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I guess you’re here for the story huh? Well obviously, else you wouldn’t be reading this. You’d be, I don’t know, feeding your cat, or watching reruns of Judge Judy, or whatever the fuck it is normal people do. I’d like to class myself as “normal,” mind, but when you live under Perry’s roof, things tend to get a bit… dictatorship-ish. And he doesn’t like cats. Or trashy TV. So I don’t do those things. Fuck, now I’m getting distracted.
Anyway, the story’s about Perry, actually. And take my word for it, it gets really fucking weird. Half of you readers probably won’t believe me, but whatever, your loss. Sometimes I don’t believe it, and I’m the narrator. It was my goddamn discovery. So yeah, like I said - it gets weird.
It started off pretty normal, mind. Well, as normal as life is with Perry, who, as you know if you saw the movie, is a pretty anal bastard. And I don’t mean that in a gay way. More in an “If you leave a single crumb on that carpet I’ll wring your fucking neck” way. He actually said that to me once. He can be a pretty scary guy, Perry. And that was before I found out about his… thing.
I’d been living with him for about a year when I found out, and it hadn’t been a bad year. I mean, despite the sarcasm, and the insults - and the sarcastic insults - and that “I’m not a nice man” spiel, he’s alright. He gave me a job, and a place to stay, and believe it or not, sometimes he gets drunk and behaves like a normal human being. What I’m trying to say is I liked living with him, and if he did disappear off some nights with no explanation, well, it was his house after all.
I just assumed he went out on the pull, and went home with whatever prissy little fucker he’d picked up. That’s not to say he never brought them back with him, because sometimes he did. I’ve nothing against Perry having sex, but by God the man is loud, and it was difficult to look him in the eyes the next morning when all I could hear was the sound of him fucking groaning replaying in my head. So it was perfectly fine by me if he wanted to annoy some other poor bastards with his porn-star theatrics.
I never noticed any patterns or anything in his late night disappearances, which only emphasises how shit a P.I. I would be if Perry ever let me do anything that wasn’t related to filing. Then again, I wasn’t looking for them – Perry’s freaky sex trysts were his business, not mine.
Have you guessed it yet, readers? My brilliant discovery? Probably, I’ve been fucking heavy handed on the foreshadowing. If you haven’t yet, then pay attention, because there’s a pretty big fucking clue coming up.
I’d never seen Perry ill, barring the whole bullet-through-the-chest thing the Christmas before last - but last winter he got the flu pretty bad. I’m not amazingly good around sick people, but I thought I should make the effort, since I’d been living in his house rent-free for the best part of a year. And because he was my friend. Obviously. It was, like, my duty to bring him soup and tissues.
For three days he was fine with all that. I mean, he bitched a fuckload, and told me I couldn’t cook for shit, but I had the sneaking suspicion he was grateful. Then on the fourth day, he started acting totally fucking mental. I woke up and he was in the kitchen, making a fucking fried breakfast, dressed as snappily as ever.
Now usually when I surface, I get a “morning fuckhead,” or some other insult, but on this day he beamed, and gave me a cheery “Morning Harry,” instead. “I’ve made breakfast,” he said, like it wasn’t a big thing. I’ve made breakfast. Perry van Shrike had never made me breakfast. Even now he very rarely makes me breakfast. So that set the alarm bells ringing. I didn’t much want it either, when he plonked it down in front of me, because he was not a pretty sight. He looked like death warmed up, all pale and sweaty and twitchy. Even bacon fails to look appetising when it’s been made by a fucking zombie.
“Okay, going out now, Harry. I’ve got cases. Can’t afford to waste time. Bye.” This was mumbled out in a practically incoherent monotone, and it was total bullshit on so many levels. For one, Perry’s fucking loaded. I mean, have you seen his house? If you were paying attention to my movie you might have. And I don’t pay rent. In L.A. He could stop taking cases and I’m pretty damn sure he’d still have enough to keep us in comfort for the rest of our days. He might have to stop buying those prissy designer suits, but still. So like I said – bullshit.
“You don’t look too good, Perry.” I said, because I was the best damn concerned best friend ever. “Maybe you should go back to bed.”
He gave me a dismissive hand wave and staggered towards the front door. “I’m fine, Harry. Fine. You have a nice day.”
