rylem's Stories

Tag: bitchification

  • New Beginnings

    New Beginnings

    December 31st, 2025 – 11:58 PM

    “I don’t know, James. It just feels like every year I say I’ll change and then I don’t.”

    James and Madeline stood outside in the busy street festival their local town was holding. They decided to venture out this year instead of staying inside to watch the ball drop on tv.  Even though they were brave enough to be out in public on New Years Eve, they felt extremely awkward and out of place.

    “Yeah. But this year’s gonna be different, right?” James said it like a joke. But he was hoping she’d say yes.

    Madeline gave him a look. “How?”

    “I don’t know. Maybe we stop being afraid of everything.” His voice cracked, and he grimaced. “We always talk about how we want to be… more.”

    “More what?”

    James shrugged, the movement stiff in his dress shirt. “Confident. Assertive. In control. Just… not the weird losers everyone looks down on anymore.”

    Madeline let that settle. Her fingers toyed with the strap of her too-tight dress. “You really think everyone sees us as losers?”

    “Come on Madeline,” he replied. “We’re never invited to anything. Nobody interacts with us at work unless they need something. We’re the bottom rung. If we didn’t have each other, we’d be sunk.”

    “Yeah,” she reluctantly agreed. “I glad we do have each other though. Do you think people like us can just change?”

    “No.” He laughed once, dryly. “But we say we will. That’s what New Year’s is for, right? Empty promises.”

    She smiled. “Okay. Let’s promise. One last time.”

    James turned toward her. “Deal.”

    They held out their pinkies. Dorky, yeah. But it was their thing.

    “This is our year,” he said.

    “No more waiting. No more being scared,” she said.

    “No more being passive,” he added.

    “No more being ignored,” she finished.

    They linked pinkies. Cold skin against cold skin as the rest of the town celebrated 2026.

    Madeline – January 1st, 2026 – 9:14 AM

    Madeline groaned as her head throbbed.

    She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling, blinking slowly. Her brain felt… tight. Like a pressure behind her forehead that wouldn’t go away.

    Did I even drink that much?

    She barely remembered having a couple of sugary cocktails at the festival. She’d let James finish his fast, like usual. He always drank more vigorously. She just liked to watch people and sip on hers.

    Still, her mouth was dry and her head was heavy. She thought back to the night before. To hanging out with James while everyone around them had a good time.

    What kind of loser gets dressed up just to stand around like a scared little girl?

    She winced. Where did that come from?

    She sat up slowly, rubbing her temple.

    You looked pathetic in that dress.

    It echoed inside her head, slick and sharp. Cruel, almost. It was her own voice, but not. 

    And James looked even worse.

    “What the hell?” she whispered, hugging her knees to her chest. Her head still pounded. Maybe this was a weird hangover spiral of self doubt.

    She reached for her phone and saw a missed call from James.

    Let him panic. You’ve carried him long enough.

    She almost laughed. Jesus, what is wrong with me?

    But she didn’t call him back. Instead, she let herself lie back against the pillows, one arm over her face. Her mind still buzzing.

    It’s always been like this, hasn’t it? You’re the one who puts in effort. You’re the one who worries. James just drags along behind you, waiting for someone else to make him feel like a man.

    She squeezed her eyes shut.

    You don’t need him. You don’t need anyone.

    The thought was cold, but not entirely wrong.

    And it kind of felt good.

    It felt… deserved.

    James – January 1st, 2026 – 9:58 AM

    “Come on, come on, pick up…”

    James lowered the phone from his ear. His thumb hovered over the call button again, but he didn’t press it.

    He was breathing fast and his heart was hammering in his chest. Because there was no mistaking it anymore.

    He looked down.

    The tank top clung to small but soft curves he didn’t have yesterday. His nipples were swollen and sensitive and poked through the fabric. Even his legs seemed longer. 

    “Fuck,” he hissed, pacing through the living room again, phone still clutched in one hand. The hardwood was cold beneath his bare feet.

    He caught his reflection in the dark TV screen and froze.

    His hair was longer than it had been an hour ago. Blonde streaks were forming near the tips, the color slowly bleeding in. His jawline was softer. His lips were rounder.

    He turned away. Couldn’t look.

    “What the hell is happening to me?”

    He ran both hands through his thick, unfamiliar hair and winced. His fingers tangled near the roots, where it had grown heavier. He stumbled toward the hallway mirror.

    “I can’t… I’m not…” His voice cracked. He tried again. “I’m not supposed to look like this.”

    The voice that came out was softer than before. It was still his, but melting into something higher and breathier.

    He looked down and watched, actually watched, his waist cinching in. It pulled tighter as his hips subtly rolled outward. His ass rounded, pushing back against the fabric of his sleep shorts. His posture shifted, his spine arching without thinking about it.

    He stumbled back from the mirror, one hand on the wall to keep steady. Every movement felt off and foreign.

    A tingling spread up his thighs, heat pooling at the base of his spine.

    Don’t cry. Don’t fucking cry.

    His phone buzzed. It was Madeline, finally.

    Her voice was snarky. “What’s up fucker?”

    “Madeline?” he said, surprised at her greeting.

    Madeline – January 1st, 2026 – 10:00 AM

    “What’s up, fucker?”

    There was a beat of silence on the line.

    “Madeline?” James said, small and uncertain, like he wasn’t sure he was talking to the right person.

    Why did I say that? Why did that feel… kind of good?

    “What, did you expect me to answer with ‘good morning, sunshine’?” she said, before she could stop herself. “It’s early and my head feels like it’s trying to kill me.”

    “I…” he swallowed audibly. “Something’s wrong. I think something happened to us last night.”

    Her grip tightened around the phone.

    Okay. So it’s not just me.

    “…Us?” she repeated.

    “Yes, us. I’m changing, Madeline. Like, physically. Right now. My hair is getting longer and my body is…” There was a brief pause. “I don’t know what’s happening and I need you to come over. Please.”

    Oh god. Oh god. He sounds terrified.

    She opened her mouth to say okay, to tell him she’d be there, that she’d figure this out with him like always.

    Instead, what came out was, “Are you sure you’re not just freaking out over nothing?”

    Why did I say that?

    “No,” James said quickly. “I know this sounds crazy, but I’m not imagining this. My chest hurts. My clothes don’t fit right. I don’t look like me.”

    Her heart started racing.

    He’s not lying. He wouldn’t lie about this.

    Then why did her next thought feel so… different?

    God, he’s always like this. Always falling apart and expecting you to hold him together.

    “Wow,” she heard herself say. “Okay. So you’re having, what, some kind of panic attack?”

    “Why are you talking to me like this?” he asked quietly.

    Because I don’t know what’s happening to me and I’m scared and I can’t control what I’m saying.

    “Like what?” she snapped instead.

    “Like I’m stupid. Or dramatic. Or…”

    “Or like I don’t have the energy to babysit you through every little crisis?” she cut in, the words sharp and fast and way too easy.

    That was cruel. Why can’t I control what I’m saying.

    “I’m not asking you to babysit me,” James said. “I’m scared.”

    He said scared. He said it out loud. He trusts you.

    “Don’t be a pussy,” she shot back. “It kind of sounds like you expect me to drop everything the second you start spiraling.”

    Stop. Stop. This isn’t you.

    “I thought we were in this together,” he said.

    Her chest tightened painfully.

    We are. We are, we are, we…

    “Remember our words from last night?” she asked. “To stop being afraid. To stop being passive. To actually take charge of our lives.”

    “Yeah,” he said quietly.

    “So maybe instead of calling me to freak out,” she continued, “you should try handling your own shit for once.”

    That’s not fair. You know that’s not fair. Why are you pushing him away? Say you’ll go. Say it. Get dressed. Go to him.

    Instead, she exhaled slowly. “Look, I’ve got stuff going on too, okay? I woke up feeling like crap and now you’re dumping this on me like I’m supposed to fix it.”

    “I’m not asking you to fix it. I just…”

    “Just what?” she snapped. “Want me to tell you everything’s going to be okay?”

    He didn’t answer.

    “I’ll come by later,” she said. “Maybe. When I’ve had coffee and a shower and a minute to not deal with your meltdown.”

    Later? Why are you saying later?

    His voice was barely audible. “Later?”

    “Yes, later. You’re not dying, James.”

    I don’t know that. I don’t know anything right now.

    “Okay,” he said.

    “Good,” she replied. “Try not to freak out too much in the meantime.”

    She hung up before he could say anything else.

    Madeline stared at her phone, heart racing, stomach twisted into knots.

    What did I just do?

    For a moment, guilt flooded in. Then another thought slid in right behind it.

    He needs to grow up eventually.

    And that thought didn’t feel guilty at all.

    James – January 1st, 2026 – 10:34 AM

    He sat on the floor of his bathroom, legs splayed in front of him, back against the tub. Breathing shallow. 

    His hands trembled as he touched his expanding chest. His nipples were hard and incredibly sensitive, brushing against the thin fabric of his stretched-out tank top.

    He let out a soft whimper.

    The sound that escaped his throat wasn’t his anymore.

    His legs were smooth. His thighs had filled in, rubbing when he shifted. His hips were wider now, visibly so, forcing his shorts to ride up his ass. His waist had drawn in so tight that the rest of him looked almost cartoonish.

    He pushed himself upright, gripping the edge of the sink with dainty, unfamiliar fingers. His arms looked smaller. His hair fell into his face as he leaned forward, brushing against his collarbone.

    The girl in the mirror blinked back at him. Her lips were parted. 

    “Stop,” he whispered, like it would help. “Please, just… stop.”

    January 1st, 2026 – 1:23 PM

    Maddie tapped her heel twice against the concrete and sighed as she stood outside of James’ front door.

    “I forgot how sad this place is,” she muttered, arms crossed tightly over her chest, phone dangling from one hand. Her pink dress hugged every inch of her curves, cut high on the thigh, skin exposed through the strappy sides. Her long dark hair cascaded over one shoulder, shiny and styled to perfection.

    She looked like she belonged somewhere better.

    I shouldn’t have come.

    She glanced at the front door again. Maddie rolled her eyes and banged loud and impatiently against it.

    “James! Open the damn door! If you made me get ready for this just to stand around your dumpy little apartment….”

    The door creaked open.

    And James stood there. Kind of.

    This person filled the doorway in a way James never had. She was taller, curvier, a full chest pressed awkwardly beneath a stretched top. Her blonde hair hung down in wet waves, still messy, like she hadn’t figured out how to manage it. Her sparkly nude top and skirt clung to her figure, but the way she stood, like she wanted to disappear, undermined the effect.

    Maddie smirked. “Well, shit. Look at you.”

    “It’s about time you showed up,” she said. “And I didn’t have anything else to wear. All my stuff just kind of changed.”

    Maddie strutted in without waiting, her heels clicking hard against the cheap flooring. She looked around with a wrinkle of her nose.

    “God. This place,” she muttered, flipping her hair over one shoulder.

    Jamie closed the door and crossed her arms, which only pushed her new chest up even more.

    “You could’ve at least dried your hair,” Maddie said flatly.

    “You could’ve stayed home,” Jamie shot back, though her voice lacked real heat.

    Maddie turned, hands on her hips. “And miss seeing this disaster in person?”

    Jamie rolled her eyes. “So glad your ego made the trip. What happened to us?”

    Maddie stepped forward, slow, heels sharp against the floor. Jamie didn’t move.

    “What happened,” Maddie said, “is we made a resolution.”

    Jamie’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, and I thought it meant maybe speaking up more. Not turning into Barbie’s evil stepsister.”

    Maddie smirked. “You think this is evil?”

    Jamie bit her lip. She didn’t answer.

    Maddie stepped in close, pressing one finger under Jamie’s chin and tilting it up. Their faces were inches apart now.

    “You’re not James anymore,” she whispered. “So stop acting like you’re scared of your own shadow.”

    Jamie met her eyes. “I’m not scared.”

    Maddie smiled wider. “That’s cute.”

    Jamie’s tone dipped, low and dry. “You’re welcome.”

    They stayed like that for a beat. The two beautiful, bitchy silhouettes facing off.

    “Whatever, bitch,” Maddie conceded. “Lets get out of here.”

    Jamie didn’t move.

    Maddie turned at the door, hand on her hip. “Well?”

    Jamie arched a brow. “Well what?”

    “We’re going out,” Maddie said, like it was obvious. “You and me.”

    Jamie gave her a skeptical look. “Out out?”

    Maddie rolled her eyes. “Yes, out out. Like fun, drunk, get laid kind of out. Maybe not in that order.”

    Jamie blinked. “Wow. Subtle.”

    Maddie smiled. “I don’t do subtle.”

    Jamie crossed her arms again, trying not to smirk. “What if I say no?”

    Maddie tilted her head, slow and smug. “You won’t.”

    Jamie hesitated, chewing her lip. Then she sighed. “Fine. But I’m not wearing anything that shows my ass.”

    Maddie was already walking toward the door. “Oh honey,” she said over her shoulder, “your ass is the outfit.”

    Jamie groaned. “Bitch.”

    Maddie grinned. “You’re learning.”

    December 31st, 2026 – 11:58 PM

    The champagne was cold, the lights were hot, and all eyes were on them.

    Maddie leaned into Jamie’s side as they posed for yet another photo, their arms around each other, heels clicking as they shifted to show off their perfect curves.

    Jamie’s black dress clung to her like it was painted on, her tits practically spilling over the laced-up center, long blonde hair cascading over one shoulder like some kind of Instagram wet dream. And Maddie? She didn’t need a mirror to know she looked fucking incredible. Her red sequined dress caught every flicker of light, especially with the side slits running all the way up to her hips. One smirk from her and guys would trip over themselves to refill her glass.

    “Three minutes,” Jamie whispered, biting her glossed lip, eyes glittering with champagne and mischief.

    Maddie didn’t look at the countdown. She looked at her best friend. “You think anyone here knows we used to be nobodies?”

    Jamie giggled. “If they did, they’d never believe it.”

    Maddie swirled the glass in her hand. “Remember last year? That sad little town square, standing around in those ugly-ass clothes, pretending we belonged?”

    Jamie rolled her eyes. “Ugh. I try not to.”

    “God, we were pathetic.”

    “And now,” Jamie purred, “we’re everything.”

    The crowd started to chant: Ten, nine, eight…

    Maddie turned toward the center of the room, raising her glass. Men watched her. Girls envied her. This was their night. Their year.

    “Seven, six…”

    She felt Jamie’s hand slide to the small of her back, possessive, familiar.

    “Five, four…”

    Another flash went off. Another photo. Another perfect memory.

    “Three, two…”

    Maddie turned, lips brushing Jamie’s cheek.

    “One!”

    The room exploded into cheers and confetti. Couples kissed. Corks popped.

    And in the middle of it all, two bitches—drunk, perfect, untouchable—clinked glasses with matching smirks.

    “To 2027,” Maddie said.

    “To us,” Jamie replied.

    They drank.

    They owned the room.

    And this time, they didn’t make any resolutions.

    They didn’t need to.

  • What He Wants

    What He Wants

    The hallway light flickered above Amy’s door just as she stepped out with her trash. She kept her head down, hoping she wouldn’t run into anyone. 

    But the universe was cruel like that.

    “Hey, Amy,” JM called, locking his door just across the hall. His backpack was slung over one shoulder, and he had that easy smile on his face. The one that made her insides twist.

    She froze, halfway to the stairwell, fingers tightening on the drawstring of the trash bag. “Hey,” she said quickly, barely glancing up.

    He didn’t seem to notice her awkwardness. Or if he did, he was too polite to say anything.

    He gave a small wave. “You doing okay? Haven’t seen you much.”

    She nodded. “Yeah. Just… busy.”

    “Cool, yeah. Same here,” he said, shifting the strap on his shoulder.

    Amy blinked. There was a flicker where she felt herself opening her mouth. Where she almost said something about how she felt about him. But the words caught in her throat, snagged on every buried insecurity she’d wrapped around herself.

    Instead, he flashed his warm, kind smile and turned to head down the stairs.

    Her heart was still racing when the door clicked shut behind her.

    JM laughed at something she said.

    Amy couldn’t hear it, but she didn’t need to. Ryliegh, or whatever Barbie name the new girl had, flipped her ponytail and pressed one toned arm against his bicep. To Amy it looked like a rehearsed motion. One Rylee (or Ryleigh or Rylei or whoever) had practiced in a mirror dozens of times.

    JM didn’t even flinch. He smiled, sure, but didn’t lean into it. He just kept standing there, steady and patient like always. That made Amy swoon even harder.

    He had that quiet, Midwest thing going on. Like he belonged more on a tractor than in this concrete parking lot. Dirty blond hair, always a little messy but never unkempt. Square jaw, cleft chin, light stubble that he probably shaved off every other day with some no-nonsense drugstore razor. Tall, broad-shouldered, with arms that looked like they’d hauled hay bales and engine parts before they ever touched a dumbbell. And when he smiled—God, when he smiled—it was warm and honest. Like he hadn’t a clue how rare that was.

    Amy stood there staring through the curtain like a ghost.

    Rylei (ugh) was being more overt now, reaching up and tugging gently at JM’s sleeve.

    He’s not yours. He doesn’t even know you. You just got here and I’ve been here all along.

    She turned from the window, heart thudding. It was always girls like Rylee that got guys like JM. And Amy had been here all along, but never actually did anything to get noticed by JM.

    Amy stood frozen for a few seconds more. Then she saw JM was heading inside. He gave Ryleigh a wave and jogged up the stairs, those long, work-hardened legs moving two steps at a time. 

    He’s coming up.

    Her hand slid instinctively to the pocket of her sweater. Her fingers wrapped around the small, polished stone tucked deep inside.

    She hadn’t told anyone about it. Not that anyone would’ve believed her.

    She’d found it two weeks ago at that grimy resale shop on Vine, the one that always looked like it should’ve been condemned. The woman behind the counter hadn’t spoken much, but she’d slid the stone across the glass with a look that stuck with Amy. A look that said yes, it works, but only if you mean it.

    Amy had meant it.

    She’d gone home, clutched the stone tight in both hands, and whispered the words.

    “I wish I was his perfect girlfriend.”

    She shut the curtain and stepped back. Her hand stayed buried in her pocket, wrapped tight around the stone. It felt warmer than she remembered. She pulled it out slowly.

    She told herself it was probably nothing. The kind of thing people make up when they feel anxious. She set the stone down carefully on the counter and stared at it for a long second.

    I was clear. I said what I wanted. His perfect girlfriend. That’s all I asked for. That’s all I wanted.

    Amy ran her hands over her arms, suddenly aware of how her sweater clung tighter around her shoulders. The sleeves didn’t reach her palms like they used to. The neckline felt stretched, pulled.

    She stepped toward the hallway mirror and looked at herself.  Was something happening?

    Her hair looked darker, but maybe it was just the morning light. Did her lips look fuller? Even if just slightly? It might’ve been the way she was biting the inside of one, unsure.

    She kept staring at herself, willing it to be real. Did her skin look smoother?  Was it paler? That part she couldn’t explain. JM liked tanned, blonde Rhylee’s.  Why would she be getting paler?

