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Neville the Lifestyle Supervisor Extraordinaire: Was Big Dick Dan there???

I groaned and closed the chat. I couldn’t. I couldn’t talk about him. Just seeing his name made my entire body shudder with humiliation.

Letting my hand flop onto the pillow, I stared at the glass of water on my nightstand. Ewen had driven me home and helped me inside. He’d made me some toast and forced me to eat it, then handed me a big glass of water and watched sternly until I’d drunk all of it.

Then he’d followed me upstairs with a second fresh glass and set it on my nightstand, before—fuck me—helping me struggle out of my shirt and pants. He’d even fucking tucked me in when I’d crawled into bed in my socks and boxer briefs.

Boxer briefs that had little blueberry muffins wearing ball gags and studded leather harnesses on them, and STUD MUFFIN printed across my ass. Neville had got them for me as a joke one Christmas.

Just kill me now.

I vaguely remembered hearing Ewen tell me he’d take the spare key hanging by the front door to lock up after he left, but at that point I’d just been trying my best not to barf, because it had felt like the room was spinning around me when I closed my eyes.

Fuck it. He can keep the key. Wasn’t like he’d ever want to come back into the house of the creepy loser who’d been peeping on him and humping his mattress about it.

Maybe he’d do me a favour and give it to the infamous banshee I’d learned about on the Super Effing Creepy true crime podcast. They’d stalked a nearby town in the nineties, cutting out the tongues of their victims but leaving them alive, and their calling card had been letting out a hideous, ear-splitting shriek as they fled the scene. They’d never been caught. They were potentially still out there somewhere. With their collection of tongues.

Come and get me, Banshee Butcher. I’m ready. Take my tongue. Please. Then I won’t be able to try and shove it down my neighbour’s throat ever again.

I eventually dragged myself out of bed and made it downstairs. The thought of even peeking outside to see if Ewen’s car was in his driveway made me want to vomit in terror, so instead I just crawled into the kitchen to avoid any windows.

I grabbed a soda and some tortilla chips, pouring them into a bowl because I couldn’t stand the feel of my hand touching the inside of a greasy packet. Then I waddled, low to the ground, to my couch after closing all the living room curtains.

My phone vibrated as I put on a random sci-fi movie. Looking down at it, I saw that Nev had texted me again, this time in our private chat.

Nev: Rafe. You went out with work peeps last night? Was Big Dick Dan there???

I cringed and hid my phone under a cushion, then shoved a handful of chips into my mouth, craving the saltiness. Ten minutes later, my phone vibrated again.

Nev: Rafe. Answer me, you d-bag.

Nev: WAS BIG DICK DAN THERE?????

Nev: Rafe

Nev: RAAAFE

Groaning out loud, I hovered my thumbs over the keyboard, agonising over what to say. Anything in the affirmative would just invite more questions. Questions I did not want to answer. Questions I would sell all my worldly possessions to avoid.

But I couldn’t lie to Nev. For fuck’s sake, this was why I kept my friend group small. Fewer people I had to be all disgustingly open and honest with.

Rafe: Yes. It was bad. Don’t wanna talk about it.

Almost instantly, he replied.

Nev: What?? Why was it bad? What happened???

Another text came through a second later.

Nev: Was he wearing tiny shorts again and you popped a boner in front of everyone?

I sighed heavily and let my head fall back on the couch, staring morosely up at the ceiling.

In some ways, that would have been better. An ill-timed boner, had it been noticed, could have been explained away by any number of things. The fake tits that John the groom had been wearing, for example. Or Val dancing.

Or, hell, even Kit’s crude drawing of a big-titted mothperson.

But no. I’d plastered myself against my neighbour’s chest, told him I humped my mattress to thoughts of him, then tried to kiss him.