How to Compete with a Dead Guy

I clench my eyes as he enters me, inhaling air from the tips of my toes to my fingers.

"No, Maggie, babe, eyes open. Look at me. Right here." Connor stage-whispers. I shake my head.

“Con, I can’t. I'm…overwhelmed. I need a second." My chest heaves, and I exhale sharply through my teeth. My hips tilt upward, chasing his movements.

"Yeah, okay.” He stills. “You okay? We can stop.” His soft gentle voice wraps around my throat. His free hand lifts, brushing the hair from my forehead, knuckles grazing my temple.

"No, no.” I grip his forearm. “This feels so good. I'm just..lost." I slowly open my eyes, and he's staring down at me, eyes soft and shining. He’s bathed in the dim light of the room, the gentle bass over his speaker caressing us.

"What does that mean?" Connor whispers into my mouth. He gently pushes against the seam, tongue hot and velvet.

"I convinced myself I would never be here with you. I'm accidentally… thinking because it’s a lot. And I don't want to be." I smooth my hands across his back, the skin unbelievably, unbearably soft.

"It's all good. We're good." His whisper soothes my hammering heart. He kisses me gently. Puts his forehead to mine, palm encircling my hip, sturdy and gentle. Anchoring, not holding. He rubs his nose against mine, turning the volume down on the whooshing in my ears. After a few breaths, I kiss him, stilling his movements. I pull back and search his face again, smiling.

"You're right. We're better than good." He leans into me, and I feel his grin. He's sloppy, but my pulse is racing. Suddenly, I flex against a prickle at the back of my skull, like someone's watching me.

"What?" He tenses, stills. I search the room's dark corners and see a flash of Frank. I look again, expecting his face, but there’s nothing. My ears finally catch up. The thick, honey-like melody gets stuck in my throat.

"This song." He pushes away, eyes searching my face. "I'm… Of course, you'd have Leon Bridges on your sex playlist because yes, his music is that. But, it's like, this made me think, for a second.” I gulp. “Frank. God, I'm sorry, Connor. This is really not sexy. This is fucking weird." I cover my eyes with my hands, heels of my palms pushing my eyeballs into sparkling darkness. My heart pounds in my ears while the melody continues. I hear his slow inhales and exhales.

"Maggie, how am I supposed to compete with a dead guy?" His scratchy voice pulls my eyes open, finally breaking our freeze, the orange city lights reflecting on the thick heavy snow just over his shoulder. He still hasn't pulled completely away, palm heavy and burning against me.

"Connor," My voice cracks as I unhook my chin from his shoulder and look into his eyes, tears falling. "I'm not asking you to compete with a dead guy? There's not even anything to compete with!" He scoffs, pulls his fingers out of me, and rolls away, tugging the blanket with him.

"Maggie, that's not true. You basically dated the guy, for fucks sake. You're in all those photos, holding hands." His voice raises.

"Sorry, wait, can you please listen to what you said?" I try to cover my bottom half with my hands. "You're comparing how we held hands? You literally just pulled out of me." I cross my legs. He growls.

"You know what I mean." His voice raises again, not quite a yell. "You went on multiple not going to call them dates with this guy. And now, he's gone, and you want to hold me to what he was." He scratches his nails against the warm brown sheets, his outline rippling with tension. "You want to hold me to this perfection you couldn't possibly know is real because you were too afraid." He crosses his arms over his chest, whisper barely escaping around his hung head. "Fuck.” He’s louder now, surer in his voice. “I know this isn't fair of me to say, but it isn't my fault I will never be him." The words are sharp and stabbing at the back of my neck. I recoil from him, angling further to the edge of the bed, away from his body.

"You've got to be actually fucking kidding me." I drag one hand up to cover my eyes, hot tears dripping down my face. "This is the moment you choose to say this?" I tug the blanket back from him, wrapping it tightly around my body. My throat feels thick, unspent, choking. "Why did we do this?” I gesture between us, trying to move even farther. The words escape my chest, shoving their way out. "You finally talk to me after months. Don't think I didn't notice Ali is out of town this weekend.” My voice rises. “You spend time with me, and it's like nothing has changed. It's like five years ago when all we did was try,” I choke, “to find excuses to touch each other." The tears steal my voice. My breath is shaky.

"And I know that we were terrible then. But it wasn't anything. And now you're trying to tell me I'm somehow making you compete because I had a moment of sadness about a dead guy who held my hand?" I scoff, wrapping the blanket even tighter. He rolls away from me, feet hitting the floor loudly as he pushes himself up. "Connor, I know I'm not being fair, but you aren't either." I push myself into a seated position, pulling my knees into my chest. He reaches down, pulls his boxers up, and sits on the bed, broad shoulders in front of me. I slide towards him, afraid to reach for the tension I see stretched across his back.