    No. This isn’t…this isn’t what I asked for.

    Her fingers flew back to the stone. Now she knew something was working because it was hot to the touch. 

    The stone hadn’t misfired. But something about the result was wrong.

    She stepped back from the mirror, heart thudding. Her hands ran down her sides, half-expecting the fabric of her sweater to calm her nerves, but it didn’t fit right.

    It clung tighter than it should’ve across her chest and along her back. Her sleeves felt stretched, bunched around her elbows. She tugged them down, but the material barely reached.

    She winced as a pinch of heat behind her hips, low and deep, like a cramp. It twisted once, then spread like an ache blooming outward, reshaping her from the inside. She gasped and clutched the counter.

    Then her thighs tightened as the pale skin under her sweatpants grew smoother, firmer, and fuller. A sharp line of definition carved itself along her outer thighs as her calves flexed subtly, like she’d just finished a dozen squats. 

    She could barely breathe.

    “What the hell,” she started.

    Her voice was lower and rougher. 

    She swallowed hard and tried again. “What the fuck is going on…”

    That wasn’t how she talked. And the way she said it was low, breathy, and impatient. It didn’t sound like her.

    “I just wanted to be his girlfriend,” she muttered, gripping the sink again. “Not whatever the fuck this is.”

    Why did I say it like that?

    Another pulse ran down her spine. Her back arched, involuntary. Her ass filled out behind her, stretching the waistband of her pants as the fabric cinched higher on her thighs. Her shoulders rolled back as her posture shifted. She wasn’t slouching anymore.

    She stared at herself in the mirror.

    Her cheeks looked sharper now. Her lips were still fuller. And her hair was definitely darker. 

    Her tongue moved on instinct. “This is so fucked.”

    She slapped a hand over her mouth.

    Amy stumbled back from the mirror, breathing fast.

    Her thighs were thicker and her hips were wider. Her waist was tighter than it had ever been, cinched in like she’d been wearing a corset for weeks. But it wasn’t just that. Her stance had changed. Her shoulders were rolled back. Her arms hung looser, less guarded. Her chest pushed forward without even trying.

    Too much. That was all she could think.

    “This isn’t it,” she whispered. “This isn’t what he likes.”

    She ran a hand through her hair, hoping for reassurance. It wasn’t sun-kissed or soft or even cute, it was black. Dark and falling in sharp, messy waves that didn’t care what anyone thought.

    “He likes Rylee,” she muttered, turning side to side in front of the mirror. “Tight shirts, short shorts, tan skin, big fake smile. That’s what he wants.”

    But her shirt was already changing.

    She watched the sweater shrink, pulling tighter across her chest, the neckline sinking lower. Threadbare cotton thinned until it hugged every curve, until it didn’t even look like her sweater anymore.

    Block letters stretched across her chest spelling out ‘DEFTONES’.

    Her mouth opened, stunned.

    “No, no, no,” she muttered, pulling at the fabric, trying to cover herself. “This is wrong. This is all wrong. He doesn’t want this.”

    Another jolt hit her spine, dragging her upright. Her back arched. Her feet popped onto their toes.

    “Shit!”

    Her boots slammed down, heavy and laced, the metal eyelets shining in the light. She hadn’t put them on. They’d appeared the same way her stockings had, now torn and sheer and held in place by tight, black garters that hadn’t been there a second ago.

    She backed into the wall, eyes wide.

    “JM doesn’t want some goth bitch in fuck-me boots. That’s not his thing. That’s not…” she caught herself, breathing hard. “This isn’t sexy to him. This isn’t what he likes.”

    She pressed both palms against the wall. Her body was trembling. A sharp sting bloomed across her right shoulder blade.

    Amy cried out and twisted, trying to look over her shoulder. The skin burned, like something pressed hot metal into her flesh. When she reached back to touch it, her fingers came away dry.

    She turned to the mirror again and gasped. She had a tattoo. Ink-black and vivid thorns twisted through roses, sharp and aggressive, curling down toward her bicep. It looked like it had always been there.

    “Oh my God,” she whispered, touching the edge of it. “No. No, no, no. This is not what he likes. JM doesn’t like inked-up girls. He likes clean, soft, cute…”

    Another sting, this time across her ribs.

    She spun, grabbing the hem of her shirt, it was a tank top and not her sweater, pulling it up just high enough to see a second tattoo bleeding through her skin. This one was more abstract with circles around a single, vertical eye etched in black.

    It looked… amazing.

    Like something out of an album cover. Like something bold and artistic and unapologetic. Her fingers hovered just above it. She didn’t touch, just admired it.

    It’s fucking bad-ass.

    The word popped into her head like it.

    No. That’s not me. That’s not a word I say.

    She forced her shirt back down and backed away from the mirror, shaking her head.

    “You’re just… you’re just reacting to the rush,” she told herself, even though she didn’t believe it. “It’s adrenaline. That’s all. That’s why it feels good. That’s not me thinking that.”

    Another tattoo surfaced across her forearm. This time it was bold, Latin script. She didn’t even need to read it to know it fit.

    “Stop it,” she hissed to the mirror. “You don’t like this. You don’t like this. JM won’t like this. He’ll think you’re… some crazy, edgy bitch.”

    She cut herself off. Because even as she said it, her tongue caught on the word “bitch,” and didn’t flinch.

    The word settled in her head.

    Bitch.

    She turned back to the mirror and stood in front of it. 

    Her eyes were sharp and focused. Her lips had that slight part, like she was seconds from either saying something cruel or kissing someone senseless.

    Her fingers ran along the hem of her tank. She adjusted it, tugging the curve of it tighter against her waist.

    The girl staring back didn’t look scared. She looked hot.

    The fuck-me boots. The garters. The smudged black lashes. The ink licking across her skin. It all worked. It all belonged.

    No, she tried to tell herself. This isn’t me. This is what JM hates.

    But a voice deep inside her, amused, whispered back. 

    Then he’s a fucking idiot.

    That was new.

    She turned to the side. Let one hand slide down over her hip. Her ass looked amazing. It was firm and round. Her thighs were thick and framed by torn sheer black leggings. She looked like she could kick in a few skulls.

    “Holy shit,” she breathed, voice low. “I’d fuck me.”

    Then she laughed. The sound made her nipples tighten under the thin tank as something inside her clicked.

    She wasn’t asking for permission anymore. Not from herself. Not from JM. Not from anybody.

    Heavy boots thudded across the floor as she paced once then stopped in front of the mirror one last time. She tugged her hair back into a quick, messy twist, letting a few strands fall loose across her cheek. She looked sexy without asking.

    Then she heard a sound in the hall. It was JM.

    Amy turned toward the door, her breath steady now. She walked to the door, every step a weighty click of her boots on the tile. Her hips swayed and somehow made her tits look amazing in her tight-clung shirt. 

    She opened the door and saw JM standing there, keys in hand, about to unlock his door. He looked up and stared. His mouth was opened slightly.

    She could see the flash in his eyes. It was a look of pure desire.

    He tried to cover it, blinked twice, like he wasn’t sure what he was seeing. But it was there. That flicker. That unmistakable flare that said everything.

    Amy felt it deep within her.

    It worked.

    The spell didn’t make a mistake. All that time wasted thinking he wanted some chirpy blonde in yoga pants when what he really wanted, what he needed, was standing in front of him in heavy boots and ink and fuck-me attitude.

    She tilted her head slightly, letting him look. Letting him see what belonged to him now.

    “Hey,” he said, quietly.

    “Hi, neighbor,” she said amused. “You’ve got great taste.”

    JM didn’t move.

    His eyes were locked on her, like his brain was still catching up to what he was seeing. He was confused and trying to place her. 

    Amy watched him try to speak. Watched the flicker of something behind his eyes.  Was it desire, restraint, respect? It didn’t matter.

    She stepped closer in her thick, spiked boots like she owned the goddamn building.

    “Do I know you?” he asked, uncertain.

    She tilted her head, eyes sharp, lips tugging into a knowing curve.

    “Does it matter?” she said. “You’ve been looking at the wrong kind of girl. I’m what you want. You just didn’t know it yet.”

    He exhaled through his nose, smiling now, slow and a little crooked. His hand tightened on the keys. “You always talk like that?”

    She took another step. The tip of her boot bumped the toe of his shoe. Her breath touched his neck.

    “When I want to,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. 

    JM swallowed hard. She felt the pulse in his throat, watched his chest rise and fall. He didn’t step away. Didn’t question her. He looked at her like he’d been starving for something he didn’t even know he wanted.

    Amy leaned in closer. Lips just shy of his ear.

    “Invite me in.”

    He didn’t even pause.

    “Come in.”

    She smiled, sharp and victorious.

    Amy stepped into his apartment without waiting. 

    His door shut behind them.

    And she didn’t have to wish for anything else ever again.

  • Worn In

    Worn In

    Josh hit the lockers hard enough that a few students down the hall turned their heads. His books scattered across the floor, his glasses slipped halfway down his nose, and his face flushed red. 

    Maddie wanted to intervene, she wanted to move, she wanted to say something. She wanted to do anything but watch him scramble on the ground while Logan Wells leaned against the lockers and grinned like it was all a joke.

    “Careful there, man,” Logan said. His tone was casual and different. “Lockers don’t fight fair.”

    The pack of guys who always seemed to orbit him laughed on cue. Josh muttered something Maddie couldn’t hear as he gathered his books. He shoved everything into his bag and walked away as quickly as he could without breaking into a run.

    Maddie finally gathered her courage. “Asshole,” she shouted down the hall.

    Logan didn’t seem to care. He pushed off the lockers, brushed something off the sleeve of his jacket, and sauntered away laughing with his friends.

    By last period, Maddie was exhausted.  Between her own anxiety and trying to support Josh, the emotional toll had drained her. She cut through the English wing after the final bell, wanting to avoid the crowd at the main entrance and ensure she didn’t have to see Logan. The back hallway was quiet and nearly empty. 

    She walked past the open door of B214 and saw Logan’s jacket hung off the back of a chair. She glanced down both sides of the hallway. No one was there.

    She quickly walked into the room. 

    The jacket’s leather was broken in, shiny at the creases of the elbows, dull at the seams. It had scuffs and faint scratches like it had been through years of wear. She knew Logan loved it.

    “Logan wears it all the time,” she said to herself. “I can take it and ruin it. That’ll get back at him for treating Josh like garbage.”

    Her fingers brushed the sleeve. The leather was cooler than she expected, but still soft. She gripped the collar and lifted it. The smell hit her instantly.

    There was a strong scent of leather and something else. Maybe cologne. She pressed her face a little closer to try and identify it. The scent was stronger there, buried deep in the fabric.  

    She slipped one arm in, then the other. 

    The jacket felt heavy on her shoulders and was big on her, but it felt oddly cozy. She tugged the collar higher, close to her nose, and breathed in the scent again. She forced herself to pull it off and fold it over her arm, but she couldn’t leave it there. She stuffed it into her backpack, zipped it closed, and hurried out of the room.

    That night, she set it on the chair by her bed.

    She stared at it, trying to decide what she should do to the jacket to make Logan suffer. A few ideas came to mind, but every time she imagined carrying them out, something in her hesitated. Cutting it felt too cruel. Dumping it in the trash felt like a waste. She told herself she’d sleep on it and figure something out tomorrow.

    She had a restless night.

    Maddie woke before her alarm. Her room was quiet except for the faint hum of the heater kicking on. She didn’t remember dreaming and still felt tired. She shifted beneath the covers, eyes still adjusting, and turned her head toward the chair where she eyed the jacket.

    She pushed back the covers and sat up slowly, almost on autopilot. She brushed her teeth and showered without thinking. She didn’t bother washing her hair. She wrapped the towel around herself and walked back to her bedroom.

    Walking back into her room, she stopped in front of the chair. She stared at the creases in the old leather of the jacket. She hesitated, then reached down and picked it up.

    She didn’t know why she brought it to her nose, but she did. She told herself she was just trying to figure it out. That was all.  And it still had that intriguing smell.

    She let the towel fall to the floor.

    The jacket slid over her bare shoulders easily. The lining was cool against her damp skin. She pulled it closed and stood in the center of the room for a long time.

    The scent rose around her slowly. It was more noticeable now. She could feel it clinging to her collarbone, seeping into the soft skin under her arms, brushing against her stomach where the zipper touched. 

    Eventually, she snapped out of her revere and slipped the jacket off, setting back on the chair.

    She dressed quickly, threw on her usual jeans and hoodie, and packed up for school. Josh was waiting at the usual corner. He gave her a small smile when he saw her.

    “Morning,” he said.

    She nodded. “Hey.”

    “You didn’t text me last night.”

    “I forgot.”

    He didn’t push it. They walked together in silence for a few blocks. She adjusted the strap on her backpack and glanced at him.

    “I’m still mad about yesterday,” she said. “Logan’s a piece of shit.”

    Josh nodded. “I know.”

    “You should report it.”

    He gave a weak shrug. “I’ve tried. They don’t care.”

    “Then maybe I’ll report it.”

    He smiled again. “Okay. Maybe they’ll listen to you. Thanks.”

    Math class passed slowly. She stared at the board but didn’t retain anything. Her fingers tapped the edge of her notebook. She felt tired and oddly restless. 

    At lunch, she sat next to Josh.

    He handed her an extra granola bar from his bag. “Did you eat breakfast?”

    “Not really.”

    “Here,” he said. “Take it.”

    She unwrapped it without looking at him. Her jaw ached slightly as she chewed. She didn’t feel hungry, but she also didn’t feel full. Everything about her body felt off.

    She kept catching herself drifting. Staring off at nothing. She kept smelling that same scent that was on the jacket.  Like it was on her now.

    Josh was talking. Something about math class. She blinked and realized she hadn’t heard the last few sentences.

    “I’m sorry,” she said. “Can you say that again?”

    He looked concerned. “Are you okay?”

    “Yeah.”

    “You’ve been distant today.”

    “I said I’m fine.”

    “Okay,” he backtracked. “I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

    “You didn’t, but now you kind of are.”

    She got up. 

    “I’ll see you later, okay?”

    “Yeah. Okay,” he replied.

    By the time she got home, she felt ill.  Her skin was flushed and her body was achy. Her head was pounding.

    She threw her bag down and walked straight to her bedroom, closing the door behind her. She quickly stripped off her clothes. They felt damp and restricting.

    Her bedroom was filled with the smell.  It was intoxicating. 

    She grabbed the jacket off the chair and wrapped it around her naked body. The scent filled her lungs, stronger now than ever. She pulled the jacket tight across her chest and stood in front of her mirror, watching her chest rise and fall in slow breaths.

    The pounding in her head went away almost immediately. 

    Her hand ran down the zipper slowly, grabbing the pull tab.  She zipped it up and felt the vibrations against her body.  They echoed through her body sending a shiver down her spine.  She pulled the zipper down and felt the vibrations again, but this time they seemed to centralize on her clit. 

    She didn’t know why this was happening, but it felt really good.

    She pulsed the zipper up and down. Each draw causing more and more pleasure to build within her.  She drew it faster and faster until she felt on the edge of an orgasm.  But she didn’t want this feeling to ever end. So she slowed down, allowing herself to recover for just a few moments.

    She was about to start again when her phone rang.

    “Fuck!” she yelled in frustration. It was Josh.

    She didn’t want to answer it. Her body still felt hot. Her pulse hadn’t come down yet. Her skin itched under the jacket in a way that made her want to touch herself again, right there on the floor. But the phone kept buzzing. She hesitated, then swiped to answer and pressed it to her ear.

    “What?”

    There was a pause on the other end.

    “Hey,” Josh said, his voice softer than usual. “Are you okay?”

    “I’m fine.”

    “You sound… weird.”

    She sat down on the edge of her bed, the jacket unzipped exposing her body to the empty room. Her bare legs were pressed together tightly. She stared down at the floor.

    “I said I’m fine. What do you want?”

    Another pause. “Nothing. I just… I was worried about you. You seemed kinda off at lunch.”

    She rubbed her thumb along the seam of the sleeve.

    “I was tired,” she finally said.

    “Okay. Yeah. That makes sense. You’ve had a rough week.”

    Maddie sighed. “Josh, is there a point to this?”

    “Yeah,” he replied. “I’m kind of downstairs. I wanted to surprise you.”

    “You’re what?”

    “Is that okay? You usually don’t mind.”

    Maddie’s brain was in overdrive. She was on the verge of an orgasm wearing Logan’s jacket. Now her boyfriend is downstairs. 

    “No,” she stammered. “I mean, yes, it’s fine. I’ll be right down. Just a sec.”

    Maddie ended the call, her heart pounding harder now than before. 

    “Fuck,” she whispered.

    She yanked the jacket from her shoulders and tossed it under the bed.  For good measure grabbed a blanket and threw it over the jacket, hiding it in a messy lump.

    Her hoodie was inside-out when she pulled it over her head, and she had to wrestle it straight while her pulse raced in her ears. She almost fell trying to jam her foot through her leggings. She didn’t bother with socks. She didn’t bother with underwear either. She just needed to look normal.

    Her hair was damp with sweat and she ran a hand through it and tried to pat it into place. She looked in the mirror. Her cheeks were red. Her lips looked fuller, parted slightly. 

    “Good enough,” she said to herself and headed downstairs.

    Josh was standing in the entryway with a plastic bag of snacks and two sodas. He smiled when he saw her.

    “Hey. Sorry if I scared you,” he said. “I just thought… you know, we could hang out. Maybe take your mind off everything.”

    Maddie felt on edge but tried to calm herself down. 

    “Yeah. That’s fine.”

    “You okay?” He tilted his head, studying her face. “You look kind of flushed.”

    “Do I? I guess I just ran down the stairs.” Her voice was flat. 

    Josh nodded slowly. He set the bag on the coffee table and pulled out the sodas. “I got the lemon one you like. And, uh, chips. I figured we could watch something.”

    Maddie crossed her arms, her nails digging into her sleeves. The jacket’s phantom weight still clung to her shoulders, her chest. She could still feel where the zipper had buzzed against her clit. Her thighs pressed tighter together.

    Josh cracked open his soda and sat on the couch, patting the cushion next to him. “Come here.”

    She hesitated. For a split second, she thought about bolting back upstairs. About pulling the jacket out from under the blanket and sinking into it until Josh was gone.

    Instead, she forced herself forward and sat down stiffly beside him.

    Josh smiled again, but it faded quickly. “You’re tense,” he said softly. “Really tense. Did something happen?”

    She chewed her lip. She wanted him to shut up. She wanted him to leave. She wanted the jacket back on her skin.

    “I told you I’m fine,” she said, sharper than she meant to.

    Josh flinched, then nodded. “Okay. Sorry.”

    The soda hissed in her hand as she twisted the cap off. She took a long sip and stared at the TV, not even registering what was on the screen.

    Josh leaned back, trying to look relaxed. “I just wanted to spend time with you.”

    Maddie didn’t respond right away.

    She stared blankly at the TV screen. Her soda was cold in her hand, condensation gathering between her fingers. The taste sat on her tongue without much flavor. Her heartbeat had slowed, but her chest still felt tight. Her thighs still ached. The scent wasn’t as strong down here, but it hadn’t gone away. She could feel it, even now as a whisper along her skin, a pressure low in her stomach.

