Chapter Fifteen

Come and Get Me, Banshee Butcher

Rafe

I wasn't sure which was going to kill me first—this hangover, or the embarrassment-fuelled hangxiety that came with it.

"Fuuuck," I moaned pathetically as I finally dragged myself out of the bath sometime around midday.

I'd woken up in a panic, thinking I was late for work, before remembering that Holt had—god bless that flamboyant, money-hungry pirate—given me the day off. All I'd managed to do was stagger to the bathroom, run myself a bath while I scrubbed my teeth vigorously, then crawl into the tub face-first, sending water splashing everywhere.

I hadn't moved until the water grew cold. Too busy questioning every decision I'd ever made in my life up until this point.

I remembered every excruciating detail from the bar.

The champagne. The ill-advised shot with Frank and Beans. The tit hat. Grinding my ass on a centaur called Brody. Doing the robot. Oh good god. I'd done the robot. In front of all my colleagues.

And then there was the worse part. The way, way worse part. The worst thing I could have ever possibly done.

I'd admitted to Ewen that I'd been watching him suck his own dick and had humped my fucking mattress thinking about it.

And I'd tried to kiss him.

And he'd pulled away.

Someone, please, come and put me out of my misery , I thought as I pulled on clean pyjamas pants, then I had to take a five-minute break curled up on my bed before I could muster enough energy to struggle into a hoodie.

I was as weak as a kitten. My stomach was shaky, my head was throbbing and I couldn't stop picturing Ewen's face—that pitying smile as he pulled back before I could kiss him.

" Nooo ," I moaned into my comforter, cocooning myself in it.

I'd have to move. Quit my job. Get a new identity. I should just go ahead and order myself a red squeaky nose, a big curly wig and one of those flowers that squirted water right now, because I was a fucking clown. Might as well make it my new profession and start getting paid to make a fool out of myself, seeing as I was evidently really fucking good at it.

I rolled over and stared up at the ceiling in misery. It's fine, I told myself. I'll just never leave my house again. I'll tell Holt I can do my job remotely. He doesn't know dick about computers—he admitted it himself. He'll believe me.

I could just order everything online, and force my friends to always come here for game night, and I'd only let them in if they gave me the secret password. I could just pretend Dan Ewen didn't exist, and that he definitely didn't live right next door.

Exhaling an unsteady breath, I rolled over and fumbled for my phone on the nightstand. Opening up the group chat, I started typing, squinting at the too-bright screen. It was Monday, which meant game night, this week being held at Abed's, but I already knew I wouldn't be up for it later. I'd done enough peopling for an entire month. Or year.

Rafe (Terry the Accountant): Sorry guys, going to have to cancel tonight. Feel like shit.

Teresa replied a few seconds later.

Teresa (Simone the Warehouse Manager): Oh no, what's wrong Rafeo?

Rafe (Terry the Accountant): Just hungover. Had to go out with work people last night.

Even though Neville was usually strict about staying off his phone while he was at work, he must have been keeping an eye on his texts today, because he instantly replied.

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.

I should've just stayed with Frank and Beans, knocking back shots until I passed out. Beans had told me I was ‘one of them' now. I should've just embraced it. I could become their third and spend my days wearing tighty-whities and karate-chopping random objects. Change my name to Coleslaw.

Looking back down at my phone, I typed out a quick text to Nev.

Rafe: Will tell you later. Feel like death.

Grabbing the blanket off the back of the couch, I curled up into a pathetic ball and spent the next hour and a half slowly slotting tortilla chips into my mouth, almost choking several times because I refused to sit up to eat. I told myself I was actually paying attention to the movie, but I wasn't. I was just lying there replaying last night's events on a loop in my head, cringing non-stop and wondering how I was ever going to show my face at work again. Or outside my own house.

By the time the movie ended, my headache was gone and my stomach wasn't so shaky. Restless energy made me shove off the blanket and sit up, clawing back my messy hair.

I couldn't just lie here all day torturing myself with memories of my own drunken, horny stupidity. I grabbed the remote and turned off the TV, then stared at my pathetic reflection in the black screen.

