Dead Sexy: Second Endings 1

by Lulu M. Sylvian

  “Oh no, not you again,” I whispered.

  When I looked down at my notebook, I had doodled out a crow. Yeah, I got the hint. I should be drawing this thing, not writing it. Why not make Johnny Urban a graphic novel? This was clearly my project now. Peter had fucked off to who knows where. He never wanted the story to do much more than be him having sex with Michelle and making her pregnant. She got pregnant every time they had sex, even if she was pregnant already.

  Well, if I was going to do this thing, I was going to do it right. I needed characters, I needed more than just Johnny banging Michelle. I needed a plot, I needed action. I had ideas tucked away, Johnny Urban was going to be a were-tiger, Peter be damned.

  I left the cafe and grabbed a sketch book from my office before heading to the mall. I wanted to make some character sketches. See if I could find some inspiration models for some characters I had created with words, and for characters I hadn’t yet invented.

  Johnny was easy: tall, brawny, blond. Michelle was also easy: super curvy, Hispanic, long flowing brown hair, big lips, bigger eyes. But other characters I had no idea what they should look like. I wasn’t going to do character development on campus because of the lack of variety. Students seemed to fit into a limited set of looks. Girls wore oversized shirts, leggings, infinity scarves, and Ugg boots. Boys wore skinny jeans, blazers and infinity scarves. Then there was the third style group that consisted of boys and girls in jeans and T-shirts and chucks. There did not seem to be the wide variety of body types and styles on campus as I could find at the mall. I think a lot had to do with students on campus being from a narrow age range and similar financial backgrounds. The mall offered a larger range and variety of socioeconomic styles.

  I had to wander up and down a bit before I found an open bench on which to park myself so I could work. I wanted to stay out of the food court, simply because not everyone went through there, and I wanted as much variety as I could access. I began sketching frantically, getting in as many details as I could in my limited time observing people as they walked past me.

  I started sketching as much of each person as I could. I would pick someone walking slowly toward me, so I had some time to get as much visual detail in as I could. This wasn’t working nearly as well as I had hoped. I couldn’t sketch an entire person at once, not enough time. I began breaking the sketches into groups: body types, shapes of faces, clothing styles, haircuts.

  I easily spent an hour sketching out tattoo ideas specifically. There were so many options, locations, and styles for tattoos. A tattoo was a great identifying feature for a bad guy, especially if the situation was such that the viewer didn’t see his face right away, but did see his arm, or leg. I was toying with the idea of giving Johnny one. It wasn’t the fact that Peter didn’t have any tattoos that caused me to hesitate, the constant repetitive rendering of it caused me to hesitate. I realized I could place the tattoo across his chest, or on his back so that it would be covered with clothes most of the time. It would only be exposed when his clothes were off. Of course giving him a big tattoo would give Michelle Cole an excuse to touch him. It needed to be a tiger.

  I knew I would give Michelle a tattoo. I had pretty much decided she was going to have a thing for tigers, so she was going to have a tiger tattoo. Maybe it would match Johnny’s tattoo if I gave him one. There was no way I could go with meek office assistant for her anymore, now she needed something fierce, intrinsically strong. Zookeeper or circus performer kept trying to make space in my head. They both had strong points in favor of the concepts. The zookeeper could have a history of working with big animals in the field, Africa or India. So zookeeper Michelle would be adventurous and know how to handle herself in exotic locations. Circus performer Michelle would be super agile, having started as a trapeze artist. She would know how to deal with people, and would have questionable connections practically everywhere she went.

  Suddenly, Michelle was very noisy in my head as if she finally found her voice to tell me things. I wasn’t sure of her job, but I knew exactly how Michelle would find out Johnny was a were-tiger. Confronted by bad guys, with no way out. Eminent death type situation, until a large tiger leaps into the fray, Michelle takes the opportunity to escape. Being familiar enough with large cats, she knows she has a limited window of opportunity to escape while the cat is occupied with the bad guys before it turns on her. An enraged tiger is not an animal to try to reason with. She’ll have a thought bubble including information on a tiger’s jumping range, and how she needs to get distance and obstacles between her and the beast. I’d have to research that.

