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I
Sometimes, you see a person braced in the corner of your room, expressionless face and wary eyes, staring into unseen space.
You write for her--to help her with her pain.
It comes back.
Again.
And you write it away again, screaming at welling, bubbling pain.
Tell it to go, to find someone else to torment.
It has a name sometimes.
Often.
You shouldn’t say it out loud
Or she will crumble.
So you write positive, pleasing stories, ones with happy endings and sweet, sore angst with a perfect burn, sting soothed and tied up in a rain...bow.
II
One day, you walk out of the frame of an excellent little story you created for her, for you. You’re pacing the floor of your room, side-eying the computer.
Suddenly, you hear a grunt and feet dropping to the floor behind you.
Large feet.
You turn.
A big, big man has jumped down from your desk.
You stare at him. He stares at you.
Black hair; amber eyes.
Fantasy man.
“Hi,” he says. “You called me?”
“No,” you say. “You’re in my story. Go away.”
“Pretty sure you called me outside.”
He gazes at you in expectation. He is dressed all in black with leather gloves. Serious. Angry.
You glare at him. “I wouldn’t want you in real life,” you tell him. “No one would, villain boy.”
He crosses his massive arms in front of himself.
“Why not?”
“Because,” you tell him. “It’s not how this thing works. In real life, you villain people are awful, mean, vicious, and cruel. Even if it’s not entirely your fault because you were messed up as a child with some asshole’s voice inside your head, blah, blah, uncle tried to murder you, yeah, blah...”
He shrugs. “I’m yours. What if I’m not that awful.”
“Go back,” you say. You point toward the computer screen.
He walks over and grasps your shoulders. “I’m your first. I’m a bad guy turned good. From Kylo to Ben, remember? You wrote me that way and now I’m here.”
You step back. He steps forward.
You point a finger at him. “You’re here to get total acceptance from me. I’ve given that before to others and it doesn’t do anything good. They throw it in my face like a pile of wet, shredded tissues.”
You wrench away.
He presses his ripe lips together lightly, the ones you linger on describing.
“I would be angry on your behalf and take down all those standing in your way.”
“You would take me down, too.” You’re spitting and clawing.
He stands, firm, and lets you come at him.
“I am your anger, my love,” he says. “Accept me. Love me. I love you.”
He pulls you close and you beat on him. Then wrap him tightly in your arms. He puts his lips on your temple.
III
Another set of feet drop. You whirl in the shelter of the first one’s arms.
The second one is in your room.
“Hey, kid.” He stretches and scratches his bare chest. “Yep, I’m here, too, doll. Miss me? Naw. You write me all the time and love me so well.”
You roll your eyes and step away from the other.
“No, definitely not you, Adam Sackler,” you spit. “You are one of the worst. I have no idea why I write you. People say that you’re the one with the most problems, next to him.”
You jerk your thumb in Kylo’s direction. “Him, he’s kind of a bad guy.”
“Hey,” Kylo rumbles. “Anger, rage, remember?”
“Yeah, but what’s this guy?” You stare at Sackler who creeps up on you like a big cat. He rocks you, arms around you from behind.
He makes unearthly yipping noises at the top of his voice.
You smack your hands over your ears.
“Shit,” you say. “Shut the fuck up.”
He dances around to face you. “I’m a creep, I’m a weirdo, and a little bit Daddy just for you. You love my wild energy.”
“I really don’t,” you mutter. “Fucking nutball.”
“Yep, yep, ya do. I’m the one who makes you let loose. Tall emo boyfriend there is all about being mad and yelling. I’m all about being crazy.”
Kylo grunts. “Fuck you, Sackler. You’re as pissed as I am about life and ready to blow. I see you, motherfucker.”
“Boys,” you say. “Shut up, both of you. I don’t want your anger or wildness in my life. I just write you so I can tame you.”
“Good, good,” Sackler says. “I’d like you to tame me.” He snuggles up and nuzzles his face into yours. “You’re so pretty.”
You look up into his sparkling eyes. You don’t believe him--not a word.
He winks audaciously at you and kisses you quickly. “I love you, doll.”
You fear him. He turns on a dime, with sweetness and rage. At least Kylo plays all one emotion, gazing around the room with hot eyes ready to toss a helm at the nearest wall. He’s easy to read.
Sackler could be playful and then scream at you. Not good, not cool. You’ve been down that road many times before. It’s not fun to be on your toes all the damn time wondering who you’re talking to.
Rage.
Play.
Who is it today?
Play is one thing… but Sackler is volatile.
“Learn it,” he says sternly. “Learn to take the unsteady emotions.”
“No,” you say. “Get back in the story where I can force you to behave.”
