Tousle Me by Lucy V. Morgan

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.