Page 8 of Subscriber Wars

Demon Douche: Hurry, T! I need to make a good impression.

Demon Douche: I mean V. Stupid Autocorrect.

Autocorrect…my ass. This man needs an ankle monitor and a muzzle. I swipe the text away and hit the red button to delete. I’m not playing his game today. Sure, I want to—badly—but I’m not, because I’m better than that. And, unless he’s texting a drop point for the exchange of my chair for his pillow, I’m not interested.

Demon Douche: I was thinking the yellow shorts looked better than the red ones.

I grit my teeth and clutch the phone in my hand. He knows those shorts are ridiculous.

Don’t do it, Vee.

You know better. You’ll just be egging him on. Don’t let him bait you.

Fuck it. I ease down to the floor and crawl to the window for one tiny look-see. Sure enough, the bane of my college existence is turning his head side to side in the window, as if he were directly in front of me, and I was his personal mirror.

Demon Douche: I’m serious, V. You might as well give me your opinion. What’s the range on those binoculars anyway?

If only I had a paintball gun, I would… do nothing because then I’d be scared that I’d shoot the annoying idiot in the eye and spend the rest of my life groveling for his forgiveness or—gasp—taking care of him. Not to mention he would retaliate, and I’d end up being the eighty-year-old woman still playing pranks with a single, immature old man. Yeah, no one is marrying that. A big dick ain’t everything. Not that I know if Sebastian’s dick is big, but something has to be going for him to keep women in his bed. I’m just saying thatif—and that’s a big if—Sebastian manages to keep a woman, I’ll admit I was wrong in my assessment. But I’m not wrong because this is Sebastian we’re talking about. He’s no prince.

And, apparently, I’m no angel because my fingers betray me, and I swipe up to reply to his message before my conscience can change my mind.

Me: Those shorts look like you sat in baby shit.

It’s like I can feel the smile that forms on his face. Why do we love to do this to each other?

Demon Douche: It’s mustard colored. Very trendy. You wouldn’t know since you never wear anything but hand-me-down dish towels.

Really? Dish towels? Please.

Me: If I recall, you enjoyed the feel of my flannel.

His reply comes quickly.

Demon Douche: Fuck you.

I’ll admit his response makes me smile, but then that stupid guilt creeps into my belly and I change the subject before we take this playful banter into asshole territory.

Me: Who are you trying to NOT impress?

Demon Douche: Now, now. That’s not how this game works anymore. Thanks for the chair, V. I don’t owe you one.

Not how this game worksanymore… my stomach drops. His text hits me right in the guilt. He’s right; the game has changed. Because, once upon a time, he would have told me who he wasnotdressing up for.

Because, once upon a time, he told me everything.

University CamFlix Competition Submission

Entry Number: 75

Sebastian and Valentina

First Interview Continued, or otherwise known as the fifteen minutes I didn’t shove Vee off the sofa

“How did Sebastian sabotage your video to start the war between you two?”

That’s the question everyone wants to know, but not one she likes talking about.

I can’t stop the snort that comes out of me. “Should I tell it, sweetie, or would you prefer to do the honors?” This entire interview has been a delight. I love fucking with her while she can’t do anything about it.

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