Screwmates(38)

“We did it!” I said brightly. I mean, I might have been in the depths of despair, but I wasn’t about to explain my twisted thought processes to him. Plus, super embarrassing to tell a guy you just banged the one time that you’re afraid you are deeply in love with him. The horror! No, the only way to get out of this one was to fake sick. I made a weird face at him and pointed at the coffeemaker.

“Dude, I think I might have a migraine coming on. I’m gonna go lay down for a while. Coffee’s ready whenever, though.” I’d never had a migraine in my life, but unless my treacherous posse of ladies showed up to out me, Marc would never know.

“Do you want anything? You can lay in my bed if you want.” Of course he wouldn’t make this easy. The problem with falling for a nice guy is that they’re nice. Note to self: only fall for douches who could make it easy to recover.

“Nah. Thanks though. I’m just going to grab a glass of water and try to sleep for a little longer.” I wondered if he’d notice if I snuck the Lucky Charms under my shirt, too. After all, a little man trouble doesn’t sway this girl’s appetite. It felt risky, though, so I resigned myself to waiting until he was in the shower to sneak food. Damn it.

Back in my room, I did try to go back to sleep for a little while. Too much was running through my head for me to get any actual rest, though. I opened my computer and closed it several times. Finally, I pulled out my Screwmates notebook. I needed to draw through my feelings. Or at least draw some better ones for myself. Or… well, hell. I just needed to draw. It was my safe space, my meditation. And I was not about to let a man put me behind on my self-imposed deadlines.

First, I drew the two main characters, Maddy and Markus, having dinner. Just like last night, Markus cooked a feast. Not quite like last night, Maddy swept the dishes off the table and banged him on it. Tastefully, of course. Well, that was certainly a keeper.

I ripped the page out and put it in my “to be inked” pile.

Next up was the morning after. Even in the comic’s torrid alternate reality, I’d never had the two Other M’s wake up in bed together. They’d always gone back “home”, so to speak. But this time, I drew it differently. First one head pops out from under a wrinkled sheet, then the other. In this episode, Maddy asks Markus to be her boyfriend. First he accepts—then he heads back under the covers, if you know what I mean.

I stared at the page, blinking through the tears that had suddenly formed. That wasn’t the way it would happen in real life. In real life, he would say no. After all, he was leaving. This was just a sex thing. And then worst of all, he’d probably give me a hug. He’d be sympathetic.

And I would actually die of humiliation. Legitimately die. That was not going in the comic. I crumpled up the page and threw it on the floor.

Sketch, sketch, sketch. Erase, erase, erase. I worked for another half hour, and then looked over what I’d drawn. In this version of the episode, Markus tells Maddy he has something to show her. It’s a rocket ship, and not at all based on the shape of the magnificent rocket in Marc’s pants. Nope, not at all. Okay, fine, it’s a perfect replica. They hop inside and bang for several light years, finally landing in a world where there is no Paris.

Not even a Martian equivalent. In that episode, Markus asks her to go steady.

Go steady? Gross. My comic had suddenly gone 1960’s scifi. No way was that going to fly with my readers. I crumpled that one up and tossed it, too. I flopped back into my pillows and groaned, scrubbing my fists over my eyes. Just a sex thing, I reminded myself for the eight billionth time. Just a sex thing.

There was just no possible way to avoid the obvious. The comic would have to diverge sharply from real life.

That would be fine, though, because basically no one but me knew I was writing fan-fiction about my own life and putting it online. Even the girls probably only looked at my site when I sent out newsletters. Which I was overdue for. It really was time I showed them what I’d been up to, seeing as they’d been encouraging me and all. I reminded myself yet again that I really needed to explain to those tattletales how it was not to be brought up with Marc. The humiliation I imagined in my pretend asking-out would have nothing on the shame of knowing real-life Marc saw all the things I wrote about Markus.

There was just no world, fictional or not, where I could pretend it was based on some other Marc I knew.

So instead I pulled out a fresh pencil, and got to work on an entirely made-up episode, one in which Maddy and Markus dress up. They put on Sexy Ninja costumes from “their” trip to the sex shop. If those had been available in real life, I sure as heck would have bought some. Instead, I merely lived vicariously as the two of them snuck around town and furtively fooled around.

They hit the sculpture garden at the Nelson. They marked the bushes at the Liberty Memorial—not a traditional place for straight couples, but what can I say? It was an homage to Marc’s World War One specialty. Finally, they did it in the backyard of their French neighbor. Whom I had just made up and added. And she was hideous. So, hah. All in all, I was fairly pleased with my final results. Also, I was goddamn starving. The inking could wait. I had bigger fish to fry. Which made me wonder if we had any fish sticks.

I couldn’t have them until I was a big girl, though. And being a big girl meant talking to Marc. And not telling the truth at all. You know, like a grown up.

Sometime during the drawing, it had occurred to me that even though I was going to have to learn to live without Marc, I wasn’t willing to become a shut-in while he was still here. The sex thing might be over, but the enjoyment of his company was still very much alive. And even though those feelings had become completely tied up in the Big L, I cherished our time together. If all I would ever have to look back on was this last couple weeks before his big trip, I wanted them to at least be memories of the two of us, not just me and my solitude.