If I wasn’t already freaked out, I sure as hell was now. Perry never says have a nice day. He says “try and act your goddamn age for once,” and “for the love of god, please restrain yourself from putting cutlery in the microwave.” You know, “helpful” things. Not “have a nice day.” Clearly he was fucking delirious.
I got up from the table and grabbed his arm, but he swung away from me, and I remembered just how strong he was. Look, I’m not gonna lie, I was panicking. I was having visions of him punching me out then leaving and getting hit by a car, or mugged, or fuck knows. Something bad. So I did some pleading, hoping to appeal to his better nature. I know, right, what better nature?
“Please, Perry. You’re sick.” I grabbed his arm again, and that’s when I realised how hot he was. He was really burning up.
“You need to go to bed. Cases can wait, come on.”
“I can’t, I can’t.” He was muttering it over and over like it was his little mantra.
That’s when I totally lost it. Perry is the straight man - pun not intended - in our partnership. It’s his job to be calm and rational whilst I freak out, so with him swaying in the hall talking to himself, I was screwed.
“For fucks sake Perry, you stupid fuck, go to bed!” Yeah, not cool, considering I yelled it right in his face, but it seemed to do the trick, because he stopped mumbling, and stared at me really hard, and I could almost see the cogs working away as he fought to think about… something. Probably whether he should punch me in the face or shout abuse at me, or possibly both at the same time. But he didn’t, because instead he chose that moment to collapse on top of me.
I just about caught him in time, and we staggered about a bit before we both got our balance. I think he gave me a slurred “sorry” as I helped him to the couch. Then he just lay there with his eyes closed, and for a minute I thought he might have died, but when I put my hand over his face to check for breathing he jerked awake.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“Making sure you’re alive!”
“Yes, I’m alive; now leave me the fuck alone.”
Okay, he sounded more rational now, but he still looked like shit. And when I put my hand on his forehead he didn’t complain. He actually sighed, with what I think was relief, because my hand was all cold and probably sweaty with panic, and he was fucking roasting.
I wasn’t sure if I should phone Harmony for advice, but she was on holiday somewhere with her new boyfriend – yeah, that’s a story for another day, but don’t worry, I’m over it now, okay? – and I had a feeling they were in some stupid timezone where it was still the middle of the night, and besides, I could deal with this.
I couldn’t even think what to do, because my brain had gone into full on freakout mode. I knew I had to cool him down somehow, but the only idea presenting itself was a bath full of ice, and I didn’t really want to undress Perry, and besides, where was I going to find enough ice to fill a bath?
“It’s okay,” I said to him, although I might as well have been talking to myself.
“Harry,” he groaned. “Go away.”
Nice. I was only trying to help the guy. “We need to get your temperature down. And phone an ambulance.” Why hadn’t I thought of that before? I was fucking useless.
“No. No hospital. Just get me a cold… cold cloth.”
Well that I could do, and do it I did. He gave that happy sigh again when I put it on his forehead, then he gave me his perfectly honed death glare.
“I’m not going to the hospital.”
“But-”
“Harry. No. Just trust me.”
I didn’t want to listen to him, but I was worried that he’d go off on one again if I phoned, and I didn’t want him getting even more fucked up than he already was. I know, I know, why didn’t I just go upstairs and phone, you’re wondering. Because that man has a sixth fucking sense when it comes to me and lying. He can tell. Besides, I didn’t really want to leave him for longer than absolutely necessary. He seemed a little better, but I still wasn’t convinced he wasn’t going to die on me.
“Idiot. Paracetemol, water. Don’t just sit there.”
He definitely seemed better.
***
We stayed like that the best part of the day; him lying on the couch slipping in and out of sleep, and me, sitting on the floor by his head like his loyal little guard dog, watching shitty TV and checking every so often to make sure he was still, you know, alive.
Eventually the sun began to set, and Perry stirred, trying to sit up.
“You okay?” I said, because I was still on my best caring-for-the-sick behaviour.
“Mm, fine.” Then he fixed me with a look. A Serious Look. The kind he gives me when shit’s about to go down.
“I need you to do something for me,” he said.
“Anything.” I was all eager and helpful-ly.
“I need you to leave the house tonight, and come back in the morning.”
I opened my mouth, and he held up a shaky finger. “And I need you not to ask any moronic questions about it.”
Now that wasn’t really fair, because I didn’t think “why?” was a moronic question in this instance. But I knew what he meant.
“Why?” Fuck it readers, do you not know me by now?
“Just, please, Harry. Please go away.”