    She looked over at Josh.

    He was quiet. He wasn’t looking at her now. His posture had shifted. He looked unsure of himself. His thumb ran along the rim of his soda bottle. He was trying. He always tried. He didn’t deserve how cold she’d been.

    He’s not the problem, she thought.

    Maddie took a breath. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ve been acting like a bitch.”

    Josh looked up, surprised.  Maddie didn’t usually talk that way.

    “It’s, umm, okay,” he replied.

    She set the soda down and turned toward him. Her leg pressed lightly against his.

    She shifted closer, slid one leg across his lap, and climbed onto him, straddling his thighs. His eyes widened. His hands instinctively went to her hips, like he wasn’t sure if this was okay.

    “Maddie?”

    She leaned in and kissed him.

    It was soft at first, slow. Her lips met his like she needed something steady, something familiar to hold onto. Josh kissed her back hesitantly, then with more confidence. His hands tightened around her sides. She moved into him more fully, her arms wrapping around his neck.

    The heat in her body seemed to surge. But it was different now. It wasn’t the raw, electric pulse she felt in the jacket. It was muted. Gentler. It lacked the edge, the sharpness, but there was something comforting about it too. 

    Josh kissed her again, a little deeper this time.

    Her hips rolled forward, just slightly, and felt his hard on pressing against his pants.  She ground herself on top of it for a few moments.

    Then she stopped. It should feel good. But it was like she couldn’t feel anything.  

    She kissed him again, trying to find the thread, trying to convince herself this was enough.  She pulled down his pants and her leggings.  Desperate to find that feeling.  He slid inside of her and started pumping his dick into her.  

    They weren’t virgins, but also they weren’t the most experienced either.  But this just felt off. She could feel him, yes, but not in the way she’d felt it upstairs. Not like that. It was like it was muted with Josh, when the jacket was electric.

    Josh called out her name as his pace quickened. Within a few moments, he had spent his load inside of her.  He withdrew and laid next to her, panting with exhaustion.

    Josh smiled up at her, his cheeks still pink, a bead of sweat on his brow. He looked content and a little proud of himself. 

    Maddie laid beside him on the couch, staring at the ceiling. She was still half-naked with her hoodie pushed up under her arms and leggings twisted around one ankle. Her thighs were sticky from him cum. 

    That was supposed to help, but the dull throb between her legs had never peaked. The pressure hadn’t released. 

    Josh rolled onto his side and reached for her hand. “You’re amazing,” he said softly.

    She forced a smile and turned to face him. “That was… yeah.”

    “You okay?”

    “I’m good,” she lied.

    He leaned in to kiss her again, slower this time, tender. She let him. His hand drifted across her stomach and up to her breasts. Her body didn’t react. 

    She pulled back gently. “Hey… actually, I should probably get cleaned up.”

    “Oh. Yeah. Of course.”

    He sat up, fumbling for his pants. She rolled off the couch and pulled her leggings up quickly, adjusting her hoodie.

    “Do you want me to stay?” he asked.

    She hesitated. “Honestly? I’ve got a ton of homework I’ve been putting off. I wasn’t really expecting company.”

    Josh gave a half-smile. “Right. Got it. Surprise visit and all.”

    “It’s not that I don’t want you here,” she added, already walking toward the door. “I just… you know. I’m behind.”

    He nodded. “Okay. Yeah. No problem.”

    She held the door open for him. He stepped out, turning to give her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Text me later?”

    “Yeah,” she said. “I will.”

    He lingered for a second, then turned and headed down the steps. She closed the door behind him and leaned back against it, her eyes fluttering shut.

    “God, I’m still so fucking horny,” she said to herself.

    She bounded up the stairs and into her bedroom. She quickly pulled the jacket out from under the bed and put it against her nose. She took a deep breath and just lingered in the scent. It was so warm and comforting.

    She pulled off her clothes and put the jacket back on. It just felt so right against her naked skin.

    Moments later, she had the biggest orgasm of her life.

    She pulled the zipper up and laid on her bed, it clung to her like a second skin. She quickly fell asleep with the jacket on and her hand between her thighs  She dozed in and out through the night. 

    By morning, her sheets were damp with sweat and her skin felt flushed again. Her nipples ached and her body was sore. She pushed the blanket off and sat up slowly. The jacket creaked as she moved. It was still zipped all the way up.

    She unzipped it, and a wave of warmth rolled off her chest. The scent hit her hard and she shivered.

    She stood up, turned toward the mirror. She looked different. Not by much, but it was there. Her stomach looked tighter. Her hips had more of a curve. She touched her cheek. Her lips looked fuller. Her breasts looked… rounder.

    She pulled the jacket back on without thinking.

    She didn’t care what she wore under it. She didn’t even try very hard. She tugged on a pair of leggings, black and snug, and a dark crop top that didn’t reach her navel. The jacket stayed zipped halfway, perfectly shaped around her chest. She brushed her hair but left it mostly as-is. 

    The air felt cool outside, but she didn’t feel it. The jacket kept her warm and cozy.

    At school, she walked through the side entrance instead of meeting Josh. She didn’t even text him. She just didn’t feel like talking to him.

    Her boots clicked a little louder than her sneakers ever had. The sound followed her down the hallway.

    She got a few looks. She felt seen. 

    When she passed by the mirror in the east stairwell, she stopped and pulled out her phone, taking a quick photo.

    She smiled a little when she saw it.

    She pulled her attention away from the image and saw Logan coming towards her. His eyes dropped to the jacket.

    “That mine?” he asked.

    Maddie’s breath caught in her throat. “I…”

    “You took it?” he said, cutting her off. 

    She hesitated and instinctively wrapped her arms around herself as if to prevent the jacket from being taken away.

    Logan stepped in close, his voice low. “I was gonna come back for it. Thought maybe some loser stole it for fun. Guess I was wrong.”

    “I didn’t…” she started.

    “Don’t care,” he said. “You’re wearing it now.”

    He was so close to her. Then she realized it as the scent hit her again. It wasn’t just the smell of the leather, it was him. That was the scent. That’s what she’d been inhaling. Logan.

    He smirked. “Looks good on you. Little tight around the tits, but whatever.”

    She forced herself to scoff. “You’re disgusting.”

    He just smiled wider. “Maybe, but you like it.”

    She stepped back. “You’re full of yourself.”

    “I’m not wrong.”

    “You’re an asshole.”

    He shrugged. “And you’re mine now.”

    Maddie opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

    The hallway felt quiet. Her heart was pounding. She wanted to shove him. She wanted to scream. She wanted to rip the jacket off and throw it at him. But she didn’t. She didn’t move.

    Logan leaned in just a little more, his breath brushing her ear. “Keep it,” he whispered. “It suits you.”

    Then he walked past her like it was nothing.

    She stood there for a long moment. Her hands were shaking. Her thighs clenched together without thinking. She squeezed her eyes shut and took a slow breath.

    He was wrong.

    He was a dick.

    He didn’t own her.

    He knows.

    The courtyard tables behind the student union were packed with people. Maddie sat across from Josh, barely picking at her salad. The jacket was zipped halfway up. Her fingers kept brushing the inside of the sleeve. It was too warm to be wearing it, but she didn’t care.

    Josh was talking about a podcast now. Something about media literacy. She nodded, pretending to listen. Her thighs shifted under the table. She couldn’t stop thinking about Logan’s breath at her neck.

    “…so they brought on this guest who completely dismantled the topic, point by point. Super smart guy. You’d probably like him.”

    Maddie was lost in her own thoughts.

    Josh sipped from his water bottle. “Everything okay?”

    “Yeah. I’m just…”

    “Hey there.”

    Maddie looked up and saw Logan.  He stood on the opposite side of the table, hands in his pockets, sunglasses pushed up into his hair. He looked calm and even friendly.

    Josh blinked. “Uh… hey?”

    Logan smiled. “Didn’t mean to interrupt. Just noticed the jacket and it looks good on you.”

    Maddie narrowed her eyes, knowing that Logan was playing a game.

    Josh glanced between them. “You gave it to her?”

    Logan shrugged. “Didn’t really give it to her. But she made it hers. And honestly…” His eyes moved over her, slow and deliberate. “She wears it so well.”

    “How did you get it, Maddie?” Josh asked.

    “It’s not important,” Logan replied. “Finders keepers.”

    Josh laughed awkwardly. “Huh. That’s, uh… unexpectedly nice of you.”

    Logan looked at Maddie, ignoring Josh. “Well, it’s not every day something finds its proper owner.”

    Maddie picked up on Logan’s double meaning. Maddie’s legs shifted under the bench. She hated how warm she felt. She hated that he wasn’t technically doing anything wrong.

    Logan’s tone was light. “Must feel good, right? Leather like that… it breaks in better the more you wear it. Starts to mold to your body.” 

    Okay,” Maddie said flatly. “You’ve made your point.”

    Josh turned to her. “What point? He was just…”

    “Don’t,” she said, holding up a hand. “I know what he’s doing.”

    Logan raised an eyebrow. “Doing what?”

    She stared at him, jaw tight. “This smug, passive-aggressive shit you pull. Trying to act like you’re just being nice when we both know you’re not.”

    Josh looked back and forth between them. “Seriously? He’s being fine.”

    Maddie stood up. 

    “He’s not, Josh,” she snapped. “You just don’t see it.”

    Maddie’s breath was short and her heart was racing. Being this close to Logan. Smelling him. Standing her ground. It was all so intoxicating.

    Logan held up his hands like he was surrendering. “My bad. Didn’t mean to cause problems. Just thought I’d say hey.”

    “Are you done?” she asked him.

    Logan smiled again. “For now.”

    He turned and walked off, casual as ever.

    Josh watched him go, then looked back at her. “What was that?”

    She didn’t answer. She sat back down slowly, but her body was amped and on edge.

    Josh shook his head. “You kind of went off on him. I mean, I know he’s a dick, but that was… intense.”

    She stabbed at a piece of lettuce with her plastic fork. “Just drop it, Josh. You don’t see what he’s doing.”

    He didn’t answer right away. She could feel him watching her, but she kept her eyes on the tray.

    Her heart still hadn’t slowed down. She was flushed under the jacket. The bench under her felt too hard and cold. She was horny and wet. She squeezed her thighs together again, tighter this time. Her whole body was buzzing.

    Josh took another sip from his bottle, the plastic crinkling. He was quiet and sulking. She didn’t care.

    The scent of the jacket was stronger again. Logan had leaned in so close. She could still smell him in the air and under the leather. It was as if the heat from his skin had sunk into the lining, settled right over her chest. Her nipples were stiff beneath her bra. She shifted in her seat, trying not to make it obvious.

    She needed to be alone. She needed relief.

    The heat building inside her was growing. Crawling under her skin. It was making her impatient. It wasn’t enough just to sit here and pretend everything was normal. She wanted to feel it again, that electric edge she felt when she touched herself wearing the jacket.

    Her hand dipped under the table and rubbed against her need. Just for a second. Just enough to ease the tension.

    Josh didn’t notice. He was still sulking.

    Maddie stood up abruptly.

    “I need to go,” she said, grabbing her bag.

    Josh blinked. “What? Class doesn’t start for…”

    “I said I need to go.”

    She turned and walked away without waiting for a response.

    Maddie slipped away from the noise of campus and found herself behind the old arts building, the place where hardly anyone ever went. 

    Her pulse was still racing from the argument and the way Logan looked at her. It all lingered inside her, heavy as the jacket clinging to her shoulders.

    She tugged the zipper up and inhaled. The scent filled her lungs. It wasn’t enough.

    Her fingers shook as she unzipped it again and peeled it off. She glanced around making sure no one was nearby. Her shirt clung to her skin, damp from sweat. She yanked it over her head and tossed it on the bench. For a moment she just stood there in her bra, the cool air brushing her. Then she took her bra off and she slid the jacket back on.

    The lining kissed her bare skin, and she gasped. The chill vanished instantly, replaced by heat that spread across her chest, down her stomach, over her arms. It was like the jacket was alive, pressing into her, molding to her shape.

    Her breath grew shallow. She could feel her body molding. She welcomed it. 

    At first, it was just a familiar pressure within her.  The pleasure that the jacket seemed to provide her, but then it deepened and spread into a warmth radiating through her chest, her shoulders, her spine. She swore she could feel her skin shifting beneath the lining, like every part of her was subtly rearranging itself.

    Her shoulders rolled back. Her spine straightened. Her balance shifted, heels grounding into the cracked pavement as if her center of gravity had moved. 

    She reached up to brush her hair behind her ear.  She noticed it was getting lighter.  At the same time, she felt the pressure from her fingertips as her nails grew longer and into sharp tips.

    Her nipples hardened as the pressure in her breasts swelled.  She could feel them getting bigger. It sent a wave of pleasure through her.

    She felt a crush of pain as her waist pulled in on itself, getting narrower.  At the same time, her hips pushed outward. 

    She looked down and the jacket was hugging her more tightly now, cinching in along her sides. Her stomach looked flatter. She wasn’t imagining it. Her silhouette had changed. Her figure had become something more sculpted and sexual.

    Her chest rose and fell slowly under the leather. The fabric shifted with her breath, outlining curves that hadn’t looked like this before. She reached up and pressed the lapels of the jacket tighter around her, and the feeling sent a tremble through her ribs.

    She wasn’t scared. She should’ve been, but she wasn’t.

    She pulled out her phone and looked at herself. It was like she was finally seeing the version of herself that had been waiting beneath the surface. Her features looked more striking, her lips slightly fuller, her expression assertive and cold.

    She tilted her head slightly. The girl she’d been wouldn’t recognize the look in her eyes. But Logan would.

    Maddie put her phone away, the sound of the jacket shifting around her shoulders like a second skin. She was more aware of the space she took up and how people might watch her now.

    She gathered her shirt from the bench without putting it back on. Instead she zipped the jacket up against her bare breasts. She liked the way it made her feel.

    The walk home felt different with the jacket now feeling like armor. Where she used to look down and hurry past, she held people’s gazes and watched them rearrange themselves. 

    It was small things: a woman with a tote bag who met her eyes and then adjusted her scarf as if to hide; two guys lingering by the bike racks who fell quiet and pretended to check their phones; a student she recognized from her seminar who offered an awkward half-smile and then looked away, suddenly unsure. They were small and inconsequential and they knew it.

    She moved through the crowd with an economy of motion that seemed to collect attention. Her chin tilted up. Her shoulders set back. She could feel that new posture in her muscles, like a predator easing into a stalk. 

    Near the bus stop, a girl Maddie had studied with last semester called out, casual and friendly. “Maddie! You coming to the study group later?”

    Maddie paused, letting the word hang between them. The girl’s smile faltered.

    “No,” Maddie said, voice low and flat. “I don’t share my time with insects and irrelevants.”

    “We … I mean …”

    Maddie stepped closer to the girl. “You,” she said directly. “Are not worth my time.”

    The girl retreated. 

    By the time she reached the campus perimeter, the new Maddie had settled into her rhythm. She scanned faces not for recognition but for weakness. Where people once offered kindness that she accepted out of habit, she now tested them, prodded for any sign of deference. It was intoxicating to feel how small she could make people feel without lifting a hand.

    Josh stood where he always did near the gate waiting with a hopeful smile that had once made her chest soften. Today it made her chest harden.

    “Hey,” he called, stepping forward as she slowed. “You okay? Lunch was…”

    She watched him come closer. He shuffled his feet as he closed the distance between them. Up close, he still smelled like stale coffee and campus air. It used to be comforting. Now it felt ordinary.

    “You look… different,” he started, tentatively.

    Maddie laughed once, short and a little cruel. “Different,” she repeated. “Is that all you can say?”

    “Is that… bad?” he asked, hurt flaring quickly across his face.

    She let the question hang. Then she leaned in, close enough that he could see the ice in her eyes and the set of her mouth.

    “It’s not that you’re bad,” she said in a tone that made the words land like verdicts. “It’s that you’re small. You always were.”

    Josh swallowed. “I didn’t realize.”

    “You’re pathetic,” she cut him off. “You are not a real man. A real man would claim his woman. You wouldn’t know how.”

    His face collapsed into confusion and then pleading. “What are you talking about?”

    She straightened, taking a breath that felt like a blade. “You’re too stupid to understand.” 

    He searched her face for something familiar, but found nothing. He opened his mouth, closed it, and then looked away.

    Maddie watched him, cataloguing the way his shoulders drooped, the hollow in his cheeks. Seeing him quake and cry was like an elixir to her.  It was almost orgasmic.  She knew now what Logan knew all along.

    She had crossed a line. She couldn’t say she regretted it.

    Maddie sat with one ankle hooked over the opposite knee, her posture easy and deliberate. The leather creaked softly when she shifted. Outside, the evening had that thin, ordinary hush that made indoor sounds feel amplified.

    Her phone was face down on the coffee table. She got tired of all the texts from Josh and had silenced it hours ago. She had decided not to let anyone interrupt the moment she was making for herself.

    The door opened behind her and Logan stepped in without knocking, exactly as she expected. He paused on the threshold, one hand still on the handle, watching her the way he always watched things he thought he owned.

    “Nice place,” he said, voice flat with amusement. “You’ve been busy.”

    Maddie didn’t stand. She draped her arm over the back of the couch and looked at him like she’d been expecting him to arrive any minute. There was a light in her eyes he hadn’t seen before.

    “I waited,” she said calmly. “I wanted to see what you’d be like when you arrived.”

    Logan closed the door and came a few steps closer. He stopped just out of reach, testing the space between them. “So you were waiting for me.”

    “For you.” She said the words without mumbling them. “And now that you’re here, I want you to understand something.”

    He lifted one shoulder, the small gesture that meant he was listening without promising anything.

    She leaned forward a fraction and let the jacket slide down her arms so the leather pooled at her elbows. It was a small show. 

    “I’m yours,” she said. “But don’t ever make me wait again.”

    There was a pause, and for the first time since she’d met him, Logan’s expression had to account for something he hadn’t expected.

    He took another step closer, no longer testing, nearer enough that she could feel the space between them contract. 

    “Fair,” he said finally. “I’ll keep up my end.”

    “Good,” she said, taking in his scent. It sent a rush through her body. 

    “Now,” she continued. “Are you going to stand there all night?  Or are you going to come fuck me until I scream?”

    He gave the littlest of smirks.

    “Just one more thing,” Maddie added.  “The jacket stays on.”

  • NGE

    NGE

    Neural Interface Testing Facility – Synexus Technologies, Tokyo – Six Years Ago

    The emergency lights pulsed red against the sterile white hallway, casting long shadows across the floor. Alarms echoed off the walls, but no one was answering them.

    Three security techs moved quickly down the corridor, boots striking the tile in sync. Each carried a radio and wore a matte gray vest marked INTERNAL RESPONSE. One of them slowed, eyes scanning the scene just ahead.

    “Jesus,” he muttered.

    They’d reached the observation wing. Through the glass walls, the lab was a wreck — overturned chairs, broken monitors, shattered light panels dangling from the ceiling. But it was the bodies that stopped them cold. Two technicians were slumped against a workstation, necks bent at unnatural angles. A third was face-down in a pool of blood near the biometric console.

