The Red

© 2012 Kathryn Fetheroff All Rights Reserved

She just didn’t understand how much I loved her. Didn’t she appreciate all of the things I had done for her? It didn’t have to be this way. She could have loved me back; she could have returned the favor.

I still think of her every day " how cold she must be, how lonely. But at least she has me. She will always have me.

*

She was transferred into our branch two years ago to complete a six-month-long project for the sales and marketing department, but management was so impressed by her work that she was eventually given a permanent spot on our team.

From the moment I first laid my eyes on her, I was struck by how beautiful she was. She was a petite woman with long, brown curls that bounced as she walked. I loved the way her skin always seemed to glow slightly when the sunlight hit it at a certain angle. She never wore makeup, but then again she really didn’t need it. Although she was only in her late 20s, she had crinkles on the outside corners of her mouth and in between her eyebrows " products of constant smiling and laughing. Everything about her was perfect. She was the type of person you couldn’t help being drawn to.

I noticed early on that she was very particular about certain things. She never wore the same outfit twice in one month, but the color red was always somehow incorporated into her outfits each day, in some way or another. She always arrived to work 13 minutes early, right on the dot. I made a point every day to get to work before her, just so I could be the first person to see her each morning. It became almost like a game.

It wasn’t until exactly nine days after she first transferred that we actually spoke. She was rushing out of her office to what I assumed was some important meeting, barely keeping a grasp on the thick stack of papers in her hands. Suddenly, she tripped on some loose carpet, sending the papers flying in every direction. As I bent down to help her pick them up, her big, green eyes met mine, throwing my heart through a loop. I handed the neat pile back to her, to which she replied “thank you” before getting to her feet and continuing on her way. I knew in that moment that she would be mine.

*

We had begun talking more at work during the past few weeks, mostly about trivial matters, like what the weather was like outside or if I had seen Dave, our manager. But I could feel our love blossoming. It was such a struggle to conceal my emotions at work because they were so powerful, so liberating. But I was both envious and impressed by her flawless façade of indifference. She was so good at pretending she didn’t love me that she almost had even me falling for it.

Each night, I would lie awake in bed, a photograph"which I had snapped of her while she wasn’t paying attention"lying next to me. I had gotten really good at taking candid photographs of her in all sorts of places. She never even knew I was there. I planned to show them to her someday. Sighing, I imagined her head nestled on my chest and our fingers intertwined. We would be so happy together, I just knew it.

One night, I decided I would call her. It wasn’t that late, I reasoned. Besides, I knew she would be so happy to hear from me that it wouldn’t matter what time of the night it was. I just wanted to hear her voice one last time before I headed to bed.

Thankfully, she was listed in the phone book. In no time, I had located her number and was waiting anxiously as the phone rang.

On the third ring, she picked up. “H-hello?” she said softly into the phone, her voice groggy and muffled as if she had just been awoken out of a dead sleep. “Hello?” she repeated after a few seconds, her voice sounding stronger and louder this time. “Who is this?”

I hung up the phone. Just the sound of her voice was enough to get me through the night. It was so beautiful, unlike anything I had ever heard before. A rush of adrenaline pulsated through my veins. Not being able to get enough of her, I called her every night for the rest of that week just for the sake of hearing her voice. I sometimes even called twice in one night if I was feeling extra lonely.

Each time she answered, I noticed that her voice got progressively more irritated, with her demanding I tell her who I was. But I didn’t need to tell her. I knew she knew it was me. We had our own little connection that no one else could possibly understand. I knew she loved the attention.

*

As I placed the phone back on its receiver, my frustrations boiled over. Whoever this caller was, he or she simply refused to leave me alone. I was growing increasingly distressed and I wasn’t sure which actions I should take, if any. I sat up in my bed, attempting to think this through. It’s probably just some kids playing a prank, I tried to reason. But I couldn’t fool myself anymore.

I had started noticing small things about the calls as they became more habitual " they had certain common characteristics. There was never any talking, just soft breathing on the other end. After a few moments, the person would hang up. It just didn’t make any sense…

Exhausted from a long day at work, I decided to let go of the thought for now. Before I let myself lie back down and snuggle deep under my comforter, I took the phone off the receiver, hoping this would at least help me get some sleep.

*

One night, she just stopped answering my phone calls altogether. I called her so many times I lost count, but I just kept getting a busy tone. I stayed up all night worrying about her, not sure whether I should go over to her place to check on her. I decided to wait it out.

