40. THE ONE WITH THE LOBOTOMY
CHAPTER FORTY
THE ONE WITH THE LOBOTOMY
HexedHeroine posted a collaboration video with WestParkerComedy: Is this what you’ve been waiting for?
Comment: MOMMY AND DADDY
Comment reply: Respectfully, this is MOTHER & FATHER now
Comment: They’re dating. West Parker is off the market, ladies
Comment reply: Holding out hope it’s fake
Comment reply: Are you fuckin delusional? “Leave the mask on, Hex baby”?!?! That man don’t want you!
Between the first Hex and West Parker collaboration post becoming our quickest growing video to date and the podcast episode airing, I feel like all I’ve done this week is work.
Our followings have shot through the roof again, we out-trended Sunday Night Football by double, and West was asked to do two show days this weekend in Pittsburg.
Enzo has West on a crazy schedule with interviews, another podcast, and a meeting with some talent agency in the area who’s interested in representing West Parker.
I look into the company for them, and while I don’t see any red flags, per se, I’m also not seeing anything that would make me immediately want to have them represent me.
We both agree it’s at least worth having lunch over.
I haven’t heard back from Lilly, and I don’t tell anyone about her emails either. There’s no reason to bring attention to what might be the job of my dreams slipping through the cracks of my spam folder.
On top of everything else, two big brand deals come in this week that take up a lot of my time with emails, phone calls, and some serious magic on my part—no pun intended.
A deal for West.
And a deal for me.
I’m still waiting to hear back about mine, but when I got the acceptance of my counteroffer for West’s, we were at a sports bar with hockey on every TV.
I don’t tell West about every brand who extends an offer, or even every offer I negotiate. Some aren’t worth mentioning and others have terms that wouldn’t work with his tour schedule.
This deal was neither of those things, but I didn’t tell him about it when the original offer came through, because I didn’t want to get his hopes up if it didn’t work out.
I told him in a quiet corner of the bar, and then he followed me to the bathroom, took his hat off, put it on my head, and ate me out on the sink as a thank you for landing him his first six-figure deal.
I still haven’t given him the hat back… Or the hoodie he forced onto me in New Haven.
I’d finally gotten myself to stop thinking about the look on the woman’s face when West and I came waltzing out of the bathroom together. Him with a smug ass grin and sex mussed hair, and me with pink cheeks and a lightness to my step that can only come from, well… coming.
I’m suddenly reminiscing on his head between my thighs in that dingy bathroom because his first six-figure brand deal is on his head, and I fucking love knowing I’m the one that put it there.
I managed to sneak into the sound booth unnoticed, staying out of the way to get a couple videos of West and the audience.
It’s Halloween, obviously my favorite night of the year, and with West on his last set of back-to-back two-show days, we’re all ready to return to our place for the night and crash.
I know he’s exhausted like the rest of us, but he doesn’t show it, bouncing around the stage like we haven’t been running on fumes all week.
We have three cities and a hometown show left—three and a half weeks, and I’m no closer to figuring out what comes next than I was when I left six weeks ago.
The crowd laughs at something West says, and while they’re distracted, I take my opportunity to slip out of the booth and head backstage before West wraps the show up.
I make it about five steps before a man glances my way, shoots from his seat, and points at me. “Witch!”
Jumping, I freeze when a spotlight catches me.
I put my hand up to block it from shining directly into my eyes. If it weren’t so bright, I might be able to make out every single detail of the shit eating grin West’s wearing.
“Shit, Hex. I’m sorry… Did I forget to tell you?
” He covers his mouth, sucking in a breath as he curls his hand into a fist. He holds it there until bringing the mic back to speak.
“I might have mentioned it would be funny to have a witch hunt for Halloween. First person to find Hex gets a free T-shirt.” He motions to the man pumping his fists in the air as his section of the theater cheers.
“My wife wants the top she’s wearing!” The burly man points to me again.
I’m wearing a black tank top with red lettering that reads, Live. Laugh. Lobotomy. It’s the perfect shirt to wear on Halloween as a reminder of what they did to anyone who didn’t fit into what society deemed “normal.”
West doesn’t hesitate. “Oh, fuck yeah! Hex, take your shirt off!” He crosses his arms and laughs away from the mic. It’s not the fake West Parker stage laugh either. It travels well even without the direct audio feed.
Everyone hoots and hollers. I flip him off and smile.
“What shirt are you wearing?” he asks, trying to see through the bright lights. “Come closer. I can’t see.” He squints, waving me towards the stage. People shout the words on my shirt until West can’t get anything straight. “You motherfuckers aren’t helping! Shut up!” he scolds them with a laugh.