“What if you get worse again, like this morning? Who’s going to help you then?”
“Harry, please. Just leave. I’ll be here when you get back, promise. But I need you to go.”
I thought on this for like, a minute. He was starting to get really fucking angry, and I didn’t want him to like, pop a blood vessel or something. That can happen, right?
“Fine. But promise you’ll call me if you start feeling worse.”
“I promise, I promise.”
So I left him with his mobile and a bottle of water, packed my overnight bag and made a big show of leaving. Then I ducked down behind the bushes at the start of the drive. It was pretty dark by this time, and cold – I know it’s L.A., but it was still winter at the end of the day, so I only waited for, like, 10 minutes before sneaking round to the back of the house, and climbing in the window I’d left open.
Harry Lockhart, P.I. I was on a roll. Sure, I almost fell off the counter when I finally managed to climb in, but I caught myself before I ended up face first on the tiles. Bear in mind at this point I still didn’t have a fucking clue why Perry’d made me leave – for all I knew he could have been holding some fucking BDSM party in the basement. It could have been a sex dungeon for all I knew, I’d never been inside it. Along with Perry’s bedroom, it was off limits, although he had allowed a temporary lapse in the bedroom rule this past week. Only for soup, mind.
While I was busy thinking about sex dungeons, Perry had gotten up, and – speak of the devil – was heading to the basement. I crawled along the kitchen floor until I reached the doorway, quiet as a fucking mouse. You get to the basement through a trapdoor under the fancy-ass rug that runs along the hall, which is really fucking cool, although Perry didn’t share the opinion when I told him so, judging by his “Really? And who are you, Scooby fucking Doo?” It was also locked, and even though I’m actually pretty talented at the art of lock picking, I hadn’t opened it, because, hello – loyal guard dog, remember? Well, kind of.
I could hear him jangling keys about, then the door creaked open. There was a tinkling thud as the keys dropped, and a quiet “fuck” from Perry. Then he made this little groaning noise, and there were a lot of thumps and so obviously I thought he’d fallen down the stairs.
I crept out into the hall, just in time to see him disappearing down the stairs. Okay, so he hadn’t fallen over. The door fell shut behind him, and that was when I made my move, tiptoeing over to it so that he wouldn’t hear me with his fucking supersonic skills. I didn’t hear a key turn in the lock behind him, so I assumed he hadn’t picked the key off the floor.
This was about as far as my expert detective planning went, so for a minute or so I just sat against the wall, staring at the rug that usually covered the door. Perry was really out of it, he hadn’t even bothered to attach it back to the trap door before he’d shut it. Probably cause he thought I was gone, but seriously, he should have known me better by then.
So where was I? Right – I was sitting on the hall floor contemplating the stupid rug, when I heard this horrible noise. Like, a horrible noise. It sounded like someone was getting fucking murdered below my feet. Funny, all that time I’d assumed the basement was soundproofed, and sure, the screaming was pretty quiet, but I could still hear it. Seriously, that was my thought process. It was a good 10 seconds before I realised it was Perry making that noise.
Screw the sex dungeon – no pun intended – I keep making them, don’t I? – Perry sounded like he was hurting, and not in a sexy, masochistic, ‘let’s tie each other up and have some fun’ kind of way. More like a ‘fuck me I’m about to die horribly’ kind of way. I know he’d told me to leave him alone and all, but at that moment I wasn’t really thinking ‘Perry’s up to something he doesn’t want me to know about.’ No, I was thinking ‘Fuck, Perry’s really in trouble.’
I can remember wrenching the door up and practically flinging myself down the stairs into the basement, then actually falling a bit when I realised how dark it was. Once I’d picked myself up off the floor, I started looking about for Perry, and stumbled into something metal since I was still pretty much blind. There was a bit of light coming down from the top of the stairs, and once my eyes had adjusted I realised what I’d walked into. A fucking cage. That was when I decided I’d made a terrible mistake and turned to bolt back out of the creepy sex dungeon, and I totally would have had there not been this whimpering noise that came from the other side of the basement.
It was really, really dark at the other side of the room, but I could kinda see something moving about behind a bunch of boxes.
“Perry?” I shouted, all concern and shit.
Then there was a really scary fucking growl from the corner, and it was that kind of noise that literally made all the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Like, I didn’t know that was a real possible thing outside of shitty horror paperbacks until that night.