    “Dispatch, this is Response Team Bravo. Lab B-6 is compromised. Multiple staff down. Looks like a full system breach.”

    His radio crackled in response. “Confirm. Are we dealing with a patient escape?”

    “We’re not sure yet.”

    Another tech stepped forward, checking a nearby terminal. “Power grid’s unstable. Neuro-link dampeners are offline.” He paused. “They tried to shut it down.”

    The third officer was already moving. He pointed toward the end of the hallway. “Door 9-B is open.”

    They followed his lead, stepping over broken glass and scattered files. Just outside the open chamber door sat a small, metal box that was humming faintly. 

    The device’s front plate displayed an active readout:

    Neural Growth Engine – Prototype 4
     BOND COMPLETE
     SUBJECT PROFILE: EMOTIONAL OVERRIDE | DOMINANT-AGGRESSIVE

    One of the techs exhaled sharply. “They actually ran it at full sync. On a live subject.”

    A beat passed in stunned silence. Then the oldest of the three shook his head. “Why the hell were they still testing this thing?”

    “They were trying to accelerate compatibility. Adaptive bonding.” He stared at the readout. “Rewiring identity through proximity, memory triggers, behavioral reinforcement…”

    The older man cut him off. “They were trying to play god.”

    Then, from inside the dark chamber, they heard it.

    A scream tore through the hallway, followed by a crashing sound and the shatter of reinforced glass.

    All three men reached for their weapons and raced towards the sound.

    Shibuya Apartment, Present Day

    The rain had just started tapping against the windowpane when Airi sank into the corner of their tiny loveseat, legs folded beneath her. She had a steaming mug cradled in both hands and her glasses slightly fogged from the heat. The soft hum of Kenji’s soldering iron filled the room from the far side of the apartment.

    “Do you ever take a break?” she asked gently.

    Kenji didn’t look up from the circuit board in front of him. “I will when I get this connection to stop shorting out.”

    Airi smiled behind her mug. She was still in her pajamas and her hair was tucked behind one ear, a little messy, a little perfect. The kind of look that Kenji sometimes stared at longer than he meant to.

    “You say that every night,” she said.

    “That’s because it’s always true.”

    She took a sip of tea. “What are you building this time?”

    Kenji sat back and rubbed his eyes, setting the soldering tool aside. “Something from a junk stall in Akihabara. It’s supposed to be a kind of neural interface. The seller said it could do mood regulation through emotional feedback loops.”

    Airi raised an eyebrow. “And you believed him?”

    “Of course not,” he said. “But the casing was real. Old Synexus build. I figured the hardware might still be useful.”

    “I have no idea what any of that means.”

    He glanced up at her and smiled. “It means it was cheap, broken, and I couldn’t resist.”

    Airi tilted her head. “So… does it work?”

    Kenji shrugged. “No idea. Probably not. I haven’t even powered it on. I’m just trying to fix the board first.”

    She leaned back against the armrest and looked out the window, her tone softer now. “I think it’s sweet.”

    “What is?”

    “That you always want to fix broken things.”

    Kenji hesitated. He looked at her for a moment and took her in. To him she was beautiful. She just didn’t believe it.

    He cleared his throat. “You’re not a broken thing.”

    “I didn’t say I was.”

    “But you were thinking it.”

    She didn’t answer right away. Then, after a pause: “Maybe a little.”

    Kenji stood and crossed the room, sitting beside her. She shifted to make space, resting her head lightly against his shoulder. “I like you the way you are,” he said.

    Airi smiled again, a little sad this time. “Even when I can’t talk to strangers without getting flushed? When I freeze in elevators? When I still get nervous during sex even though we’ve been together for two years?”

    He looked at her lovingly, but didn’t respond.

    “I just wonder sometimes what it would feel like,” she said, “to be different.”

    Kenji looked down at her. “Different how?”

    She shrugged. “I don’t know. Just not so anxious all the time. More confident.”

    She pulled her legs closer, the mug now resting in her lap.

    Kenji placed a hand gently over hers. “You don’t need to be anyone else.”

    She didn’t answer. She just stared out the window, watching the rain trace patterns down the glass.

    Kenji was hunched over the kitchen table, half eating and half talking to himself.

    “It should have powered on,” he muttered.

    Airi looked up from the kitchen table, where she was sketching kanji flashcards in careful rows. “Still no luck?”

    “I replaced the power regulator, bypassed the burnt capacitor, even rewired the main circuit path. Everything checks out. But when I flip the switch… nothing.”

    Airi gave a small pout. “Maybe it’s just dead.”

    Kenji sighed. “Or I missed something. Again.”

    She set down her pen and stood, stretching her arms overhead until her hoodie lifted just enough to reveal the band of her shorts. Kenji glanced, briefly, then looked back to the table.

    “I’ll put the kettle on,” she said. “Tea makes everything less tragic.”

    She started the kettle and then disappeared behind the wall where Kenji kept his workstation. A few seconds later, there was a low hum.

    The box emitted a soft mechanical whine. A faint violet light traced the seam around its metal casing, and then, suddenly, the device pulsed once.

    Airi’s voice floated back into the room. “Kenji? Come here. I think its working now.”

    He quickly ran to Airi.

    “It’s on?” she said.

    He grinned in disbelief. “What did you do?”

    She stepped closer, watching the soft glow of the machine with cautious curiosity. “I don’t know. I just kind of pressed it.”

    “That’s… incredible,” Kenji said. “You have the magic touch.”

    Airi gave him a playful nudge with her elbow. “Maybe you just needed to leave the room.”

    They exchanged a smile. Kenji reached over and gently knocked on the top casing. “Old Synexus junk, huh? Guess I was wrong.”

    Airi tilted her head. “Well, it looks cool.”

    She left Kenji with his prize for a moment and returned later with two cups of tea.  Kenji was already deep in thought.

    Airi leaned against the table, sipping her tea. “So… now what?”

    He looked at her. “I have no idea.”

    The hidden display on the device pulsed, unnoticed.

    SYNC ESTABLISHED
    TARGET PROFILE: FEMALE
    BEHAVIORAL SOURCE: MALE
    INITIALIZATION ACTIVE
    PENDING BEHAVIORAL DIRECTION

    It was cooler than expected, the kind of Tokyo spring day that couldn’t decide between sun or cloud. Airi tugged at the hem of her skirt and gave a little hop off the curb, her boots making a soft thud against the street. The ruffles of her outfit swayed with the motion, cream-colored layers catching just enough breeze to flutter.

    Kenji walked beside her, a canvas messenger bag slung across his chest, half-full of electronics from the surplus shop.

    “Do you remember that street we passed?” he asked. “The one with the bookstore and the record shop?”

    “No,” Airi said flatly.

    He blinked. “It was like… two blocks ago.”

    She glanced sideways at him. “I was too distracted. It takes effort to look this cute.”

    Kenji laughed, but there was a pause after. He studied her outfit again. The striped sleeves, layered skirt, high socks, and boots were a little bolder than she usually wore out. Even her makeup had a slightly heavier edge today. Not much. But he noticed.

    “I like your hair like that,” he offered.

    Airi tilted her head toward him, lips curling slightly. “Of course you do. You’ve been staring at it since we left.”

    Kenji flushed. “I wasn’t…”

    “You were.” She bumped her shoulder against his. “It’s fine. You’re allowed to like how I look.”

    He smiled, unsure. She wasn’t wrong. But she wasn’t usually so direct about it.

    They stopped at a crosswalk. The light was red. Kenji adjusted the strap on his bag. “So… are you feeling okay?”

    Airi blinked at him. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

    “You’re just… I don’t know. A little different today.”

    “Different how?” she asked, feigning a pout. “You don’t like the outfit?”

    “No, it’s not that…”

    “Too girly? Too loud? Not librarian enough?”

    He held up both hands. “Okay, I surrender.”

    She giggled, biting her lip. “Relax. I’m teasing.”

    The light turned green, and they stepped across the street. Airi reached for his arm, linking hers through his.

    “It’s not a big deal,” she said. “Maybe I just felt dressing up for once.”

    Kenji looked down at where her arm clung to his. Her fingers were warm.

    “I notice you all the time,” he said quietly.

    Airi sat cross-legged on the floor, flipping through a fashion zine Kenji didn’t recognize. She had a pen tucked behind one ear and a bowl of snacks in her lap, humming softly to herself.

    Across the room, Kenji was on the couch, controller in hand, focused on the glowing screen in front of him. The game showed a leather-clad woman on a motorcycle, skidding through a cloud of smoke as she leveled a shotgun at a neon-lit enemy convoy.

    “You’re really into that one,” Airi said without looking up.

    “It’s just fun,” he muttered. “The movement’s really smooth. And the character’s cool.”

    She raised an eyebrow. “Cool how?”

    Kenji shrugged. “I dunno. Confident. She doesn’t take crap from anyone.”

    Airi flipped another page in the magazine, her tone casual. “So… your type?”

    He glanced at her. “You’re my type.”

    “Uh-huh.”

    Neither of them noticed the faint violet glow from the shelf nearby.

    The Neural Growth Engine’s screen flickered quietly behind them.

    SYNC ESTABLISHED
    TARGET PROFILE: FEMALE
    BEHAVIORAL SOURCE: MALE
    INITIALIZATION ACTIVE
    PENDING BEHAVIORAL DIRECTION…

    The screen paused.

    Then updated:

    DIRECTION LOCKED: BIKER BITCH

    Airi stood near the hallway mirror, tugging a loose white T-shirt over her head. She twisted her hair up into a quick bun, tying it off with a ribbon she hadn’t worn in years. A few messy strands framed her face, and she didn’t bother fixing them.

    She stepped back from the mirror, tilting her head slightly as she examined her reflection. Her makeup was minimal, but something about the way she looked felt better.

    She adjusted the frame of her glasses, then squinted at herself. Wait…

    Airi reached up and slid them off, blinking once, then again.

    The room stayed clear. She stared at the lenses in her hand.

    “What the hell…?”

    A beat passed. Then she gave a small, amused laugh, barely audible in the quiet apartment. 

    She tossed the glasses onto the couch.

    The game console was still on, the paused biker character flickering on the screen. Kenji stood near the kitchen, arms crossed, watching Airi from across the room.

    She was perched on the armrest of the couch, legs crossed, one boot bouncing idly. Her platinum-blonde hair had a new streak of black in it now, and the spike-studded choker around her neck definitely hadn’t been there last week. She hadn’t said where it came from. Or the new shirt. Or the piercings.

    “What?” she asked, noticing his stare.

    Kenji hesitated. “You’ve been… different lately.”

    Airi smirked. “That’s vague.”

    “I mean, I don’t know.”  He rubbed the back of his neck. “You cursed at the delivery guy this morning.”

    “He forgot my drink.” She shrugged like that explained everything.

    “And yesterday you called my boss a ‘knobless freak’ when he…”

    “He was being a creep,” she interrupted. “I was defending you.”

    Kenji stepped closer, voice a little more strained now. “This isn’t like you.”

    Airi tilted her head, giving him a slow once-over.

    Kenji frowned, unsure how to respond. There was something in the way she looked at him now. 

    Airi slid off the couch with a graceful little hop and crossed the room toward him. When she reached him, she didn’t stop. She pressed in, just close enough for him to feel the warmth off her skin.

    “Don’t you like this version of me?” she asked, voice quiet, almost sultry.

    Kenji’s throat tightened. “I…that’s not what I’m saying.”

    Her fingers brushed his chest as she leaned in. “Then stop trying to fix something that isn’t broken.” She said it with a smile, but there was something else behind it.

    He looked into her eyes and almost said it. What’s happening to you?

    Airi saw is expression and cut him off with a kiss. Deep and deliberate. It was hot and hungry. When she finally pulled away, she was still smiling.

    “See?” she said, stepping back. “Nothing to worry about.”

    Kenji stood frozen in place, trying to process what just happened. Airi turned and walked off toward the bedroom, leaving him in silence except for the low hum of the paused game and the faint click of her boots against the floor.

    The street was packed shoulder to shoulder, a chaotic blend of tourists, students, and locals threading their way through waves of pastel storefronts and bubble tea carts. Loud pop music blared from somewhere above, half-drowned by the calls of vendors trying to out-shout each other.

    Kenji moved carefully through the crowd, doing his best to keep up.

    Airi was ahead of him, weaving effortlessly between people, one earbud in. Her shirt hung just off one shoulder, revealing a sharp line of clavicle and the edge of a new tattoo he didn’t remember getting.

    He finally caught up beside her. “You don’t want to stop at the game shop?”

    She didn’t slow down. “Why? You already know what they have.”

    “I just thought…” He hesitated. “You usually like looking.”

    She glanced at him. Her eyes were unreadable behind her new, lightly tinted lenses. “People change,” she said.

    They passed a group of guys leaning against a clothing rack. Airi’s gaze flicked toward them, held just long enough to be noticeable, then turned away again without comment.

    Kenji watched her, unsure of how to act. She had been so combative lately and quick to anger. He decided to just be direct.

    “I’ve been meaning to ask,” he said, “what’s going on lately?”

    “With what?”

    “You. Us. How you’ve been acting.”

    Airi finally stopped walking. She turned to face him, one hand on her hip. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

    “You’ve been… different.”

    “Is that a problem?”

    “I mean…kind of. We used to be so attuned. But now it’s like we’re drifting apart.”

    She tilted her head slightly, studying him for a moment and then her expression softened.

    “You’re right,” she replied. She walked up to him and gave him a kiss. “I’m sorry.”

    He didn’t know what to say to that.

    Airi held his gaze for a second longer, turned back toward the crowd. As Kenji rushed to catch up, he caught her staring at another group of guys.  This time, she waved at them.

    The lights were low, just a single lamp casting a soft amber glow across the room. Rain tapped at the windows again, steady and unbothered.

    Airi stood in front of the mirror, twisting a strand of silver-blonde hair around her finger. Her cropped tank clung to her ribs, just slightly askew.

    She tilted her head. “You like the new one?” she asked.

    “Yeah. It’s cute.”

    Her smile deepened.

    Airi pulled off her top, walked over to the bed, and sat down. She leaned in close, letting him feel the curves of her body.

    “You know, I wasn’t always like this,” she said, brushing her thumb across his shoulder. “I used to be quiet. Scared of everything. I hated even being looked at.”

    He gave a soft chuckle. “What happened?”

    She leaned in close. “I don’t know. I just changed.”

    There was a knock at the door.

    “Ignore it,” Airi said. Then added, almost to herself, “Whoever it is can wait..”

    “Are you sure?”

    Airi responded by pushing him down onto the bed. She climbed on top of him grinding her body against his. She silenced his question with a kiss.

    Another knock came.

    “Don’t worry,” Airi whispered. “He forgot his keys.”

    Outside the apartment, Kenji stood in the hallway, a grocery bag in hand. He waited another second. Then turned away.

    Kenji entered the apartment and saw Airi near the window. She was dressed in a black leather jacket slung over her shoulders, long platinum hair hanging straight down her back, lips pressed into a thin line. She looked like someone else.

    “You’re back early,” she said without turning around.

    “I needed to talk to you.”

    Airi finally turned. Her expression was unreadable, but there was a cool edge to it, composed, and far from the girl who used to curl up beside him on rainy afternoons.

    Kenji stepped forward, holding the strange metal device in one hand. “I think this thing changed you.”

    She laughed once. “You’re blaming a machine for this?”

    “I’m saying something happened. Something that doesn’t make sense. You’ve been different, Airi. I know you feel it too.”

    She walked toward him, slow and deliberate. “True, but I can’t say I don’t like it. So I say, ‘fuck it’. Fuck it all.”

    Kenji held her gaze. “So what about us? About me?”

    “I don’t fucking care.” Her voice sharpened. “I’m done with not being enough. Of being overlooked. Of playing the quiet, agreeable girlfriend while the world passes by.”

    He shook his head. “You were never just that.”

    “Weren’t I?” she asked. “Be honest. The moment I stopped being small, you started getting scared.”

    “That’s not..” he paused. “No. That’s not fair.”

    Airi softened slightly, but only slightly. “Then what do you want me to say, Kenji? That I miss who I used to be? Because I don’t.”

    A long silence passed between them. Then she reached out, gently pushed the device in his hand down to his side. 

    “It doesn’t matter. I am who I am now. And who I am finds you rather boring.”

    Airi moved past him, toward the door.

    “Where are you going?” he asked.

    “Away,” she said. “Someplace else. Anywhere else. Some place where I belong.”

    The door shut behind her before he could respond.

    The rumble of her bike echoed down the alley like thunder. Airi slid her boot to the ground as the engine cut off, her frame lit by the dull neon glow of the dive bar’s flickering sign.

    She had long, silvery-lilac hair, styled tight and braided into a looped crown. Her bangs were blunt, but symmetrical. Her skin was pale and her eyes looked like polished glass. Airi looked more like a manufactured doll than a real girl, but there was nothing soft about her.

    She swung her leg off the bike, cracking her neck before she moved.

    “Fuckin’ cold tonight,” she muttered to no one, lighting a cigarette as she walked toward the bar.

    A soft-looking college guy on the patio whistled low. “Damn, girl.”

    She didn’t stop walking. Didn’t flinch. But her voice came cold and flat as she passed him.

    “Fuck off. You wouldn’t last 2 seconds with me. I bet you cry when your oat milk’s out of stock.”

    He blinked. Laughed, trying to salvage the moment. “Whoa…feisty.”

    Airi stopped and turned her head enough to give him the kind of look that made men shut up and bartenders reach under the counter. “You ever speak to a woman like that again, I’ll staple your lips shut. Try whistling through that.”

    She knew that was enough.  He was too much of a pussy to say anything back. She left him in her wake and headed towards the bar.

    The inside was dim with a low ceiling and sticky floors. It reeked of spilled beer and cheap cologne. The jukebox was playing some tired Southern rock anthem. Four heads turned toward her when she entered. Only one kept looking.

    She made her way to the bar, tapping her cigarette out in the ashtray. She nodded to the bartender.

    “Shot and a tallboy,” he said, sliding them across. “Rough ride?”

    She threw the shot back without answering and then cracked the can.

    “Wasn’t the ride,” she said. “It was the fucking idiot at the gas station who thought touching my bike was cute.”

    He winced. “He still breathing?”

    “Only just.”

    The guy who kept staring finally grew a pair and walked over. 

    “You from the Steel Fangs?” he asked, nodding to the faded wolf-head patch on her shoulder.

    “Nope,” Airi said, not looking at him.

    He waited. She didn’t say more.

    “You ride solo?”

    Airi sipped from her can. Looked him up and down. He had that cocky biker-chaser energy. The kind that ran errands for real MCs hoping to earn a cut and a blowjob.

    “Do you always ask this many questions before getting knocked the fuck out?”

    He blinked, confused.

    “I mean…” he started.

    “Stop talking.” She stood.  “I don’t take shit. I don’t play nice. And if you’re still standing here in the next five seconds, I’m going to knock the cheap dental work out of your mouth.”

    He backed up.