Making a decision, I grabbed my soda and stood to head back upstairs. In the bathroom, I pulled all my hair dyeing supplies out from under the sink. I'd been meaning to re-bleach my hair and dye it a new colour for a while now, seeing as the blue was fading and turning a gross shade of green, and this would keep my mind off things.

It was still a little steamy and warm in here from my bath, which made the nausea start to rise again as I went light-headed, so I grabbed my old, stained towel and carried everything downstairs to the kitchen.

After spreading out the towel and getting situated on the floor, I began setting out everything I needed in a neat line—in order of usage, obviously, for efficiency's sake. I already had some baby pink dye that I'd bought a while back. It had been a while since I'd had pink hair, and I was looking forward to the change.

I knew I should've got it done professionally, but I despised going to the hair salon even to have my hair trimmed. I wouldn't survive sitting there for hours getting it bleached and dyed, having to make small talk with the stylist and be surrounded by other people.

I'd rather go bald, to be honest.

Gradually, as I measured out the bleach and propped my mirror up on a chair at just the right angle, I began to relax, my shoulders unclenching. By the time I was brushing the last of the bleach onto my roots and covering my head with a plastic bag, I actually felt somewhat okay. Marginally. Still hungover as shit, still contemplating whether I should just ghost Goliaths, sublet my house and find an apartment on the other side of town so I never had to see Ewen again, but I no longer wanted to crawl out of my own skin.

The bleach fumes were going to my head a little, so I unlocked my back door and propped it open to let in some fresh air, beyond relieved that Ewen had finally fixed my fence so I didn't have to worry about potentially seeing him in his yard.

When I wandered into the living room and heard my phone vibrating under the couch cushion, I sighed and dragged myself over, already knowing what name I'd see on the screen. He wouldn't stop until I answered him.

"Hi, Nev," I said dully.

"I'm on my break. Tell me what happened."

"No." I collected my empty chip bowl and carried it into the kitchen.

He huffed. "Rafe!"

"You can't make me tell you anything."

"Wanna bet?"

"Yeah, sure, I do actually," I said flatly. "You called me crying once when you sent me a text with an accidental frowny face at the end of it, because you were worried I'd think you were mad at me. You're not gonna threaten me with anything, Nev."

He exhaled dramatically. "Well excuse me for being sensitive and wanting to only uplift my friends and brighten their days. You don't get to weaponise that. Dick." Without giving me time to answer, he then whined, "Tell meeee."

I sighed and scrubbed a hand over my face. In a voice almost as whiny, I mumbled, "I don't wanna."

"Rafe, come on." Nev laughed lightly. "It can't be that bad, can it?"

"It can." I turned on speakerphone and set my phone down on the kitchen island so I could start clearing up the bleaching stuff. "It is."

"So it's worse than chubbing up in front of all your co-workers?"

I cringed. "Yes."

"Just tell me."

"No."

I heard a sigh, then a long pause. Eventually, Nev threatened, "I'll start guessing. And I'll guess the weirdest shit I can think of. Stuff that makes you sound like a really depraved pervert."

"I am a depraved pervert," I said woodenly, washing the bleach bowl out in the sink. "You know this."

"Jerking off over your smoking hot neighbour who fixes your fence in booty shorts and a wet T-shirt does not make you a depraved pervert, Rafe," Nev said patiently. "It makes you sane. I'd worry if you weren't jerking off over that."

I pursed my lips and exhaled heavily through my nose. After another long pause, I finally admitted in a hoarse voice, "I told him."

Nev sucked in a breath so fast he choked. "You told him you're attracted to him?"

I cringed. If only I'd been that reserved.

"No," I croaked. "I told him I'd seen him sucking himself off. And that I—" Another cringe almost had me slithering onto the floor. "—humped my mattress."

Silence followed. Excruciating silence. Then Nev, his tone very careful, said, "Well. Some people might find that hot—"

"And then I tried to kiss him," I blurted, giving in and sliding my back down the cabinet. "And he pulled away."

"Oh, good gravy." Nev groaned under his breath.

My headache was coming back—the bleach fumes probably weren't helping—so I tipped onto my side until my hot cheek was pressed to the cool tiles. The plastic bag on my head crinkled.