“Perry?” I said again, only quieter this time, and starting to back away, really wishing I’d stolen one of Perry’s guns before coming down.
This time there was a rustling from the corner, and I could just about make out a shadow moving on the wall behind the boxes. A really big shadow. I made my mind up to come back with a gun.
I turned to walk back – okay, okay, to run back – to the stairs, but before I’d gone about three steps something grabbed me by the back of my shirt with enough force to practically strangle me before gravity took over and pulled me down on my ass. Then I was being pinned by this huge thing, and it was growling like it wanted to rip my fucking throat out.
“Perry!” I screamed, because what else was I going to do? Clearly Perry knew about the mutant living in his basement, and surely that meant he could save me. Yeah, I wasn’t really thinking clearly at this point – although kinda obvious why not, right?
What actually happened was that when I screamed like a little girl, the thing let go of me, and sat back on its haunches, and growled at me from there. For a minute I couldn’t do anything but lie there panting like I’d just survived a drowning, but once I came to my senses I butt-shuffled backwards until my back hit the wall. After I had put a bit of space between me and it, I felt safe enough to chance a look at it.
It was a giant fucking wolf. Honest to God. A wolf. I couldn’t really tell what colour it was in the gloom, because the little light there was seemed intent on shining only on its teeth – which looked about as long as my fingers at least – and its big yellow demon eyes, which were staring straight at me.
Like I was saying back at the start of this thing, I doubt you’ll believe me, but I’m telling the godshonest truth. This is exactly what happened that night. Anyways –
“You stay the fuck away from me,” I told it.
In response it stood up.
“I fucking mean it! Stay away.” I was trying to be as threatening as possible, which was probably laughably unthreatening, if I’m honest.
It started moving towards me, almost casually. I shrank back against the wall, really wishing I could just fall through it. Then I remembered this thing I’d seen on Animal Planet, before Perry had changed the channel cause he was missing Grey’s Anatomy or some other shitty show. I think it was a program about bears, but hell, this thing was bigger than any bear I’d ever heard of. You were supposed to act threatening, you know – shout at the bear and stuff, and it would go away. I didn’t really have anything to lose, cause I was about 3 seconds away from getting eaten anyway, by the looks of it, so I stood up and started screaming my lungs out, beating my chest, waving my arms like a fucking lunatic.
I must have been a right sight, because the wolf sat back down and stared at me, cocking its head to the side in a weirdly familiar way (and readers, if you haven’t already guessed it, and I mean, come on, it’s pretty fucking obvious, then you should really know what the big reveal is after that clue).
Then, just as I was congratulating myself on successfully avoiding being mauled to death, it grabbed me by the sleeve and pulled me towards it. Then I realised how gentle it was being – and correct me if I’m wrong – but big fuckoff nightmare monsters aren’t generally all that gentle.
I watch a lot of shitty low budget horror movies, and in a fucking load of them the rampaging murderous creature always seems to be someone the protagonist knows, so I figured I had nothing to lose by looking right at it and saying “Perry?”
I wasn’t really expecting a response – I mean, at that point I was beginning to think I’d gone crazy and was having an elaborate hallucination – but then to my utmost fucking surprise, the big wolf thing nodded. It nodded. Just let that sink in there.
I stood with my mouth hanging open for more time than was probably polite, until the wolf – Perry – nudged at my chest with its nose and brought me back to reality, if reality hadn’t actually broken into a million little pieces by this point.
“Perry.” I said again, doing my best parrot impression. Again the wolf nodded its head in a really un-wolf-like way.
“Perry’s a werewolf,” I said, more to myself than to the wolf, which whined in indignation.
“Sorry,” I said, actually addressing it instead of thin air this time. “You’re a werewolf, Perry. You; Perry; my boss; my flatmate; my gay best friend. You’re a werewolf.”
The wolf sneezed.
“Is that a yes? What’s wrong with a nod? Is this a gay werewolf thing? Sneezing?”
My voice had gone ever so slightly too high, and my grip on reality wasn’t really at its strongest. I mean, I was in the middle of the world’s most one-sided conversation with a giant wolf that may or may not have been a figment of my imagination. (It wasn’t, by the way, just in case I haven’t made it clear enough. It was actually Perry. I know, don’t ask, it’s fucking crazy, but there you go.)