    The bartender laughed, shaking his head. “Airi, you ever think about chilling the fuck out?”

    She drained her can and smiled.

    “Not once.”

    Airi was gone. It had been weeks since they had their confrontation and she never came back. Never responded to his texts or calls.

    Kenji sat at the table alone, sleeves rolled up, the Neural Growth Engine disassembled in front of him. Its core panel lay open like a wound, wires splayed across the surface like veins. He moved slowly, methodically, his fingers trembling slightly as he worked.

    A second cup of coffee had gone cold.

    On the wall nearby, a photo strip was pinned. It contained faded shots of him and Airi at an arcade. Her smile was wide in the second frame, off-guard and beautiful. He looked at it for a long time, then looked away.

    He connected two wires and the device pulsed once. The screen flickered.

    RESET FUNCTION AVAILABLE

    [INITIATE? Y/N]

    Kenji hovered his finger over the screen.

  • Total Rebrat

    Total Rebrat

    “I still think it’s kind of stupid,” Jordan muttered, fingers tapping nervously on the armrest.

    Lindsey didn’t look up from the digital intake form. “Stupid and cheaper than actual travel are not mutually exclusive.”

    Jordan smirked. “I know it’s cheaper, but we could wait and save for a real vacation.”

    “No,” she said flatly, tapping a few more boxes. “You’re the one who always said you needed a break. This is a break. Just… in your brain.”

    He looked around the NeuroRepose waiting area. It had a faux-zen design, with pastel walls and  a gently burbling water feature.  The entire vibe was broken as soon as Jordan looked outside to the strip mall parking lot.

    “You really think we’re gonna walk out of here believing we spent a week getting mud baths and cucumber eye masks?”

    Lindsey handed him a stylus. “That’s what I’m hoping for.”

    Jordan raised an eyebrow as he scanned the package options. Spa Harmony: 7 Days. Couples Retreat. Daily massages. Mud bath. Full concierge service.

    He clicked it. “Fine. We’ll be relaxed as hell and still broke. Sounds like a win.”

    A few moments later, a door hissed open.

    “Caldwells?” a chipper, red-haired tech called out. “You’re up!”

    “Memory vacations are fully immersive,” the tech explained as he helped them lie back into adjacent reclined chairs. “You’ll experience smell, taste, touch, and emotional state. Your brain will fill in the narrative blanks using your own subconscious to make it feel authentic.”

    “Can we hold hands?” Lindsey joked.

    “You can if you want,” the tech chuckled. “But don’t worry, your neural pathways will believe the vacation was shared.  You’ll remember everything as a couple.”

    Jordan glanced over at Lindsay and gave a warm smile. “Sounds good.”

    “Perfect. Now, just close your eyes… and we’ll see you in about 45 minutes.”

    Jordan’s heart beat faster than he expected as he heard the technician count down from ten.

    Jordan blinked his eyes awake. He felt flushed, like he’d just come back from the gym. There was a tang of lime in his mouth, his skin buzzed like it had been sunburned, and the faint echo of house music throbbed at the edges of his hearing.

    He looked over at Lindsey. She was already upright, rubbing her temples.

    “That was…” she whispered. “Intense. But wow. The steam room, remember that one? With the lavender towels and that weird clay mask? I swear I can still smell it.”

    Jordan blinked again. “Wait, what?”

    She smiled at him. “The spa was beautiful and so relaxing. I loved the waterfall mineral pool with the little cups of coconut water. That place was amazing.”

    Jordan’s mouth suddenly felt dry.

    “Linds… I don’t remember any of that.”

    She paused. “Seriously?”

    He shook his head slowly. “I was… on a beach. Ibiza, I think. Like… at night. Neon lights. Champagne. There were these guys with accents. And I was…”

    He stopped.

    “What?” she asked. “You were what?”

    His throat went tight. “I think I was wearing a bikini.”

    Lindsey gave him a concerned look.

    “I… I remember flashing lights and bass so deep it felt like it was inside my ribs,” Jordan said, voice tight. “I was on a table, barefoot, dancing with three other girls in bikinis and crop tops. One of them poured rum into my mouth straight from the bottle. We were drenched in sweat and glitter, taking selfies and screaming lyrics to songs I didn’t even know. It smelled like ocean air and body spray. My skin was sticky with champagne. My hair was blonde. I had a pink bikini and these ridiculous gold heels. I remember laughing so hard I couldn’t breathe.”

    He paused, his voice barely above a whisper.

    “They kept calling me Brittany”

    “You’re joking,” Lindsay said incredulously. 

    “I’m not,” Jordan said, a hand going to his forehead. “It’s like… I was her. I can still feel it. God, I can still feel her.”

    They stormed back to the front desk.

    “I want a manager,” Lindsey demanded.

    The same tech approached, already typing on a tablet. “There was a… hiccup. The logs show a misfiled package ID. Mr. Caldwell received an Ibiza Bachelorette Weekend.”

    “Bachelorette weekend?” Jordan hissed. “You put memories of some kind of slutty brat into my head?”

    The tech raised his hands. “It was an error. Deeply unfortunate. You’ll be issued a full refund and upgraded to our VIP memory fadeout protocol.”

    “Wait, fadeout?” Lindsey asked.

    “Implanted memories cannot be removed,” the tech said simply. “They’re encoded across multiple sensory regions. But they will feel less intense over time. Just avoid emotionally reinforcing them.”

    “Emotionally reinforce?” Jordan queried.

    “Don’t dwell on them,” the tech said. “In a week or so, this will be a laugh. We can implant your joint vacation memories after a couple of weeks…for free of course.”

    Jordan shifted his hips slightly in the seat and realized his legs were crossed. He quickly uncrossed them.

    “Oh fuck,” he whispered.

    The car ride home was quiet. Lindsay tried to talk about the spa, but without Jordan having any memories it was just awkward.  For the past few minutes Jordan stared out the passenger window, arms crossed, lips pressed tightly together. His fingers kept brushing his lower lip. 

    Lindsey glanced at him more than once.

    “You okay?” she asked finally.

    He nodded, still staring. “Yeah.”

    “You don’t look okay.”

    “I just… feel weird.”

    “Headache?” she offered. “Nausea?”

    “No, not like that.” He shifted again in his seat. “I keep feeling like I should be wearing heels.”

    Lindsey blinked. “Heels?”

    “Yeah.” He frowned. “Or, like… I don’t know. Something tight. Something that hugs my hips.”

    She stared ahead at the road, saying nothing for a few seconds.

    Jordan groaned and slumped back. “God, this is so fucked.”

    “We’re gonna fix it,” Lindsey said firmly. “They said we could get the real spa package later, and it’ll overwrite this crap.”

    “Right,” he muttered. “Sure.”

    Then he added, almost casually, “Did you ever go to Nikki’s on the pier?”

    “What?”

    He turned to her. “You know, Nikki’s, the beach bar. The one with the red umbrellas and the super strong drinks. The bartender, Leo… God, he was so hot.”

    Lindsey shot him a look.

    Jordan blinked. “Wait. I didn’t mean that. I don’t even know who Leo is. But this vivid memory just jumped into my brain.  Lindsay, I was there and, like, I think I loved it.”

    “Jordan…”

    “I can still taste the drink he made me. Coconut, lime, and something blue.” He smiled faintly. “I called it a Brittany Bomb.”

    “That didn’t happen, Jordan,” Lindsay returned.

    “What?” he replied. “Yeah, I know. It’s just weird…that’s all.”

    The rest of the ride was an awkward silence.

    They got home around 6 p.m.

    Jordan disappeared into the bathroom while Lindsey unpacked leftovers and turned on the news. She tried not to overthink it.

    He’d had something implanted into his brain. Of course he was confused, but this was temporary. He just needed time.

    When she knocked softly on the bathroom door, his voice came through: “Yeah?”

    “You okay in there?”

    “Fine.”

    “Do you want to come for dinner?”

    A pause. “I already ate,” he replied.

    “What? When?”

    “I dunno. Before. I’m not hungry.”

    The pause stretched.

    Lindsey leaned against the doorframe. “Jordan?”

    “Yeah?”

    “Are you okay in there?”

    “…I’m fine.”

    “Because I’ve been waiting out here for like twenty minutes.”

    “I’m fine!” he snapped, suddenly loud.

    She took a breath, stepped back. “Okay.”

    The door opened a second later. Jordan stood there in just his boxers and an oversized T-shirt. He’d clearly been trying to wipe something off his face.

    “…Is that makeup?” she asked.

    He quickly replied in a defensive tone. “No.”

    “Jordan….”

    “It was just a test, okay?” he barked. “I found one of your lipsticks in the drawer and, fuck, I don’t know why I did it. It just felt right.”

    Lindsey stepped back, processing. “Jordan, this isn’t healthy.”

    “I know,” he said, exasperated. “You think I want this? I don’t want to remember what it feels like to wear perfume, or shave my legs, or flirt with some dude in exchange for free drinks.”

    Her face twisted in confusion. “You… you remember that?”

    “I feel it,” he said, quieter now. “Like it happened. Like I lived it. I can feel exactly what it is like to be some bitchy little tease named Brittany.”

    Jordan sat down heavily on the edge of the bed.

    “I’m scared,” he said softly. “But I’m also… kind of excited. And that’s what freaks me out the most.”

    Later that night, Lindsey sat in the living room scrolling through her phone while Jordan showered. Every so often, she heard a soft giggle from the bathroom. 

    She tried to ignore it. The technician said this would get better over time.  She had to be patient.

    When he emerged, he wore one of her bathrobes. It hung awkwardly off his shoulders, tied tight at the waist. She noticed his legs were shaved. She felt disgusted, but didn’t bring it up.  The embarrassed look on his face told her he already knew. 

    “You okay?” she asked, sounding supportive.

    Jordan flopped onto the couch next to her, curling his legs under him.

    “I saw this outfit in one of the memories today,” he said. “It was a tiny pink crop top and ripped jean shorts. Guys couldn’t take their eyes off me.”

    Lindsey stared at him.

    He leaned in conspiratorially, lips curling into a smile. “I think I was a bad bitch, Linds.”

    “Look, Jordan,” she said. “I’m trying to be supportive here, but you’ve got to at least try to ignore these fake memories.”

    “I know,” he said defeated. “But they’re like a brainworm that I can’t seem to ignore.”

    “We’ve had years of good memories of us. You have a week of being her in your brain. Focus on the years…not the week.”

    She stood up and gave him a kiss. “I’m tired. I’m gonna go to bed.”

    “Okay,” he said, cheerful. “Night babe.”

    She walked halfway down the hall, then stopped.

    “I love you, Jordan.”

    “I love you too, babes,” he replied.

    Jordan stood shirtless in front of the bathroom mirror, towel hanging low on his hips. The mirror was still fogged from the shower as he turned a little to the side, then straightened, trying to ignore the tight little flutter in his stomach.

    No fucking way.

    His areolas were bigger and darker, too. He brushed a fingertip over one and gasped as a little jolt sparked through him. His nipple stiffened instantly.

    Jesus.

    He rubbed it again in small, slow circles.

    A small, traitorous giggle escaped his throat.

    He slapped a hand over his mouth. “What the fuck is wrong with me?” he muttered.

    He looked down and noticed his stomach was flatter. It wasn’t quite toned, but it was definitely smoother. Maybe it wasn’t enough for anyone else to notice. But he noticed.

    He dropped the towel. His dick looked… smaller. The shaft didn’t rest the same way against his body.

    “…No,” he whispered.

    Desperate, he gently rubbed at his diminished cock, trying to get himself hard. He closed his eyes, trying to imagine Lindsey, trying to picture her body, her mouth sucking him off, anything that used to work.

    But he got no response at all from his flaccid member.

    Then his mind slipped to a flash of Brittany. She was wearing that crop top, leaning over the bar, licking salt off a guy’s neck.

    His dick got instantly hard.

    Oh my god, you’re obsessed with me, she had purred.

    Jordan’s hand moved faster and came with a soft gasp. He looked in the mirror seeing that his nipples were fully erect. 

    He turned the sink on and splashed cold water on his face and when he looked up again, he saw Brittany in the mirror.

    She winked at him.

    Lindsey knocked. “You okay?”

    “Yeah!” he replied. “Just finishing up.”

    He came out in a fresh shirt and joggers and sat across from her at the kitchen table, trying to act like everything was normal. He kept catching himself making subtle actions that were not at all his.

    “I need to head to the store to get some groceries,” Lindsey said. “You want to join me?”

    Jordan blinked. “Like… outside?”

    “Yeah. Just for a bit.”

    “I don’t really have anything to wear.”

    She raised an eyebrow. “You have a closet full of clothes.”

    He hesitated. “They don’t… feel right.”

    Lindsay gave him an incredulous look.

    “Come on.”

    He stood slowly. “Okay, you’re right. Give me five minutes.”

    Lindsey was already tired and they were just two blocks into their journey.

    Jordan had chosen a black fitted hoodie and shorts that showed off his shaved legs. She didn’t even think he realized how he was walking with a subtle sway to his steps.

    On top of that, he wouldn’t stop talking.  Normally Jordan was pretty quiet and introspective, but today he just wouldn’t shut up.

    “I’m just saying, I think people should stop taking themselves so seriously,” he said. “Like, why is everything such a big deal all of the time.”

    “What?”

    Jordan made a face as his words came out faster now. “I don’t know. I’m just saying. People are, like, so uptight. You ever notice that?”

    His voice had a slight lilt at the end. Almost singsong. 

    She didn’t bother with a reply. 

    They reached the store and started shopping.  Lindsey followed their normal pattern and went to the produce section.  It was a few moments before she realized Jordan wandered off on his own.

    When she found him again, he was in the cosmetics aisle.

    He glanced at her, half-smirking, holding a tube of lip gloss. “Okay, before you freak out, it’s just a test.”

    She folded her arms. “A test?”

    “Yeah. I thought maybe… if I try the thing, I’ll stop wanting to. Reverse psychology.”

    Lindsey’s voice was tight. “Put it down.”

    Jordan rolled his eyes. “God, relax. I’m not, like, trying on a dress. It’s just gloss.”

    “You don’t need gloss.”

    His voice turned slightly sharper. “You don’t get to decide what I need.”

    Jordan sighed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that. This whole thing is making me…” he trailed off. “Forget it.”

    “I know. It has to be hard,” Lindsey said, keeping her voice calm. “Let’s go.”

    He didn’t move.

    “Jordan.”

    He pouted—actually pouted—and whined, “Come onnnn.”

    “Now.”

    He dropped the gloss back onto the shelf with a dramatic sigh and followed her out of the aisle.

    It had been two days since the follow-up with NeuroRepose.

    They had called again several times and left messages. They sent emails with photos of Jordan’s changing body. They described his changing behavior.

    They received a single formal response yesterday and nothing else.

    There is no evidence that memory implants can result in physiological alterations. All changes must be psychosomatic in origin. Memory anchors can cause behavioral mimicry, but not biological change.

    Lindsey had stared at the email, then read it aloud. Jordan didn’t say anything. He just curled his knees up under himself on the couch and pretended not to notice how his hoodie was now clinging tighter across his chest.

    The doctor’s appointment hadn’t gone better.

    Jordan had sat on the exam table in one of Lindsey’s zip-up sweaters and leggings, arms crossed and braless, trying to hide the small but undeniable shape growing beneath his shirt. The doctor had done a full blood panel, then quietly asked if Jordan had started any kind of hormone therapy.

    “He hasn’t,” Lindsey had answered for him.

    The doctor had raised an eyebrow but said nothing more.

    Now they were home and with no apparent options.

    Lindsey stared at her husband across the table.

    He was sipping a protein shake that was half oat milk and half vanilla cold brew through a straw. His lips were glossier today, she realized. And his posture was… feminine. 

    “Jordan,” she said flatly. “We need to talk.”

    He didn’t look up. “If this is about the shake, I told you I bought the good syrup. That cheap fake vanilla shit gives me headaches.”

    “This isn’t about syrup.”

    He glanced up, then sighed. “Okay, here we go.”

    “You’re changing.”

    “No shit,” he muttered.

    “Physically.”

    He put the glass down. “Lindsey, we’ve been over this. The clinic says it’s impossible. The doctor thinks I’m lying.”

    “I want my husband back.”

    Jordan smirked at her. “That’s cute.”

    “Don’t,” she snapped.

    “What? I said it was cute.”

    “No. That tone. That smile. That thing you do now. Every word out of your mouth is dipped in sarcasm.”

    “So,” he said, brushing a strand of nothing away from his face. “What of it?”

    “You’re not even pretending to be him anymore.”

    Jordan stood up and Lindsay could clearly see that his chest had filled out more than she expected in just two days.  His areolas were clearly visible under the white cotton tee. 

    Jordan started walking away and Linsday noticed his ass was perky and noticeably rounder. 

    “I’m trying,” he said suddenly, voice rising. “Do you think I asked for this? I keep telling myself I’m Jordan. I keep looking in the mirror and saying it out loud. ‘I’m Jordan Caldwell, I’m a straight man, I’m married.’ But then I catch myself flipping my wrist or chewing on a pen like a fucking valley girl, and I remember that I’ve got a memory in my head where I’m Brittany fucking Summers, and she knows how to work a room, how to get drinks without paying for them, how to make guys beg…”

    “Shut up,” Lindsey said.

    He stopped immediately.

    “Just shut up.”

    Jordan looked hurt, but then his eyes narrowed.

    “I’m not your husband anymore, am I?”

    “Jordan…”

    “No,” he said, quieter. “Say it.”

    She stood. “I’m going for a walk.”

    “You keep doing that,” he said, venom creeping in. “You run off. You disappear. You can’t bare to be near me.”

    She turned to the door.

    “You’re not you anymore!” she snapped as she left.

    Jordan stood in the silence. The door had slammed hard enough to rattle the picture frames. Her words as she left stung him deeply.

    His hands trembled as he brought them up to his face. They looked thinner and more delicate now. His nails were clean, shaped. He didn’t remember doing that, but he must have.

    “She doesn’t think I’m me,” he whispered.

    You’re not, a voice purred in the back of his mind.

    Jordan sank to the floor, sitting with his back against the cabinet. He blinked fast, trying not to cry.

    “She thinks I’m her.”

    She’s right.

    He shook his head. “I’m not. I’m not Brittany. I’m not.”

    You’re not Jordan either, babe. Not anymore.

    He slapped his palms against his ears. “Stop it.”

    But the voice inside was giggling now.

    God, you’re such a mess, it cooed. No wife. No dick. No job. But hey, you’ve got great tits and a killer ass.

    Jordan pressed his eyes shut. He could feel her behind his eyes. 

    Let me help you feel better.

    He didn’t realize his legs had carried him to the bedroom until he was already opening the drawer.

    Jordan stared into the bathroom mirror, palms braced on the counter. His eyes were red. His cheeks still streaked from crying.

    He looked awful. And not just because of the tears.

    His face was softer and his jawline was blurry. His lips looked full, pink, and shiny. Had he applied gloss again? He didn’t remember doing it.

    His shirt was tight and every breath pulled the fabric tighter over his budding chest. He’d stopped trying to hide it. There was no point pretending anymore.

