Tousle Me

by Lucy V. Morgan

  Here goes nothing.

  The door opens with a heavy creak. Inside, the room is sparsely decorated, with only broken mirrors on the walls and a fancy table in front of tall windows. I inch closer to the table in the shadows, crunching bits of mirror—and Kanye West CD—beneath my shoes. There’s an oval glass container on the table, and something that looks like a flower withers beneath it. As I reach out to touch it, a shiver of silver moonlight streaks through to bounce off the glass, and foreboding string music strikes up in the background. Huh.

  Floating in the glass oval is a red rose, its petals bruised and flaccid. Like Archer that one time when I walked in on him getting changed after jousting. I’m just about to touch it when a single petal falls into a heap of similarly shed red streaks.

  The creepy string music gets louder. Hunter’s voice echoes in my head: you must never go through that door. Promise me, gosling.

  So this is his dirty secret? A flipping flower? Really? I’d hoped for something, you know, a bit less metrosexual and a bit more fucked in the head. Sure, the rose is floating in mid-air and there’s evidently some dark curse at work or whatever. So dark that not even Kanye West could break it. But if he thinks this is in any way comparable to my cupboard trauma, he’s super mistaken.

  The foreboding music’s still going, and for a second, I wonder if it’s because Hunter is about to catch me betraying his trust. But nah—he’s still elsewhere. And it turns out the music is actually just the Eine Richtung CD. Maybe I’ll go find Hunter and tell him how much I enjoyed masturbating, and maybe then we’ll be able to have sex now we’re free of dead octopi.

  I close the secret door carefully behind me, straighten my lederhosen, and pad down the hall to find Hunter. I hear Labron chuckling somewhere beyond the lobby, and I take my time descending the staircase of infinite awesomeness; I pause to pose on each landing, trying out such looks as Damsel in Distress, Oops I Just Dropped My Books, and my favorite: Selfie From Above (makes your double chin look teensy and your boobs look huge). When I reach the source of Labron’s voice, I hear Hunter as well.

  “Oh yeah. Look at that,” he gloats, ever so slightly breathless.

  I pause beside the open doorway. Labron sounds kind of, um, turned on. Hunter sounds smug with a side of sex flu. I’m not sure I want to see what’s in this room, but my womanly instincts tell me that I must. Like I’m Nancy Drew, but with a better grasp of social media.

  Only when I turn the corner, I wish I hadn’t.

  Hunter stands bare-chested in the middle of a huge country style kitchen, his abs rippling like trout jumping in a river. Labron is in front of him, on his knees. Leaning in. Hunter groans some British obscenity and slaps Labron’s bald head.

  “Hot diggety dawg,” Labron murmurs.

  Oh to the em to the gee. The help is BLOWING MY BOYFRIEND.

  I mean, er, the minority character, not the help. Wait. That doesn’t sound any better. Aw hell, he’s still blowing my boyfriend!

  “Hunter!” I shriek, my hands flying to my face in shock. I haven’t been this mad since Enid dropped Starbucks on my advance copy of Stalking Disaster (especially when she said it was an improvement).

  “Gosling!” He beams at me and beckons me over. “You have to see this.”

  I try not to choke. “What the chips?”

  Labron doesn’t even turn around, but he calls, “no, really—you have to see this.”

  “You’re both sick,” I manage, the tears hot on my cheeks. I know being gay doesn’t actually mean people are sick, but I’m shocked and offended right now so I figure I can at least get away with insinuating it.

  Hunter frowns. “Is there something wrong?”

  “You’re damn right there’s something wrong!” I’m still upset, but also randomly proud of my poignant juxtaposition of right and wrong, which makes it hard not to give myself a self-congratulatory chortle. So my next line sounds like a snort. “I can’t believe you’d do this to me!”

  Labron looks up at Hunter. “Dude. Is she on glue?”

  I’m not sure if that’s some kind of euphemism for being on my period, but I huff like it is. “We’re through!” I screech. “You’ll never see me again, you asshole!”

  I give his gorgeous face and smirky grin one last glance, and then I hurry out of the west wing—toward the front entrance, just because I know it would piss him off. I run and I weep and I run and I wipe snot from my nose and I run and run and run.