“I’m going to go upstairs and make sure the world hasn’t disappeared in a fiery inferno,” I blabbered, then I tried to run at the stairs, but the wolf blocked my way, whining like it was a puppy I’d just kicked. Not that I kick puppies, because I don’t. That was a totally hypothetical thing.
“You want me to stay?” I asked him. Another whine. “Is that a yes? Cause if it is, nod. I can’t speak hellhound.”
This time it nodded, then walked back to the boxes it’d emerged from behind, curling up on the floor and yawning, giving me the best possible look at those goddamn daggers that passed for teeth.
“You want me to come over?” I said; not sure if this was some trap or other. I mean, this thing couldn’t possibly be Perry, if only for the sole reason that it was being nice to me.
It didn’t reply or anything; just put its head between its ginormous paws and stared at me.
“Okay, I’ll come over,” I said, and I went and stood in front of it, unsure what the hell to do next. If it really was Perry, then I didn’t want to, you know, pat it, in case it turned round and bit my fucking arm off. Also I didn’t really want to pat it because, you know, it was Perry, and I didn’t usually go round petting him.
Then it sat up and slipped its muzzle under my hand so that I was petting it – him – even if it was against my will. I gave his nose a little awkward pat, then stood like an idiot again. He gestured to the floor by his side using his nose, and I took this to be an invitation to sit, which I did, trying my hardest to not touch any part of his body with any part of mine.
That’s not to say that normally I avoid Perry like contact with him’ll cause me to burst into flames or anything. I mean, we live together, that would be so, so impractical. And obviously we get drunk sometimes, and well, that’s a story for another day. This is about Perry being a fucking werewolf, which is a lot more out of the ordinary than drunken shenanigans.
So I sat beside him, and he put his fucking head in my lap. You know; his head with all those sharp as fuck fangs. I accepted that I wasn’t going anywhere soon, and slumped back against his side.
All I can remember is thinking how comfortable it was, and how I could hear his heartbeat beside my ear, and then I must have fallen asleep, cause hey; it was quite late by this point, and I was tired out from the stress of nearly getting mauled to death by a giant wolf.
***
I didn’t wake up until the next morning, and the first thing I realised was that there was something sprawled on top of me. No, scratch that, not something – someone. I cracked open an eyelid to see Perry’s face literally about an inch away from mine. He was still asleep, mouth hanging open slightly. It was his arm that was on top of my chest, flung there like he owned me.
I’m not going to lie; I freaked the fuck out right there. Not at waking up next to Perry – if you’ve been paying attention to the subtext you’ll know that’s happened before – and since, if you really want to know. No, it was because until I’d opened my eyes I’d thought the night before had just been one of those really vivid dreams you get after eating cheese really late at night.
Seeing Perry sprawled there on the floor, still in his trousers and unbuttoned shirt – yeah, that clothes ripping werewolf shit is just a myth, I mean, c’mon, it’s clearly magic, so why the fuck wouldn’t clothes change too? – was just too much for me. I rolled out from under him, at which point he rolled onto his face, and I jumped up like I’d just been electrocuted.
As I stood there, clutching at the wall behind me for support, he groaned and rolled back onto his side, rubbing at his eyes with one hand.
“Fuck,” he muttered, then looked up and saw me staring at him. “Fuck,” he said again.
“Morning,” I said, because I couldn’t think of anything better to say.
Perry looked about warily, then pushed himself up off the floorboards. Once he was up he looked about again, then back at me.
“Jesus, Harry!” Clearly he was back to normal. “I told you to leave me alone for one night. One night! Idiot!”
I was actually really pissed off about this, because, hey! I’d thought he was dying the night before! He ought to have been thanking me, not staring at me like he wanted to murder me with his bare hands.
“Hey, Perry, look, I was worried about you-”
“Worried? Worried?” Then what I’d said seemed to sink in, and he sighed, running his hand through his sleep-tousled hair.
“Yeah, worried. I thought you were being murdered down here.”
He looked so incredibly guilty at this – the one time I’ve ever seen him look properly guilty, I’ll have you know – and then he tried to look all serious at me, though his mouth was turning up at the corners despite himself.
“You shouldn’t be spying on me, Harry. Jesus, why can’t you be that good when we’re dealing with clients?”
I shrugged. Seriously, that was all I could think to do right now. Most of my brain was too busy going “Perry’s a werewolf. That was a real thing that really happened last night. I’m not insane.”
“Stop staring at me, dipshit,” Perry snapped, cause he’s such a lovely friend and all that. “Come on, let’s go upstairs.”