It’s been a fun audience tonight, giving him opportunities to work the crowd since the moment he stepped on stage.
Moving slowly, I stop just shy of the first row, knowing West is going to complain about the space between us. “Seriously, closer. I’m hot and funny, not super sighted, Jesus Christ.”
I get as close to the stage as I can, cocking my head back. I pull the bottom of the top away from my skin, making it easier for him to read the three words across my chest.
He drops to his knees, coming to the edge of the stage like he needs fucking bifocals to see, when really I know he’s admiring my tits in this pushup bra. West winks at me and then flips his hat around. The brand’s name is embroidered over the strap.
HOTSHOT.
West has already joked about buying the company.
I keep my cool, but the women in the crowd don’t. They cheer like West is half-naked and his clothes keep coming off.
I see some of the comments other women leave Hex, and they’re all valid questions—ones I’ve thought of myself more times than I can count.
Who would be okay with a man who flirts with other women every single night on stage for the world to see?
If he’s acting like that openly, what’s he doing when no one’s around to see?
I wouldn’t be okay with a man who does what West does… if it weren’t West doing it. People see his obsession with Hex on stage as a joke—they think it’s part of the West Parker persona, part of the act we’ve been putting on since Boston.
I know it’s not.
He chuckles at my shirt, despite already knowing what it says.
He laughed about it for thirty minutes straight on our way to the venue this afternoon.
“Baby, I’ll lobottom you anytime.” The audience goes feral, cheering louder than they have all night.
I swat his leg and storm away while West waves at my departure.
“Everyone say goodbye to Hex.” Lots of voices mix to bid me farewell, but I only pay attention to the one coming from the mic.
“God, isn’t she pretty when she’s being mean to me? ”
There’s no chance he hasn’t been sitting on that joke all day.
He ends the show a few minutes later, and as much as I would love to be able to leave the theater for the night, especially since we have one more here tomorrow, West and I can’t, because we have to film our video for tomorrow’s post—this time for his profiles.
After everyone leaves, we set up to film on the stage, promising the small cleaning crew we wouldn’t take long. It felt like a lie when I told them, but much to my surprise, we did a lot better than our first time filming together.
Bringing West into Hex’s world has gone smoother than I imagined it could.
We had quite a few hiccups, but in the end, I think it’s a night I’ll be thinking about for the rest of my life. It seems I’m collecting a lot of those moments with West lately.
I spend well into the night editing the video with West passed out on the couch across from me. He said he’d feel bad if I stayed up late to work on our stuff by myself and then proceeded to fall asleep about ten minutes later.
West doesn’t help do any of the editing anyway—that’s my job, but I adore him for not wanting to leave me alone while I do it.
We haven’t been staying in the RV at all anymore, and even though we have the extra money in the budget to splurge for places, we haven’t had to do that more than a couple times.
Brands are eager to get a piece of whatever we’re willing to give them, even if it means giving their penthouses up for the week.
I don’t wait until morning to post. Why bother when it’ll go viral anyway?
Instant virality is a blessing and a curse.
I watch the video one more time, pretending this isn’t my real life and West Parker isn’t fast asleep, breathing softly at the other end of the couch.
I’m dressed in a tight, all black dress with a corset top, sporting a different custom mask than the first video we posted together. This one has no horns or antlers, but the face-piece was made to look like charred bones and is still decorated with the same Hex-like features as all the others.
Blood. Moss. The usual.
I’m meant to emerge from the shadows, like I’d been lurking there the whole time.
West is dressed in the same outfit he wore during the show. His HexedHeroine cut off and a well-loved pair of vintage jeans with his HOTSHOT hat facing forward. I made him help me set the stage lights perfectly, accenting the delicious forearms he’s now fully aware I’m obsessed with.
The video starts with West kneeling down on the edge of the stage, the mic cord wrapped around his wrist. I step out of the darkness, and pluck West’s hat off his head with gentle fingers.
I spin it around and put it on my head backwards—an homage to the night he’d done the same to be inside the bathroom of a sport’s bar.
The way he bites his lip wasn’t planned, but it works well for what comes next. I tug the mic cord until his lips crash into mine—except the video cuts a millisecond before they touch. Our followers will never see West jumping down and pinning Hex against the stage in a kiss I have evidence of.
I close my laptop, the temptation to watch the cut clip too strong. It takes almost every bit of control I have to leave West sleeping on the couch, but I know if I wake him, neither of us will get the rest we need.