"Maggie, I wanted Anna as my wife. I was never going to do anything different." His voice drops, "Or I think I saw her as my wife. I loved her so much, but I could never actually compete. She was perfect. The perfect idea. Young, beautiful, so smart,” He pauses. “She was everything my family could want." He looks at me, and I see the light almost turn on in his head. "It was easy, the right choice. But it wasn’t…” His voice cracks, sharp against the warm room. “But it felt like I was playing a part in my life." His whisper is harsh in the dim light, music's soft cadence still filling the silence.

I move forward, pressing my chest to his bare back, afraid to squeeze him. He exhales loudly, and I hook my chin over his shoulder, bringing us even closer.

"I'm sorry, Connor.” I move my hands to wrap around him, but stop. “I'm being mean because so are you, you’re mad..” He turns to face me, voice loud again, cutting me off.

"Maggie, I'm not." He looks towards me.

"Then what are you?" I move back and stare into his eyes, trying to hold back tears. "Connor, we don't have to do this."

He looks at me, eyes unblinking, welling. "Jesus, no. We don't." He whispers, chews his thumb. "I'm being an asshole."

"We're both assholes." I pull the blanket up, tucking it under my armpits.

"No. I just... I never want to be mean to you. I don’t know why I said that."

I reach forward, holding his hands lightly in mine.

"I know you don't want to be. But you know you have been, right?" I squeeze.

"I don't think it's fair you're punishing me for not pursuing you." My eyebrows raise, and I can't keep the surprise off my face. "Fuck that isn't what I mean. We are so messy. How do we have all this history with nothing to show for it?" He drops my hands, looking up at the ceiling.

"Because we do have something to show for it, it was just never in the light of day." My voice falls flat.

"Mags. Can you please not pick apart everything I say?" He turns back to me, eyes hard.

"I'm not." Toneless.

"Don't do that. We haven't fought like this before, but don’t shut it down. This is real life." He turns back around and starts to move towards my side of the bed.

"We are not real life, Connor. We never have been. You thought you were getting married. You have a fucking girlfriend now." I lean back.

He scrubs his hand over his face, staring at the place between us. "You're right." He inhales deeply. "We aren't. And it's my fault. Two things can be true at once, but I let them exist in this,” he bites his bottom lip, “middle.” He raises his hand between us. "I," He drops his hand and gulps. "I don't have a girlfriend now. Didn't you notice only the one call? We're not together. Not on a break. Just, not together.”

"What the fuck? Why have you let me think you are?" I hiss.

"Maggie, you sent me that email, and it was too real. You were opening the door to something terrifying.” He tugs fistfuls of his hair, just above his ear. “Ali didn’t ask anything of me. She’s fun, and she didn’t do complicated.” He groans. “I don’t know. She didn’t ask for the parts of me I don’t know how to give.” He looks at me again. “I was hiding, which is a shitty, cowardly thing to do to both of you. I’m sorry. You offered me something real, and I couldn’t.” His voice is so soft I have to strain to hear. “The 450 miles with Anna made it easy. You and I never did anything I couldn’t talk my way out of.” I huff. He scrubs the back of his neck, bleeding thumb on display. I cross my arms, letting the blanket rest on my shoulders. "When I'm with you, all the broken parts of me feel... okay. That can't be right, can it? It feels like I'm using you to feel whole, and that's not what this is supposed to be, right?" A tear falls down his face.

“I don’t know.” My voice cracks.

“Yeah, fine. It’s just, when I’m with you, it feels easy and fun and sexy and smart and all the things a relationship is supposed to be. And it’s terrifying, how much my mood is based on you.” He whimpers. “So what am I doing? Like, why isn’t this something I’m doing anything about?” His chin seems to shake, or the lighting has finally gotten to me. His eyes search mine like he’s begging.

“I don’t think you’re going to like what I have to say, Connor.” My tears burn my cheeks, catching in the hollow of my throat. He exhales, slowly sliding downwards.

"I'm sorry." I hear the hitch as he speaks. He's on his chest now, face hidden in the sheets. They rustle softly as he crawls over, resting his head on my blanket-covered lap. We breathe together, loudly.

“I don’t represent what you should want.” I rush out. His arms come up to squeeze the heavy flesh of my thighs. He tries to get up to face me. “Please don’t.” I hold him in place. “You have successful older brothers with hot, picture-perfect wives. Your dad’s obsessed with all his gorgeous assistants.” My voice cracks. “Dating me would prove the things you think they say about you.” I itch to tangle my fingers in his hair, but I can't bridge the distance. Only our breathing fills the air. My cheeks burn, tears feeling like tiny blades against my sore skin. The heat of him burns into my lap. Our breaths synchronize, finally. Without a word, I tangle my fingers in his hair, gently scratching his scalp, tethering him to me.