He stalked off past me, and for some reason I thought about the cage.
“Perry?”
He stopped halfway up the stairs. “What?”
“Why do you have a cage down here?”
“To lock up idiots who annoy me,” he retorted, then left me just standing there. I debated poking about to see if I could find anything interesting, but then his head appeared back through the trapdoor and he shouted, “Seriously Harry, hurry the fuck up or I’ll lock you in here.”
That kinda put an end to my detecting plans, and I climbed back up pretty sharpish.
***
He made me breakfast again, and today it actually looked appetising, since his flu seemed to have disappeared.
I waited until we were both sitting down, facing each other at the kitchen table.
“So, you gonna explain what happened last night?” I said, trying to be as direct as possible without saying ‘werewolf’.
Perry sighed. Seriously, sighing’s like his automatic reflex to anything I say. “Isn’t it obvious, Harry? Do we really need to do this?”
“No,” I said, and then; “Yes. No to the first thing, yes to the second.”
He gave me this nasty stare, so I kicked him under the table.
“Do you remember what happened last night?” I said, while he was busy being furious.
“Yes.” He said, through actual gritted teeth. The man is amazing at being scary, even when he’s not a giant motherfucking monster wolf.
“Why were you so nice to me? You’re never that nice to me.”
“Because- Jesus, you looked like you were about to piss yourself, Harry!”
“Gee, thanks,” I said. Okay, it was true, but didn’t mean I wanted reminded about it.
“So how long have you been, you know-”
“A werewolf? It’s okay, you can say it. I’m not going to change if you say the word.”
“Yeah, a – one of those.”
“Since birth, I guess.” He even managed to make this sound sarcastic. Like how was I supposed to know that? Up until the night before I hadn’t even thought shit like this was real.
“So is it strictly a full moon thing? I mean, in all the films werewolves turn into savage bloodthirsty monsters at the full moon-” The look he gave me here was priceless “– but I’m not missing any vital organs so that’s clearly not true. Unless – oh shit, are you like one of those fucked up Twilight werewolves?”
“I’m not even going to respond to that last part,” he said. “But no, it’s not always a ‘full moon thing’. Only bit of werewolf mythology that’s true is the full moon part, and we don’t – don’t turn into monsters. Some act like it, but I still feel everything I normally feel. Emotion wise. If a little… fuzzier.”
“Wow,” I said, cause hey, what would you say if the guy you’d been living with for a year suddenly turned out to be a werewolf?
“It’s useful in my line of work, too,” he said. “I mean, for tailing people. As long as I don’t do it too often.”
“Wait? And people don’t notice you? I mean, that thing last night was huge.”
Almost right after this I realised Perry might not take kindly to me calling him ‘that thing’, but he didn’t even seem to notice.
“No, idiot. That only happens once a month. The rest of the time I’m much more unobtrusive.”
“You can do that whenever you want?”
“That’s what I’m saying, Chief.”
“Jesus, Perry, why didn’t you tell me?”
“It’s not really something you bring up in everyday conversation. Besides, I knew you’d act like this.”
“Well obviously, because it’s fucked up – no offence – but we’re supposed to be friends. You know about all my shit.”
“Well you know now, okay? So can we please just leave it?”
I didn’t want to leave it, but, hey, he’d just told me he could turn into the fuckoff big wolf whenever he damn well pleased, so I shut up there, settling for just shooting him dirty glares every now and again as we ate in silence.
***
I left it for nearly the whole day. In fact, I hardly saw Perry the whole day. It was a Saturday, and we were supposed to be having a day off, but he was adamant that he was going to catch up on all the paperwork he’d missed when he was ill. I tried to help, but after an hour or so he told me to fuck off and watch some shitty TV while I had the chance. I’m actually quite good at paperwork nowadays; I think it was more that he wanted me to leave him alone for a while.
When I ordered in pizza he was still up there, but I barged right in anyways, and dumped the box on top of the papers he was looking at.
“Dinner, Fido.”
He glared at me, then get this, he laughed.
“Thanks.” He said, acting like a normal human being for once. Then he looked up at me and went; “Really, though. Thanks.”
“S’okay, Perry. You’re kinda like my best friend, after all.”
He smiled at this, and gave a little laugh as if I’d said something funny.
“Want to eat in the living room?” I asked him.
