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“A Manic Pixie Dreamgirl is the kooky love interest in a movie who is psychotically chipper and acts as a ray of sunshine to the brooding hero of the film. She dances in the rain and collects crystals and seashells and all that bullshit. Teaches him how he should celebrate his failures and live every day to the fullest.” She started towards the door of the bedroom.

“But the Manic Pixie Dreamgirl doesn’t have an actual storyline of her own.

She’s just… a prop. Because if you really start to think about her…

what kind of life would she have to have had in order to come out being like that?

A bad one. But no one wants to see that.

Her problems are not so easily solved. It’s better if the movie just focuses on her as some shallow, ethereal creature who spreads sunshine and warmth.

And probably dies young, a symbol of the lost innocence and the joy of unspoiled childhood.

” She stopped in front of him to meet his eyes for a moment.

“The Manic Pixie Dreamgirl doesn’t get a happy ending.

She’s just someone else’s happy ending.” She pushed past him into the hallway.

“ I’m someone else.” He reminded her, sounding almost desperate.

“Are you saying you think you can make me happy, Oz?”

Oz didn’t reply to that. There was no way in the world that Oz could ever make anyone happy. His life was a mess and his mind ensured that he was almost always miserable. He couldn’t even kiss a girl without it somehow ending up as an insult and embarrassment.

He recognized the fact that he was destined to die alone, probably in some kind of antiseptic-smelling hospital room somewhere, hiding from the outside world.

That was all the future held for Oz. That was the happiest ending he could expect for himself. And although he recognized it, as surely as he recognized his aunt’s warnings about his darkness, he was helpless to change it.

Oz was either going to turn into a monster or a hermit. And either way, his compulsions would be there. They were going to torture him until they finally killed him. His own mind would hold him hostage until he died.

No matter where he went or what he did. That was how Oz would end up.

He knew that.

And there wasn’t room in that kind of life for anyone special.

It would be selfish to involve them in it, let alone suffer from any kind of delusion that they could somehow be happy.

His compulsions would just ruin their lives too.

Trap them in his insanity. Rob them of their light and their freedom.

She grabbed a hat from off of the hook on the wall. “You can’t even kiss me without being grossed out by it.”

“I’ve never been ‘grossed out’ by you.” He shook his head seriously, completely truthful on that point. At no time in his life had he ever looked at Natalie as anything but an absolute wonder. “I told you that had nothing to do with…”

“Oh, come off it, Oz.” She snapped. “I can’t blame you. I mean, me? Fuck, I kill everything sooner or later. Or they leave on their own once they get sick of me. Even my fucking goldfish.”

“You’re comparing me to dead goldfish?”

“The goldfish didn’t die, they just ran away.”

He squinted in confusion, trying to follow that. “How do gold…”

“The point is that is you are fucking depressed and I can’t help your life not suck.” She interrupted. “That’s not my job.”

“I’m not depressed.” He retorted. “ I’m not the one taking antidepressants.”

She glared at him for a moment, looking less surprised that he would know her medical history than he would have expected.

But she probably recognized that he was paranoid and obsessive enough to be following a lot of people, so it didn’t appear to worry her.

“I don’t take antidepressants.” She snapped, correcting him. “ Natalie takes antidepressants.”

“Why does she take antidepressants?”

“Because she’s depressing?” Natalie guessed, looking mystified by the actions of her own supposed secret identity. “I don’t know. That bitch is nuts. Everyone knows it.”

“You can talk to me, you know.” He said softly. “I know he scares you.”

“He doesn’t scare me.” She shook her head emphatically. “Ronnie has nothing to do with this.”

“Yes. He does.” He said simply.

“ He should scare you too! ” She snapped. “He’s going to kill us, Oz! He’s going to find us and he’s going to kill you and…”

“I don’t die easy, Natalie.” He shook his head, standing taller. “If he comes to my door looking for trouble, he’s going to find it.”

She watched him silently for several breaths.

“I am a Manic Pixie Dream Girl, Oz.” She reiterated softly. “I can’t be responsible for both protecting your life and giving you a reason to live it. You can’t be with me. That’s…”

“I thought you were my ‘cynical foulmouthed private detective partner’ in our hypothetical movie?” Oz pressed, interrupting her. “Now you’re saying you’re the innocent ethereal maiden?”

“I can be both.”

“I don’t see how.”

“Don’t limit me, Oz!” She pointed an angry finger at him. “I fucking hate that!”

“You can’t be both my kooky inspiration to embrace the wonder which is life and my anti-hero buddy cop.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I refuse to accept that bizarre narrative and seriously doubt any screenplay like that would ever be greenlit by a studio.”

“That’s just the way it is, whether you accept it or not.

” She pointed back and forth between them rapidly.

“ This is what happens when a psychotic spends the day with a psychopath. We’re from two different worlds , Oz.

You’re sitting over there Howard Hughes-ing about germs in dimly lit rooms or whatever, and I’m just wondering why the number four smells like apples and is plotting against me.

” She met his eyes and shook her head again. “We can never be. And you know it.”

The apartment fell into silence for an extended period, as they both stood there and reflected on their argument.

Personally, Oz was using the time to dwell on the memory of the feel of her thigh against him. He found it remarkably pleasant.

His new goal in life was to have her grinding against him again, making that soft, breathy sound. He liked it. It was a little cooing hum of need and desire, surrendering herself to him, which was utterly going against her usual confident and strong facade .

Oz wanted to hear nothing in his life but that sound. He’d make it his fucking ringtone, if he could.

It made him feel like a hero. Like her hero.

Oz might have mental problems, but he’d have to be completely out of his mind to not want that.

He just needed to figure out how to circumvent his own brain first. And possibly hers as well. There were complications, true, but he was sure he could figure them out.

She cleared her throat, sounding awkward. “I… I think I’m the world’s foremost expert on tea today, by the way.” She informed him, her beautiful voice once more sounding soft.

“Oh. That’s… nice.” He stood straighter, getting ahold of his emotions again. “We should have some.”

She scoffed at that suggestion. “Do I look like the kind of person who has a lot of tea sitting around, Oz?”

“You’re the foremost authority on something you don’t enjoy?” He deadpanned.

“I’ll only be the foremost authority on it for today .

Tomorrow, I’ll probably go back to hating it.

I usually do. It tastes like someone simply gave you water in a glass they didn’t bother to wash first.” She dropped her bags and started towards the kitchen.

“We’ll have hot chocolate before we leave instead.

But we’ll need to use forks to stir it, because all the spoons are dirty. ”

He frowned. “Why don’t we just wash the spoons?”

“Because we still have forks.” Her tone sounded genuinely confused, as if mystified by his insanity. “ Duh .”

Oz blinked after her in amazement.

On the other hand, trying to bring order to some chaos was completely futile.

Oz watched the woman open one of her cupboards, feeling like she was farther away from him than ever. None of this had gone the way he’d wanted.

There was still a distance between them. Like she was on earth, while he was staring at her from the surface of the moon or something.