Tousle Me

by Lucy V. Morgan

With a last desperate breath, Archer hurls his cell away from the counter, just in the nick of time. Sparkles—who has eyes like an eagle—spots it flying through the air and catches it like a bear with a salmon in a spring river. He careens through the front window with a climactic NEEEEEIGH, smashing it to smithereens.

  The store falls silent. With my palms still clasped over my face, I’m right back in the vast black space of the cupboard, T-Rex claws looming toward me. I give a meek little whimper of defeat amid my frantic little gasps for air.

  A series of creaks startles me. Tha-donk-a-creak-donk. I peer through my fingers to see Hunter, now dressed in his burnished gold suit of armour. He yanks the visor up and stares about at the wreckage, bemused. “What the shitting hell, gosling?”

  “Half a pound of tuppeny rice,” I sing softly, my voice splitting with misery. “Half a pound of treacle…”

  “Oh God.” He drops to his knees, creaking and wincing. “That’s fucking creepy. Stoppit.”

  “Mix it up and…” I practically spit the tears. “MAKE IT NICE...”

  Hunter peels a slither of bloody weasel fur from my t-shirt. “I’m so sorry, gosling. I’m sorry.” And then he wraps his arms of steel around me.

  I sink into his embrace, knowing deep inside what I have to do. Hunter doesn’t just need my trust to win the joust; I, too, need to finally unload my burden. “I want to go home,” I whisper. “The time has come to…reveal my dark secret.”

  He gives an understanding nod. “I’ll get Labron to bring the limo around. Just let me pay for the suit, okay?”

  “We should check on Archer. He hit his head really hard.”

  We both glance over. Sparkles picks his way through the smashed glass, prancing on light hooves. He pauses by Archer’s limp body.

  Archer emits a low groan.

  Sparkles holds up the cell in his teeth. The camera flashes.

  “What’s he doing?” says Hunter, confused.

  “Neeeigh.”

  “Ah.” I smile, despite everything. “Sparkles says this is definitely one for Facebook.”

  * * *

  Back in Hunter’s—blessedly clean—bedroom, Labron serves us tea and cake. I stare at the huge chocolate confection in front of us and try not to drool.

  “Did you make this?” I ask Hunter.

  “Yep.” He reaches for the china plates and hands one to me. “I bake through my depression. This one is choc macchiato salted caramel cream banoffee fudge.”

  “Nom. How is Labron not super fat?”

  He shrugs. “Lipo.”

  “Ah. Figures.”

  I go to take a fork for my huge piece of cake, put pause with my hand over the cutlery. “Sure you don’t want me to clean off all the shreds of weasel?”

  He gives a sweet shake of his head. “Nah. Kind of makes me nostalgic.”

  “Oh, Hunter.” Emotion wells up inside me. I’m like a bottle of ketchup beside a hamburger, just longing to be squeezed and served. And I kind of look like I’m wearing ketchup (mustard, in some places).

  “Wait until you try this bad boy. Then you’ll be all, oh Hunter! I thought of you the entire time I was making this, you know. There was just something about squirting layers of cream and salted goodness that reminded me of my gosling.”

  “You’re too good to me.”

  “Maybe I am. Huh.” He ruffles my hair like a proud uncle. Which is strangely alluring. “So…when do I get to hear about this dark secret?”

  “Soon.” I dig the fork into my cake. “You think we could have some music on or something? Just for a little background noise. Would take the tension away a bit.”

  He reaches for the remote to the sparkly new TV. It must be at least sixty inches wide. “Sons of Anarchy okay? I watched a marathon during my darkest hours.” He thumps a fist to his heart. “Jax. Mein bruder.”

  “Fine with me.” I take my first mouthful of cake. “Oh my God.” It’s just so…chocolaty. And fudgy….and, uh, I’m getting kind of hot and buttery in the girlcore. Mmm. Quickly, I shove in another fork, extra frosting this time. “Oh yes. Yes,” I say through the cake. The quiver in my panties is getting stronger. Deeper. Umm…

  Hunter frowns at me. “Is everything okay?”

  “It’s…uh…” I drop the fork in order to grip the sofa with both hands. I can’t contain the pleasure at the apex of my soft and creamy thighs—I’ll blow any second. “Oh. My. Gooooooood.”

