I look at Billie. She’s right, and she’s wrong about Brooke. Either way I’m fucked.

“What? If she’s going to abandon you when you need her most, then I’m done with her. I’m sorry Nathan, but it’s wrong.”

“It’s not what you think Billie. She also told her assistant that she’s going to try to help me. Even if Brooke is mad about B-Girl, I need to believe she still cares about me. I swear, she wouldn’t just let Arnold take me down without trying to do something. Can’t you see that?”

“I’m only looking at what’s right in front of me. And you should too.”

Her words haunt me the entire drive home and with each passing hour it gets worse.

Brooke could have reached me by now. I don’t care if it was by a damn payphone or telegram. If she knows me at all she’d know how desperately I’d need some reassurance about now.

Even if she can’t handle the fact that I’d obsessed about her so long and hid B-Girl from her, she owes it to me to at least talk about it. A stream of anguished thoughts loops in my head, playing over and over and over until I think I’m going mad. I make a calculated decision to surrender to alcohol to numb my tortured, hopeless thoughts.

• • •

It’s a long dark night with my silent cell phone clutched in one hand, an iceless, amber filled glass in the other as I wander aimlessly through my haunted house. I’m a ghost, my deep sighs painful echoes, as I fear the loss of the life I’d always wanted.

I see Brooke everywhere…her shimmering mirages taunt me. But every time I reach for her, my shaky fingers grasp nothing but air.

The next morning, the bright light in the bathroom scorches my eyes. I stand with a slight wobble before I adjust and approach the sink.

What day is it anyway? Ah yes, Tuesday…the day after the worst day in my life.

I glare at my reflection. Good thing Brooke isn’t seeing me now. This would pretty much seal the deal.

“Hey Nathan, did you know that Jack Daniels is not a good substitute for Brooke?” I ask myself aloud.

“No?” I answer.

My reflection in the mirror is blurry. It’s probably not a good sign that I’m talking to myself.

“But last night I sure thought the Jack Daniels was worth a try.”

In the mirror I watch my hands lift in a gesture like I’m explaining my reasoning. I then scowl and shake my head disapprovingly.

“Back to the drawing board, Nathan.”

I lean over the sink and splash water across my swollen face and puffy eyes.

I thought only crazy people talked to themselves. So now I’m a crazy fucker.

Morning is a cold, hard bitch.

With considerable inner conflict, I answer the phone call from my Dad. Apparently my zombie-like responses to his questions discourage him.

“Nathan. Pull it together. Have you eaten anything, or did you just imbibe last night?”

“Do you really want to know?” I ask, disheartened.

“Ah, Son. I’m coming over there. But first there’s good news. Walter just called, and they aren’t pursuing the conference room issue. Seems that yesterday Brooke convinced them it was consensual, that she encouraged the aggressive behavior. She also told them that she absolutely wanted to copulate with you while bent over the conference room table.”

“Dad. Stop. I really don’t want to hear it.” I can’t even feel relieved.

“Well, I am extremely reassured that this predatory Lothario issue has been put to rest. But have I taught you nothing, Son, about risk aversion? Next time, take a moment to factor the hazards of exposure, versus the fleeting, yet euphoric moment of physical release. Practicality will win out every time.”

“Yes, I’m an idiot. Noted,” I slur, slightly. “Are we done?”

“Are you still drunk?”

“Maybe.”

“Take a shower, and get dressed. I’m on my way over.”

Minutes after we hang up I hear bells ringing again. The mother fucking noise needs to stop. I realize in my stupor that it’s my phone and I finally answer it.

“Nathan?”

“Yes, Walter?”

“I need you to go through all of your art, and look for any examples of how you could have been developing these characters before your time at Sketch Republic.”

“But I didn’t develop them until I was at Sketch Republic.”

“I don’t think you’re understanding me Nathan. Do you want to win or not?”

As I hang up I feel a jolt of reality. Do I want to win? Is he fucking kidding? I have to win. Despite my pathetic state of despair, I haven’t lost sight of the fact that Brooke and B-Girl are everything to me. I sink into the living room chair and imagine my life without my two best girls, and my throat starts to tighten until I feel like I can’t breath. My eyes scan across the cases of collectibles, and note that each figurine and action figure is stoically posed and still as if waiting for their command for our upcoming battle. Are they worried about me? Do they miss Brooke too? I have to imagine they do…who wouldn’t?

I get up to find my phone and decide to leave a message on the land-line at Brooke’s house.

“Brooke, if you ever come back to your house and listen to your answering machine, and if you ever care about me and what I think again, will you call me? I thought this was it — you and me, true love and all that stuff. Now you’re gone, and I’m lost.”

“I’m dying here. Can you call me?”

• • •

Dad finds me in the backyard, sitting in a lawn chair in my Scooby PJ bottoms and no top. The near-empty bottle of Jack Daniels is on the ground next to me, but the large bottle of water is my drink of choice now, as I slowly take sips and stare at the shrubs.

He sighs with resignation, and pulls up a chair across from me. He just sits quietly for a while and observes me. Finally he clears his throat and starts to speak, but before he gets the words out, I hold up my hand to stop him.

I shake my head firmly, and he leans back silent. Another minute passes.

“Maybe it was all a dream?” I finally offer.

“Yesterday?” he asks.

“No, yesterday was very real. Maybe everything before yesterday was a dream…the part where Brooke was in love with me. I had a great job and a comic book deal…because now they’ve all evaporated into thin air, so maybe they were never real.”

He looks me directly in the eyes. “Son, the only thing gone is that job. And as it was, you were ready to move on from that. The rest is still abundantly real. They are still yours to have. You just have some fastidious work to do.”

“I’m not sure I have it in me, Dad. I don’t know if I can fight my way through this without Brooke.”

Dad pulls his fingers through his hair frustrated. I think I’m making him crazy, but I’m beyond caring at this point.

“You must pull yourself together and fight, Nathan. You have to do it for yourself, and you have to do it to show her what you’re made of.”

“But maybe she doesn’t love me anymore. Maybe I’ll never make it up to her. Maybe I’ll live the rest of my life alone.”

“I’ll tell you what. I’ll put up with this peevish whining today, considering the state you’re in and what you’ve just been through. But then, enough. You need to find your confidence and potent strength for battle, Son, not just wallow in your disappointments.”

“I have every right to wallow,” I moan, leaning forward with my face in my hands. My elbows dig into my knees and the pain almost feels good. “I could be the fucking king of wallow.”

“Nathan, what do you imagine Brooke would think if she saw you like this?”

“That I’m a loser not worth her time.”

Dad clears his throat and there’s a long moment where I can tell he is weighing his words, making mental flowcharts of my potential responses and the appropriate counter argument for each one.

“Son, have you forgotten that Brooke is on some type of mission to help you? Does that mean anything to you? Her actions regarding secrecy and walking away from her carefully honed position shows her unwavering commitment to you. It also ensures she won’t make you any more vulnerable to Arnold than you already are.”