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lips were whose. Then the Perfectionist stood up. She pointed the remote at the television and turned it off. She reached out for Tom’s hand and he gave it to her.
    They walked upstairs, Tom a step behind her. He tried not to stare at her ass. He squeezed her hand and wished his palm wasn’t so sweaty. They reached the top of the stairs and turned towards her bedroom.
    Only three days earlier they’d had their first kiss, but this wouldn’t be the first time Tom had been in the Perfectionist’s bedroom. One night, a Wednesday night, not even a month ago, she’d brought him upstairs. They’d both attended the Ear’s birthday party, and they’d both been drinking, and they’d ended up walking home together. At her front door she’d invited Tom up. He’d accepted.
    The Perfectionist hadn’t been with anyone since she broke up with Hypno. The sex with him had been so good the Perfectionist had taken it for granted. She really liked Tom, was sure they’d become really great friends, but nothing more. She didn’t know if their friendship would survive a one-nighter but she felt reckless and took Tom straight to her bedroom.
    The Perfectionist pushed Tom onto her bed. She took off his shirt. She took off his shoes and his socks. She took off his pants. She took off his boxers.
    With most guys the Perfectionist would stop there. She didn’t. She was still feeling reckless. She took off his skin.She took off his nervous system. She lifted up his rib cage. His heart beat in her hand. And there, underneath it, she found a jewelled golden box. She opened it. Inside she found his hopes, his dreams and his fears. She stared at them. She was surprised to find them there and surprised at how beautiful they were. At that exact moment, the Perfectionist fell in love with Tom.
    She put back the box and his skin and his clothes. She held him.
    The Perfectionist remembered that moment as they approached her bedroom door. Tom slowed down. The Perfectionist didn’t. She walked past her bedroom. She kept walking.
    There was a room at the very end of the hallway. Tom hadn’t noticed it before. The door was closed. The Perfectionist let go of his hand. She opened the door and flicked on the light. Inside, the carpet was worn and grey. Finishing nails stuck out of white drywall. In the centre of the room were two giant cardboard boxes, the kind refrigerators come packed in.
    On the box to the left, in the Perfectionist’s handwriting, was the word ‘FRIEND.’ On the box to the right, also in the Perfectionist’s handwriting, was the word ‘LOVER.’ These two boxes were the only objects in the room.
    Tom looked at the Perfectionist. The Perfectionist looked at him. Tom looked back to the boxes and then back at the Perfectionist. He scratched his head.
    ‘Well?’ the Perfectionist asked.
    Tom looked at her, looked at the boxes and looked back at the Perfectionist. He still didn’t understand.
    ‘Which one?’ she demanded. She moved her arms, suggesting he should get in one.
    Tom walked into the room and stood between the two boxes. He looked at the one marked ‘LOVER’ and he looked at the one marked ‘FRIEND.’ He made his decision quickly. With sharp steps he moved in front of the box marked ‘FRIEND.’ Picking it up, he lifted it over his head and put it inside the box marked ‘LOVER’. Then he turned around, picked up the Perfectionist, and lifted her inside the boxes. He climbed in with her. In the morning, there wasn’t much left of either box.
    Tom runs his finger along the stainless-steel tap above the sink. With a little water he pats down his hair. He puts fresh toilet paper on the cuts on his wrist before unbolting the bathroom door. The ‘occupied’ light switches off.

TWELVE

FIND YOUR OWN SUPERHERO NAME
    It’s true most superheroes have funny names. But they have to come up with these names by themselves. Think about how hard it is. Try it, right now; boil down your personality and abilities to a