I Prefer the Mind Control Fanfiction - Angry Porcupine Mode
This is fanfiction for I Prefer the Mind Control. I might rewrite that one so that certain major problems with it are corrected. My mind was inspired to write in that universe, so here you go. Enjoy!
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“You drove thirty miles, each way, to buy coffee beans so your precious roommate could eat them,” Bonnie mutters. She hugs her knees to her chest, in a distinctly prickly “don’t touch me” way. Like she’s a fucking porcupine.
I raise an eyebrow. “So?” I ask.
What’s the big deal with getting Preston some coffee beans? He likes them, and it’s nice to see him smile.
My girlfriend leans against the wall. The apparently problematic bag of coffee beans is between us. We’re sitting on my bed in my dorm room, not using it for what I would rather use it for. You can’t, or at least really shouldn’t, try to have sex when your girlfriend is inexplicably in Angry Porcupine Mode. Her long, curly dark brown hair frames her face, and her eyes, also dark brown, glare at me like fucking lasers.
“So, Dylan, don’t you think that says something?” she mutters.
It says “I’m really fucking confused.” Hey, author, care to shine some light on this? Yeah, I know you’re writing me. Your fourth wall has shoddy construction, sorry. I have to figure this one out myself? Oh great. What’s the point of breaking the fourth wall if there’s no help on the other side?
“What does it say?” I ask, feeling honestly baffled.
“You obviously care about Preston,” she says. She hugs herself tighter.
“And I’m not allowed to care about my friends?” I say.
“You -- you don’t realize, do you?” she whispers, her voice cracking. Bonnie no longer resembles a porcupine. More like a fucking turtle. Why did my girlfriend turn into a turtle?
“Are you, like, okay?” I ask. I reach out to comfort her.
She pushes my hand away. “Don’t touch me,” she says.
That is not a good fucking sign, if my own girlfriend doesn’t want physical contact. Normally, she’s a lot more...huggy. What’s going on? If she turned into a turtle, I’ve turned into...whatever animal is really, really easily confused. Maybe a deer. They have a reputation for getting caught in headlights, right?
“Remember when you failed your midterm and we went to that party where you got so drunk that you were puking under that street light?” Bonnie asks.
Wait, what? Why’s she bringing that up? I wince at the memory. “What about it, Bonnie?” I say.
“Preston and I helped you get back to your room without dying. And you told him you didn’t know what you would do without him. It was like I wasn’t even there,” she mutters. “You didn’t thank me. I always disappear when he’s around.” Her eyes look so fucking sad.
“I -- I was drunk,” I say. I run my hands through my hair. “Could you just, um, get to your point? My brain is kinda not able to make sense of what you’re saying.”
“Look inside yourself,” she says bitterly. “You don’t love me.”
Wait, what?
I can’t fucking say anything, because how could she accuse me of not loving her? That doesn’t make any fucking sense. I stare at her blankly. Her eyes now look like lasers powerful enough to kill. And, judging by her tensed posture, she’s definitely back in Angry Porcupine Mode, only this time it’s not so inexplicable. Great, so my girlfriend is a laser-armed porcupine.
“You’re in love with Preston,” she mutters, glaring at me with those laser eyes.
What?
“I’m not in love with him. Don’t be ridiculous -- we’re roommates. It would be totally awkward to be in love with your fucking roommate,” I say. I shake my head and run my hands through my hair again.
“Just because it would be ‘awkward,’ doesn’t mean it’s not true,” she says. Her laser eyes definitely shine with tears. “It’s over, Dylan,” she says. Bonnie gets up from the bed.
I get up, too, but she turns around, her teary eyes flashing. Her hair flies out behind her head, like a sexy hair flip’s evil twin. Bonnie puts a hand on her hip. “Don’t follow me,” she hisses.
“It’s over because of something that’s not even true?” I say.
She turns around again and stalks out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
I feel like I should follow her, but I fucking can’t.
Why is that?
