Trent and I had been together for five years when he popped the question. We were in the ER and he got down to one knee and said, "Alice Rhodes, will you marry me?"

I should explain how we got there. As you know, the first time we had sex we'd found ourselves covered in cake. After we did it a second time, Trent got to his feet—trying not to slip—and took an apple from the kitchen. "I'm starving. Do you want one?" he said as he took a bite.

"No, thanks. I don't like apples." But I was starving. So I ran my finger from my belly button up to my breasts, scooping the cake, and licked it. I tasted sweat and metal, but at least the cake was delicious. So I crawled over to Trent's knees and began to lick the cake out of his thighs.

"But you do like cake," he said, finishing his apple. By that point, my tongue had already been through his scrotum and had now reached the tip of his penis. I felt him growing inside my mouth as my tongue collected all the cake—which was more delicious in this area.

"Who doesn't like cake?" I said. His left eye was twitching and his whole upper body was contorted but he was still intent on getting something from the cupboard. He didn't want his penis to slip out of my mouth, so he was moving the way you would if you had to get something out of your bag on a plane and the one sitting next to you was sleeping.

"It reeks in here," he said, having finally gotten a hold of a stuffed chameleon. He tapped on its head and air freshener sprayed out of its mouth. Then something else sprayed out in my mouth.

"Well, I should take a shower," I said as he pulled me back up. When I was to his height, I smelled the honey-scented air freshener. I found his gray eyes amid the cake, staring lovingly at me. I put my hands on his cheeks—they made a squishy sound—and kissed him with the last drop of passion I had left.

"You go ahead, I'll join you in a second," he said. When I went to the bathroom I wanted to pee, but I noticed there was a grass field inside the toilet. I scratched my head, only to realize I had cake in my hair. I turned on the shower, but only ice cubes came out of the faucet. Then I noticed it was set on cold water, so I turned it to hot and only steam came out this time.

"You want a drink?" Trent asked after our steamy shower. His little adorable cat, Prince, was running around the house, occasionally knocking things over. He told me he'd found him abandoned by a lake and decided to adopt him. Three months later Trent would find out that—though Prince looked like a cat—he was really a puma cub, and would be forced to release him into the wild. Trent was upset about losing Prince, but I was there for him, and he eventually got a new pet. But I'll talk about this later.

"No, thanks. I don't drink," I said, tossing the ball to Prince.

"Because you're not 21 yet?" he said in what I perceived as a mocking tone.

"No, because I don't like alcohol." Here we go, I thought, here come the what's and how's and why's I was so used to.

"Oh, okay," he simply said and made himself a drink. My eyes followed him as he moved around the house. The walls were black all over except for the ceiling, which was white. Some of the furniture—like shelves and countertop—was white but most of it was red. Two red leather couches facing the TV in the living room, a red coffee table, a red carpet. But in his room the walls were gray and everything else—including the bedsheets—was black. I remember thinking those colors made it seem like it was always night, but I guess I didn't mind since I spent most of my days in there, the next five years.

The first few weeks were about unraveling the mystery that was Trent, so I studied every inch of that house. In his room there was a shelf full of action figures all carefully placed around in poses, but I could only see their silhouettes in the darkness. So one day, as we happened to pass by his room, I asked him, "Are those your wrestling action figures?"

"What? Those ones?" He entered the room and turned on the light. "No, they're my superhero action figures." And, indeed, they were all kinds of superheroes from all kinds of comic books.

"Oh. I thought they were wrestling ones. You struck me as the wrestling fan," I said. He turned off the light and took me by the hand toward the living room. That could've been the end of it, but one day as he was taking a shower, I went to his room to examine the action figures closely. They looked quite rare and expensive, so I kept my distance from them. But then I hit my foot on a large box on the floor. I got to my knees and opened the box. What I saw inside sent shivers running all over my body. A bunch of wrestling action figures—about as many as the superheroes—haphazardly thrown inside the box.

~

Trent was still mysterious to me by the time we decided to go on our first official date. I purposely met him twenty minutes after the time we'd agreed upon. He was waiting in front of the restaurant, wearing a midnight blue blazer, typing on his phone. He'd picked a nice restaurant so I guess that meant money wasn't an issue for him.

"You're late," he said, greeting me with a passionate kiss nonetheless.

I shrugged. "In a world that's always running, I'm running late."

He chuckled and nodded, his gray eyes analyzing my face. I liked to use that catchphrase of mine with certain people the first times I hung out with them. I knew that if at my being late they'd leave, then they wouldn't be worth it. Plus, their reaction to my being late and taking it so lightly was also an indicator of their personality—which I needed in Trent's case more than ever.