  Straight into Archer.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “Cam-Cam?” Archer, who was schmoozing by the re-enactment noticeboard, hurries over to wrap his big arms around me. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

  “It’s—Hunter—he’s—such—a—dick!” I wheeze.

  Archer’s got this scrunched look on his face, like, yes, I know he’s a dick. But because he’s my bestest man friend in all the campus, Archer doesn’t say that. Instead, he just hugs me tightly, even patting my lederhosened ass.

  “Caught—him—with—Labron,” I mumble into Archer’s chest.

  “Caught him doing what with Labron?”

  “Getting a BLOW JOB!” I howl.

  “A what now?” Archer’s eyebrows shoot skyward. One lands on the chandelier and he has to do a little jump to get it back down again. “Hunter’s gay?”

  “It wasn’t even a good blow job. Labron was barely moving, and Hunter wasn’t moaning at all. Well. Not like he does when I let him—”

  Archer’s other eyebrow flies off, only this time he makes no attempt to retrieve it. “You slept with Hunter?” he hisses.

  “No, no.” I pause, sniffing. “I mean, we came close one time, but then there was the octopus…”

  “Oh. Well thank God for that.” He goes back to soothing me. “Want a ride back to your room?”

  “On your motorbike?”

  “Yeah.” He smiles. “I’ll even throw in an eighties power ballad soundtrack, just for the mood.”

  I frown. “Do books have soundtracks?”

  “Well…uh…no. But this is a bittersweet night time motorbike ride—eighties power ballads are The Law.”

  “Huh.”

  Archer takes my hand and goes to lead me toward the front door.

  “Archer?”

  He turns. “Yeah?”

  I point to a random streak of hair hanging off a window ledge. “Your eyebrow.”

  “Oh yeah. Shit.” He reaches for it, and slaps it back on. “Better?”

  I give him a tearstained smile. “Perfect.”

  As we ride back to my dorm, I wrap my arms around Archer’s narrow waist and inhale the smell of his leather biker jacket, the wind whipping through my hair, silently wishing that he was Hunter and that he smelled like body wash and weasel. The eighties music gets vetoed as frankly, it’s a bit like trying too hard.

  Outside my door, Archer gives me another lingering hug, and I stare up into his big blues.

  “I’m so sorry, Cam-Cam,” he murmurs. “I know how much it hurts to have your heart broken.”

  I pat his shoulder sympathetically. “Jousting injury?”

  “Uh…something like that, yeah.”

  “Archie. What would I do without you?” I sigh.

  “I suspect you’d be very confused.”

  If only he knew how confused I am right now!

  Suddenly, a loud bang emanates from inside my bedroom, followed by a sharp “neeeeigh!”

  Archer pulls a suspicious face. With one eyebrow on sideways, this makes him look like Poirot after a stroke. “Is there a horse in your room?”

  “Uh. Maybe.” Oh crap. I forgot about the unicorn!

  “Stand back.” He pushes me aside. “I deal with equine stuff all the time for jousting. I can handle a rogue horse burglar.”

  “Archie, no—!”

  It’s no use. He won’t be told. Damn his stubbornly competitive beta hero ass. With a whooping battle cry, Archer bursts through my door, screaming, “Avast, stallion!”

  Pretty sure he wasn’
t expecting to see a purple sparkly unicorn camped out on my bed, wearing my pink Stetson at a jaunty angle and watching a K-drama on my laptop.

  “Neeeigh?” Sparkles von Fancypants says to Archer, looking pissed and bemused.

  Archer is still frozen with his fist aloft. “I….need to stop eating cheese before bed.”

  “Archer,” I manage, “this is my new pet unicorn, Sparkles von Fancypants.”

  “Here was me, thinking the dead octopus was weird.” He twists to me, pointing an accusatory finger. “This is Hunter’s doing, isn’t it?”

  Sparkles gives a disapproving grunt.

  “It is!” Archer exclaims. “I knew it! First Goodreads, then you have to buy a dead—”

  “I know,” I screech, “I know he’s no good for me! Goddammit Archer, don’t you think I knew things had gotten out of hand? I just couldn’t help myself.” I wander over to Sparkles and bury a hand in his comforting tinsel mane. “Haven’t you ever been in love?”

  He looks kinda annoyed. “Pretty sure I said as much about two minutes ago, Cam-Cam.”

