SCOFIELD, Curtis J.

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CURTIS 'CJ' SCOFIELD . TWENTY-FOUR LONDON NATIVE . NEW YORK NEWBIE GAMING FREELANCE JOURNALIST ....................................................... TRENDING ARTICLES, FEB 2016 1. Why Liking WayPool Should Carry a Death Sentence 2. I've Seen Deadpool and I Have Thoughts 3. Spider-Man/Deadpool #2 Review 4. The Deathmatch We All Want to See: Slott v. Way 5. This Isn't a Games Blog... But These Games Are the Dog's Bollocks: 2015 Review ....................................................... ....................................................... ....................................................... I don't know why she didn't just tell me. I mean, I do, clearly she felt bad about it and thought I'd be a dick about it. But she should have sucked it up and told me anyway. I'll be honest, cheating isn't my favourite thing, but I'm not gonna get too preachy about it-- people drink, their partners might have pissed them off, the grass is always greener. I understand. But when there's a kid involved, and I'm raising this kid and this beautiful little boy is calling me dad, you should probably mention that there's a chance I might not be. Probably ASAP, before we bonded, before all the Facebook statuses about our happy little family. The worst time is probably in the midst of an argument that started with one of us accusing the other of finishing the milk and not buying more. But hey, maybe that's old fashioned thinking. I have no idea what Jennie was thinking. "I probably should have told CJ that he might not be Jamie's father earlier. OK, not probably, definitely... but I was so scared. A new mum, barely twenty-one, CJ was all I had. That other guy, Jamie's father, he was long gone. I don't even remember his name! I'm a horrid mother, and I knew it even then. Not like Curtis. He surprised everyone, not least himself. He went from dreading it, to daily panic attacks and sporadic denial, to being this perfect little dad. As soon as he held Jamie I could see how much he loved him, and I couldn't take that away from him. From either of them. Not when the chances were so slim that it was that guy anyway... god, I'm such a waste of space. I wish Jamie was his. Every single day I wish that, even now. I know they miss each other like crazy. I never should have said anything." ....................................................... "Mum ruined Curtis. Absolutely destroyed him. He likes to tease me because he says Cleo and Vienna were planned but I was an accident, their second to last attempt at having a son... mum said he's right! Honestly, those two are hideous, I used to threaten to call Childline. He's such a mummy's boy, always has been, because he knows she'll take his side. The precious only son. God, I sound bitter don't I? I don't really mean it... well, I mean that he's a little shit, and a manchild, and spoilt, and a mummy's boy, but really Curt's a good brother. It can't have been easy growing up with the three of us and he's always done his best to play the protective brother role, even though he's the baby. He really didn't deserve the bullshit that bitch Jennie put him through, that much is for sure. I'm happy for him now that he's out in America, we all thought he'd die a virgin living in mum's basement, covered in Dorito dust. Who knew all those summer holidays spent playing video games would pay off?" ....................................................... ....................................................... There's a girl. I know a lot of people who always seem to have a girl, one that's stood out because she's their girlfriend, or because she got away, or because they desperately want to make her theirs. I'm not really that kind. As anyone who knows me will gladly tell you I usually have a few girls around, but there's never a singular, not before. Usually they blend into each other, distinguished only by superficial things-- one looks like MJ Watson, one has a slight lisp, one seems shy but then she's dynamite in the sack, you know. But never A Girl. At least not until now... well, six months ago if you want to be specific. She's annoying. She uses me to bait her boyfriend into seeing her, not caring that I then have to third wheel, watching the two of them together. She rolls her eyes at our conversations, pokes fun at our shared interests and groans when we have pants-optional, snacks mandatory gaming marathons in her living room. She's got this husky voice and she wears the most infuriatingly sweet perfume, there's almost always charcoal smudges on her fingers and she does this ridiculous little happy hum as she packages up her stuff ready for customers. She'll sometimes reference things I've said on my blog, or throwaway comments I made months back. She remembers the details. She eats like a little bird and she drinks like a sailor, and it's always a relief when she takes over Spotify. She's maddeningly beautiful. I'm insanely happy when I'm around her and I'm happily insane when I'm not around her, because then I have her to myself, the version of her that lives in my thoughts and is all mine. Because the real flesh and bone Maeve isn't all mine, isn't even a little bit mine. She's my friend's girl, even though she sometimes seems like she isn't. Like when we were play fighting and she knocked me to the floor, her still on top of me, her beautiful lithe little frame so light on top of my sturdier one, and she didn't get up for what felt like whole minutes. Or the time she was cold so I let her borrow my jacket, and when she returned it the pockets were full of tiny little pink and gold confetti hearts. Or the other day, when a store attendant thought we were a couple and she didn't correct her-- didn't even seem to notice it as a mistake. But I'm reaching. Maeve is the kind of girl to make everyone she meets think she's in love with them, and even if she knows how I feel about her, she doesn't let on. It'll pass.

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