“You never do,” he snaps back. “I take your story away from you and I make it weird. Every. Single. Time.” His hair falls on his forehead and he takes you by the neck.
His kiss is soft, then bruising, then soft again.
“But you really like it this way, doll,” he whispers.
IV
“Another one,” Kylo barks.
Hair parted in the center, flannel shirt, and a gun holster, the new one stands by the desk, tapping his fingers.
“What the actual fuck?” he growls.
Kylo meets your eyes. “Meanest of us all, I would say. I’m just a boy, really. This one’s a man.” He watches your reaction to his statement.
You wince. You love writing the manly man.
The one who for reals for reals you would run far from.
Gun-toting, police-detectiving, flannel-wearing, smoking, emotionless fucker. Passing for WASP.
“So, who are you supposed to be?” you snipe at the detective. “Father figure? Alpha male? Oh, fuck you. Just go the fuck back into your damn stories. I love you so much, yet you’re the worst. You’re everything I can’t stand.”
He looks down at you with a furrowed forehead. “Why’d ya write me so much? You don’t like it, don’t write it. I thought you hated Sackler.”
Sackler giggles. “Nope. She wants a soft boy. Not you, you maniac. Risking your shit. Denying who you are. Damn, you’re a fucking mess.”
“Who the fuck are you talking to?” Flip bellies up to Sackler. “You skinny, goggle-wearing freak.”
You step between them. “I hate both of you in real life. I’d probably end up with Sackler, though.”
Flip grunts. “Not hot emo over there?” He jerks a thumb in Kylo’s direction.
Kylo stands still, only a twitch betraying his emotions. “No, she’d be with Sackler. She’d think he was funny.”
“Until he wasn’t,” Flip remarks dryly. “When he’s making weird noises on the phone and won’t say an actual sentence and she’s thinking what is up his ass? At least I’ll talk to her like a grown-up.”
“Bitch at me, more likely,” you say. “Who are you to me?”
“Your steady Daddy man, little one,” he says, stroking a thumb over your mouth. “No one takes care of you better.”
“Is it worth the price?” you mumble.
Sackler hoots. “Only in the stories, kid. Only there. You get one of these Flip’s in real life and you’re cleaning the kitchen at 10 pm because the baby dumped out a giant cup of juice. He’s had a fucking fit and stomped off pissed. Sits in his big chair, mumbling about how he puts in a hard day’s work and can’t understand why you’re so fucking frazzled. You’re doing everything; he’s doing shit.”
You glare at Flip. He lights a cigarette and says, “what?” with it hanging from his lips.
You grab it and grind it into the floor. “Put that stupid thing out.”
“That’s my fucking business, little girl,” he growls.
Sackler laughs out loud. “See, I’m way more fun than that.”
Flip rushes Sackler. “You shut the hell up. I’m her stability. I’m her rock. Now she has money and a man who works hard. What is it you do? Hanging out with losers, making home movies.”
Kylo snorts. “You’re going to yell more than protect, there, Flip. Give it up.”
“What do you know about it, bringer of death?” Flip turns to Kylo.
Kylo raises his brows and chews his lip. He shrugs.
V
You ignore them and turn around in time to see another big, thick dude hit the floor. He’s the biggest one yet with the longest, softest hair.
You can’t help but run to him.
He catches you and mumbles, “Sugar” into your hair.
“I don’t look like I used to,” you say into his shirt.
“No, ma’am, you don’t,” he says. He hugs you tightly. “You look like you could use a margarita, baby girl.”
“No, go away,” you say, pushing him back. “I don’t look right for you. I can’t have any of you here. My hair was all that’s left of my beauty and even it’s gone a hideous gray now.”
You have seen your hair in the mirror with its soft waves that used to look lush and full. Now the hair is dry, even with the pretty waves you once loved. When you cut it, you wished for it back. Then it grew back flat and dull, and with it came lumps and bumps and plenty of extra weight on your older body.
The fantasy boys blink at you like they don’t notice, but you do. You know what you see in the mirror.
The biggest one, softest one, thickest one, Southernest one pulls you in and presses you against his body with one hand.
The other is missing.
He knows loss.
“I still love you, sugar. I don’t care.” He kisses the top of your drab, going-gray head. He puts his big hand on your round hips and belly, smoothing over the hills.
“I’m your comfort. Your soft one. I’ll cry with you, if you need to cry.”
You look into his sweet eyes. “I know you will, Clyde. But you should go back. Because you have too much on your mind to bother with me. You could focus for a while, then…”
You know his gentle gaze would drift away because that’s what happens when men call you a problem.
When they say your volume is on too high for them.