    A slow, tired breath left him.

    He didn’t know how long he stood there.

    Then, without even thinking, he opened the drawer, pulled out an old lipstick tube. He uncapped it and turned to the mirror.

    His hand shook, but he still moved it.

    Slowly, in shaky, looping letters, he scrawled: B R I T T A N Y

    He stared at the word. The soft smear of pink against the glass. His reflection warped behind it.

    He whispered the name once. Then again, louder.

    “Brittany.”

    A smile curled at the corners of his mouth.

    He traced the last Y with one finger. Then he opened the drawer again and started pulling makeup out. 

    It was a short while later before she pulled the half bottle of coconut spiced rum from the back of the cabinet. She poured it straight into a glass and took a long sip. 

    “Mmmm…”, she said. “Tastes like Ibiza.”

    By the time the third hit her throat, Brittany was already in the mirror, fluffing her longer hair and swaying her hips to a song she’d queued up herself.  It was some thumping, synthy club beat she didn’t know but instantly loved.

    She turned the volume all the way up and danced.

    She twirled and struck poses in the mirror, squeezing her tits together and pouting at her reflection. Then she took a selfie. Then another and another. 

    Jordan wasn’t anywhere anymore. It was just Brittany. Bratty, drunk, and free.

    The door opened and Lindsey stepped in, coat still clutched in her arms. The sound of stupidly loud and aggressively bubblegum music rattled through the apartment. She dropped her keys, walked slowly into the living room.

    There, on the couch, legs splayed, crop top riding high, glass of rum in one hand and her phone in the other, was…

    “Jordan?”

    Brittany didn’t look up. “Mmm?”

    Lindsey turned off the music. “What… what the fuck are you wearing?”

    “Oh my god, chill,” Brittany purred, finally glancing up. “You left, like, an hour ago, and it was such a buzzkill, so I decided to throw on something fun and get cute. What do you think?”

    Lindsey stared at her. “Jordan.”

    The girl on the couch smirked. “Ugh, babe. You couldn’t be more wrong.”

    Lindsey stared at her in stunned silence.

    “You’re drunk,” she said finally.

    Brittany giggled. “Duh.”

    “You look like a whore.”

    “Thank you,” Brittany cooed, lifting the rum glass in a mock-toast. “Finally, some appreciation for the aesthetic.”

    Lindsey’s jaw tightened. “Are those my shorts?”

    Brittany looked down. “These?” She stretched one leg lazily, running a finger along the hem. “They just called to me. I couldn’t resist. You have really good taste, babe. Or, well… you did.”

    “Take them off.”

    Brittany pouted. “Oh my god, are we really gonna do this? Because, like, you stormed out and I thought maybe, I don’t know, that meant you were done playing the sad little housewife.”

    “You’re not my husband,” Lindsey snapped.

    Brittany raised both eyebrows, then slowly placed her drink on the coffee table and stood. She swayed slightly. It was half from the rum and half from pure attitude.

    “No, sweetheart,” Brittany said, stepping closer, “I’m not. You wanted to have those fake memories and now I’m this.”

    Brittany twirled.

    Lindsey shoved her.

    Brittany stumbled back, catching herself on the armrest. She burst into laughter. “Bitch! You wanna go?”

    “This isn’t funny,” Lindsey shouted. “This is sick! This is some nightmare I can’t wake up from.”

    “Then go back to bed,” Brittany snapped. “Cry about it. Light a fucking candle. I don’t care.”

    Lindsey stepped forward. “You’re disgusting.”

    “I’m happy.”

    “You’re sleeping on the fucking couch,” Lindsay said storming off into the bedroom.

    Moments later the music started thumping again.

    Lindsey stood by the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching Brittany move about the apartment.

    “You’re really doing this,” Lindsay said.

    Brittany didn’t pause. “Why stay somewhere I’m not wanted?”

    “You were my husband.”

    “No,” Brittany replied. “He was. I’m not him.”

    She clicked the suitcase handle down and reached for the doorknob.

    Lindsey didn’t stop her.

    “You could have fought it,” she said softly.

    Brittany turned, gave a faint shrug. “Whatever.”

    She hesitated at the door, almost like she might say more, but then she smiled and left without another word.

    Lindsey stood in the silence, trembling. Then she sank onto the couch, arms wrapped around her middle, and sat motionless.

    The apartment still smelled faintly of Brittany’s perfume.

    He’s gone, she thought. For good.

    Some amount of time passed as Lindsay sat in a daze. It was disrupted by a knock at the door.

    She stood up slowly, wiped at her eyes even though they weren’t wet, and walked toward the door.

    She opened it and there was a man. The man looked in his mid-thirties with soft brown eyes and a familiar mouth. 

    He looked at her like she was the most important thing in the world.

    “Hi,” he said, voice shaking just slightly. “You don’t know me… but I think I’m your husband.”

  • Kat Scratch Fever

    Kat Scratch Fever

    “Connor, honey, grab the last box, would you?” Julie called from the kitchen, trying to keep her voice upbeat. She was balancing a stack of plates and silently praying none of them cracked before she found the cabinet space.

    “Yeah,” her son muttered from the entryway, already halfway out the door.

    The house was new. Big. A little too modern. All white walls and glass stair railings. Her new husband called it a “blank slate.” Julie thought it felt more like a hotel.

    She set the plates down carefully and looked around the kitchen. Granite counters, double oven, silent dishwasher. It was nice—objectively nice—but not… home yet.

    Footsteps echoed above her. Fast. Sharp. Then came the slam of a bedroom door.

    Julie exhaled and looked at the ceiling. “Well. That didn’t take long.”

    Connor walked back in, dropping the last moving box near the couch. “She just stormed past me like I don’t exist.”

    Julie offered a small, tight smile. “She’s adjusting.”

    “She’s a nightmare.”

    “Connor.”

    He raised his hands. “Okay, I’m just saying it. She’s awful. You heard her at the airport—she didn’t even try to pretend she was happy to be here.”

    Julie rubbed the back of her neck. “Her dad being gone this month doesn’t help.”

    “He could be here and she’d still act like this.”

    Julie said nothing.

    Upstairs, another door slammed.

    Connor gave her a look.

    Julie gave a tired smile. “Give her time.”

    “She’s had time. You’ve been married two months.”

    “She’s eighteen. She’s angry. I get it.”

    “You’re being too nice.”

    Julie looked away.

    Connor was right.

    But she still wanted to believe it could work.

    Julie stood in the hallway, lightly tapping on the door with the chipped black nail polish. She hadn’t worn polish in years. Not black, anyway.

    “Katrina?” she called gently. “Dinner’s ready.”

    No answer.

    Julie hesitated, then cracked the door open. “I made chicken parm. Thought we could—”

    “I’m not hungry,” Katrina snapped from the bed, not looking up. She was lying sideways, legs crossed, staring at her phone with the dead-eyed focus of someone actively ignoring everything around her.

    Julie smiled tightly. “You’ve barely eaten all day.”

    Katrina didn’t flinch. “Maybe I’m not your problem.”

    Julie stepped inside anyway, slow and deliberate. “I don’t think of you as a problem, Katrina. I think of you as—”

    “Don’t,” Katrina cut in sharply. “Don’t try to do the ‘nice mom’ thing. It’s fake and it’s annoying.”

    Julie’s voice caught for half a second before she recovered. “I just thought we could talk. Maybe watch something. That new K-pop Demon Hunters movie is on—”

    Katrina scoffed. “You don’t even know what that is.”

    Julie blinked. “I’ve… seen clips. It looked cool.”

    Katrina finally looked up. “You’d hate it.”

    Julie tried to hold her gaze. “Maybe. But I’d watch it with you anyway.”

    That earned a dry smile. Not the kind you wanted. “You know what’s weird?” Katrina said, tilting her head. “You’re trying so hard. Like, so hard. It’s kinda sad.”

    Julie took a breath. “I know this isn’t easy.”

    Katrina’s smile faded. “No. You don’t.”

    Julie waited, hoping maybe something real was about to break through.

    But Katrina just turned her eyes back to her phone.

    “Door’s open,” Julie said softly, backing out.

    As she turned, Katrina muttered just loud enough to be heard: “That’s what the last one said.”

    Julie paused in the doorway. “What?”

    But Katrina was already typing again, face lit by her screen. No reaction. No answer.

    Julie stood there a moment longer, the chill of that last sentence settling deep in her stomach.

    Then she closed the door.

    Downstairs, Connor was already at the table, headphones in, poking at his dinner.

    “Let me guess,” he said without looking up. “She’s not coming.”

    Julie sat down across from him. “Not hungry.”

    “She’s the worst.”

    Julie didn’t argue this time.

    She just picked up her fork, trying not to hear Katrina’s voice echoing in her head.

    That’s what the last one said.

    The next morning started with tension already baked in.

    Julie had woken up early, showered, and even changed outfits twice. She finally settled on jeans and a casual top she thought looked “hip” without trying too hard. 

    Katrina emerged from her room around noon with her headphones in. Julie had a smoothie waiting on the counter.

    “Morning!” she chirped.

    Katrina froze in the hallway.

    “Banana, peanut butter, oat milk. No dairy,” Julie said, smiling like it was the most casual thing in the world. “I figured you might need something. You didn’t eat yesterday.”

    Katrina just stared at the glass.

    “Don’t worry. I didn’t poison it,” Julie added, with a little laugh.

    Katrina pulled out one earbud. “Did you go through my room?”

    Julie blinked. “What? No. Why would I—”

    “You said oat milk,” Katrina said, eyes narrowing. “You wouldn’t know I’m lactose-intolerant unless you went through my stuff.”

    Julie hesitated. “I asked your dad. He mentioned it before he left.”

    “Right,” Katrina muttered, grabbing the smoothie and taking a slow, deliberate sip. “Trying a little hard, aren’t you?”

    Julie didn’t answer that. Instead, she reached over, brushing a bit of lint from Katrina’s sleeve.

    Katrina flinched away instantly. “Don’t touch me.”

    Julie sighed. “Katrina, I’m trying here.”

    “I don’t want you to try.”

    “Well, too bad,” Julie said, voice tight now. “You don’t get to just opt out of having a family. I didn’t marry your father to be your enemy.”

    Katrina’s eyes flashed. “Then stop acting like you’re in charge of me. You’re not my mom.”

    Julie stepped forward. “I’m not trying to be your mom, but I am trying to connect—”

    “You’re trying to control everything,” Katrina snapped, pushing Julie’s hand away hard.

    Her nails caught skin.

    Julie jerked back. “Ow!”

    A thin red line stretched across the back of her wrist, already raised and stinging.

    “You scratched me!”

    Katrina crossed her arms. “You shouldn’t have touched me.”

    Julie stared at the mark. It wasn’t deep—but it burned, weirdly warm. The skin around it had gone pink almost instantly.

    She looked up, but Katrina was already walking away, earbuds back in.

    “This isn’t how this works,” Julie called after her, her voice wavering. “You don’t get to hurt people and just walk away!”

    But Katrina didn’t look back.

    Julie watched her disappear up the stairs.

    Connor heard the tail end of the argument from the upstairs hallway. He was halfway down the steps when Katrina brushed past him, her shoulder knocking his on purpose.

    “The hell did you do?” he called after her.

    Katrina didn’t even pause. “Ask your mom.”

    “You scratched her?”

    Katrina turned around at the base of the stairs, one brow arched. “She shouldn’t grab people. That’s assault, right?”

    “You’re unbelievable.”

    “And you’re boring,” she shot back. “You walk around this house like a little chihuahua guarding its emotional support parent.”

    Connor’s jaw tightened. “You’ve been a nightmare since the day you showed up.”

    She smiled. “Thanks.”

    “I’m serious, Katrina. You talk to her like she’s garbage, you act like this whole place is beneath you—”

    “Because it is.”

    He stepped down another stair. “You’re just pissed your dad left and now you’re stuck here with people who actually give a shit. Sorry that’s so hard for you.”

    That landed. Her eyes flared for a second, but it vanished fast, replaced with a cruel smile.

    “You think she gives a shit?” she said, voice low now. “She’s trying to be someone she thinks I’ll like. It’s pathetic.”

    Connor was about to respond, but Katrina raised one hand in mock defeat.

    “Whatever. Don’t get your thrift-store flannel in a twist.” She spun around and disappeared into the hall.

    Julie found him a few minutes later sitting on the stairs, head in his hands.

    “She’s gone to her room,” she said quietly.

    Connor looked up. “You okay?”

    She held up her wrist. “I’ll survive.”

    He stood. “She had no right.”

    Julie stepped in close, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay.”

    “No, it’s not.”

    “I know,” she said gently. “But me yelling won’t fix it. And you fighting with her just gives her what she wants.”

    He exhaled hard. “She acts like we’re the problem.”

    Julie smiled, tired but genuine. “We’re not. We’re just… here. And she’s not ready for that.”

    Connor looked at her wrist again. “That looks bad.”

    “It’ll heal.”

    He hesitated. “I just— I feel like I’m watching you try so hard, and she keeps pushing and pushing.”

    “Thanks,” she said. “That means more than you know.”

    She pulled him into a hug, resting her chin lightly on his shoulder. For a second, Connor relaxed.

    “Let’s just get through today,” she said. “Tomorrow can be a fresh start.”

    Julie stood at the counter, cradling a mug of coffee with both hands, eyes fixed on the scratch running across her forearm. The skin was red now and raised at the edges.

    She hadn’t slept. Every time she dozed off, her skin burned. And her dreams were odd, though she couldn’t remember the details.

    “Morning,” Connor said as he stepped into the kitchen, yawning. He moved toward the cabinet, grabbing a bowl and closing the cabinet door.

    Julie flinched at the sound. “Could you not slam everything?”

    Connor recoiled. “Uh… I didn’t?”

    Julie sighed, squeezing her eyes shut for a second. “Sorry. Sorry. I just— I didn’t sleep well. This damn scratch.”

    He looked over. “It looks worse.”

    “Thanks,” she muttered, sipping her coffee. She caught the look on his face and sighed again. “Sorry.”

    Connor shook his head, grabbing the milk. “It’s okay. You’re in pain. And after yesterday…”

    “I should be fine. I’m just off today.” She forced a smile.

    He poured his cereal in silence for a moment.

    Then she snapped again.

    “Do you have to crunch like that?”

    He paused mid-bite. “It’s cereal.”

    Julie’s jaw tensed. Then she closed her eyes again and took a long breath through her nose. “I’m sorry. God. I’m not trying to be like this.”

    “I know,” Connor said gently. “I know you’re not.”

    She turned away, her fingers tightening around her mug. Her tone dropped a little, distant. “Maybe I should’ve just stayed in bed.”

    “You want me to make you tea or something?”

    “No,” she said too quickly. “No, I’m… I’ll be fine.”

    Connor leaned against the counter, glancing toward her arm again. “Seriously though… that doesn’t look normal.”

    Julie barely looked up from her coffee. “It’s fine.”

    “It’s red. And swollen. You should let a doctor see it.”

    Julie scoffed under her breath and turned away, walking to the sink to rinse out her cup even though it was still half full. “What are they gonna do? Prescribe some ointment and tell me to keep it clean? I can Google that.”

    “Mom…”

    “I said it’s fine.” Her voice snapped. She closed her eyes and exhaled, gripping the edge of the sink until her knuckles paled. “Sorry. Again. I’m sorry.”

    Connor stood quietly for a second. 

    Finally, she turned back and forced another half-smile. “I’ll take some ibuprofen. Maybe a shower. I’ll be fine. If it’s not better by tomorrow, I’ll go see a doctor.”

    Connor accepted his victory and sat down to finish his cereal.

    Julie stood at the kitchen island, hair still damp from a shower, arms folded over a plain tee and leggings. She hadn’t bothered with makeup. She hadn’t bothered with much at all.

    Katrina strolled in like she owned the place. Oversized graphic tee hanging off one shoulder, phone in hand, gum snapping between her lips.

    “Did you move my charger?” she asked flatly, not even looking up.

    Julie didn’t answer right away. “No.”

    Katrina rolled her eyes. “It’s not in the outlet anymore. It was literally there this morning.”

    “I said I didn’t touch it.”

    Katrina looked up then. “Well, someone did.”

    Julie’s jaw ticked. “Then maybe look somewhere else before accusing people.”

    Katrina blinked like she hadn’t expected resistance. “Okay… relax.”

    Julie turned to face her fully. “I’m not gonna keep playing nice while you throw little fits.”

    Katrina tilted her head. “Fits?”

    “You walk around this house like we owe you something,” Julie said, voice low, even. “Like your attitude is just something we have to put up with.”

    Katrina snorted. “Wow. This new tone is… cute.”

    Julie stepped closer, resting one hand on the counter. “I’ve bent over backwards to make this place feel like a home for you.”

    “You mean smother me with fake cheer and smoothies?” Katrina said, one brow lifted.

    Julie didn’t flinch. “You’re not the only one who can roll her eyes and act like everyone else is beneath her.”

    Katrina stared.

    And then… smirked.

    Julie caught it—the flash of amusement, the micro-expression that slipped out before Katrina could suppress it.

    “Well,” Katrina said, pulling her gum from her mouth and tossing it in the trash, “you’re finally growing a spine.”

    Julie raised a brow. “Or maybe I’m just tired of giving you the benefit of the doubt.”

    “Careful,” Katrina said, smile curling at the edges. “You’re starting to sound like me.”

    Julie didn’t reply.

    Katrina opened the fridge like nothing had happened, and casually said:

    “You should do something about your hair. It’s looking a little… suburban.”

    Julie turned her back to Katrina and whispered “bitch”.

    Julie sat at the edge of the patio table, absently tracing the rim of her glass with one finger. Across from her, Nancy, Elise, and Carol were mid-laugh about some old PTA memory that Julie didn’t care to remember.

    “She’s still on the board,” Nancy said, shaking her head. “Can you believe that?”

    “Who?” Julie asked, only half-listening.

    “Marsha Gellerman. You remember, from the bake sale thing?”

    “Oh,” Julie said vaguely, then glanced toward the lawn, tuning out again. Her gaze drifted across the flowerbeds, the neat rows of lawn chairs. Everything here felt… suffocating. 

    “So how’s the new stepdaughter situation?” Elise asked, leaning forward like she was expecting gossip.

    Julie sighed. “Katrina’s… spirited.”

    Carol chuckled. “Spirited? That sounds like code.”

    “It’s not code,” Julie said. “She’s just rude. Entitled. Thinks everyone’s beneath her.”

    Julie went on, not hiding the edge in her tone. “She walks around like she’s doing the house a favor by breathing in it. No respect. Constant attitude. It’s like babysitting a reality show contestant.”

    Elise looked at her friend. “Wow. That bad?”

    Nancy leaned in. “What does your husband say?  I mean, I know he’s out of town, but…”

    Julie’s eyes narrowed. “Can we not? I didn’t come here to run through a therapy session.”

    The table went quiet for a beat. Elise smiled awkwardly and picked up her drink.

    Nancy shifted gears quickly. “So anyway, Ted and I are redoing the guest bathroom—finally. We found this new vanity, and let me tell you, I don’t even want guests using it, it’s so pretty.”

