Untitled Story

Part 1

Melanie

“You know I love you, right?” I said as I sat up entirely too fast on the couch. My head was swimming and my vision was cloudy. I let out a groan and flopped back down on to the pillow Jonah laid out for me. Though I could hardly hear anything but the pounding in my own aching head, I noticed the fierce scratching of pencil against paper. I blinked rapidly and used all my strength to roll over and look toward Jonah. He was hunched over his drawing board, eyes fixated on the panel in front of him. It was silent for a while, and I figured he hadn’t heard me stir, so I just watched him quietly. His arm muscles tensed with every flick of the pencil in his hands. Sweat glistened at the nape of his neck, and his brow was furrowed in deep concentration. Whatever he was working on was important. I’d known Jonah long enough to know I wouldn’t get a word out of him until he put the pencil down.

I pulled the thin black and white blanket off of me and tried my best to navigate the notoriously squeaky floorboards of his ancient apartment. I knew when he got into a groove, it always turned out incredible, so I didn’t want to disturb him. Comics weren’t really my thing, but I would read anything he illustrated.

I managed to make it to the bathroom with minimal noise. I opened the medicine cabinet and pulled a bottle of Tylenol off the second shelf. I unscrewed the cap and popped 3 into my mouth, followed by a handful of sink water. I swallowed hard and my vision clouded. I steadied myself by gripping the sinks edge. I looked up at the mirror hung on the wall. My eyes were red and irritated, polluted with bits of dried mascara and eyeliner which were also smeared across my cheeks. My lips were stained pink and rubbed raw. My mouth tasted like death and my breath didn’t smell any better. My hair was haphazardly pulled back into a loose ponytail and a chunk near my ear had something crunchy caked on it. I frantically took water in my hands and rinsed it off as best I could. It wasn’t as clean as it could be, but I would suffice until I got home and could take a proper shower. I took in a deep breath and massaged my temples. I splashed some water onto my face and walked back into the living room, where Jonah was still immersed in his work.

I started looking around the room for my things, eager to get home and get clean. I folded up the blanket and draped it over the back of the couch, refluffed the pillow and propped it against the arm of the couch, and started to put on my shoes. I suddenly notice the lack of pencil-to-paper scratching. I looked up and saw Jonah staring at me, a half smile creeping across his face.

“You look like hell,” he said.

“I feel like it too.” I sighed and sat upright again after lacing one shoe.

“Are you gonna be okay? I can drive you home in your car and just Uber back. It’s not a big deal.” He started to grab my keys from the coffee table.

“I think I’m good, but thank you, Jonah. Really. I love you so much, dude, you don’t even know.” I smiled and began to lace up my other shoe.

“No problem.” He smiled back, then, after a moment he added, “After last night, you’re welcome back here anytime.” A playful glint shone in his eyes and he winked. I stopped dead in my tracks.

“Oh God,” I gawked, “We didn’t. Did we?”

He was silent for a moment before he turned to me, an ear to ear grin spreading across his face. He burst into laughter. I glared at him from the couch. I got up and shook my head. I walked over to the other side of the coffee table to grab my keys and punched him in the shoulder. Hard. Still chuckling, he turned fully toward me.

“Oh come off it,” he said. He rubbed his shoulder. “Ow. That seriously hurt.”

“That seriously was not funny,” I shot back.

“It was a little funny,” he mumbled. I rolled my eyes and leaned onto his desk. He was drawing sketches of a blond woman in a black leotard and fishnets in various poses. Her hair was cascading down her shoulder in big curls. In the panel, she was jumping down from a balcony to escape a couple of thieves. She was bracing herself for impact. Her face showed determination, but also just the slightest bit of fear. That’s what I loved most about Jonah’s work. His ability to make a face say a thousand words, to speak volumes. He was so talented. The next panel promised “To be continued....” making the reader wait until the next issue to learn the fate of the heroine (spoiler alert: She lives. And she jumped from a sixth story balcony. Go figure). I hadn’t recalled seeing Jonah work on her before.

“Dinah Drake, AKA, Black Canary,” Jonah said, as if reading my mind.

“She’s beautiful,” I said, studying the illustration.

We stood there for a long time. I could almost hear him criticizing his work as much I was admiring it. He was always so hard on himself.

“It looks amazing. Really. Veronica is going to love it, and if she doesn’t, she’s blind.” I grabbed his hand and squeezed it. He looked over at me. I recognized that look. I was already panicking.

“Hey, I’ll go home, take a shower, and I’ll be back for you in 30, okay? We'll go get breakfast. Sound good?”

He nodded, but I could tell his mind was somewhere else. I grabbed my keys and headed for the door. When my hand was on the knob, he finally spoke again.

“Mel?” He called behind me.

“Yeah?” I turned.

“You might wanna fix your shirt,” he was still looking at his panel.

I looked down and saw the strap to my shirt was almost broken, barely holding on by a thread, exposing the cup of my hot pink bra. I felt my cheeks warm as I pulled it up and mumbled a thank you before walking out the door.