  I could picture the first panel of the scene, a bird’s eye view of Michelle running into an alley, a typical alley with pallets and boxes and a dumpster. The buildings on either side would have metal fire escapes. The next panel would be a back view of Michelle as she stops. Confronted by a brick wall, the alley is a dead end. She turns and sees the silhouette of the large cat at the opening of the alley. In a series of small panels, I would show what Michelle sees as she assesses her situation, boxes and a pallet leaning against a brick wall, opposite a dumpster under a fire escape ladder. The action would be tricky to illustrate, I would have to show her completing multiple actions in one frame. I wanted to show her using the boxes and pallet to run up the wall parkour fashion, that free-running, gymnastic combination that’s so popular in foot chase scenes in action movies. She would use the wall to launch herself across the alley onto the dumpster and leap up to the fire escape. She would then climb up several stories before leaping across the alley to a balcony.

  When she looks down, a very nude Johnny Urban would be standing with his hands on his hips laughing at himself over her escape. He would say something like, “Damn woman, here I thought you needed my help, clearly you can take care of yourself.”

  She would jump down, landing in a crouch before him. For a moment she would be the one to look like the dangerous beast, glowing eyes and hair fanned out around her. A metaphor for how Johnny sees her. She’s beautiful, yet dangerous to him on an emotional level. He would comment on her ability to jump, it would have to be snide, a back-handed comment. He would step up to her, wrapping his arms around her hips. And as he leans in for a kiss, she slaps him across the face, hard.

  Yeah, I could completely picture the entire exchange. I liked this version of Michelle Cole much better. Nothing wimpy about her. And she wanted to have a domestic side and be a baker. She wouldn’t be a glorified housekeeper, no she would be equal, an integral part of Johnny Urban’s ability to be a hero. The doodles and thumbnails I sketched made sense to me. The next step would be to actually draw it so that other people could see what I saw inside my head.

  I went back to creating model studies of the people at the mall. I started making character pages for myself, taking some of the more distinctive sketches and fleshing them out a bit more. I had the sketch of the character on the left side of the page, and then I added descriptive words next to the drawing. I included things like hair color, height, accent, and what kind of person this character would be.

  You’ve been at this for hours. Peter’s voice was a chuckle in my head. I had forgotten he could find me at this mall, after all it had some sort of metaphysical energy rift through it.

  Oh my God Peter, how long have you been here? I hated that I couldn’t hear him sneak up on me. I also hated thinking he’s been here and I had been ignoring him.

  For a while, you’ve been so engrossed. I sat here watching you. He practically purred. He sounded happy and content.

  I’ve missed you. I started packing my things up. I wanted to talk to him, and I wanted to be with him. Talking, I could do in the mall, be with, I could not. I had to be asleep for that to work.

  Don’t stop on my account. He said. You can keep drawing, you looked very serene. It’s why I didn’t disturb you.

  But I haven’t seen you for days. I knew I whined.

  I know. I wanted to say hi. I’ll be back again soon.

&
nbsp; You’re not staying? I asked. I was hurt.

  I’ll be back in a few days, don’t fuss.

  Don’t fuss? He told me not to fuss. I hadn’t seen him in days and he treated me like I was acting crazy and possessive. He hadn’t seen crazy and possessive yet.

  Don’t treat me like I’m acting possessive and clingy. I simply told you I missed you. I clenched my jaw, I even sounded as if I was hissing through my teeth. I fully resented him at that moment.

  I said I’ll be back, you need to relax, Gilligan.

  I felt like the top of my head was about to erupt like Krakatoa. He was being a complete ass. And I felt like kicking the hornet’s nest.

  Well, you just go and have a good time, but try to only come back while I’m at work. I think I’m going to start sleeping with the guy I went out with last week. I really don’t want an audience. It was all a lie, but he wanted to treat me like a crazy person, then I was going stick him where I knew it hurt.