    Carol jumped in. “Oh my god, I know. Steve just put in those motion-sensor lights in the garage and he keeps calling it our ‘smart home.’ Like that’s a personality.”

    Julie’s eyes glazed over. She stared past them, toward the horizon. Their voices started to bleed into each other. A loop of mundane details that she had no patience for today.

    “So I said to him, if you want smart lights, how about you get a smart brain first—Julie?”

    Julie snapped her gaze back to Nancy, caught. “Huh?”

    Nancy raised a brow. “You zoned out.”

    Julie blinked. “Sorry, I was just… thinking about laundry.”

    “Laundry?” Carol asked.

    Julie stood. “Yep. Left a load in the machine. Can’t leave wet clothes sitting, right?”

    She was already grabbing her purse.

    “You just got here—” Elise started.

    “I’ll call you later,” Julie said over her shoulder as she quickly left.

    Connor stood with his arms crossed near the edge of the couch, voice raised just enough to fill the room. “She used my headphones again and left them in the sink. The sink, Julie.”

    Katrina, lounging on the other end of the couch with one leg curled beneath her, barely looked up from her phone. “They were gross anyway. You should thank me.”

    Connor turned toward Julie, exasperated. “Seriously, are you going to say something? This is constant.”

    Julie sat perched on the arm of the recliner, her posture more relaxed than usual—almost slouched. She was wearing ripped skinny jeans and a cropped hoodie that looked suspiciously new. Her hair had more volume today, a touch of warmth at the roots like she’d just had it colored. The scratch on her arm was now a faint line, but the effects hadn’t faded. If anything, they’d started showing more clearly in her expression—a glint of irritation behind her eyes, like patience was suddenly a luxury she didn’t feel like affording.

    “Maybe,” Julie said, twirling a lock of hair around her finger, “you shouldn’t leave your stuff everywhere.”

    Connor stared at her. “I didn’t leave them. They were in my room.”

    Julie shrugged. “Then lock your door next time?”

    Katrina snorted.

    Connor turned fully toward his mom now. “Are you serious right now?”

    Julie tilted her head, sighing like he was dragging her into something beneath her. “Connor, you need to get over yourself. It’s just headphones.”

    Katrina looked up from her phone, a slow, delighted grin forming.

    Connor blinked. “You’re— What? You’re taking her side?”

    Julie crossed one leg over the other and leaned back into the recliner’s arm. “I’m saying maybe you’re a little too wound up about everything she does.”

    “She’s been treating this house like a trash can since day one, and now you’re acting like it’s my fault?”

    Julie rolled her eyes. “God, you’re dramatic.”

    Connor’s face twisted, then he stepped back from the couch like he’d just been shoved. “Right. Great talk.”

    He didn’t wait for another reply—just stormed out of the room, footsteps heavy up the stairs.

    Julie didn’t chase after him.

    Katrina, slowly lowering her phone, glanced at Julie. “Well… that was fun.”

    Julie smirked, almost despite herself. “He’s such a baby.”

    Katrina smiled wider, not even pretending to hide the satisfaction in her eyes.

    Julie stood in front of the mirror, toothbrush still in hand, pausing as her reflection caught her off guard.

    “…Huh.”

    She leaned closer, squinting slightly. “Okay, weird,” she murmured, spitting into the sink. 

    She dabbed her face with a towel, then looked again.

    The skin around her eyes was smooth. Her cheeks looked a little more… lifted? Lips fuller. She pressed them together and tilted her head.

    “You’re holding up,” she said to her reflection, halfway impressed. “Kinda cute today, honestly.”

    She ran her fingers through her hair, watching how it fell. There was a shine to it.

    “Not bad, Jules,” she said with a little smile. “Not bad at all.”

    She unconsciously rubbed at where the scratch on her arm used to be before turning sideways in the mirror, pulling her tank top tight at the waist.

    “Okay, yes, you’ve earned leggings today,” she said, smirking. 

    She pulled her hair up into a lazy bun and gave the mirror one last look—an eyebrow raise, a half-smile, a quiet nod.

    “Let’s hope Connor doesn’t act like a little bitch today. I can’t deal with his whineing.”

    Then she flicked off the light.

    Connor stood in the kitchen doorway, brow furrowed. “Hey… have you, uh… done something different?”

    Julie glanced up from her phone. She was in a cropped top, high-waisted leggings, her hair in a messy ponytail that somehow still looked stylish. She blinked at him, slowly. “What?”

    “You just look… I don’t know. Different.”

    Julie rolled her eyes. “Wow. Great observation, Sherlock.”

    He raised his hands. “I didn’t mean anything by it. Just… you look younger or something.”

    She turned toward him fully now, expression hardening. “Is that a problem, Connor?”

    “No! I just thought—”

    “Oh my god,” she snapped. “You’re so exhausting. Always thinking. Always worried. Always talking like someone asked you for your opinion.”

    Connor took a step back. “What’s your problem?”

    “My problem,” she said, walking past him toward the fridge, “is that I’m stuck in this house listening to your endless whining. You act like a kicked puppy every time Katrina breathes. You’re like this… little storm cloud of loser energy.”

    Connor blinked. “What the hell?”

    She turned, arms folded, smirking. “You know what? I wish you were more like Katrina.”

    He flinched. “Seriously?”

    “She doesn’t cry every time something doesn’t go her way,” Julie said, grabbing a drink. “She doesn’t need a gold star for doing the dishes.”

    “She treats you like garbage.”

    Julie turned back around. “Maybe because she’s the only one around here who doesn’t suck up to me like I’m going to fall apart.”

    He stared at her, face reddening. “Mom—”

    “Don’t call me that.”

    Silence.

    Julie’s voice dropped. “You don’t deserve to call me that.”

    Connor’s jaw clenched. “You don’t mean that.”

    Julie didn’t say anything. She just walked out of the room, drink in hand, phone in the other.

    Connor hovered at the top of the stairs, leaning against the railing just enough to see into the living room. He kept still, careful not to draw their attention.

    Julie—no, his mom—was on the couch. Legs crossed, laughing softly into a glass of wine. Katrina was curled up next to her, phone in hand, showing her something. The two of them were giggling like old friends in on the same joke.

    “Oh my god, look at her,” Katrina said, swiping again.

    Julie snorted. “Did she draw those on with a marker? That’s horrible.”

    They both cracked up.

    Katrina leaned back, head lolling dramatically. “And her voice—like, does she always sound like she’s apologizing for existing?”

    Julie sipped her wine. “Some people are just born to be background noise.”

    Connor was dumbfounded.

    Julie definitely looked younger. She was acting younger too. But Connor couldn’t understand why. 

    Katrina grinned. “You’re way meaner than I thought you’d be.”

    Julie smirked. “You’re a bad influence.”

    “Please. You love it.”

    Julie winked. “Maybe.”

    Connor leaned back and the stairs creaked. 

    The girls both turned their heads towards the noise.

    Connor quickly retreated to his room, his heart thudding.

    Connor barely had time to close his bedroom door before he heard the fast stomp of two pairs of boots coming up the stairs. A moment later, it flew open—Katrina leading the charge, Jules right behind her.

    “There he is,” Katrina announced like she’d found a bug to squash. “The little sneak.”

    Connor stood up, tense. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

    “Us?” Jules said with a mocking pout. “We should be asking you that. Eavesdropping on us? That’s so creepy.”

    “Yeah, total perv move,” Katrina added, arms crossed, her smirk razor sharp.

    “I wasn’t—” Connor started, but Katrina stepped into his space, crowding him.

    “You weren’t what? Standing at the top of the stairs with that pathetic look on your face?” she sneered. “Spying on us?”

    Jules laughed at that, a short, mean sound. “God, you really are a loser.”

    Connor’s jaw clenched. “You don’t get to come in here and act like this. Both of you.”

    “Aww, is he gonna cry?” Katrina cooed. “Go run to mommy.”

    Jules raised her brows and looked at Katrina. “You mean our dad’s girlfriend?”

    Connor looked at her hard. “You are my mom.”

    Both girls recoiled in exaggerated horror.

    “Eww,” Katrina said, dragging out the word like she tasted something rotten.

    “No way,” Jules said. “Don’t say that. That’s disgusting.”

    “Yeah, don’t lump me in with you, freak,” Katrina snapped. “You seriously thought that woman was your mommy? Gross.”

    “I’ve known her longer than you have,” Connor fired back, voice cracking with anger. “She raised me!”

    Jules leaned in, face cold. “You’re delusional.”

    Katrina grinned. “Wait ‘til our dad gets home. He’s gonna love this.”

    Connor’s mouth opened like he wanted to say something else, but he couldn’t find the words. His eyes were glassy. His fists were clenched.

    “Let’s go,” Jules said, tossing her hair as she turned on her heel. “This room smells like desperation.”

    Katrina followed her out, flicking the light off as she went. “Night, Connor. Sweet dreams, perv.”

    “You’ve changed,” Connor said.

    Jewel turned from the mirror, lips still slightly puckered as she adjusted a necklace that sat snug above her collarbone. Her hair was straightened to a glossy sheen, falling down her back in dark waves. The streaks of blonde framing her face only made her smirk look sharper.

    “And you’re still whining.” She raised a brow. “So what else is new?”

    Connor took a step into the room. “I’m serious. Look at you. You’re dressing like… her. Talking like her. You don’t even sound like yourself anymore.”

    Jewel rolled her eyes and went back to fussing with her top. “God, you sound like a jilted ex or something. News flash, you’re a creep”

    He stood there, jaw clenched. “You’re my mom.”

    “Ew,” she said. “No. Gross. You don’t get to say that.”

    “I do get to say it,” he snapped. “Because it’s the truth.”

    “Look, loser, you need a reality check,” she said, circling him like a shark. “I am not your mom. I’m way too young and way too hot to have popped out some weird little emotional barnacle like you.”

    “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, shaking his head.

    The door swung open behind them.

    “Is he seriously pulling the ‘but you’re my mom’ thing again?” Katrina asked as she sauntered in. She leaned against the doorframe, already smiling like she knew exactly where this was going.

    Jewel didn’t even hesitate. “Can you blame him? That’s probably the closest thing to female attention he’s ever had.”

    Katrina snorted. “Wait until our dad gets home.”

    Connor’s head snapped toward her. “He’s not your—”

    “He’s going to destroy you,” Jewel cut in sharply. “Just wait until we tell him all about your perving on us.”

    They both looked at him now. Two perfect, toxic reflections of each other. One blonde, one brunette. Both with sharp eyeliner and sharper tongues.

    “Oh, Connor,” Katrina said sweetly. “I’ll be your mommy. You want me to spank you?”

    They both started laughing at him.

    “Just let it go,” Jewel added, tilting her head. “You’ll be a lot happier when you accept your place.”

    Connor’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.

    Jewel gave him one last fake smile and patted his cheek with perfectly manicured fingers.

    “Now be a good little step-brother and get out of my room.”

    The front door swung open.

    “Girls?” the familiar voice called out.

    Connor stepped out of the living room cautiously, only to see him—Mark—his stepdad. Tall, confident, effortlessly composed in his fitted coat and travel-wrinkled shirt. He looked like he’d just come back from a business trip, which, to be fair, he had.

    “Daddy!” Katrina shrieked, bursting from the hallway like a rehearsed performance. She ran straight into his arms, beaming like the poster child for daughter-of-the-year.

    Right behind her came Jewel.

    “Welcome home,” Jewel said sweetly. “We missed you so much.”

    Mark kissed the top of her head like it was the most normal thing in the world. “Missed you too, kiddo.”

    Kiddo?

    Connor stepped forward, heart pounding. “How can you treat her like this? She’s not your daughter.”

    All three of them looked at him.

    Mark raised an eyebrow. “Watch your tone, young man.”

    Katrina tilted her head, arms folded. “Connor, are you feeling okay?”

    Connor turned to her, desperate. “You know what’s happening. You know that’s not how it’s supposed to be.”

    She smiled faintly. “I know you’ve been under a lot of stress.”

    He looked back at Jewel. “You were Julie. You were my mom. Just a few days ago—”

    Jewel laughed. “Ew. Obviously not. I’m your stepsister.”

    Mark’s expression darkened. “That’s enough.”

    Connor stepped back. “You don’t see it? She changed! She changed into this!”

    “You need to stop talking about her like that,” Mark said. “You’re not a kid anymore. Grow up.”

    Jewel rolled her eyes. “He’s seriously still hung up on that? Someone needs attention.”

    Katrina gave a sympathetic sigh, though there was something gleaming in her eyes. “Poor thing,” she said. 

    Connor’s face twisted. “You know this is messed up. You remember what she was like—what she looked like. What she acted like.”

    Katrina shrugged. “I remember a lot of things. Doesn’t mean they were real.”

    Jewel looped an arm around Mark’s waist and leaned her head on his shoulder. “Don’t let him ruin your homecoming, Dad.”

    Dad.

    Connor stared at them, mute. The house felt unfamiliar now. Cold. Like he didn’t belong here at all.

    And maybe… he didn’t.

  • Some Things are Forever

    Some Things are Forever

    Liana stood just outside the store, giggling as a tall, broad-shouldered man leaned in and kissed her deeply. He squeezed her waist with one hand, whispering something into her ear that made her roll her eyes and laugh again. 

    She swatted at him playfully with her long manicured nails, a shiny new diamond bracelet dangling on her wrist. He bid her a quick goodbye, and she turned her attention to her phone.

    Moments later, a voice cut through the noise.

    “Liana,” Mary said, as she stepped into view.

    Liana’s uncaring gaze flicked up for just a second, then back down. “Ugh,” she said flatly. “I figured you’d give up by now.”

    Mary stood her ground. “You stopped answering my calls.”

    “Because I don’t owe you anything,” Liana replied, finally locking eyes. “You think I’d want to be with you when I look like this now?” She gestured at her impossible curves, her smug perfection. “Liam’s gone, and I’m having a lot of fun being Liana.”

    “I took a while, but now I know what when you were given that Elixer-spiked drink, I lost my Liam forever,” Mary explained. “And while you are amazingly hot, Liana.  You are a massive bitch.”

    “I don’t care,” Liana taunted. “I’m having fun, getting laid, and the suckers are paying for my everything.”

    “I can see that,” Mary whispered.

    Mary’s fingers trembled around the bottle she pulled from her coat. She unscrewed the top with a sudden calm. “But I’ve realized something. Massive bitch or not, I can’t live without you. That’s why I brought my own Elixer.”

    She tilted her head back and drank.

    The reaction was immediate. Mary dropped the bottle, gasping as her body tensed and shifted. Her hips surged outward, thighs thickening, breasts swelling against the fabric of her hoodie until the seams strained. Her hair lengthened into a golden cascade, framing high cheekbones and gloss-slick lips. Her waist snapped inward, jeans clinging to her now exaggerated curves.

    Mary opened her eyes and saw a guy holding up his phone, clearly recording. She arched one freshly sculpted brow and gave him a sharp look.

    “Delete it,” she said flatly, voice deeper, silkier than before.

    He hesitated.

    She took a step forward, her heels clicking with authority. “Now.” The guy quickly lowered his phone and mumbled an apology.

    Mary rolled her eyes and turned back toward Liana.

    “…Shit,” Liana muttered under her breath, eyes flicking over Mary’s body. “You really went all in.”

    Mary tilted her head. “You thought I wouldn’t?”

    “I thought you’d beg,” Liana said. “Cry. Try to bring Liam back.”

    Mary laughed, tossing her blonde hair back over one shoulder. “God, no. Liam’s pathetic. Just like I used to be.”

    That pulled a sharp grin from Liana. She stepped a little closer, the space between their bodies now just heat and breath. “So what are you now?”

    “Your match,” Mary said simply.

    There was a pause, the faintest smirk rising on Liana’s face before she squeezed Mary’s hand tighter. “We’ll see about that.”

  • One of the Gang

    One of the Gang

    Paul squeezed Rebecca’s hand as they walked out of the trendy little bistro, laughter trailing behind them in the warm summer air. Her heels clicked confidently on the sidewalk, that little black bag swinging against her hip with every step.

    “You really did wear that top just to make the waiter forget our order, didn’t you?” Paul teased.

    Rebecca laughed, tossing her dark hair over one shoulder. “I didn’t hear you complaining when he brought us free dessert.”

    Paul smiled, but his eyes dipped again to her exposed cleavage. “I mean… he had good reason.”

    They reached the end of the block when the shouting started.

    It was sudden. A harsh male voice aggressively cut through the evening calm. Across the street, a man in a ski mask was yelling at a gas station clerk, waving something in his hand.

    Paul instinctively pulled Rebecca back, stepping in front of her. “Shit. We need to go.”

    But Rebecca didn’t move. “Is that a—? Oh my god, he’s robbing the place.”

    “Babe, come on.” Paul tugged her arm. “Let’s just get away from here.”

    That’s when the second man—taller, leaner, covered in tattoos—stepped out of the alley beside the station. His eyes locked on Rebecca, and something about the way he stared made her stomach twist.

    The ski mask guy bolted from the store with a handful of bills and a small metal box. But just as he passed Rebecca and Paul, he tripped—his foot catching on the curb. The box flew from his hands.

    Reflexively, Rebecca bent down and grabbed it before it could skitter into the street.

    The man scrambled to his feet. “Give it here, bitch!” he snapped, lunging.

    Paul stepped between them, hands up. “Back off!”

    That was when the tattooed man—the one who hadn’t moved—walked slowly over. His eyes never left Rebecca. He had a calm menace about him. Quiet. Unshakable.

    “She didn’t know,” Paul said quickly. “She just picked it up. We’re leaving. It’s yours. Take it.”

    But the man shook his head slowly.

    “No, no, no…” he murmured, his voice low and smooth. “See… now it’s personal.”

    He stepped in closer, just inches from Rebecca, and she could feel something in the air change.  His gaze dropped to her chest, then back up to her eyes.

    “You wanna play hero in that slutty little top?” he said, almost amused. “Alright, baby. You’re gonna pay it back. One way or another.”

    Frozen with fear, she couldn’t move.

    Then he lifted one tattooed hand and placed it lightly against her forehead.

    Paul shouted, lunging, but the second masked man stepped in and shoved him back hard. Rebecca didn’t even flinch.

    The tattooed man whispered something in Spanish. She didn’t understand, but it felt wrong.

    Rebecca blinked, suddenly aware of Paul’s voice in her ear, calling her name. “Are you okay? Rebecca?”

    “I—yeah,” she stammered, touching her forehead. It tingled faintly. “I think so.”

    The two men disappeared down the street.

    Paul pulled her close. “Jesus. That guy was insane. Did he hurt you?”

    “No, I’m fine. I don’t know what happened,” she replied. “It was all so fast.”

    “Come on,” Paul grabbed her hand. “Let’s head home.”

    Paul found her in the bedroom, pacing.

    She was already dressed, if you could call it that. The red vinyl dress clung to her like paint, her breasts straining against the low-cut neckline. Her legs shimmered in the overhead light, those ridiculous white boots adding an extra few inches to her already perfect figure.

    “You’re… dressed up,” Paul said slowly.