* * *
I don’t know how long it is before Preston returns. He finds me sitting on my bed, staring into space. It’s like Bonnie broke my emotions, because I can’t even feel anything except “what the fuck?”
Immediately, Preston looks concerned, but this confusing disaster is totally not something I can talk to him about. Then, his face lights up, his blue eyes practically fucking glowing, and I wonder why.
“You got me coffee beans, didn’t you?” he says.
“Oh, yeah,” I murmur. I look away from him.
He grabs the bag and sits next to me on my bed. I keep not looking at him, instead choosing to stare at the ceiling. It’s missing a tile, but calling maintenance about it has done nothing.
When I feel a hand on my shoulder, I flinch and back into the wall. Which fucking hurts.
“Hey, man, what’s up with you?” Preston asks. He sounds concerned.
I suppose it would be dishonest to just pretend Bonnie hadn’t broken up with me?
“Bonnie -- sh-she kind of broke up with me,” I say. Getting the words out is nearly fucking impossible.
“Kind of?” he says. He opens the bag of coffee beans and eats one.
“She definitely broke up with me,” I sigh. I lean against the wall, much like Bonnie did when she was here.
“I’m sorry. What happened?” he says. His voice is all gentle, and it fucking makes me chest hurt a little.
Can’t fucking tell him what happened. “Bonnie is delusional and misinformed,” I mutter. I put my face in my hands, so I don’t have to look at Preston with those bright blue eyes and sandy blond hair. Also, I don’t want him to see my fucking blush -- I’ve gotta be blushing, with the way my face is burning. That’s inconvenient.
“Exes are often ‘delusional and misinformed’ when they become exes,” Preston says. “But why are you saying that about Bonnie? You’re my best friend; I’m not gonna judge you or anything for what happened.”
“You might. And it doesn’t matter, because her reason -- it’s totally fucking untrue. Not even in the same galaxy as true. Not even in the same galaxy cluster. Galaxies come in clusters, right?” I say.
“I don’t know; I’m not an astronomer,” he says. “So, if her reason is so untrue, why don’t you tell me what it is?”
I feel my face burn even worse.
“She said something bad, didn’t she? You gonna be okay?” he asks, sounding seriously concerned.
I sigh and remove my hands from my face. “She -- she, uh, kind of said I was in love with someone else,” I say.
“Who?” he asks.
“You probably don’t know him,” I mutter. Then I burst into giggles, because that has got to be the most ridiculous lie I’ve told in forever.
“So it’s a guy? Um, what’s he like? I might know him,” he says, puzzled. “And what’s so funny?”
It takes me a long fucking time to stop giggling. “He’s, um, about five foot nine. Good looking guy. Kinda tan, but not that much. Bright blue eyes, like a swimming pool. A fancy one. Kinda wiry. He could be your, like, evil twin,” I say. The giggles return.
“You’re supposed to be in love with my evil twin?” he says, raising an eyebrow. He leans back against the wall and folds his hands in his lap.
I wait, yet again, for the giggles to stop. “Yeah, let’s go with that. It’s a lot less awkward than the real reason my crush looks exactly like you,” I say. Oops, I didn’t mean to say that.
There’s a long, awkward pause. It’s like the Galactic Emperor of Awkward Pauses -- it’s that fucking awkward.
“You’re -- in love with me?” he says, his voice almost a whisper.
My face burns enough I’m surprised there isn’t steam coming off it or something. “Yeah, but, um, a small disclaimer: this is all in Bonnie’s head. There’s not any truth behind it. Definitely not. Not even a little. It’s not like I think about you all the fucking time,” I say.
“You really think about me all the time?” he asks. He sounds -- hopeful? No, that’s not fucking possible.
“I just said I didn’t,” I mutter, putting my face in my hands.
He sighs, and there’s another awkward pause. This one is even more awkward -- if the previous one was the Galactic Emperor of Awkward Pauses, this one is the...Supreme Universal God of Awkward Pauses.
When he finally speaks, I can barely fucking hear him. “I -- think about you. A lot,” he says.