  “Gosling? Speak to me, lover.”

  “Ow!” I fall back against the cushions, thrown by the force of my climax. The rest of my cake slides on to the floor in a clink of crumbs and chocolate desolation, and I’m torn between crowing through my waves of pleasure, and weeping for the loss of baked goods.

  I go with the crowing. I can’t not go with the crowing. “Ah, ah, ah!” I pant like I’m being whipped, but by a red liquorice wand of bliss.

  It’s only when I come down from the heights of ecstasy that I notice Hunter watching me. His eyes are trained on my dishevelled hair, my damp cheeks, my flushed and swollen lips. His own mouth is slightly parted and his pupils are fat with hunger. He’s like a hawk—only without the wings and feathers and off-putting beak (a beak is never at the top of anyone’s list, is it?).

  “That was something,” I pant.

  “You’re bloody right it was.” He shuffles over to stroke the hair from my face. “God, you look so…tousled.”

  I break into a proud beam. “Really?”

  “Really. I’ve never seen a girl cakegasm before. It’s seriously hot.”

  “I didn’t know I could cakegasm.” This must be like squirting. Or doing well in math.

  “You don’t know a lot of things,” Hunter murmurs, “but gosling, I’m going to be your teacher.”

  “Remember that time when I thought you were my teacher?”

  “Oh yeah.” He breaks into The Grin. “Good times. We’ve made some awesome memories, haven’t we?”

  “Cage fighting. Scones. Squid Patrick Harris.” I’m still coming down from my cakegasm, and my pits are kinda sweaty. Actually a lot of places are sweaty. And there seems to be some serious vagina pudding in my panties.

  A huge explosion goes off on the TV, and guns fire as the Sons of Anarchy partake in yet another effort for world peace in Uganda. Or whatever. There’s something so very peaceful about being in Hunter’s company—it’s even more comforting than the smell of Archer’s old leather jacket. I’ve never felt so whole.

  “I think I’m ready,” I say softly.

  Hunter says nothing, but he moves in to stroke my hair and gives a nod of permission.

  It’s time.

  “I—I was thirteen,” I start. Deep breaths now, Cammie. Don’t let the panic get the better of you. Don’t let the memories infest the present like maggots in—

  My cell goes off, and I jump.

  “Balls.” Hunter glares at my phone. “Want me to get that?”

  “It’s just a message.”

  “With a side of bollocking awful timing.”

  “Uhuh.” I flick a finger across the screen, and a photo pops up: Enid, smirking from ear to ear as she sits in front of a huge plate of curry at Raj Undone, the campus Indian place. One hand is raised in a gleeful wave and the other grasps a fully loaded fork. “I think Enid’s going to shit on my Kindle.”

  Hunter takes my hand between both of his, and traces my knuckles gently. “I will buy you a thousand Kindles if that happens. She can’t shit on all of them.”

  “Technically, she could.”

  “It would be quite the undertaking.”

  I think of how Enid bones her way around campus. “She loves a challenge.”

  He teases the cell from my lap and deposits it on the white coffee table. “Enough. Get back to the good bit—I mean, er, your traumatic experience.”

  “I’ll try.” I close my eyes and let the warm breeze of Hunter’s breath wash me back to that fateful night. “I was thirteen,” I whisper. “And my brother…” I have a bro
ther! I remember! Hi, Brody! Are you reading this? Shit—did I forget your birthday? Hey, remember when we all went out on to the river that one time and—

  Hunter clears his throat. “Gosling.”

  “Sorry.” I clear mine too, like I’m playing a little game of Hunter Says. Ooh. “Uh, where was I? My brother…he’s older than me…he had his friends around. They liked to play this game.” I take a breath from somewhere deep in my chest; I haven’t said these words since before it happened. They come out in a rush. “Extreme Dino Mudbath Scalectrix Praise Jesus 2000.”

  “What the hell is that?”

  “Don’t teenage boys play it in England?”

  “No.” Hunter looks confused. “We wank a lot and we play football. Then we watch Never Mind the Buzzcocks. And have a sandwich. And then another wank.”

  “Oh.” I shuffle about, feeling awkward. “Well it was all the rage in Wisconsin. All the fifteen-year-old boys were playing it. You got a plastic T-Rex each, and there was a big vat of mud, and a Bible…” I shudder.