When you are too needy.
And drinks and bartender talk don’t help.
Clyde can’t stand at the damn bar all day, listening to you whine about some shit that you should have solved on your own.
What the fuck is the matter with you, sugar?
Clyde kisses you so sweetly, his soft mustache and beard brushing your face and you wish for his love.
Flip idly comments. “Yeah, she already sees the problem. Not one of us could bear to hang in there with her. Not even our boy here. He’s a good listener but…”
They shake their heads and mutter to each other.
VI
“Assholes,” you scream. “Men are fucking assholes who can’t be there for women. You fantasy guys included. I write you differently. But in real life…”
You can’t bear it for a moment.
You swallow, trying to hold yourself together.
“There is no real life for you.” Kylo steps forward to touch you, help your rage.
He looks down into your face. “There is none. Nothing but us. Nothing but fantasy.”
“You aren’t real,” you say. “None of you are right.”
Clyde frowns. “There are a couple of others. Maybe one of those would be better for you.”
“Whatever,” you say.
You try to seize the slippery fantasy, grip it as tightly as you can.
It’s like smoke, drifting upward and curling around the ceiling.
“Fuck,” Sackler shouts suddenly. “Nobody’s perfect. Is that what you expect? We can be flawless--in fantasy. But you expect it in real life.”
You turn on him, growling. “I fucking well do not. I expect you jerks to act like decent people. Men don’t. They simply cannot bring themselves to be good to women.”
You stop.
Are you being unfair?
“At least the ones I know,” you amend.
You realize that not a man among them ponders the idea of fairness.
At all.
VII
Another set of monster-large feet plunk down. He stands in a blue button-down shirt and pair of khakis, hands on hips.
“What the hell is going on in here? Where’s my luggage?”
“Can’t be too careful with that luggage,” Kylo notes. “Hi, Dad. Nice outfit.”
Charlie flicks his eyes at Kylo. “You go out looking like that?”
Sackler snorts a laugh. “Dad’s got some game.”
Flip catches your eye. “Like him better? He’s a softer Daddy. But he’s all into his art and not into you.”
Charlie rubs his forehead. “Now, that’s just mean. Mistakes were made. Things did happen. We move on.”
“Right,” Flip says. “YOU made mistakes, Dad. Don’t try that cover-up shit on me--or on her.” He points to you.
Charlie’s eyes flick miserably over your way. “I’m so sorry. I’m the one who confesses and begs you for forgiveness.”
He drops to his knees in front of you and wraps his long arms around your body. His face is red. He sobs.
You can’t stop yourself from holding him, running fingers through his silky hair.
Even though you don’t know if you want to.
The real men do this shit when they’re wrong, sometimes, if they aren’t too busy blaming you for their sins.
“Oh, for the love…” Flip pulls on Charlie’s arm. “Get the fuck up, asshole. Just do better.”
“Hey,” Clyde says. “We all ask for forgiveness in her stories. We all fuck up and we all do better.”
“Or say we will, anyway.” Sackler gives you an unrepentant grin. “I for one can’t help myself. She forgives me each and every time because she understands. She’s an understanding person.”
Kylo snags Sackler's arm and holds it behind his back. “And you just take all kinds of advantage of her, don’t you, goggle-boy?”
Sackler breaks free. “Get the fuck off me, emo.”
Charlie rolls his eyes at you. “Let them kill each other. No great loss.”
VIII
Another pair of feet. “Now, who?” you ask as you turn around.
A tall one with ears and a bus driver’s outfit.
“Hi, pumpkin,” he says to you with a friendly nod.
“Poetry alert,” Clyde says. “Could be good. Anyone want a drink while we listen to Paterson recite?”
Groans.
Flip points at the newcomer. “Open your mouth to recite a poem and I’m out.”
Paterson just smiles. “She likes poetry, Flip. I’m her artist.”
He turns his attention to you. “Pumpkin, I have new poems for you to look at.”
He holds out his precious book.
You take it and thumb through it, looking at his pretty handwriting.
The words blur on the page from tears.
You haven’t been able to write Paterson. Not well, anyway. Not to comfort you with poems or artistic pursuits.
He’s a perfect one. Solid, steady, just plain nice.
And you can’t write him.
For reasons.
You hand him the book.
He drops it on the table and smiles at you.
He opens his arms but you shake your head.
You can’t. Not yet. He’s not the one for that.
Fucking Sackler snickers in the background.
Flip rumbles a warning growl, showing you that you're all his.
Fuck.
IX
Where’s Ben?
You begin to wonder about him.
He’s the one you write the most.