  My sketchbook flew off the bench. I stared at it. Peter’s ability to move the physical was so unpredictable. I could hear him growling. I had pissed him off. I smiled at that little triumph.

  Don’t like that idea much do you? I smirked.

  Gillian, I told you I don’t want you sleeping with anyone else. He growled.

  So you want me to become a nun or something? Cause I haven’t been sleeping with anybody, including you. I yelled in my head. Treat me like some crazy bitch, and I’ll give you crazy bitch. Most people don’t like it when I lose my cool. Redheads have earned their fiery temper reputation. I was no exception. I was hurt and angry. Not a good combination. You want me to act like your girlfriend, and have some sort of exclusive relationship with you then I think you need to suck it up and realize I’m not going to sit around at home twiddling my thumbs waiting for you.

  That’s not what I meant, Gil. His tone was softer, I could sense the back peddling. At least he knew now was the time to start backing off.

  No. You meant that you want me to be available when you want me. I went through that bullshit with David, and you’re trying it now. Uh uh. I’m not playing like that Peter. If you want me then you need to want me. And you need to let me know that you want me. Disappearing for days at a time, then stopping by to say, ‘hi oh don’t get mad that I keep disappearing on you,’ isn’t gonna cut it. It’s not like I can call you to see if you’re okay. I don’t make plans thinking you might come home, then you don’t. And knowing you, if I do make plans, you’ll get all pissed off that I’m not available for you. Then you tell me to not fuss? Fuck that. I waited for him to respond. I continue to pack my things. I couldn’t see him at all, not even if I closed my eyes. At first, I thought he might have absconded while I was chewing him out, then he spoke.

  I’m sorry, Gil. His voice was soft.

  I’m going home, I expect you to be there. I was not going to fuss. I was in bitch mode and told him what I wanted.

  He was there when I got home. I stomped all the way into my room.

  “Do it,” I said out loud, as I lay down, expecting him to pull me into sleep. He did.

  We had angry sex. It was aggressive and unforgiving, and it felt so much better than yelling did or hitting would. I turned into a mewling clingy mess afterward. I had missed him so much, and I told him so.

  “This is something I need to be doing,” he explained.

  “I get that, but you could have told me. Don’t just show up for a drive-by ‘hi there see you later.’ Especially after you’ve been off for days.” I felt like I should have told him that I loved him. Like that would be the leverage I needed to keep him with me. But it wasn’t and I didn’t.

  “I need to go. I will be back for you.” He stroked the side of my face. I watched him get dressed then walk out of my room. I stared at the door and willed him to walk back through it. I had never actually been interested in what was on the other side of that door until now. I got out of bed and opened the door. I fell forward into a swirl of color that morphed into my normal level of strange and weird dreams.

  I woke up. My first thought was, well that’s what’s behind the door, more dreams. It was late, but I wasn’t tired enough to go back to sleep for the night. I ended getting up, making some ramen, and watching TV movies into the early morning. My emotions were too numb to really process what was happening between Peter and myself.

  Peter came back the next day. It was nice. He sat on a stool at the counter while I did my Sunday cooking and food prep. He didn’t really talk about anything in particular. I enjoyed being with him. But it was different. It wasn’t relaxed and casual. Our conversation was stilted and forced.

  I felt like he was here out of a sense of obligation and not because he really wanted to be with me. He wasn’t flirty, and he didn’t try to look down my shirt. I wanted him here because I was being selfish, and I knew he would disappear again soon. I had no idea if it would be for days or weeks this time. The closer it got to the reported release date of the movie the longer Peter was gone.

  I put my knife down. I didn’t want to be chopping peppers and onions. I wanted to touch Peter. I was more in a mood for cuddling, but I wouldn’t turn down more sex.

  I have an idea, let me finish this then we can go upstairs. I suggested.