  “You did?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh.” I sniff. “I can’t explain how I feel. When I fell on the roof of the frat house, he caught me…but I didn’t stop falling. I’m still falling.”

  His eyes dart left to right. “Falling where?”

  “In love, stupid!”

  “Oh.” He recoils. “Oh.”

  Beside me, Sparkles whimpers in sympathy. I’m glad somebody feels for me right now.

  “So now I love someone I can’t have,” I whimper, “because he’s no good for me. Oh, and gay. He is officially a friend of the parsnip.”

  “I know what that’s like,” Archer whispers. “I mean, not the parsnip bit…I don’t mind parsnips, prefer carrots really….but being in love with someone I can’t have. Cammie, I—”

  “I really appreciate all your help tonight, Archer. But I need to be alone right now.”

  He shoves his hands into his pockets with a defeated sigh. “If that’s what you want.”

  “It’s what I want.”

  Before he closes the door, he turns back to me one last time. His eyes are rimmed with pink, his pupils glassy. “I hope you can find a way through this. God knows, it’s hard.”

  Then he’s gone.

  It’s just me, Sparkles and the K-drama. And the ghost of my passionate affair with Hunter, lingering like a bad smell.

  Oh, wait. Sparkles von Fancypants just has gas.

  What the hell did Labron feed him?

  * * *

  In the early hours, I wake in a heap of warm unicorn stench and Twinkie wrappers to hear the ringtone of my cell. Cursing and yawning—I like to call this curwning—I grope around on my bedside table for the phone.

  “Y’ellow?” I say sleepily.

  “Ginger. Thank God,” says Labron, the relief in his voice evident. “You have to come back. It’s Hunter—he went batshit when you left. He even trashed the tray of Hob Nobs.”

  For a second, I have no idea who Labron is or what he’s on about. Pretty sure I was dreaming of being interviewed on Ellen about my upcoming wedding to Hunter von Sty…oh, superpoop. I dumped Hunter!

  “You there?” Labron asks.

  “I…uh…it’s the middle of the night,” I say, my voice wavering. Oh my God. I. Dumped. Hunter.

  “It’s like six thirty a.m.”

  “Middle of the night.”

  “Please, Cammie—he’s in such a bad way. I don’t know why you stormed off like that, but I’m willing to bet it’s all down to a clichéd and predictable misunderstanding. He needs you.”

  “I’m half asleep,” I mumble. “Also, no. He’s a douche.”

  “Please. I’ll bring the limo—”

  “I said no!”

  “For crying out loud, he hasn’t slept a wink. He just had Xanax for breakfast.”

  “Labron.” I yawn. “One pill never killed anyone.”

  “I mean literally, for breakfast. A bowl of Xanax. With milk.”

  “Well that isn’t a very good idea, is it?”

  “I’m gonna run him down to the ER, get his stomach pumped. He’ll be back later on today and he could sure use a nurse,” Labron says hopefully.

  “I’m not his nurse,” I spit. I’m a big ball of bitterness and sorrow and regret. And unicorn drool. “I’m not his anything.”

  “Well dang. I’m…sorry you feel that way.”

  And then he hangs up.

  I lie there in the dim light of the morning with a fist full of tinselly mane, weeping for my lost warrior, my special manboy. So upset, so alone. Why, cruel world?

  WHY?

  * * *

  A few hours later, Sparkles wakes me by farting wetly in my face.

  “Uuuuugh,” I groan, peeling the pillow from my cheek. “I’m guessing you need to go out to pee.”

  “Neeeigh, neeeeigh,” says Sparkles. He taps a hoof on the floor twice.

  “Oh. Number twos.” I grimace. “You’re sure as hell not doing that in here.”

  I stagger to the door in just my jammies and let him out. He trots contentedly down the hallway, huffing at shocked students as he passes and humming to himself in that cute vocoder way unicorns do. He’s still got my pink Stetson hat on, albeit around his neck.

  It’s ten AM and I’ve already missed my first class. But who cares? Hunter and I are no more; I just want to curl up and die. But we’re only about half way into the book so I can’t die yet, not even in a Christ-like fashion. Gaaaah. Who writes this shit, anyway?