Nev cleared his throat, then said brightly, "Well, that doesn't… Who cares about Big Dick Dan anyway? He probably doesn't even have that big of a dick. In fact, it looked tiny in those booty shorts he was wearing—"

"It's not tiny," I interrupted miserably. "It's big."

"Well it's probably too big," Nev hurried out. "And you're new to this. No one tries to fit a whole-ass burrito in their mouth the first time they eat Mexican food, right?"

I stared morosely at a crumb just in front of my nose. "What are you talking about, Nev?"

"Big dicks are overrated," he said with a forced airy laugh. "In fact, dick size doesn't even matter!"

"I didn't bring up his dick size. You did. I don't care what size his dick is."

"That's right," Nev said emphatically, voice heavy with overbearing-supportive-mom energy. "Who gives a shit about Big Di—about Dan and his whatever-sized dick? He's not even that hot!"

After a long pause, I mumbled, "That's a lie. He is."

"Okay, he is," Nev conceded. "But there are plenty of other hot guys out there. Why don't we go out tomorrow night? To a gay bar?"

I cringed. "I'm not setting foot in any bar for the next ten years."

"Why do you sound so far away?" Nev asked, a frown in his voice. "Where are you?"

"Lying on my kitchen floor." I flopped onto my back and stared up at the ceiling. "Might stay down here for the rest of the day."

"Okay, no, none of that," he said sternly. "No wallowing."

"I like wallowing."

"We've all been there, Rafe. We've all embarrassed ourselves. And if you're hungover enough to miss game night, you were obviously pretty drunk, right? So that was probably why he… gallantly chose to delay your first kiss."

I heaved out a huge sigh. "That's a very nice way of saying he rejected me because I'm a sad loser pervert."

"You're not a sad loser pervert!" Neville huffed. "Okay, get up. Come on."

I writhed pathetically on the floor. "No."

"Up, Rafael Hare."

I let out a long, whiny moan, but reluctantly dragged myself up off the floor and stood, my head swimming a little. "Just let me hate myself for one day."

"Nope, never," he said firmly. "You're the best. So you got a little drunk and silly—who cares? Time to move on. Order yourself some greasy food, take a nap, and I guarantee when you wake up it all won't seem so bad."

"I don't believe you."

There was a knock at the door, and I froze in place before ducking back down behind the island, even though whoever was out there wouldn't be able to see me from here.

"Someone's at the door," I hissed to Nev.

He gasped. "What if it's him?"

"Exactly." Sweat bloomed in my armpits. Fuck. No. If he was trying to return my key, he could just leave it out there. Make it easier for the Banshee Butcher to come slice off my tongue and add it to their collection.

"I think you should answer it."

"Sage advice that I'm going to immediately ignore."

"But what if he wants to…" Nev gasped. "Oh my god, what if you open the door and he sweeps you up into his arms and kisses you senseless?"

"We discussed this, Nev," I said flatly, then cringed when another knock echoed through my front hall. "My life is not a nineties rom com."

A third knock. I ignored it, even though I was starting to doubt that it would actually be Ewen. He wouldn't be that eager to see me. I hadn't exactly been the friendliest neighbour.

And I was a depraved pervert.

"Damn it, I have to get back to work," Nev grumbled. "Answer the door, Rafe."

"No." I lifted a hand to my head and touched the plastic bag. "I can't, anyway. I need to go wash the bleach out of my hair or I'll get hot roots."

"You can't avoid him forever, bro. You work with him."

The knocking had stopped, so I breathed a sigh of relief, then told Nev, "I'm actually really good at avoiding him at work. And I'll just never open my curtains again. Or go in my yard."

"Sounds rational," Nev deadpanned. "Okay, text me later."

"'Kay," I said morosely.

"And seriously, just forget about Big Dick Dan," he added, just as I heard another sudden knock. This one louder and closer.

And coming from behind me.

I jumped out of my skin and whipped my head around. All the blood drained out of my face when, still squatting behind my kitchen island with a plastic bag on my head, I saw Ewen standing at my open back door, knuckles still resting on the frame and a big shit-eating grin on his face.