When we sat at our table, I thought the chair was quite uncomfortable. I noticed Trent stretching around so maybe he thought the same. He put on his sunglasses to read the menu, at times glancing at me. When the waiter came to take our order Trent didn't speak, he just looked at me, so I spoke for us both. As we waited, I didn't know where to put my hands. Somehow, everywhere felt wrong. Trent was scratching the back of his head like a dog, so I cleared my throat a few times.

"You got a sore throat?" he asked, still scratching the back of his head.

"No, I'm telling you to stop doing that," I snarled.

"Is it hot in here?" he asked.

"No, I think it's cold in here," I said.

He blew out his cheeks, and that's when it struck me: Trent was a regular Peter Pan. He never wasted his voice on mundane problems and pointless discussions. He always went straight to the point, always did whatever made him feel good. He always took the easy way out of every complicated situation. The intricacies of adulthood didn't bother him. He made me feel like life was as simple as eating cake, like I didn't have to worry about anything at all because the universe would take care of it, like all I had to do was live and have fun. "Sex, cake, and rock 'n' roll," he'd said one day. And as ridiculous as that may sound, I was willing to accept that philosophy in my life.

"You know what we could be doing right now?" I said, my mind still buzzing with those thoughts. "Having sex on your couch."

His eyes sparkled. We rushed to our feet and out of the restaurant, back to his house, to his couch, to have sex. After that, we had our first of many after sex philosophical talks.

I put his arm around my shoulders as we both stared at the ceiling. "I think it was Bukowski who said, 'And there will be the most beautiful silence never heard'. I think he was talking about consecutive orgasms."

"It feels like flying," he said, intertwining his fingers with mine.

"It would be awesome to fly," I said.

"I don't think I would like that," he said, kissing my forehead.

"What? But you're such a Peter Pan!"

"A Peter Pan?"

"Yeah, you're Peter Pan and I'm Alice in Wonderland. We're already super cute in my head."

He chuckled. "I'm not a Peter Pan, Alice. I just haven't found a reason to grow up yet."

I turned and looked for his eyes; he helped me by brushing my hair away from my face. "You should know something about me, Trent. I'm not in good health, and I think it's better if you know right away. You see, I've had twelve heart attacks in my life, and they can't find the cause. Though it's been over one year since the last one, it could happen any moment, and it could be the fatal blow."

He stayed silent for a while, gray eyes fixed on mine. Our synchronized breaths the only sound in the house. Then he finally spoke. "I think I'm in love with you, Alice."

I felt my pulse getting faster. Prince crawled on the couch, onto our naked bodies, to go lie on a spot above our heads. I licked my dry lips before I spoke. "You think you can live with that?"

He smiled. "Of course I can. In sickness and in health, etcetera; right? Maybe you need to die sometimes, to know you're still alive. And, as far as I'm concerned, you've killed me time and time again, and yet you make me feel so alive."

I leaned in to kiss him. "You gotta be the only positive thing in my life right now."

He shrugged. "That's life. You find your little heaven in hell."

"We haven't known each other that long. Why do you like me so much?"

"Are you kidding? You're the ultimate girl next door. And I feel complete when I'm around you."

As adorable as it was, it seemed like Trent always spoke in pre-made sentences and aphorisms. And over the years, I'd slowly open Pandora's box without him even realizing it.

~

Trent and I spent most of our days alone in his living room, watching old black and white movies. He'd say they were his favorites, and I could see him so involved in the plot and the characters. Me, I focused more on the acting. That's when I noticed that actors in old movies spoke with a strange accent; a fake, old-timey blend of American and British. And it sounded familiar to me, but I'd never watched old movies like those. So I thought deeply about it as the movie rolled on. Finally, I realized Trent was the one I'd heard it from. As I said, Trent didn't speak much, and he often mumbled the few things he said. But sometimes, when he was excited or upset, he'd raise his voice and speak fast; and that's when the accent would come out. Especially when he said things like, "Now wait just a minute," or, "Look here young lady," or, "What are you doing over there?"

We were watching Reckless Abandon of Insignificance, a 1954 noir classic, one of Trent's absolute favorites. And here I noticed a few other things. At one point the main character, Jack, said, "Monkeys don't fly. Do they, Gavin?" and in a later scene, Jack's wife said to him, "You've killed me time and time again, Jack. And yet, you make me feel so alive." To which Jack replied, "That's life, sweetheart. You find your little heaven in hell."

It didn't strike me right away, but it definitely did when I heard that line Trent had used on me. I glanced at him, the flickering light of the TV hitting his face. It seemed like he didn't even worry about me finding out where his lines came from. I wondered what he was thinking. Was it a normal thing for him to emulate his favorite movies? Did he think I would just accept and appreciate him in spite of being unoriginal and unauthentic? A fraud? A personless person?