Excuse me?
I remove my hands from my face. “Think about me like how?” I murmur.
“Like -- like that,” he says. His face is redder than I’ve ever seen it, and he’s not looking directly at me. “Wait a moment -- when you were describing my ‘evil twin,’ did you imply I was good looking?”
“Well, you are -- but that’s not fucking relevant,” I stammer. My face burns again. This is such an awkward scenario.
A little help here? What, you’re enjoying the awkward? You’re a sadistic asshole.
“Seriously. You can think someone is unreasonably, unfairly attractive and spend...significant time imagining them naked without, you know, wanting to bone them,” I say. I cross my arms over my chest.
“You’ve imagined me naked?” Preston asks, his eyes going a bit wide.
“Yeah, I kind of have. Not on purpose. And it kind of sucked, okay? To have you show up when I was trying to think of Bonnie. When I said I think of you ‘all the time,’ I fucking meant it,” I say. “I like Bonnie -- I never wanted someone else to dominate my thoughts.”
“But -- you don’t love her, do you?” he asks quietly.
“I guess not. I guess only liked her, and -- not as much as she, like, deserved,” I sigh. My eyes sting. “She was -- probably right to dump me.”
“You should be with someone you actually like. I’m not saying it has to be me, but...” He trails off.
“Not sure it should be anybody right now -- plus, um, I don’t wanna make you the instant-rebound guy. Because, um...I do like you, Preston. A lot. More than is reasonable, probably. And you...deserve more than being the instant-rebound guy,” I sigh.
He holds up the bag of coffee beans. “You got me coffee beans. My favorite kind, that they only sell thirty miles from here,” he says.
“Yeah -- I could have ordered them online, I guess, but their site’s shipping sucks, and I wanted you to have them as soon as possible,” I say. I take a deep breath. “Maybe...in a while, we could go out sometime? I -- don’t know when, exactly, but...long enough so I know you’re not the instant-rebound guy?”
He smiles. “I would like that,” he murmurs.
“Me too,” I say.
My girlfriend dumped me a few hours ago, but I can’t help fucking smiling.
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“You drove thirty miles, each way, to buy coffee beans so your precious roommate could eat them,” Bonnie mutters. She hugs her knees to her chest, in a distinctly prickly “don’t touch me” way. Like she’s a fucking porcupine.
I raise an eyebrow. “So?” I ask.
What’s the big deal with getting Preston some coffee beans? He likes them, and it’s nice to see him smile.
My girlfriend leans against the wall. The apparently problematic bag of coffee beans is between us. We’re sitting on my bed in my dorm room, not using it for what I would rather use it for. You can’t, or at least really shouldn’t, try to have sex when your girlfriend is inexplicably in Angry Porcupine Mode. Her long, curly dark brown hair frames her face, and her eyes, also dark brown, glare at me like fucking lasers.
“So, Dylan, don’t you think that says something?” she mutters.
It says “I’m really fucking confused.” Hey, author, care to shine some light on this? Yeah, I know you’re writing me. Your fourth wall has shoddy construction, sorry. I have to figure this one out myself? Oh great. What’s the point of breaking the fourth wall if there’s no help on the other side?
“What does it say?” I ask, feeling honestly baffled.
“You obviously care about Preston,” she says. She hugs herself tighter.
“And I’m not allowed to care about my friends?” I say.
“You -- you don’t realize, do you?” she whispers, her voice cracking. Bonnie no longer resembles a porcupine. More like a fucking turtle. Why did my girlfriend turn into a turtle?
“Are you, like, okay?” I ask. I reach out to comfort her.
She pushes my hand away. “Don’t touch me,” she says.
That is not a good fucking sign, if my own girlfriend doesn’t want physical contact. Normally, she’s a lot more...huggy. What’s going on? If she turned into a turtle, I’ve turned into...whatever animal is really, really easily confused. Maybe a deer. They have a reputation for getting caught in headlights, right?
