The Fray Theory: Resonance by Nelou Keramati

herself.
    She cranes her left hand out the window of her white Fiat,
relishing the sensation of cool air weaving through her fingers. And although
she has no idea where she is, or where she’s going, she feels perfectly
content. Peaceful even. That is until an exit sign from further up the road
kindles her curiosity.
    She squints to read it, but the letters seem garbled. So she flings
her focus onto the exit number instead.
    ‘EXIT 6’ she reads as the sign approaches. And the moment it
flies past her, Neve notices a young man sitting in her passenger’s seat.
    He’s got a stunning profile: straight nose, high cheekbones,
and a chiseled jaw line. And his slicked-back, dark brown hair is resting on
his shoulders. He is wearing a loose, charcoal sweater and black fitted jeans.
And although Neve can’t imagine how, she feels like she has met him before.
    “Hi,” she says, but the young man doesn’t respond. So she directs
her gaze back out onto the road.
    Another highway sign is fast approaching.
    ‘EXIT 6’ she reads again as it swooshes past them. But this
time, Neve feels like she has just missed a second opportunity.
    “Merge,” the stranger’s steely voice beckons her attention.
    Neve braces herself to apologize for missing their exit—or
what she assumes to have been their exit—but the man’s indifference shatters
her resolve.
    This time when she looks out onto the road, she realizes she
is speeding up a ramp—one she must have taken without even noticing.
    She peeks over at the highway her path is converging into,
and her jaw drops at the sight of thousands of white Fiats idling bumper to
bumper. It’s like staring at a stream of white ladybugs in total gridlock.
    “Merge,” the man repeats.
    “There’s no room,” Neve feverishly scans the gaps between the
vehicles as the two of them continue to speed into peril.
    “Merge.”
    “I can’t!” Neve stomps onto her brakes to no avail. “Oh my God—”
she tries to pull the car over onto the side-road, but her steering wheel is
stiff as a rock.
    “OH MY GOD!”
     
    Neve awakens to
the sound of an early morning truck backing up. As the veil of her dream is slowly
pulled from her heavy lids, she arches her back and stretches the fatigue from her
veins.
    It’s been two
days since Elliot’s celebration of life. And since Neve had a meltdown in
Dylan’s arms.
    She’d hoped her
spontaneous visit would put it all on the table. That by standing her ground,
she could finally get some real answers and be one step closer to closure.
    Instead, she
unravelled and wept in the arms of the very person who hurt her. She spilled
her closely guarded secrets as the walls she spent years building crumbled
around her.
    And to this very
moment, she doesn’t know if her choice to leave was smart or stupid. Had she
stayed, maybe they would’ve talked until all the kinks were ironed out. But
would that have been the best time, given her state of mind?
    She rolls to her
side and stares out her window, wondering why Dylan hasn’t reached out since.
But then again, he did insist that she calls him after her session today
with Alexander Galen. The emergency session he practically demanded of his own shrink,
barely five seconds into receiving a call from him.
    If that doesn’t
show just how much he cares about her, then what will?
    She sits up and
sinks into a wilting posture, trying to think of what to wear to her first therapy
session in years.
    If Galen is
indeed the best psychiatrist in the city as Dylan put it, then who knows… A
quick visit just might prove to be worthwhile.
    σ
    Three
hours since she woke up from her highway dream, Neve sits by herself on a Victorian
loveseat in Alexander Galen’s office. She keeps tapping her foot as if it could
shake off her anxiety.
    What’s taking him so
long ? Is this his lunch break ?
    She scans his spacious office,
which quite frankly, looks more like the lobby of a luxury hotel. The large floor
tiles are a soft cream