In a 1951 rom-com, The Weeping of the Wizard, Lucy asked Gordon if he loved her, to which he said, "In sickness and in health, etcetera." Lucy then dramatically brought the back of her hand to her forehead and said, "Oh, Gordon. You're killing me. Killing me, I tell you." And Gordon said, "Perhaps you need to die sometimes, to know you're still alive." Then Lucy rushed toward him and gripped his shoulders. "But will you still be here when the birds stop chirping and the sun rays turn to snowflakes? Will you still be here when I'm cold, or will you, like the birds, fly away to warmer lands?" Gordon wrapped his arms around her and looked at her from behind a raised chin. "Lucy, I feel complete when I'm around you. And if you're looking for how much I love you, then let this kiss speak for me." And they had the most passionate kiss on screen. The movie ended with a close-up of Lucy saying, "The night's a little more brilliant now."

I shook my head, feeling something pressing at my left temple. He still had his eyes fixed on the screen. I stood up and said, "I need to get some air." He followed me with his gaze until I disappeared behind the corner. I opened the front door and was already stepping out when I noticed we were up in the clouds and there was no ground, just a blue sky and the raging wind giving me vertigo. I held tightly to the doorknob and balanced myself back inside. I closed the door, took a deep breath, and opened it again. The porch was there this time. I stepped outside and breathed in the evening air.

Trent joined me after a while. "Are you alright?" he asked, and I looked at him. I stared at his gray eyes—going beyond the color—and found a lack of depth in them. Why I hadn't noticed it before, I have no idea. There was something void about his gaze; I even wondered if he was really looking at me, if he was even there. The image of him I'd built inside my mind was inexorably crumpling and a shell, a shapeless mud person was taking its place. I reached his cheek with my hand as if to see if he was real; he flinched.

"I think I'm in love with you, Trent," I said.

"You are?" He looked surprised. I leaned in to kiss him. For the first time, I kissed him with my soul. And when it was over, I found my reflection in his big gray eyes.

He spoke softly. "But will you still be here when the birds stop chirping and the sun rays turn to snowflakes? Will you still be here when I'm cold, or will you, like the birds, fly away to warmer lands?"

I smiled. "In sickness and in health, etcetera."

And, like that, five incredible years went by. We watched every possible old movie—even a scary one in which a monster was created out of sleep dust—and danced to old songs. He met my mom for Thanksgiving and she taught him CPR. He pushed me to become an actress, saying I was even more perfect now as it was his dream to be with an actress. I dropped out of college and went to auditions. I got some small roles, I participated in a few contests. We moved in together. He graduated and became a salesman. He was often out of town, and sometimes I went with him. I had never lived so happily so long, so of course something had to give.

~

One day, Trent had something to do at the post office. I told him I'd wait outside as it was a nice day, he said he wouldn't be long. At once, I heard a clinking sound getting progressively louder and faster. On the ground, I found several hammers and nails, so I looked up. People were screaming and running as hammers and nails rained from the sky. I put both hands over my head and ran inside. It felt crowded in the post office so I focused my gaze on a dog chasing its own tail. It kept spiraling and confusing my eyes. I blinked twice and now the dog was sawed in half, the front chasing the back. A sharp twinge hit my heart and I lost my senses.

I awoke in the ER, my mom by the bed. I hugged her and asked where Trent was. She said he'd gone to get a coffee, and that he'd been the one to resuscitate me. My thirteenth death had happened, six years after the last one. I'd almost thought there wouldn't be any more but there I was, back at the hospital.

Trent returned after a while. "Oh, good, you're awake. Sorry I'm late, I almost didn't want to come back," he joked. I don't know if he realized how much what he'd just said sounded like my running late catchphrase, but I smiled at him.

A few hours later, when my mom went home and I was alone with Trent, I told him this was my life and every death could be the last. I asked him if he wanted to back out, to live a life with less worries with someone else, and that I wouldn't blame him for it. He got down to one knee and said, "Alice Rhodes, will you marry me?"

My eyes teared up, my hand unconsciously went to my heart. "Yes," I said, and then said it again louder. He put the ring on my finger and we shared our first kiss as an engaged couple.

You must be wondering why. Why yes? Why did I spend five years with a fraud, a personless person, a shapeless mud man? Why did I agree to marry him? Well, because when I look back at our time together, I see us lying lovingly on that couch, our hands and bodies intertwined, with only the light of those old-timey movies illuminating our faces. Because I see him reading The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle to me out loud in bed, and I see us singing Over The Rainbow together as we watch The Wizard of Oz, and I see us cuddling to Sinatra's Why Try To Change Me Now?

Because Trent's eyes weren't really gray, but they took a different color every day. Because I could shape the mud man the way I wanted to. Because criticizing his personality was a way of building my own personality. Because when I died, I could count on him to bring me back to life. Because it was like living a thousand lives and a thousand romances.

Because back then all I ever wanted was to be loved. And I knew Trent loved those old movies he imitated. So when he started to imitate me, I knew he really loved me, too.