  Peter huffed, it wasn’t a positive or a negative sound. I really couldn’t tell if he wanted to be with me. I know if he had been there and I could have touched him, I would have put down my knife right then, grabbed his hand and dragged him upstairs. Too many would haves and could haves.

  I finished the onions after the peppers, then I washed up. I wasn’t in the mood to make salsa or hummus, even though I had purchased to ingredients to do so. Maybe I would later.

  “Come on,” I said out loud before I headed upstairs.

  I curled up on my bed and waited to wake on the dream plane.

  “What do you want from me, Gil?” Peter asked.

  I want your future. I want your children. I want your love. I want to know you won’t ever leave me. There were so many things I wanted from Peter that I could never tell him. I settled for, “I want you to hold me.”

  He pulled me into his embrace. He felt warm and comfortable. I wanted to cuddle and be held, but I was bad at it. He was so close and smelled so good. I couldn’t help myself. I began caressing his chest and licking at his arms where my head rested against them.

  He chuckled, “I’m not going to only hold you if you keep that up.”

  “Okay, I’ll be good.” I snuggled in and for a few minutes, I rested against him. It probably wasn’t very long before I groped him again.

  Peter chuckled again and removed my hands from his crotch. I snaked my hands under his shirt and tickled along the side of his ribs. He shook his head, sighing exasperatedly with me. But he smiled. I petted his crotch again, I could feel his cock growing under the fabric of his pants.

  “Keep that up, and I’ll have to take action, and not be limited to snuggling.” He laughed.

  “Promise?” I asked as I continued to massage him through his clothes.

  Peter flipped me around and clamped down on my breast with his mouth. He sucked at me through my clothes. I smiled, I was getting what my body wanted, to be touched excessively by him. There was a small part of my brain that was sad. It felt that I had to do this as much as possible before he left me for good.

  He pulled my clothes from me and started kissing me possessively. I was too caught up in the touching to focus on getting his clothes off right away. There was something incredibly sexy about being naked, and being kissed and caressed while he was fully clothed. He pulled away long enough to remove his clothes. I was on him, touching his skin, feeling the hairs on his chest tickling my fingertips. I started running my hands over all of him, down his legs, across his abs. I looked at him with as much love as I felt. I wondered if he could see it in my face.

  He kissed me again. He shifted us so he was back on top. I liked him up there. He felt so firm and strong. He had th
e type of body that would be hard to follow up with another soft-bodied lover. If I ever get over him when this ends I’m going to have to start fraternizing with some of those young men in the fitness center. I’ll be good and make sure they are either seniors or graduate students.

  I chuckled at my train of thought. How could I think of anything other than the man above me? I was too distracted with other thoughts when I should be properly distracted by him. I slid my leg up his, then lost any and all thought beyond how his body felt against mine.

  I fell asleep in his arms in post-coital bliss. He left while I slept. When I woke up I knew it would be a very long time before I saw him again, if ever. At least he hadn’t left me after an argument.

  18

  I spent the next few weeks bouncing between cross, cranky, and crying uncontrollably—I recovered faster from breaking up with David. Then again, that relationship had closure, this one had nothing. We didn’t have a last argument or a “see ya later.” I had nothing. Peter was gone. He abandoned me.

  Had he moved on? I didn’t know. But he was dead as far as my heart cared. Not dead to me, but from me. His death finally took him away from me, and it hurt with every fiber of my being. But I couldn’t mourn the loss publicly. Peter hadn’t left me for another woman. No, he left me because of his life.

  The first week of my abandonment, I continued to read Michelle’s blog almost daily. It was updated constantly, so there was always new information. John Lambert frequently posted regarding the movie.

  The second week, when I figured he wasn’t coming back, I was pissed. A few days later, the crying started. At least with David, I had been distracted by Peter so I didn’t break down at work over the break up. This time, I had no distractions, and try as I might to be cool and collected, I failed.

  I frequently worked through tears. I was not a pleasant sight. My nose was red from blowing it, and my eyes were constantly rimmed in red as well. I couldn’t wear makeup because I would cry it off before lunch time.