  I shake unicorn hair off my duvet cover and climb into bed. Then I lie flat on my back, stare at the ceiling, and wonder what I’m supposed to do with my life now that Hunter isn’t a part of it. I glance at my towering to-be-read pile, think of my blog, think of my friends. My conveniently absent family. I think of owning Goodreads; with great power comes great responsibility. Jeez, it’s all so much pressure, and I don’t even have my very rich, handsome and tortured boyfriend to help me through it all.

  Maybe I’ll try that touching myself thing. Orgasms are meant to be good for stress, right?

  * * *

  Oh dear God. I am whacking one out every twenty minutes. I’m the Juniper Armenseabass of masturbating.

  * * *

  I’m finally showered and dressed when there’s a loud knock at the door. Great—that’ll be Enid, come to tell me how good-for-nothing Hunter is, how I can do soooo much better, and then she’ll magically have some frat party to drag me out to so I can rebound with a slightly less douchier douche.

  I already have a snarky retort prepared as I pull open the door. Only it isn’t Enid, standing there in the hallway with a face like thunder; it’s Anonymous. Or Captain Purity, as he apparently prefers to be called.

  “Yeah?” I say.

  “You know there’s a unicorn in the cafeteria, right? Archer said it belongs to you,” he says.

  “It might belong to me.”

  “Well if it does,” he says slowly, “you need to get it under control. You have any idea what a huge threat a creature with a massive prick is to the girls trying to protect their purity?”

  “I…I’m sorry,” I manage.

  “It also crapped in the lobby. You need to clean it up.”

  I crack a weak smile. “You’d think they’d make unicorn litter trays, huh?”

  “And by the way,” he goes on self-righteously, adjusting his emo bangs, “everyone thinks it’s really mean that you glued on that horn. And the tinsel. And—oh God, is that a banana?”

  I stare down at the piece of fruit in my hand. “Um…yeah?”

  “Oh. Right.” He gulps, lowering his voice. “Well thank God for that. Thought it might have been Creeptonight.”

  I frown. “You mean Kryptonite?”

  “No. Creeptonight.”

  Huh.

  “Guess I’d better go rescue the cafeteria,” I mutter, grabbing my coat.

  The lobby is indeed full of unicor
n crap. I stop to peer at it for a second; it’s full of glitter and reeks of Gatorade. Huh. Sure smells better than Rule right now.

  The dorm cafeteria is always rowdy at lunch time; kind of like a high school cafeteria, actually, only this book ended up being too racy for YA so the author had to switch things round a lizzle. Rustic-style picnic tables sit in rows, and the counter is piled high with fake fruits and veggies which are ideal weapons for the odd plastic food fight.

  I spot the unicorn before I’ve even walked in the door. He’s lying on his back beside the vending machines, shrieking and neighing and rolling around while a bunch of sorority bimbos tickle him.

  “Sparkles von Fancypants,” I boom, “you complete whore! Come here at once.”

  “Neeeeigh!” He jerks up on to his four hooves, gives the bimbos an apologetic mane toss, and trots over to me. “Neeeigh.”

  “Bad unicorn,” I scold. “You crapped all over the lobby!”

  He puts his head down and gives me big eyes, ashamed. I take his black sequin bridle with a sigh. I wish Hunter was here to parent him with me—he’d be such a good father. My ovaries twerk just thinking about it.

  “It’s okay—you’re forgiven. But later, I’m teaching you how to use the toilet. Right?”

  He flares his nostrils in reluctant agreement.

  “Good boy. Now.” I gesture to the counter. “Want to get some lunch? I’ll let you Instagram it…”

  We walk up to the till together to order; I get cheese fries, and Sparkles von Fancypants has eggs over easy with wilted spinach and lots of edible glitter. I gather up the plates on a tray and try to ignore the stares of fellow students. What, they haven’t seen a purple sparkly unicorn before?

  “Hey, Cammie!” Enid waves from a table in the corner, where she’s sitting with her iPad and a tuna salad. “Over here.”

  She seems completely unfazed by my new pet. Hmm. “Mind if Sparkles lies by your feet?” I ask.

  She shrugs. “Go ahead.”

  “’Kay. Just need to Instagram his glitter eggs.”

  Enid frowns at me. “Not dealing with the Hunter thing very well, huh?”

  I check the photo and filter with Sparkles, who grunts his approval. Then I click Upload and leave him to chow down. “You heard about that?”