“Probably why I’m so into you!” I slurred, picking up my latest re-read, Devirginised by the Devious Devil. The cover was blurry, but I didn’t need twenty-twenty vision to know that it showed a big, red, horned beast, his giant clawed hands cupping the breasts of a nubile young virgin, who was gasping in delighted shock. I ran my finger over his broad shoulders. Well, what I thought were his broad shoulders anyway. It was all a technicolour splodge to me.

“Everyone’s getting some except me,” I moaned, eyeing the cover. “Ezra’s out canoodling with Hottie Potter, Mr Devious Devil here is popping cherry, and where am I? Home alone, with nothing but a lukewarm takeaway box of Thai food, too much wine for one small human, and monster smut to keep me company.”

I didn’t bother looking for my missing chopstick, instead picking out a rice noodle from my Thai delivery and slurping it up like spaghetti. Didn’t matter. No one was around to witness my drunken slobbery.

“I’ll need to be devirginized again at this rate!” I let my head flop back, staring at the water-damaged ceiling from when the washing machine had overflowed in the apartment above. “Where’s my hot red demon with a ‘ribbed for her pleasure’ wang?”

No one answered. Instead, I felt that weird prickling I’d been feeling on and off all day.

But that prickle was easily numbed by another generous slug of Riesling. I guzzled the rest of my glass like cordial, filling it from the cask I’d handily brought down to the coffee table, so I wouldn’t have to lift my sorry butt off the sofa.

Picking a prawn out of the takeaway container, I dangled it over my mouth, gripped it by its tail and squeezed. But instead of the prawn sliding gracefully out of its tail, the whole thing popped out of my oily fingers and skittered across the floor, landing under the TV cabinet.

“No!” I cried, falling to the floor and crawling over. “It’s still good! Five-second rule! Five-sec—ugh.”

The prawn was definitely not good. Neither Ezra nor I had cleaned under that cabinet in … well, since we moved in two years ago. The prawn was coated in a thick layer of dust, ferret hair and …

“Aaargh!” I screamed, leaping back and whacking my hip on the coffee table. “Cockroaches! Eww!”

I scrambled to my feet and scurried into the tiny laundry room.

“Luci, wake up!” I hissed, unlatching the cage and poking my drowsing ferret. She leapt into action as I scooped her out.

“Tasty roaches!” I crooned, stumbling back down the hallway. Was the floor on a lean?

“No more wine,” I lectured myself, setting her down in the living room. “Find the roachies, Luci-Fur!”