing this message Alex still doesn’t care to get back to him—like when he
screened Dylan’s call at UBC—then it really is over.
    Suddenly, like a tidal
wave of warmth, a peculiar feeling washes over him.
    He slides off his bed and
heads out into the living space, stopping a few feet shy of the front door with
his eyes glued to the buzzer.
    σ
    Neve waits
behind a regal pair of bronze doors—the twin gates to the antique elevator of
Dylan’s heritage apartment complex.
    She barely remembers the drive
back from Elliot’s celebration of life, or how much she fed the parking meter. She
just can’t believe she’s here, when only a week ago the mere thought of it was stranger
than fiction.
    The lift comes to lurching stop,
its sinewy gates sliding open. It’s a welcoming gesture, and yet Neve feels
like she’s being lured into a cage. ‘A birdcage lift’ she remembers Dylan
calling it.
    How fitting.
    She steps in and pushes onto the
topmost button for Dylan’s floor. The instant the doors begin to slide shut, an
onslaught of anxiety twists her core, and she knows there is no going back. She
peers down at the lobby through the gaps in the lift’s ornate skeleton. And
then—one by one—the floors are sliding down across her vision, bringing her
closer to him.
    This was a horrible idea.
    What was she thinking, dropping by
like this? She should make up some excuse and take off—just ride the lift back
down and text Dylan an apology.
    But the lift is already coming to
a stop.
    What the hell is she going to text
him? ‘Something came up’? What if he asks to reschedule? What if—
    And she catches a glimpse of Dylan
in the hallway as the lift’s doors slide open.
    At the sight of him, years of
suppressed emotions swell up inside, threatening to spill from her eyes.
    “Neve,” his brows crease as he
steps forward.
    “No—” Neve backs away, pressing
the button for the lobby. “No, no, no,” she keeps pressing it, but the damn
doors won’t slide shut.
    And then, she bursts into tears.
    “Babe—” he steps into the lift.
    “No, don’t you dare CALL ME
THAT!” she shoves him back.
    Dylan staggers out of the confines
of the lift, his expression a blend of shock and hurt.
    And instead of taking the ride
back down, Neve steps out into the hallway and shoves him again, and again,
until he is backed up against the wall.
    With tears streaming down her
burning cheeks, “I loved you,” she barely