Someone To Love

Hat Trick

Okay.

Don't panic.

I'm sure there's no real injury taking place in my baby-making station. It just feels as though I've managed to sterilize myself forever thanks to the self-inflicted ulcers.

I try to engage in even-keeled breathing as I walk into my final class of the day where I secretly plan on tracing out Cruise's body in lieu of the relic they have posing for his birthday suit pictorial. I don't pay much attention to the women.

I'm hoping at some point technique will be integrated into the lessons, but I'm guessing that's not today since I spot Professor Webber near the back toking off a hookah. God, I hope there's something legal floating around in that oversized bong of hers.

I'm still hopped up on my exchange with "Professor Elton." And that syllabus entailed quite a laundry list of public facilities - the library, the staff lounge - the tower.

Blair gives a friendly wave, and I head on over.

"Saw you this morning in the coffee shop," I say, dropping my book bag, and a myriad of loose papers vomit out. Gah! Just the thought of bending over and dealing with it sets my nether regions on fire. Blair starts to scoop things up for me. "Don't worry, I'll get it in a second."

The two newest victims to be inaugurated in Webber's exclusive nudist for hire ring strut out of the makeshift closet, clutching at the signature purple robes, and oh my God, they're ancient! A series of low-lying gasps erupt once they drop trou, sort of like it did with Cruise, but well, for entirely different reasons. Honest to God, there's a crypt keeper out there somewhere who is not doing his freaking job.

Their bodies are a strange hue of grey, and they have more folds of skin than a litter of Shar-Pei puppies. Their limbs have odd bruising on them, and their gnarled fingers are nothing but skin over bone, green and purple with blooms of yellow interspersed. It's safe to say they've taken decomposing and turned it into a performance piece.

"So what did you say you were studying again?" Blair scoots her bench into mine with a reserved sense of calm, as if we didn't just bear witness to a double reanimation. I totally envision two empty caskets with the words "flight risk" slapped across the front. "I set out your papers for you." She points up at my easel.

"Thanks." Blair is such a nice person. I can totally see her hanging out with Lauren, Ally, and me. I can't believe how fantastic everything is in my life now. "I'm studying boys," I whisper. "One boy in particular."

"Oh?" Her dark eyes round out. "It's not Mr. Glad to See You, is it?" She gives a knowing laugh. "That was wild, by the way."

"That would be him - and, believe me, he's very, very wild." My body experiences a private summer as a Cruise inspired heat wave takes over. "Especially in bed," I whisper that last part so low it's almost inaudible.

"I thought you said you were a virgin?" She snaps it out as if I misrepresented my citizenship in the land of Not-So-Wholesome Milk and Money, A.K.A Garrison. "I mean, you implied it. It's a big virtue, so I thought it was pretty cool and stuff."

"Well, I was." I pinch a quick smile. "But I'm not anymore. He's a god, so how could I resist. You did see him, right?" It comes out more fact, less question.

"Oh, it was 'hard' to miss." She glances down and sweeps the floor with a look of irritation. "I tried to save it once, and it all went haywire."

"I'm sorry." I touch my chest appalled by the fact I'm inadvertently rubbing my perfect boyfriend in her face when it's obvious she's coming off some big emotional breakup. "I'm sure your Mr. Right will walk through the door any day now."