“Maggie.” His voice creaks.

“Shhh.” I run my fingers through, pulling the strands softly. “I have,” I gulp. “given you so much room. Fine, you keep us in this middle, but I let you. And we’re both too cowardly to be different.” His inhale is sharp.

"Mags. I know. You're right. I'm a coward. Sometimes, I want to prove to myself I can escape.” He pauses, Adam's apple bobbing. “But I can't, not really." He sits up, hands loosely held on my hips. "I can't change anything. I can't fix what I've fucked up." He screws his eyes shut, head hanging, again.

“Me neither. Even when we try.” A watery chuckle escapes before I can stop it. His fingers tighten, massaging my bare hips like he lives there. “I don't know how to make my brain do something else, even though I want it to." His thumbs push deeply into the front of my hipbones. His grip tightens even more, and he pulls himself up, forehead hitting mine gently.

"Maggie, I’m sorry." He whispers, air moving across my face.

“I know you are.” My hot tears cool with his breath, gathering in the dip of my throat. “I know that you’re sorry. And I am too. But that doesn’t change things. Connor, I think the same things. The ways you make me feel are so powerful, but I’m not sure that’s good.” I choke, the words tangling at the top of my ribs. He rolls his forehead back and forth on mine.

“But what if it is?” He’s so close, it’s as if the words are in my head instead of spoken aloud. “What if we just have to go for it? I definitely love you. I’m probably in love with you. You make me feel like I can be all the parts of myself. Depressed, can’t get out of bed, terribly unaware, saying awful shit to incredible people who don’t deserve it. Charming. Loving.”

“Connor, I know that’s true. It’s nice to hear it, even though I think I’ve always known. But I think we’re playing ourselves a bit. It’s dynamic, so it’s huge and real, but I don’t know if it should be so painful.” I pull him into me, grounding our chests together. I whisper into his ear. “If it were right, it wouldn’t feel so hard. You wouldn’t be afraid of how other people might perceive our relationship.”

It’s like I’ve crushed him. He collapses from the inside out, and I see it cascade out of his shoulders like dominoes falling. He flinches, pulls away from me as if I’ve burned him. The tears have stilled, and he’s looking somewhere in the distance. His eyes are stuck on the photograph in front of him.

“I…” He starts, his voice rough against my ears. “Do you remember when you met my dad and brother at that tailgate?” I nod, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. I flip the picture book in my head back to that fuzzy moment. Connor was a carbon copy of carbon copies, but their faces are gone. I barely nod. He inhales, eyes still looking anywhere else but mine. “I lost you in the crowd for a minute after we all met.” He pauses, heavy and obtrusive between us. “My dad, he’s terrible, I’ve told you. But he’s...” His voice cracks.. “Anyway, he told me that it was fine if I,” he makes a crude gesture with his hand, wincing, “fucked you while Anna was out of town.”. My whole body tenses, and I push him further away. “But he asked me,” his words are punching through his clenched jaw now. “He wanted to know, rather, if I had a fetish for big girls.” He finally looks up at me, eyes filled with tears. The thudding pound of my heart roars. My ears are ringing. “Michael fucking laughed. And I didn’t say a goddamn thing. Every time I know I’m fucking up, I hear that laugh.” He falls forward, resting his head in his hands.

It’s like I’ve lost the ability to breathe. The room spins, burning my skin. Connor's shiny face blurred through my tears. Big girls echoes in the room around us, bouncing off his blonde dresser, casting long shadows in the warm light. My tears spill, and through the moisture collecting, I see our outlines, his fingers tangled in my hair, dropping as soon as someone turns our way. My head swirls, and our ragged breathing, punctuated by the muffled city roars in my ears. Ferociously soft against the night. I blink away my tears, trying to capture his eyes, but he’s still looking down. The air between us cuts in, dissecting my blood vessels. His cowardice anchors around me, and I want to hate him for it.

My hand raises, desperate to grasp his face. But I stop, hovering near his head. “Connor.” He looks up and bumps into my outstretched hand. When he catches my eyes, he doesn’t blink, and in my periphery, I can see the tear tracks making their way down his bare chest.

I narrow my eyes at him, trying to blink away my tears. He pulls his bottom lip with his teeth, trying to draw blood. My hand is still in the air, and I use it to anchor myself to his shoulder. His breath eases, just a bit.

“So you’re right.. I think about how I would be perceived. Of course I do. I’m never not fucking up.” He turns in, lips pressed into my earlobe with a slight pressure just beyond resting. “But I also think about you all the time. Even with the...” he trails off. “It makes me feel better to talk to you, even with them.” He presses his lips behind my ear, existing there. My heart pounds, clawing its way out of my mouth. “Can we stay like this a minute?”