“Remember when you failed your midterm and we went to that party where you got so drunk that you were puking under that street light?” Bonnie asks.
Wait, what? Why’s she bringing that up? I wince at the memory. “What about it, Bonnie?” I say.
“Preston and I helped you get back to your room without dying. And you told him you didn’t know what you would do without him. It was like I wasn’t even there,” she mutters. “You didn’t thank me. I always disappear when he’s around.” Her eyes look so fucking sad.
“I -- I was drunk,” I say. I run my hands through my hair. “Could you just, um, get to your point? My brain is kinda not able to make sense of what you’re saying.”
“Look inside yourself,” she says bitterly. “You don’t love me.”
Wait, what?
I can’t fucking say anything, because how could she accuse me of not loving her? That doesn’t make any fucking sense. I stare at her blankly. Her eyes now look like lasers powerful enough to kill. And, judging by her tensed posture, she’s definitely back in Angry Porcupine Mode, only this time it’s not so inexplicable. Great, so my girlfriend is a laser-armed porcupine.
“You’re in love with Preston,” she mutters, glaring at me with those laser eyes.
What?
“I’m not in love with him. Don’t be ridiculous -- we’re roommates. It would be totally awkward to be in love with your fucking roommate,” I say. I shake my head and run my hands through my hair again.
“Just because it would be ‘awkward,’ doesn’t mean it’s not true,” she says. Her laser eyes definitely shine with tears. “It’s over, Dylan,” she says. Bonnie gets up from the bed.
I get up, too, but she turns around, her teary eyes flashing. Her hair flies out behind her head, like a sexy hair flip’s evil twin. Bonnie puts a hand on her hip. “Don’t follow me,” she hisses.
“It’s over because of something that’s not even true?” I say.
She turns around again and stalks out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
I feel like I should follow her, but I fucking can’t.
Why is that?
* * *
I don’t know how long it is before Preston returns. He finds me sitting on my bed, staring into space. It’s like Bonnie broke my emotions, because I can’t even feel anything except “what the fuck?”
Immediately, Preston looks concerned, but this confusing disaster is totally not something I can talk to him about. Then, his face lights up, his blue eyes practically fucking glowing, and I wonder why.
“You got me coffee beans, didn’t you?” he says.
“Oh, yeah,” I murmur. I look away from him.
He grabs the bag and sits next to me on my bed. I keep not looking at him, instead choosing to stare at the ceiling. It’s missing a tile, but calling maintenance about it has done nothing.
When I feel a hand on my shoulder, I flinch and back into the wall. Which fucking hurts.
“Hey, man, what’s up with you?” Preston asks. He sounds concerned.
I suppose it would be dishonest to just pretend Bonnie hadn’t broken up with me?
“Bonnie -- sh-she kind of broke up with me,” I say. Getting the words out is nearly fucking impossible.
“Kind of?” he says. He opens the bag of coffee beans and eats one.
“She definitely broke up with me,” I sigh. I lean against the wall, much like Bonnie did when she was here.
“I’m sorry. What happened?” he says. His voice is all gentle, and it fucking makes me chest hurt a little.
Can’t fucking tell him what happened. “Bonnie is delusional and misinformed,” I mutter. I put my face in my hands, so I don’t have to look at Preston with those bright blue eyes and sandy blond hair. Also, I don’t want him to see my fucking blush -- I’ve gotta be blushing, with the way my face is burning. That’s inconvenient.
“Exes are often ‘delusional and misinformed’ when they become exes,” Preston says. “But why are you saying that about Bonnie? You’re my best friend; I’m not gonna judge you or anything for what happened.”
“You might. And it doesn’t matter, because her reason -- it’s totally fucking untrue. Not even in the same galaxy as true. Not even in the same galaxy cluster. Galaxies come in clusters, right?” I say.
“I don’t know; I’m not an astronomer,” he says. “So, if her reason is so untrue, why don’t you tell me what it is?”
I feel my face burn even worse.