When she came into work the next morning, I was so happy and relieved to see her, unhurt and still intact. But that relief soon faded and transformed into rage once I realized what she was doing. She was intentionally avoiding me. I decided to call her on it.

“Why haven’t you been answering my phone calls?” I demanded, struggling to keep my voice calm and even.

“You were trying to call me? I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I had to disconnect my phone because some a*****e won’t stop calling me. How did you even get my number, anyway?”

Some a*****e?

“Since when am I an a*****e? What did I ever do to you?” I blurted out, hurt.

Suddenly, her breathing became shallower and her green eyes got so big that I almost lost myself in them.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” I asked, confused by her reaction.

As she turned to face me, I could see her lips quivering. “Dylan, I am only going to say this once. I want you to leave me alone. We are co-workers and nothing more. Please stop calling me.”

“But sweetheart"”

“Dylan, don’t make this any harder than it needs to be. If you don’t leave me alone, I will call the cops.” And with that, she walked into her office and shut the door behind her.

*

A few days passed and she still hadn’t talked to me. I didn’t understand why she was so upset with me. I figured a gift might cheer her up and show her how much I care.

That night, I drove to her house, parked by the curb, and let the engine idle. It was dark out now. From my car, I watched her walk from her bathroom into her bedroom, flicking on the lights as she entered. She let her towel drop to the floor as she reached for a fresh pair of pajamas. She always looked so beautiful after a shower, the silhouette of her naked body contrasting against the light. Why did she have to tease me like this?

Watching her nightly rituals always comforted me. She was so predictable. It was one of the qualities I loved most about her.

After she finished dressing, she lay down on the bed and turned on the television. I craned my head, trying to see what she was watching, but the pouring rain made it nearly impossible to make out.

It didn’t take long until she fell asleep. One of my favorite things to do was watch her sleep. She always looked so peaceful, so beautiful.

I got out of the car and walked up to her front porch. As I pulled out the teddy bear, which held a red, heart-shaped sign reading “I’m sorry,” I became excited at the thought of us being a couple again. I knew she would forgive me once she found my gift, and then we could be happy again. I placed the teddy bear by the door and walked back to my car. I waited there all night. I wanted to be the first person to see how surprised she was.

*

When I woke up that morning, the bed seemed to have swallowed me whole. Tangled in my bed sheets from head to toe, a product of the restless sleep I had recently started experiencing, I fought my way out of bed.

Dragging my feet, I made my way down the stairs into the kitchen, deciding to start my morning off by sipping a latte and flipping through a magazine in an attempt to distract myself from thoughts of Dylan. But it didn’t work for long.

For the past couple of days, I just couldn’t shake the feeling that he was watching me. Then, out of nowhere, he suddenly started popping up everywhere I went " the supermarket, the mall, the movie theater… I sometimes even thought I could hear the low rumbling of his car late at night.

Glancing at the clock in the kitchen, I suddenly realized I still needed to go grocery shopping today. I sat up, slipped into my shoes, and opened the front door, with my car keys in hand. As I stepped onto the porch, I felt something squish beneath my feet. I looked down, noticing brown fur sticking out from underneath my shoes. As I lifted my foot, the teddy bear tumbled down the porch stairs, landing face-up, the “I’m sorry” sign taunting me.

I felt my heart skyrocket into my throat, a wave of panic shooting through my body. This couldn’t possibly be happening again. I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket, dialing the number for the police.

*

When I walked into work on Monday, I realized instantly that she wasn’t there. It wasn’t long before I found out that she had quit.

The days seemed to drag on endlessly without her there. I was miserable. But even though I missed her there, I knew she sacrificed it for me. No one at work understood our relationship. They claimed it was one-sided. They didn’t know what they were talking about.

I bet they told her that it was inappropriate to date a co-worker. They’re just jealous. Either way, it really doesn’t matter anymore. Now that she doesn’t work here, we have nothing to worry about. She can stop pretending.

I couldn’t sleep that night. I was too excited. I stood in the middle of my bedroom, slowly turning in a circle, surveying the walls filled with the photographs I took of her. I couldn’t help grinning at the thought that I’d been able to capture her in nearly all of her favorite places, doing nearly all of her favorite things " at the movie theater, taking her dog for a walk, getting her hair cut, doing her grocery shopping, taking a bath.

But that one photograph kept pulling my attention toward it. It was a photograph of a man and her leaning into each other, kissing, in the local park. I took it after I had heard rumors at work that she had met someone new. But I knew there was nothing to worry about. He meant nothing to her.

The next night finally arrived, and I could barely contain myself as I sat in my car outside of her house, waiting for her to leave. It seemed like hours, but I didn’t care. It wouldn’t be long now.

