What better way to start a New Year than a contract with Marvel, Iris? See you at dad's office at ten o'clock' sharp. Got a champagne bottle 🍾 on my hands! She's ready to pop! 🥂😉😚

I stared at Jayden's text, mouth wide open, still in disbelief. The train chugged on relentlessly, pushing me forward in space and time, getting me closer to one of the most important decisions of my life.

His dad had friggin' finally gotten me that contract.

The signing was today, and I was heading there right now. Jayden was doing me this favor as a friend only. He had promised.

He understood we would not be getting back together.

Hopefully.

Should I have refused?

I cracked my knuckles.

I mean, that's crazy talk. Who refuses Marvel? 

Marvel was... Marvel, after all.

It was Work for Hire.

I would draw, write, letter, ink, or color for them on demand.

It meant— no ownership of the comics I'd create.

But...

It also meant a lot of money. 

I scrolled up the WhatsApp conversation with Jayden.

It's a solid income! One of his snippets said.

Yes, yes it was.

But what about Fairy Tails? a little voice sneaked into my ear canal. What about the Magical Hair Porn Elf?

And don't forget Jack Kirby, co-creator of Thor, The Hulk, The Iron Man... He never signed off his rights to Marvel.

Oh my God.

This decision was the decision. The ultimate decision about my future.

A diadem of sweat pearls adorned my forehead.

Yes, Iris. And your decision-making skills resemble those of a squirrel crossing the street!

"You only have to choose two things right in your life, Iris," I heard my Dad say in my mind. "A job you love, and the person you love."

"Why, Daddy?" A lil' ole me asked.

He laughed, heartily. "Why, she says? It's easy, pumpkin! You first spend eight hours with one. Then you go home to spend eight hours with the other. And then... Well then, you sleep! And for forty or so more years, like that! You don't want to be sad 16 hours a day, do you?"

With that, my dad had ruffled my hair—the hair of his seven-year-old daughter.

Back then, I must have been about the same age as Mr. Ruffles' daughter—the girl with the sweet smile.

What was her name?

Would she win in a gummy worm slurping contest against me?

I clicked on the Gmail app and stared at Image Comics' reply I had gotten three days ago.

After having examined your entire script including your Fairy Tails graphical novel plot accompanied by your original art, we would love to launch an offer of representation.

Your work would perfectly fit our Imagine! series, and we could exhibit it at the ComicCon event in six months' time. 

However, as you will glean from the enclosed documentation, any contribution to the series needs to have at least 150 pages, and your present work is at 47. So, before we can enter a contract, you would have to expand the Fairy Tails. The present date we are aiming for is the end of April of the following year. 

Please let us know what your availability is, since we would like to set up a call with you to discuss this.

Kind regards.

It was a... a bloody offer of representation!

If I accepted Image Comics' offer, though, there was no way I'd have the time to do full-time for Marvel as well.  

Yet Marvel, on the other hand, was a safe bet, even if it did not involve drawing my own illustrations.

I sighed and checked my reflection in the window.

I either had my hair and makeup all done, or I looked like a homeless person that hadn't slept in a week. There was no middle ground.

Today, I had gone for an all-done look, but not and overdone one, which might warrant a comment like "Excuse me, I think you've got some face on your make up."

And I had finally managed to nail down that perfect coppery-shade of red I had been pining for, for months.

Vermillion Permanent Color 7.40 dye.

I had unleashed my inner redhead!

I glanced at a slick-looking platinum blonde seated opposite me. She was dabbing a generous layer of foundation on her forehead and cheeks.

Way to save time, sister. I gave her a mental thumbs-up before getting back to my inner panicked screaming.

January 1 was frigging tomorrow, and the last thirty days had gone by without me seeing any trace of Mr. Ruffles.

In my defence, it was not for the lack of trying.

As we pulled into Charles/MGH, the parallel track was empty. That shouldn't have come as a surprise. Still, a clammy set of fingers coiled around my heart.

My eyes roamed across the familiar station, caressing the place where we had had our meetings.

Wanting to commit it to the memory.

My orbs paused when their optical fondle reached a tuft of unruly hair.

His hair!

He...

He was there!

Friggin' finally!

Sitting on a bench at the wall of the other platform. The knot of his tie hanging low, his suitcase lying carelessly on the ground, his face in his hands.

But there was no mistake.

It was Mr. Ruffles Bunny!

What was he doing there?

Whatever the reason—this was it.

Our last chance.

And I had to take it.

Screw the signing!

I didn't want to turn into Jayden.

To have my Marvel contract and my life arranged by his dad! I'd pursue my own path.

And I sure as heck did not want to get pulled into his web of lies and manipulative machinations again!

It was now or never.

The loudspeakers announced our imminent departure. I hopped up from the seat as if propelled by primal power, my arm smacking a portable makeup kit from the co-passenger's hands, interrupting her mid-brush.

Managing to mumble a weak "sorry" as I lunged for the door, I heard the woman cuss behind me.

Her cussing was cut off by the doors snapping at my heel.

Not waiting for my train to depart, I made for the stairs, swimming against a sudden tide of people in blue and red gear.

Hut, hut, hut!

Subway American football was never less fun!

Why had the bloody New England Patriots fans decided to go on a stampede precisely this day out of them all days?!

Two of them leered in my general direction.

The first growled at me. "Hey, lady! Just who do you think you are? Don't push us around like that!"

The second wolf-whistled as his face twisted in an emoji-like sneer.

I made healthy use of my elbows and knees, but I hadn't yet reached the top of the stairs as his bloody train pulled into the station.

He was going to board it and disappear from my life forever!

OMG, was this seriously happening to me?

I would never be able to breach through the crowd at this speed, let alone get to him.

The heels.

I stared at the feet-torture devices I had attached to my soles.

I had to get rid of them.

Fuck this! I can't run in this shit!

I had always been a Converse girl in a high heel world!

Taking the shoes off and holding them in my hand, I whooshed across the gap like a breeze.

His train was still braking, and I was just about to descend a flight of stairs.

Ruffles was now heading for one of the doors. I tried to hail him, but all I managed was a feeble croak.

But there might still be time!

I could still reach him!

I was going to make it!

I was going to make it!

I was...

Flying down the stairs at impossible speed? Arms freewheeling to fight for balance? And losing the fight.

I stumbled and lost contact with mother Earth.

A/N: Music theme song: Bon Jovi: "Real Love (Bonus Track)."