Normally Perry is insanely anal about eating food in places that aren’t for eating in, especially the fucking living room. Apparently the settee is worth more than I make in a year, although that wouldn’t be hard given that Perry’s a notorious tightwad and my wages make McDonald’s employees look rich.
He agreed, though, and we ended up sitting on the ultra expensive settee that just yesterday, I’d thought Perry might be sizing up for his deathbed. The TV was on, but we weren’t really watching it, I guess. We were just sitting there together, eating pizza and enjoying each other’s company.
I’d brought through a few cans of beer, and we weren’t drunk, but we were at that happy stage where everything seems good with the world.
“I really did think you’d have freaked out more,” Perry said, still staring absentmindedly at the TV.
I looked over at him, then I did the whole nonchalant TV watching thing too and said, “What, you disappointed? Cause it’s pretty fucking awesome, I can freak out if you want me to, but that would involve praise – and that’s not generally how we roll, Perry. Don’t want you getting bigheaded or anything.”
He grinned at me, then shifted ever so slightly towards me, casual as all get out. He’s a classy guy, Perry, and I wouldn’t have even noticed it if I hadn’t been furiously trying to work out how to do the exact same thing.
I don’t do subtle though, so how it worked was I just thought, “fuck it”, and I turned to him and said ‘Perry,” and as he looked at me, I kinda leaned in and kissed him. Just a peck on the lips, nothing really, but that seemed to have been all he was waiting for, cause the next thing I knew, his tongue was in my mouth.
It was better than it sounds, okay? Perry’s like a really, really good kisser. Thing was, we didn’t even, you know, fuck. We just made out for what seemed like a really long time, although it was probably only a few minutes, then he pulled away from me, his lips all swollen and his hair all messed up from where I’d been running my fingers through it. I probably looked just as debauched, cause he looked at me and gave me this little smirk, like he was proud of his handiwork.
That’s not a euphemism, by the way. No inappropriate touching happened on the couch. What actually happened was that we just sat back like we’d been before, only Perry’s head was resting on my shoulder, and after a few minutes he started breathing really loudly into my ear, and I realised he’d fallen asleep on me.
It was incredibly sexy. Not.
You know how they say that once you get a guy started, he has to finish? Yeah, that isn’t always true. This was just one of those nights. I mean, it wasn’t like we’d never had sex before, we’d both been really drunk and horny a few times, and, well, sexing had occurred, but it was never anything special, and I was usually far too drunk to remember it the next day.
The first time, well that had been really awkward. I could remember literally nothing about the night before, all I knew was that I woke up in Perry’s bed, and we were both naked, and he had an arm and a leg flung over me. We didn’t speak for a week after it, but since we were both living in the same house, it got to be impractical, so life resumed as normal. Well, as normal as it got.
That had been, oh, a few months ago. Since then, we’d done it three and a half times, with the half being the time Perry was so drunk that he just, like, passed out mid fuck. Yeah, Perry doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d let himself get that drunk, does he? I was as surprised as you readers the first time we got really smashed at a party. Well, you know, I’m assuming you guys are surprised, but I’m not a mind reader.
Actually, come to think about it, the half was the last time it had happened before, you know, I found out about his werewolf thing.
But I’m getting off the point. The point was that I was sitting on the couch with Perry asleep on me. I didn’t really want to disturb him, but it wasn’t the most comfortable of positions to be in, so after a bit of wriggling about to see if he’d wake up on his own, I poked him in the side of the head and muttered his name.
He woke with a start, and for a moment he seemed really disorientated. I mean, he didn’t even bitch at me for prodding him awake.
“Are you okay, Perry?”
“What?” He didn’t really look okay. He looked as if he needed to sleep for a week at least. “Yeah, I’m just tired."
“You should go to bed then,” I told him. Yeah, me telling Perry what to do.
“That’s actually a good idea, Harry. You sure you’re feeling okay?”
“Oh, ha ha.”
He got up to put the rubbish in the kitchen bin, but I stopped him, still being the best concerned friend ever.
“I can do that,” I said, taking the stuff off him. “You just go to bed. Sleep well.”
I was half way out the room when he shouted to me.
“Harry?”
I poked my head back round the door.
“‘Sup?”
“Firstly, never say that again, and secondly, you can… Come with me. But it would just be sleeping.”
I honestly thought I was going to faint, there. I mean, I know, I know, we’d just been making out and all, but there was, like, a huge difference between making out and actually sleeping in the same bed with someone. Even more so cause there wasn’t going to be any sex, you know? Like, he was actually letting on that he trusted me.