Finally, she came out of the house, got into her car, and drove away. I walked up to the front door and used a pin to pick the lock. The door swung open, too easily. I walked into her living room, turned on some light jazz music, and began lighting scented candles on every surface throughout the room. Then, I waited for her. She was going to be so surprised.

*

After an hour, I could hear her fumbling with her keys right outside the door. As the door opened and she walked in, her eyes were downcast, distracted by trying to stuff her keys back into her purse. As she glanced up and noticed me sitting there watching her, she seemed to jump out of her skin.

“Dylan, how did you get in here?! I told you to stay away from me! I got a restraining order. I’ll call the police " I swear, I will call the police right now if you don’t leave!”

I inched closer to her, reaching out my hand to touch her. She looked so beautiful. “I just want to talk, honey.”

“I don’t want to talk! You need to stop this!” she screamed, reaching for her cell phone.

I smacked the phone out of her hand with one swipe of my wrist. Why was she acting like this?

“Don’t you see everything I’ve done for you?” I said, gesturing to the candles and stereo. “I even watch over you each night to make sure you’re all right and that no one hurts you. Who else would do that for you? Isn’t all of that enough?”

I could hear her breathing pick up, see her eyes dart around the room. She seemed frightened by something, and I felt compelled to comfort her. But as I stepped toward her, grabbing one of her arms to hold her, she slapped me hard across the face.

“I will never be with you!” she screamed, trying to pull away from me. “Why can’t you please just understand that?”

I grabbed her other arm, pulling her toward me. “You’re not thinking clearly, princess. You don’t want to just throw away a love like ours.”

“I don’t love you! I NEVER loved you! In fact, I’m seeing someone. He’ll be here any minute, so you had better leave… now,” she said firmly, yanking her hands away from me and backing up into a corner.

“Sweetheart, I know you’re just dating him to make me jealous. You don’t have to worry,” I said, trying to assure her as best as I could. “I’m not mad. You don’t have to pretend anymore. We can be together now.”

“You think I’m trying to make you jealous? You’re psycho! Why can’t you just leave me alone?!” she screamed.

 “Princess, we can work this out. If you could just see how much I care"”

“You don’t care about me! You scare the hell out of me!” she cried, cutting me off.

I clenched my fists, feeling my knuckles turn white from the lack of blood flow. Now she was just making me angry. “You don’t know how perfect we are for each other. He doesn’t deserve you. He doesn’t love you like I do.”

Yanking her by the hair, I pulled her toward my body. I reached into my pocket for one of the photographs I had taken of her to show her what she meant to me, but instead I came across my pocket knife. Feeling my temper escalate, I placed the knife against her neck and used my free hand to keep her head from moving. I noticed her muscles clench up as she looked toward the ceiling, tears pricking her eyes.

“Dylan, please " I was " I was just kidding. Of course I love you. Please don’t do this. We can be together. Just put the knife down… please.”

It was amazing to me that she could still look so beautiful, even as she plead for her life. She needed to realize that she belonged with me " she belonged to me. If only she knew how much her life meant to me. That’s why I couldn’t let her leave me.

Goosebumps formed on her skin as I ran my fingers down her arm. My poor baby. She was so cold.

“Dylan, I said I love you! Please"”

I brought the knife up to her cheek, pressing down slightly, creating a small laceration. A tiny circle of blood emerged from within the cut. I touched the blood, feeling it between my fingers, as she watched me with those big, green eyes of hers. God, she was so perfect.

I took a step closer to her. “I knew you loved me, I’ve seen the way you look at me. I can make you so happy. We can be a family.”

Just as I leaned in to embrace her, she tried to grab my knife from out of my enclosed hand. Unfortunately for her, she was too slow. I grabbed her by the neck and shoved her up against the wall, putting the knife back against her neck.

“You lied to me! B***h! Do you really think I’m going to let you go now?”

“Please… please, I’m so sorry. If you could just put the knife down"”

“You don’t get another chance!” I screamed, my blood boiling over, like a pot full of water left on high for too long. “I’ve always loved you, I tried to show you how much I care. But I won’t stand here and let you make a fool of me!”

“Dylan, pleas"“

Before she could finish, I yanked the knife against her throat as hard as I could, creating a slash about two inches deep. She collapsed into my arms, her head rolling back, her eyes blank and weak. The blood was gushing heavier now. Fascinated, I cocked my head to the side, watching the blood trickle down her body, forming a puddle on the floor.

She always had looked good in red.