  “Gosling. You don’t have to go into the details if they’re upsetting.”

  “Okay.” I take another hard breath. “Okay. It’s just, it always seemed so cool, you know? I wanted to join in, but I wasn’t allowed.” Remember that, Brody? Huh? Remember that? “So one day, I knew his friends were coming over to play and I…I hid in the cupboard.”

  “You were going to watch,” Hunter says.

  I rub my damp palms on my jeans. “Yeah. At least, that’s what I thought. But half way through, my brother got this high score and there was mud everywhere. They were rubbing it into each other’s hair, throwing it down each other’s pants, and it looked like so much fun through my little spy gap. I don’t know what came over me but I got over-excited. I said go Brody! kinda loud.” I pause, desperately trying to stall the tears. “And that was when the room fell silent.”

  Hunter rubs my knee. “Go on.”

  “They all stopped doing their dinosaur roars. They turned off the Scalectrix so I couldn’t hear the cars whizzing around anymore. Then they start to walk closer through the mud.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “Squelch…squelch…SQUELCH.”

  “Like…we’re going on a bear hunt, we’re going to catch a big one…?”

  “What?”

  “No?” He pats my knee again. “Okay. You carry on.”

  “They opened the cupboard. They always played the game in the dark, so they didn’t let any light in—”

  “So how could you see through the gap in the doors?”

  “Stop being clever,” I hiss. “They opened the cupboard. I was so afraid because, you know, I wasn’t meant to be there. And often times, Brody could be pretty unkind.” Remember that, Brody? Do you? “Suddenly, there are these plastic T-Rexs coming toward me, their stunted forearms outstretched. And then his friends began to laugh. I can still hear the sound, echoing through the shadows and assaulting my ear drums. I felt so frightened. So alone.” A single tear breaks free to slide down my cheek, cool on my hot skin. “Oh Hunter. They were so cruel.”

  He leans in to murmur in my ear. “Tell me what those bastards did.”

  “They took their dinosaurs,” I spit, “and they violated me!”

  “Oh, gosling.” He clasps me to his chest as I sob. “Tell me where.”

  “Inside my elbow,” I weep. “Almost down my top—right where my bra was! One of them got behind my knee. Those T-Rex hands were real sharp, and the way the guys were laughing…like it was all so funny. Like my pain was funny.” FUCK YOU, BRODY. Now I remember why I never think about you. That’s right—you’d been conveniently forgotten! How’d you like them apples?

  “I’m so sorry you were gangbanged by plastic dinosaurs,” he says though his teeth, rocking me. “Did they get into any of you other…crevices?”

  “Between my toes.”

  “I, uh, I see.”

  “And right where my thigh meets my hips, right along there.” I sniff. Fucking Brody and his fucking plastic dinos. I should make him choke on one.

  Maybe I did. Hmm. Am I repressing that too?

  Ah, wait. Of course not. Ahahahahaha.

  Hmm.

  “I don’t suppose…they got under your boobs as well, did they? It’s rather crevicey there,” Hunter says.

  “A little.” Something firm prods at my hip. What the chips? “Hunter?”

  He smiles faintly. “Mmm, gosling?”

  “Is that a boner?”

  His eyes dart left and right. “Maybe?”

  I jerk back. “Please telling me you aren’t getting off on my darkest, most private secret.”

  “I…well…” He shrugs helplessly. “Oh, like you aren’t turned on by mine!”

  I fold my arms tight against my chest. “You think I find your murderous past sexy?”

  “I think it gets your pussy all in a twist, is what I think.” He sits up, squares his shoulders. Looks super smug. “You love how dangerous and fucked I am, gosling. Admit it. Just like I love how broken and vulnerable your secret makes you.”

  “I…” Well this is awkward. “It is strangely alluring.”

  “I get that a lot.” He tosses his hair. “Look. We’re both damaged—it’s what makes us so compatible, and yet so conflicted. We’re an explosive blend of love and hate. We’re the perfect vehicle for a narrative where a couple hates each other, then loves each other, then breaks up, then loves each other, then breaks up again and then gets dragged into some shitty jousting tournament just so they can finally get laid.”

