mermaidav: Forget it.
SpyderMan: All I’m saying is, you’re usually so rational and circumspect. I expected you to be a bit more wary of new people.
mermaidav: I shouldn’t have said anything. Let’s drop it.
SpyderMan: Who is this bloke, really?
mermaidav: Hold please, I’m looking for my glasses…
SpyderMan: ?
mermaidav: So I can see if I give a fuck about what you think… Oh, yeah, no I definitely don’t.
SpyderMan: Fuck. That’s not what I meant. I just want you to be careful. To be safe
I’m so over this conversation. While he types out his next message—sure to be another hard backpedal—I log off without saying goodbye.
Who the fuck does he think he is? Is he threatened that there’s someone real in my life that caught my interest? What, he just wants me to stay hung up on him?
Okay, that doesn’t really fit with what I know about him. But, then again, we’ve never really talked about any of this stuff… For all I know, he’s married with 2.5 kids and a dog!
Was it so much to hope that my only friend would be happy for me? Was it so much to hope that my emotions about it wouldn’t be this ridiculously complex?
We can’t be together. It’s a line we’ve both drawn. It’s dumb to dwell on it or be upset, because we both know it’s for the best. And yet, there’s a small part of me thatthrillsin his jealousy. Part of me wishes he would push back harder.
And that’s exactly the problem.
A voice in the back of my head warns me that texting Peter just because I’m pissed off at SpyderMan is exactly the kind of childish behavior he was just accusing me of—and I fucking hate proving a man right—but I swipe to my texts and start tapping out a message anyway.
Yes, I’m making the first move after a date. Gender conventions be damned.
And I’m a bit impulsive when I’m mad.
I can’t stop thinking about that kiss.
Just like last time, his response is so quick it’s like he had his phone in his hand when he got mine.
Me either. When are you going to let me take you out again?
The urge to type back “right now” is strong, but I don’t need to consult anyone to know just how desperate that sounds. I mean, Iamdesperate, but I don’t want to sound like I am… Time to dial it back.
Tomorrow?
It’s a date.
13
Wesley
Mine. Fuck off.
Madison
You should come over. I’d offer to cook you dinner, but I wouldn’t want to give you food poisoning. I’m sure we can find other things to do to occupy our time.
I’m back in Madison’s apartment, but the text from her has stopped me dead in my tracks because I’m so fucking jealous that I can barely see straight. It was bad enough when she immediately texted “Peter” after our stupid-all-my-fucking-fault altercation, but now she’s being outright flirtatious and I can’t stand it. She’s inviting him over. She’s planning a sex date.
Even though he’s me, I don’t want her sleeping with Peter. I don’t want her falling for the person I’m pretending to be. Well, I suppose I was beingmyselfon our date, or… as much as I could be… But in her head, he’s notme. He’s not SpyderMan. He’s not Wesley—though she doesn’t know that either…