He’s the one with the most facets, sometimes Daddy, sometimes soft boy, sometimes sexy…
He’s not here.
Kylo saunters up. He leans in and whispers lightly in your ear.
You shiver.
“You like me better. But you use his name. He’s in here.”
His eyes meet yours and darkness shifts away.
Ben tugs off a glove and touches your hair. “I love you so for giving me life, my sweetest woman.”
He kisses you gently on your lips.
X
“One more, one more, one more,” sings Sackler and the others follow suit.
“Best one of all,” Flip says with a tiny wink.
And Fantasy Man emerges from nothing, awkward as fuck, pushing back his silky locks, biting his lips, stumbling, and staring.
“What the fuck?” he says softly. “What is happening?”
“Hey,” Sackler says. “It’s me. Remember, I’m the one you played the longest!”
The newest arrival looks around. “Holy fuck. They’re all here.” His mouth is open as his eyes wander from one to the next.
“Some of us are missing,” Paterson says. He ticks off on his fingers. “Uh, Jamie, Phillip, Jude, Paul, Allen, and who’s that one in the desert? I can never remember his name.”
“Rick. Rick Smolan,” Sackler intones. “He wears shorts, like me. Knobby knees.”
“That’s quite a few men,” Clyde remarks to no one in particular.
“Pale and the priest guy,” Ben adds. “Possibly others from those guest appearances on TV shows.”
“And the guys from the older plays,” Flip says. “Those onstage characters with the ears. Glad you covered those babies up. I for one don’t want them hanging out like satellite dishes.”
The newcomer stares at Flip. “Can I help you?”
“Not especially.” Flip snorts at him. “Why are you here, real Adam?”
You bite your lip. “I wrote him, too. Shouldn’t have, though.”
Adam nods. “You’re right. Real Person Fiction. What the hell is that? You erase my life for your own fantasies? That’s not right. It’s fucking embarrassing.”
You can’t meet his damning look. “I know. But it’s my favorite. You are the best one to take care of me, help me. You give me love when I need it most.”
You shudder at the guilt running through you. It makes you sick.
XI
Tears run down your cheeks.
It’s not real.
It’s called maladaptive by people who don’t understand trauma.
And you crave it so much.
In real life, the men, the real ones, beat you down, terrorize and gaslight you.
You try so hard to let it go but it chokes you daily and you turn to the ones standing in front of you.
One will fight and rage for you.
One will make you laugh.
One will be your bedrock.
One will love you as you are.
One will apologize for wronging you.
One will create gifts just for you.
One will change.
One will be real.
Though he’s not yours.
They all wrap you in a circle of fake love, generated by you yourself, all for you yourself.
This is nothing new to you.
You’ve pretended all your life that beautiful men care.
Maladaptive.
And they haven’t.
And they don’t.
And probably won’t ever.
But that’s all right, it’s okay, it’s fine fine fine for you now.
You have fantasy men, sure.
But you also have friends who love you in real life.
Even if the men don’t.
You write for a person huddling in a corner with dead eyes.
Then share it with others who need it, too.
The fantasy men must return to their stories, where you control difficulties, solve problems, and soothe hurt so tenderly.
You must help someone in the corner of your room.
XII
Fake Adam steps forward first to leave you. He sighs. “I don’t really know you. I guess it can’t hurt me. Create me how you want me, if that’s what you need,” he says. He kisses your cheek. “I’m always here.”
The Soft Poet hugs you. “One day you may write me, too. Watch, listen to the recitations. My voice snares your soul, my writer.”
Your strong, solo Changing Man smiles, a real smile. “More adventures, my love. Take me with you--everywhere.” He kisses you softly, then disappears.
“I’m sorry for all they’ve done to you. I wish it were different.” The Apologist Dad kisses your hands, fingers, palm. “I’ll tell you every day that you don’t deserve this treatment.”
Big Man Acceptance hugs you tightly. “Don’t change. Be who you are. Be old. Be gray. Just for me. We’ll have margaritas together. Always here to listen, baby girl.”
Detective of your Heart and Soul strokes his mustache for a moment, gazing at you. He tugs you close and kisses you hard, slipping his tongue inside your mouth. “I’m your Daddy, baby. I will always take care of you, whether you think you need me or not. I don’t take no for an answer.”
Wild Man dances around and picks you up to whirl in a circle. He always makes you laugh out loud. “I’m your favorite. You know I am. Just say it or I'll tease you until you go crazy.” He leans in. “I’ll let you come eventually, though.” He nips at your lips, growling like a bear.
Knight of Ren stands tall, in his black tunic, gloves on.
“Don’t be afraid,” he says. “I feel it, too.”
He holds out his hand.
You take it.