  “That’s so beautiful,” I whisper. “That’s exactly what we are.”

  “Do you know what this means?” he says in awe. “The curse is lifted. Finally.”

  We both wait for about five seconds for something magical to happen. Ryan Gosling lets off a massive snake burp, but that’s it.

  Hunter scowls. “Well that was kind of an anti-climax.”

  “I know. Huh.”

  “But now I have you trust.” He bends his head toward mine. “Now I can do anything.”

  “Like get my thrush test results?” I say hopefully.

  “Oh, that is on my to-do list,” he mumbles against my lips. “That’s like, right after signing Darren Hayes up for penis enlargement emails and getting my balls waxed.”

  “You wax your balls…?”

  “Have to. They’re like pompoms. Or ewoks.” He pulls back, looking troubled at my look of disgust. “What, I didn’t tell you that already? No? Well that’s my other dark secret.”

  I swallow. “Good to know.”

  “More cake?”

  I stare hungrily at the chocolate tower of lard on the coffee table. “Will it make me cakegasm again?”

  “It does sometimes cause multiples,” he says apologetically. “Think you can handle it?”

  “You know what? Yeah.” I feel a slow smile creep over my face. “Now I’ve shared my secret with you…I can finally relax. If that includes multiple cake-induced climaxes then I guess I’ll just have to deal.”

  Oh God. Has my lack of eating issues been cured?

  Oh God. I don’t want to be normal! I don’t want to have to exercise! I’d rather be hungry and frigid!

  “I changed my mind,” I say quickly. “No more cake.”

  “Oh well. More for me, I suppose.” And with that, he drags the cake plate on to his lap, grabs a fork, and digs in. “Oh God. Oh yeah. It’s working for me.” He shovels in one mouthful after another, sinking back into the sofa and pushing his crotch forward. “Jesus H. Christ. Oh yes…”

  * * *

  “Uh, Labron?”

  “Wassup, Ginger?” he peers up from his protein shake and gestures for me to sit opposite him in the kitchen. “Where’s Hunter?”

  “Face down in a pool of his own spunk,” I say flatly.

  Labron groans. “Again?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  So I guess it’s the most important night of the entire book.

  The X Factor Finale!

&nb
sp; I’ve been helping Hunter and Sparkles practice their jousting all day, but now I get some serious me time. Hunter is even unicorn-sitting (and is making Sparkles go cold turkey on the Internet, which is super brave of him. Or super stupid, depending on how you look at it). It’s back to the dorm to get my Cognac Façade on.

  I’ve barely got my key in the lock when a low groan reaches my ears from somewhere beyond the door.

  Great. Just fabulous.

  I ease the door open—and then pause, baulking at the gassy stench. It’s like Sparkles’ farts but…worse. Fresher. Meatier. What the chips?

  “Hey Cammie!” calls a familiar voice.

  “Uh…Enid? Is that you?”

  “Yep,” she says smugly.

  I slam the door shut again and hurl myself into the corridor, falling flat against the wall in fear. “You, uh…you aren’t doing what I think you are, right?”

  “Well let’s see!” Her yell fades into a grunt. “If you’re thinking that I’m just watching TV, it would not be true. But if you’re thinking—” GRUUUUNT, “—that I’m curling out some serious Raj’s Revenge on your e-reader of choice, then yeah.” She coughs, grunts, and then sniggers. “That would be accurate.”

  “Enid!” I screech. “Don’t you dare!”

  There’s a faint plopping sound, and she inhales deeply. “Too late.” A beat. “Wow. I, like, excelled myself.”

  “I can’t believe you’d go to these lengths when all I did was kiss Archer!”

  “All you did? All you did?” The shuffle of footsteps rolls toward the door, and then she yanks it open. Her cheeks are flushed, and she’s still doing up her fly. “You really have no idea, do you?”

  “I have ideas,” I mumble.

  “Cammie, you float through life like a—a—a thing that floats—”

  “A feather?” I supply helpfully.

  “Don’t flatter yourself. Everything comes so easily to you—advance review copies, unicorns. Billionaires. All I ever wanted was…” She trails off, rubbing her suddenly puffy eyes. “…Was Archer.”

  “But all you do is look for guys who aren’t Archer.”

  “Do you see Archer ever looking for me?” she snipes.