Morgan

The lead character of my novel has somehow come to life and is using my bathroom. What the hell is happening?!

Think, Morgan! This has to be some sort of dream, right? I stayed up late, determined to compile the final chapter of Alastair’s tale. I must have fallen asleep. Since I’ve been so fixated on my work, it has to have seeped into my dreams. Any moment now I will wake up. None of this is real, and Alastair will be nothing more than a character in a story.

“Gaaaahhhh!” Alastair shouts. There’s a heavy thud followed by a battle cry, “Vile beast!”

“Alastair, what’s going on?!” I shout, swinging open the bathroom door. “Holy shit, put your pants on!”

I throw my hands over my eyes too late. I’ve seen Alastair’s bare butt. Heat rises beneath my cheeks.

Now is not the time to be blushing!

“A water demon has assaulted my buttox!”

I laugh, asking between snorts, “Wha-what?”

“A water demon possesses your chamber pot, albeit not powerful. Its attack did little more than dampen my buttox. Fear not, Morgan, I will slay it for you.”

“No, please don’t attack my toilet!” I cry, scrambling towards Alastair until I realize his pants are still down, only now he’s wielding Artheno. I keep my eyes pointed to the ceiling, arms frozen solid at my side. “It wasn’t a water demon. It’s a bidet!”

“Is bidet another word for water demon?”

“No, some toilets have bidets. You messed with that silver knob, right?”

“Yes.”

“It turns the bidet on and determines the strength of the water as well as how long it’s on. They’re, like, little water fountains that help clean after you use the toilet.”

I can’t believe I’m explaining the toilet system to him. This certainly wasn’t on my bingo card this year.

There’s a rummaging sound accompanied by a huff. “I see. Your chamber pot is as unique as you expressed, Morgan.”

“Yep, it sure is.”

Alastair struts past me.

He didn’t wash his hands or flush. Didn’t I raise you better than that?! I suppose he doesn’t know and probably forgot about flushing after his… buttox was assaulted.

I throw my hands over my mouth to mute the laughter threatening to spill over again. My chest aches as I breathe deep then reach my foot up to flush the toilet. I don’t want to get close because I don’t know if I’m ready to see my main character’s bathroom tendencies.

Alastair found his way back to the office, sitting on the floor. He crosses his arms over a broad chest, tapping calloused hands against his bicep. Gray eyes peer up at me, as light as I imagined, or rather, as I made them to be.

I wish I could be happy to see him: a character I created when I was only 14 to be everything I never was. He’s strong, brave,and ridiculously attractive. All in all, a typical fairytale prince capable of taking on the world, never backing down even in the face of terrifying danger, and getting everything he ever wanted. But as Alastair gazes at me… I only feel anger and frustration.

All I wanted was to finally escape from the story that’s been devouring my life these last few years. Alastair’s death marked the end of an era. Readers would be pissed, complain about the disappointing end, then I’d move on to do anything else. Anything at all.

“Are you not going to sit?” Alastair asks, startling me.

“R-Right, yeah, I am.” I take my place across from him, picking the laptop up to continue the half-assed rewrite of the ending.

Now that I know, somehow, the world and characters I created are real, I can’t imagine giving them a grisly end. Alastair will win this battle. The kingdom of Etria will find eternal happiness with their new king. Readers will be dissatisfied, but aren’t they always? No matter what I do, how much I work, or how much of my life I give up, it’s a futile attempt to please them all. But that’s fine because I’ll move on and finally achieve what I really want.

Time ticks away. Alastair’s impatience grows.

“How much longer?” he grunts.

“I’m almost done.”

It’s a half-assed final chapter, but it’s better than nothing. A few more sentences aaaaaand finished! I save the chapter, waiting for the white light to appear—

“Are you done?” Alastair asks, raising a perfect brow.

Damn, everything about him is ideal. I know I made him that way, but his picturesque physique is almost annoying. I should be scared, considering he has threatened to kill me and cut off a limb, but I want to keep staring at him. He’s really hot, like, he could mug me and I’d thank him for it, hot.

“Yes, I finished,” I reply.

“Nothing is happening,” he declares.

“Maybe it needs a minute?” I hope that’s all it needs because Alastair’s symmetrical brows furrow. Beauty influencers would be jealous of that natural perfection.

The wrinkles in his forehead deepen as the seconds pass by. He’s still gorgeous when mildly irritated, which makes me mildly irritated.

“You did something wrong,” he states, slapping his hand against a muscular thigh. “Did you write what I requested of you?”

I’m unable to reply. Alastair rips the laptop from my hand. He stares at the screen, shifting his angered gaze to me. “This chapter makes no sense, there are only three sections.”

“You need to scroll to the top.”

“Why do you continue to speak of a scroll? There is no scroll. This isn’t even a parchment.”

More laughter threatens to spill out. Alastair sneers, “This is no time to laugh!”

“O-Of course. Let me show you what I mean by scroll.” I retrieve the laptop from him to show how to scroll. He watches patiently, eyes scanning over the lines. He nods when he’s finished with a page, seeming to deem me the designated scroller. When we get to the bottom, he’s eerily quiet. Slowly, he examines me from head to toe. A lump forms in my throat that I can’t swallow no matter how hard I try.

“Are you an author by trade?” He inquires softly. And yet, I feel like he’s about to stab me.

“Yes.”

“Based upon the numerous novels and that comic you spoke of, I expected my tale to be a masterpiece of the century—as it should be if it is about me—but this,” he points at the screen, “is the most humdrum piece of literature I’ve ever read.”

Well, damn, consider me stabbed.