“She said something bad, didn’t she? You gonna be okay?” he asks, sounding seriously concerned.
I sigh and remove my hands from my face. “She -- she, uh, kind of said I was in love with someone else,” I say.
“Who?” he asks.
“You probably don’t know him,” I mutter. Then I burst into giggles, because that has got to be the most ridiculous lie I’ve told in forever.
“So it’s a guy? Um, what’s he like? I might know him,” he says, puzzled. “And what’s so funny?”
It takes me a long fucking time to stop giggling. “He’s, um, about five foot nine. Good looking guy. Kinda tan, but not that much. Bright blue eyes, like a swimming pool. A fancy one. Kinda wiry. He could be your, like, evil twin,” I say. The giggles return.
“You’re supposed to be in love with my evil twin?” he says, raising an eyebrow. He leans back against the wall and folds his hands in his lap.
I wait, yet again, for the giggles to stop. “Yeah, let’s go with that. It’s a lot less awkward than the real reason my crush looks exactly like you,” I say. Oops, I didn’t mean to say that.
There’s a long, awkward pause. It’s like the Galactic Emperor of Awkward Pauses -- it’s that fucking awkward.
“You’re -- in love with me?” he says, his voice almost a whisper.
My face burns enough I’m surprised there isn’t steam coming off it or something. “Yeah, but, um, a small disclaimer: this is all in Bonnie’s head. There’s not any truth behind it. Definitely not. Not even a little. It’s not like I think about you all the fucking time,” I say.
“You really think about me all the time?” he asks. He sounds -- hopeful? No, that’s not fucking possible.
“I just said I didn’t,” I mutter, putting my face in my hands.
He sighs, and there’s another awkward pause. This one is even more awkward -- if the previous one was the Galactic Emperor of Awkward Pauses, this one is the...Supreme Universal God of Awkward Pauses.
When he finally speaks, I can barely fucking hear him. “I -- think about you. A lot,” he says.
Excuse me?
I remove my hands from my face. “Think about me like how?” I murmur.
“Like -- like that,” he says. His face is redder than I’ve ever seen it, and he’s not looking directly at me. “Wait a moment -- when you were describing my ‘evil twin,’ did you imply I was good looking?”
“Well, you are -- but that’s not fucking relevant,” I stammer. My face burns again. This is such an awkward scenario.
A little help here? What, you’re enjoying the awkward? You’re a sadistic asshole.
“Seriously. You can think someone is unreasonably, unfairly attractive and spend...significant time imagining them naked without, you know, wanting to bone them,” I say. I cross my arms over my chest.
“You’ve imagined me naked?” Preston asks, his eyes going a bit wide.
“Yeah, I kind of have. Not on purpose. And it kind of sucked, okay? To have you show up when I was trying to think of Bonnie. When I said I think of you ‘all the time,’ I fucking meant it,” I say. “I like Bonnie -- I never wanted someone else to dominate my thoughts.”
“But -- you don’t love her, do you?” he asks quietly.
“I guess not. I guess only liked her, and -- not as much as she, like, deserved,” I sigh. My eyes sting. “She was -- probably right to dump me.”
“You should be with someone you actually like. I’m not saying it has to be me, but...” He trails off.
“Not sure it should be anybody right now -- plus, um, I don’t wanna make you the instant-rebound guy. Because, um...I do like you, Preston. A lot. More than is reasonable, probably. And you...deserve more than being the instant-rebound guy,” I sigh.
He holds up the bag of coffee beans. “You got me coffee beans. My favorite kind, that they only sell thirty miles from here,” he says.
“Yeah -- I could have ordered them online, I guess, but their site’s shipping sucks, and I wanted you to have them as soon as possible,” I say. I take a deep breath. “Maybe...in a while, we could go out sometime? I -- don’t know when, exactly, but...long enough so I know you’re not the instant-rebound guy?”
He smiles. “I would like that,” he murmurs.
“Me too,” I say.
My girlfriend dumped me a few hours ago, but I can’t help fucking smiling.