***
By the time I’d put out the rubbish and walked up to his bedroom, he was sitting on his fuckoff giant bed with the silk sheets wearing his posh pyjamas that probably cost more than my outfit. Actually scratch that; definitely cost more than my outfit.
“Hey,” I said, then stood by the bed, feeling incredibly awkward.
Perry laughed, “You’re allowed on the bed, Harry. I’m not going to make you sleep on the floor.”
I stripped until I was down to my boxers and my t-shirt – no fancy pyjamas for me – and flopped myself down next to Perry. His bed is crazy comfortable, something I hadn’t fully appreciated the three or four times I’d slept in it, what with all the alcohol in my system.
Perry leant over to turn off the lamp, then lay down facing me, and pulled the covers over us.
“Come here,” he muttered, and pulled me towards him. Yeah, you read that right. Perry was snuggling with me. I fully expected to wake up to news reports about flying pigs the next morning.
Perry had closed his eyes, but when I whispered “Perry,” he opened them again.
“What now?”
“Does it hurt?” I said.
“Sometimes,” he said. “When I… resist it. It hurts then.”
“So last night?”
“Yeah. Last night it hurt.”
I gave him another kiss, and he kissed me back. It was sickeningly domestic. Yet, it wasn’t bad. It felt nice. Okay, okay, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “But Harry, you aren’t even gay. What’s with all the hot man-loving?” Well fuck you, that’s what. Stranger things have happened. Besides, Perry’s not just some guy. It’s different.
In case you’re still holding out for the sex, I hate to burst your bubble but nothing happened. I mean, Perry was practically comatose once he lay down, it wouldn’t have been fair of me to take advantage of him. I’m a gent, you know? It was nice though, just lying there, listening to him sleeping beside me. Plus his bed is so much better than mine.
The next morning when he woke up, he was feeling much better, and that’s when we had all the wild sex. But that’s my business, not yours, and the story was about Perry being a werewolf, not about him being fantastic in the sack. Rest assured, though, it was great.
***
Okay, don’t worry, I’m not going to just leave you hanging like that. So later that day, a couple of hours after Perry had shooed me away from the office yet again, claiming I was distracting him from his work with my dipshit ramblings (yeah, nice Perry didn’t last long), and I was lying on the couch flipping through channels, he appeared at the door.
“Harry,” he said, then when I turned round he changed, and within the blink of an eye, Perry was gone and the wolf was standing in his place.
“Jesus,” I said, because what else could I say?
He walked over and jumped up onto the couch beside me.
“I though animals weren’t allowed on the furniture?” I said. He growled at me, and honestly, I knew exactly what he would have said had he been able to. Probably something along the lines of; “Well I let you sit on it, don’t I?” I told him this, and he gave a little wolfy grin, then lay down with his head on my chest.
I should probably mention that he was much smaller now, like the size of a collie or something. I wasn’t being crushed to death or anything, don’t worry. In the daylight I could see what colour his fur was, and I kid you not, it was blond. I mean, seriously, who’s ever heard of a blond wolf? Unobtrusive, my ass.
Still, he was practically lying on top of me, and his teeth were dangerously close to my face, so I thought it was best not to point this out. I patted him awkwardly, and he fucking sighed, like the canine equivalent of purring, and that was when I just thought “fuck it,” and cuddled him up to me, then went back to watching TV. He didn’t resist it, just curled up in a ball beside me.
***
Even now I still sometimes like wolf Perry better than normal Perry. He says he still thinks the same, but I’m not sure I believe him. Either that or he’s just easier with expressing emotion when he doesn’t have a voice. The man is all kinds of fucked up, but I guess so am I, and we make a good team.
We’re together, now. Duh, like you didn’t see that coming. I think I’m the only person he’s ever told, so I guess he must actually love me. He tells me he does all the time when he’s drunk, and once or twice when he’s been sober. And I’m not going to call him my boyfriend – because what am I, some thirteen year old girl? – but I guess that’s what he is.
I still work for him, and he’s still the boss from hell, and really, not all that much has really changed since I first moved in, besides that fact I sleep in his bed now.
But anyway, there you have it. Everything I just told you is true, and you can take it or leave it, makes no difference to me. I’d better go now, because Perry’s calling me. Probably time for his afternoon walkies.