I should be posting another chapter of SMHA. But I started typing and couldn't stop. So there. Enjoy my terrible oneshot.

-o-

I hate being an author.

“Now, ladies and gentlemen, I know you all must have been waiting for this moment! As I mentioned earlier, Benjamin Kausler will be joining us. Ben, if you could come out please?”

I think I’m being pulled away from the donut table, where my chocolate donut sits half eaten and picked apart. I stare at the large black man escorting me to the stage, where I’m supposed to make my appearance. I’d rather not. I mean, fans are utterly insane. I don’t trust them at all, no matter how well protected those beefy security people say I will be.

I’m supposed to love my fans, though. Isn’t that right? They’re the ones who keep me from living in the gutters. I step out on to the set and the woman hosting the show grins. She comes forward and wraps her arms around me in a hug, one which I refuse to return. You’d have the satisfaction of saying you hugged me, you evil bitch.

“Benjamin, please, take a seat. We have a lot to talk about, a lot that your fans are dying to know about,” she giggles and plops down in to her chair. I wince and sit in the one across from her, glancing at the coffee cup filled with green tea in front of me. I tell everyone that’s my favorite drink.

Really, though, my therapist says I only say it is because it is linked to a traumatic period in my past. The one where I drank some green tea and woke up covered in my own blood.

What do therapists know? I could be making half of my life up and they’d never be able to tell. They’d just give up textbook answers that I’ve read through a million times and tell me things I might have sent in myself, under a false name. I do that a lot. I like to hear something I wrote chorused back to me. It makes me smile.

“So, Benjamin, I hear your latest novel Fragrance is going to be released soon,” she begins, her hands folded neatly in her lap. I nod and she continues. “You must be very excited, what with the fabulous response to your last novel Lies.”

“I am, Natalie, I am. I poured my heart and soul out in to this story. I do hope my fans will love it as much as I do,” I lie, hoping I got her name right. She seems pleased, so I guess I must have.

“I’m sure they are. With the growing number of fans that you’ve collected, one might think you had put us all under a spell with your wonderful writing!” She laughs and reaches for her mug. I silently hope it contains something she is allergic to. She places it on the table and I watch her smiling mouth closely. I want to ask for a pen so I can squiggle the finishing touches on the mustache she has going on, then maybe a penis on her forehead.

I could be responsible for redefining entertaining television.

“Tell us, Benjamin, will you be having a signing?” she asks, drawing my attention away from her slightly hairy upper lip.

“I will, actually. But I’ve been told to tell no one until the day it happens,” I wink and smile brightly. Honestly, we don’t have a location yet, because the guy who’s supposed to organize shit like this is lazy and stupid. That’s alright. The thought of killing my hand just so some teenage girl or boy can have my signature and maybe even my smell to masturbate to isn’t an appealing thought.

You think I’m joking. You wouldn’t believe the kinds of confessions I get in my mail.

Natalie laughs and nods. “I see. I’m terribly sorry, my lovely audience, I don’t even know myself where it might be! But that’s alright. News spreads quickly in Las Vegas, doesn’t it? Now, on to a different subject. How has Isiah been lately? For those of you who don’t know already, Isiah Locke is Benjamin’s best friend. Merely twenty-two years old, he’s one of the most promising athletes we’ve seen all year!”

I scowl at the way she pronounces it. Isiah’s name isn’t like Isaiah, lady. It’s Ee-sigh-uh.

The only good thing about having fans is there need to pronounce everything correctly. I know if I wasn’t the one being recorded right now, I’d probably be laughing at her stupidity. Alas, I am being recorded. And things like that can be used against me.

“He’s alright, but then again I wouldn’t really know. I don’t see much of him anymore,” total fucking lie, go me, “due to his strict training.”

“You poor thing, devoid of your best friend! Well, it is about time to wrap up today’s show. But we have a lovely parting gift for you all...” She reaches under her chair and I blink. What the hell? She holds up a bag with Borders across it. “Every member of the audience will receive a copy of A Look Inside Benjamin Kausler!”

The audience cheers. And I recognize the thin book she holds up. It’s a collection of rants and raves I had written, short stories and complaints. The first thing I had ever had published. Something that had been taken off the shelves because it hardly sold at all.

Since when do people want that? It’s a load of unorganized crap.

I hate being an author.

-o-

Sometimes I love being Benjamin Kausler.

I unlock the door to my flat, closing it gently behind me. What a fucking day. Sometimes I wish that thought of the end of the world would come true. I really don’t care if I go to hell, I want all these stupid ass people to die.

The one person who can actually make me happy wanders in to the living room, a towel around his waist and a bowl of cereal in one hand. Isiah. He smirks. “What’s got you so pissed, love?”

“Everything,” I grump, sitting down on the couch and sighing. He sashays towards me, and I mean really sashays ‘cause he’s got some fucking hips for a man, and straddles me. His blue eyes look in to mine, a pout on his lips.

“You know, I should be out running right now,” he says, thoughtfully. “Mr. Brown has an eye for when I haven’t been burning as many calories as I’m supposed to.”

I know what he’s getting at and capture his pouting lips in a kiss. He wraps his arms around my neck and whimpers in to my mouth, his thin body warm to the touch and his erection pressed against my stomach. I place my lips on his shoulder, his jaw, anything I can reach because he tastes so goddamn good and I love the sighs coming from his mouth.

“I do believe, Mr. Locke, that I can help you with your dilemma,” I say, grinning at him in my stupid way. I stand up, his long legs wrapped around my waist and my hands gripping his nonexistent butt to keep him from falling.

He smiles slyly and bites his bottom lip. “Bedroom?”

“Hell yes.”

Sometimes I love being Benjamin Kausler.

End.