    Rebecca turned to him, one hand on her hip, the other twirling a martini glass she’d already half-emptied. “Yeah. I’m going out.”

    He blinked. “Out? Like… to a bar?”

    “To party, babe. What else?” she said with a sharp laugh. “You think I got this dress to stare at myself in the mirror all night?”

    Paul hesitated. “You were attacked yesterday.”

    “I wasn’t attacked.” She spun the glass around by the stem, gaze intense. “That guy just… touched me.”

    Her voice dipped into something else for a second. Almost… dreamy.

    Paul took a step closer. “Rebecca. You didn’t even sleep last night. You were tossing and turning, talking in your sleep. You’re not okay.”

    “I am okay.” She smiled too widely, then frowned. “God, you’re being so dramatic. It was just some freak with tattoos and a bad attitude.”

    “You screamed when I touched your shoulder this morning.”

    Rebecca’s mouth opened like she was about to argue… but she didn’t. Instead, she slumped onto the edge of the bed, dragging a hand through her thick, glossy hair.

    “Okay. Maybe I’m not totally fine,” she muttered. “But I’m not going to sit here in sweatpants watching Netflix and waiting to have a breakdown. I wanna feel good again.”

    Paul crouched down in front of her. “Then stay in with me. Please. We’ll have wine. We’ll talk. I just… I don’t think going out like this is a good idea.”

    Rebecca looked at him, her expression unreadable. Then she glanced at her reflection in the mirror. A slow frown crept across her face.

    “You don’t like how I look now?” she asked, the edge in her voice sharper than he expected.

    “What? No—Reb, I think you’re beautiful. I love how you look. I just think you’re acting like someone else right now. This isn’t you.”

    She stared at him for a long time.

    Then, finally, she huffed. “Fine. I’ll stay.”

    Paul exhaled in relief, moving to sit beside her, but she stood up again and stomped toward the kitchen.

    “You can have your boring little night,” she snapped. “But I’m getting drunk either way.”

    Rebecca disappeared into the kitchen, her boots thudding hard against the floor. Paul followed cautiously, stopping in the doorway as she rummaged through the fridge with one hand and yanked a mostly-full bottle of vodka off the top with the other.

    “No mixers?” she asked, voice flat. “Guess I’ll have to take it like a fucking champion.”

    “Rebecca—”

    She unscrewed the cap, took a long, burning swig, then gasped as it hit her throat. She turned, licking her lips, and smirked. “Mmm. That’ll do.”

    Paul watched her warily. Her movements were sloppy.

    “This is what you wanted, right?” she said, voice rising. “Just me. You. A night in. Domestic bliss. Except instead of dancing with friends or feeling alive, I get to sit in my tight little dress and drink alone while you try to psychoanalyze me.”

    “I didn’t say you had to drink,” he replied quietly.

    “Well I didn’t say I needed your fucking permission,” she snapped, though there was something playful in her voice.

    She sauntered over to him, drink in hand, dress squeaking faintly with every exaggerated sway of her hips. “Come on,” she murmured, voice low now, sweetened with heat. “Maybe this night won’t be such a waste.”

    He didn’t move.

    She pressed the glass into his chest and leaned closer. “You want me to stay in, you’ve gotta entertain me, baby.”

    He tried to smile, gently taking the glass from her hand and setting it on the counter. “Let’s just sit down for a bit. Talk. Like we said.”

    Instead of answering, she playfully shoved him, but it had more force than expected. “Talk?” she said with mock disappointment. “That’s all you ever wanna do.”

    “Rebecca—”

    She stepped in close again, this time reaching down and giving a sudden, rough tug at his waistband. “Maybe you need something to loosen you up.”

    “Hey!” he said, stepping back. “Jesus, what the hell?”

    Rebecca tilted her head. “What?”

    “That’s not funny,” he said.

    She rolled her eyes and laughed. “Oh come on, I’m just messing with you. Don’t be such a little bitch about it.”

    Paul stared at her, stunned.

    She pouted mockingly. “Aww, did I hurt your feelings?” Then she spun on her heel, grabbed the vodka again, and took another deep drink straight from the bottle. “Guess I’ll have to play with myself tonight.”

    She left him in the kitchen and slammed the bedroom door shut behind her. 

    He tried the doorknob, but it was locked.

    He waited a beat. “Rebecca?” he called softly.

    From within the room he heard the creak of the bed frame.  He placed his ear to the door and heard a low, breathy moan. Then another, louder one.

    Wet, rhythmic sounds began to echo faintly through the thin wood of the bedroom door.

    He heard her voice. “Mmm—yeah… fuck, yes…” 

    He backed away.

    It wasn’t just that she was pleasuring herself. She wanted him to hear. Like she was putting on a show.

    She came loudly, screaming.  A few moments later, the door lock clicked and she opened the door.  

    She stood in the doorway, naked and sweaty.

    “Next time,” she teased. “Don’t turn me down.”

    She closed the door and locked it again. Paul sat down on the couch, ready for a long night alone.

    Paul woke up on the couch with a stiff neck and a sick feeling in his gut. The bedroom door was cracked open and he could hear the low, pulsing bass of music coming from Rebecca’s Bluetooth speaker. Something with Spanish lyrics. 

    He rubbed his face and slowly pushed himself up. He walked over to the room and peeked inside.

    Rebecca was on all fours on the bed, perched like a pinup.  She was typing something on her phone before she turned and looked over her shoulder at him.

    “Buenos días, sleepy boy,” she purred, her voice huskier than before.

    Paul stared. Her hair was longer and darker. Her lips looked… different. Plumper. Her skin had an unnatural sheen, like she’d oiled up just to lay in bed.

    And her ass…it was like her whole lower body had grown overnight. A tattoo that wasn’t there the night before snaked around one thigh.

    “Rebecca,” he said carefully. “What… the hell?”

    She giggled. “Ay, bebé. Don’t get all dramatic again. I had a little spa night.” She rolled onto her side, stretching like a cat. “And I feel so much better.”

    Paul stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. “You don’t look like yourself.”

    “I look amazing,” she corrected sharply, her accent subtly twisting the vowels. “What, you don’t like it?” She posed deliberately, arching her back to make her hips pop. “I think it’s hot.”

    “Rebecca, something’s wrong—your body, your voice—”

    “Oh my god,” she groaned, flopping onto her back. “You’re still on this? I had some fun. Got a little wild. You act like I’m dying.”

    “You’re not acting like you,” Paul said. “You don’t look like you.”

    She cut him off with a hard stare. She stalked over to him, eyes gleaming. “You know what I feel right now, mi amor?”

    Paul stood, staring at her.

    Rebecca let the music take her, her hips swaying slowly, deliberately. She turned, facing away from him, and began to roll her body in time with the beat, her hair swaying across her back.

    She bent at the waist, grinding low, her ass practically taunting him in those skin-tight shorts. Then she straightened up, spun back around, and stalked toward him.

    She pressed into him, eyes wild, mouth inches from his ear. Her breath was warm, heavy with vodka.

    “I wanna dance. I wanna grind on strangers. I wanna fuck someone with a gold chain and a face tattoo. I wanna taste tequila off someone’s abs.”

    Paul pulled away, his heart racing. “Rebecca—what the fuck?”

    She laughed. “Ay, pobrecito. You’re jealous.”

    “No,” he snapped. “I’m terrified.”

    That stopped her. Her expression flickered. For a second. Then it hardened again.

    She spat, grabbing her phone. “Maybe Jesús was right.”

    Paul blinked. “Jesús? Is that the guy who touched your head?”

    She paused, like she hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

    “Rebecca. What the fuck do you mean ‘Jesús was right’?”

    She just smiled, a smug, wicked little smile that didn’t belong to the woman he fell in love with.

    Then she turned up the music and began to sway to the beat, hips rolling in perfect rhythm.

    “Nothing,” she replied and proceeded to ignore Paul’s complaints.

    Rebecca stormed down the hallway, heels clicking against the hardwood, one hand adjusting her belt, the other gripping a cheap silver purse.

    Paul jumped up from the couch. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

    She didn’t stop. Just tossed a glance over her shoulder, eyes lined in thick black, lips full and glossy. “Out.”

    “That’s not an answer,” he snapped, moving to block the door. “You’re not walking out of here like that.”

    She paused, cocking her head. “Like what?” Her voice dripped with venomous sweetness. “Like a hot bitch with better places to be?”

    “You’re drunk.”

    She stepped closer, tilting her head, lips brushing a smile. “So what if I am? I’m fun when I’m drunk. More fun than when I’m stuck here playing house with you.”

    “Rebecca, listen to yourself,” Paul said, trying to stay calm. “This isn’t you. Look at what you’re wearing. Look at how you’re acting.”

    “Oh, now you care?” she spat. “Where was this energy when I needed someone to stand up for me? When some thug cursed me and you just stood there with your dick in your hand?”

    Paul flinched. “I tried to protect you.”

    “And now I don’t need protecting.” She shoved past him, her shoulder slamming into his chest. “I need release. I need danger. I need someone who actually makes me feel something.”

    He caught her wrist. “Is it him?” he demanded. “The guy from the robbery?”

    She smirked, leaning in close. “Jesús. Say it right, cariño.”

    Paul’s grip loosened, stunned.

    She used the moment to yank free and open the front door. The sound of rain drifted in, steady and cold.

    Paul followed, voice cracking. “Rebecca, please. Don’t do this.”

    She paused at the threshold, the glow from outside framing her like a goddess out of a fever dream. 

    “¿Y a ti qué te importa, eh?” she said over her shoulder. “You’re not the one I’m meeting.”

    And just like that, she was gone.

    The moment the door shut behind her, Rebecca let out a breathy giggle and tossed her purse down at her feet. The car was warm, dark, and smelled like weed. Reggaeton played low on the stereo, the beat slinking under her skin.

    Jesús hand slid from the steering wheel and rested on her thigh.

    Rebecca smiled without looking at him, tilting her head just slightly so he could admire the sharp contour of her jaw, the gloss on her lips, the curve of her breasts under the too-tight crop top.

    “Hola, papi,” she purred.

    Jesús finally turned his head. His eyes were dark, dangerous and fully amused.

    “Mira nada más,” he murmured. “I barely recognize you, muñeca.”

    “I feel different,” she said, voice soft, sultry. “Stronger. Hungrier.”

    His hand squeezed her thigh. “Because you’re becoming mine.”

    She turned toward him now, fully, resting her elbow on the center console. “I left him.”

    Jesús raised an eyebrow. “Did he cry?”

    She laughed. “He tried to stop me.”

    Jesús leaned in, voice low and razor-sharp. “You’re not his anymore.”

    He brushed a finger down the exposed skin of her stomach, tracing the dragon ink now curled across her waist.

    “You feel it, no?” he asked. “That pull in your blood. That burn under your skin. That’s the curse settling in. But you—” he grinned, “—you wear it well.”

    Rebecca’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, and when they opened again, they glowed with a kind of heat Paul had never seen, but Jesús had summoned.

    “I want more,” she whispered.

    Jesús chuckled, low and satisfied. “You’ll get more, chiquita. But first…” He reached into the glove compartment, pulled out a satin bandana, and held it out to her.

    “You wear this now.”

    Rebecca took it slowly, reverently. She looped it around her wrist and tied it tight.

    Jesús’s voice was softer now, but dead serious. “You don’t belong to yourself anymore. You’re mine.”

    Rebecca looked up at him, heart thudding, lips curling into a smirk.

    “Good,” she replied.

    They called her Bex now. The old name didn’t fit anymore.

    Not with that body inked from collarbone to thigh, not with those bedroom eyes and a smile that promised either a kiss or a knife in your side. Not with the way she walked—half swagger, half dare. And never alone.

    Jesús was always nearby.

    Sometimes at her side. Sometimes at her back. Sometimes just watching, letting the streets know she was his.

    Together, they were untouchable.

    They moved through clubs, alleyways, beach parties, trap houses, and busted diners like royalty. Jesús handled the business and Bex handled the people. She’d lean close, whisper in a mark’s ear with that purring accent of hers, and next thing you knew, his guard was down and his wallet was missing. Or worse.

    Everyone in their circle knew not to cross her.

    She wasn’t just a bad bitch.

    She was owned.

    Whatever that spell had done to her, it was complete. Her old softness, the sweetness Paul once clung to, was gone. Replaced by nails like claws, words like poison, and a laugh that was pure chaos.

    And when the work was done?

    When the deals were made, the money counted, the blood wiped clean?

    Jesús would take her to their place and he’d pull her in by the waist like she was still something precious.

    And she’d ride him like he was the last man alive.

    Rough. Loud. Deep scratches down his chest and thighs. Her lips at his throat whispering “Papi, más fuerte… no pares…” as if she could devour him whole.

    She didn’t want gentle. She didn’t want love.

    She wanted power.

    And together, they had all of it.

    Bex and Jesús.

    A curse-born queen and her king of the streets.

    And neither of them would ever, ever belong to anyone else again.

  • Thirst-trapped

    Thirst-trapped

    Okay,” Gus called from the couch, “twenty minutes until our date night reservation. You better get club hot or I’m canceling.”

    Danielle laughed from the bedroom. “As you wish.”

    He grinned, kicking back. It was an old joke between them on date nights. Gus thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world, though objectively she was more like a solid six. She’d throw on a snug dress, some mascara, maybe a little lipstick and they’d have a grand time together. She was his reliable and sweet Danielle.

    But when the bedroom door creaked open twenty minutes later, he sat up straight.

    She stepped out like she’d walked off the cover of a thirst trap magazine.

    She was wearing a matching set in a vibrant, glossy red-pink material. The top was very revealing, with a plunging neckline highlighting her firm round breasts, a cut-out midsection, and a small ring detail just below the bust. The matching skirt was short and asymmetrical, draped with a playful, ruffled hem that showed off her long legs.

    Except Danielle didn’t look like that.

    Gus blinked. “Holy shit.”

    Danielle smiled like it was no big deal. “So? Club hot enough for you?”

    “Uh. Babe… yeah. But—what the hell?”

    “What?” She posed in the doorway, cocking one hip. “You said ‘club hot.’ I understood the assignment.”

    “No, I mean….you look great but also…where did you get that outfit?”

    She looked down at herself, confused. “This old thing?”

    He stood. “Danielle.” His eyes narrowed. “Did you… get a boob job?”

    “What?” She laughed. “What are you talking about?”

    “You weren’t wearing that! You didn’t even have that! And your hair was four inches shorter like, an hour ago.”

    She brushed her ponytail with her nails. “Okay, you’re acting weird. This is literally just me with good lighting and some dry shampoo.”

    Gus walked around her slowly. “You don’t even look like you. Your lips—your face—Danielle, you look like some kind of…” he paused, grasping, “…plastic influencer version of yourself.”

    Danielle tilted her head. “So you’re saying I look hot.”

    He gestured toward her—her heels, her cleavage, her whole exaggerated, impossibly polished look. “You look like a damn Bratz doll.”

    Danielle flinched. “Wow. Thanks a lot, Gus.”

    He blinked. “What?”

    She crossed her arms, suddenly self-conscious. “That’s such a mean thing to say. I’m trying to look nice for you, and you call me a plastic toy?”

    “I didn’t mean it like that, Dani. I just—” He sighed. “It’s like you’re getting… exaggerated. Your hair. Your makeup. Your proportions. I’m just trying to understand what’s happening.”

    “Well, maybe don’t insult me next time,” she snapped. 

    She looked down at herself again. “Okay, this top is kind of ridiculous…”

    Her voice trailed off as she caught sight of her reflection.

    “…but it’s cute. Like… it gives attitude.”

    Her hands rose unconsciously, fingers flicking her hair into a higher arc. Her lips, freshly glossed without her realizing it, pouted a little more naturally now.

    “I guess it is kinda Bratz-y,” she muttered, tilting her head. “But, like… not in a bad way.”

    Gus watched her. “You’re doing it again.”

    She didn’t answer. Her hand moved to adjust her top, pulling it down slightly to show just a bit more cleavage.

    “Honestly,” she said after a pause, “those girls were kinda iconic. Like, unapologetic and bold? I could vibe with that.”

    Gus stepped forward. “Danielle. You were offended a second ago.”

    She looked at him, eyes slightly glazed. “Was I? I mean… whatever. You say shit sometimes.”

    His jaw clenched. “You just said I insulted you.”

    Danielle’s smile returned, slowly. “I mean, it’s kinda a compliment if you think about it. Bratz dolls were fashion. Like, they were that girl.”

    He shook his head. “This isn’t right.”

    She looked back at her phone, not hearing him. Or not caring. Her voice dropped half an octave and took on that high-gloss tone. “Might need to get a pic in this outfit before dinner. The vibe is just too good.”

    Danielle raised the phone, tilted it slightly above her head, and angled her body. Click.

    Then another. And another.

    A smirk curled her lips as she shifted poses designed to exaggerate her hourglass figure.

    Gus stepped closer. “Danielle, can we please talk?”

    Click.

    “Just give me a sec,” she murmured, distracted.

    Click.

    “You’re acting like some kind of phone-obsessed influencer.”

    Danielle turned to look at him, primed to say something but then her phone screen lit up.

    Buzz.

    Buzz. Buzzbuzz.

    She glanced down. Her eyes widened slightly.

    “Wait, what…?”

    New Like – @LeoThirstTrap followed you
    New Comment – “Queen energy 🔥🔥”
    DM – “Collab soon? You’re killing it lately.”

    She scrolled, her finger moving with unnatural familiarity.

    More likes. More comments. Stories she didn’t remember posting.

    “I—” she started, frowning. “Where did all these people come from?”

    Gus stepped beside her. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Something is wrong.”

    But she wasn’t listening. Not really.

    “Omg I LIVE for this fit.”
    “Are you even real??”
    “Just found your page—bingeing your content rn 💕.”

    Danielle tilted her head, mouth slightly open. “Oh my god. These are fans.”

    “Yeah,” Gus said grimly. “Apparently.”

    She gave a breathless laugh. “It’s like they know me. Like, they like me.”

    “Who are all these people, Danielle? You didn’t even have social accounts an hour ago.”

    She blinked slowly. “Are you sure? Because this feels… normal?”

    Buzz.

    New Message: “How do you keep your skin that perfect? Do a tutorial pleaseee.”

    Her lips parted again, and for a moment, she looked unsure. “I mean… I do have that face mask reel from last week. Right?”

    Gus stared. “Last week you hated social media. You’ve never posted anything before.”

    “Are you sure? Because I have, like, a ton of posts and comments from the past few weeks. Maybe you’re misremembering.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, already turning slightly for better lighting.

    Her voice had softened, almost dreamy. “God, I should really plan some new content. Like maybe a GRWM series or something.”

    Buzz.

    She glanced at her phone, a coy grin forming. “Aww.”

    “What?” Gus asked cautiously.

    She didn’t look up. “This guy just commented, ‘You’re literally perfect. Like, goddess-tier. I’d pay anything to see what’s under that skirt.’”

    Buzz.

    “‘Marry me. Or at least send feet pics.’” Her giggle was quick and breathy. “God, they’re so thirsty.”

    Buzz. Buzzbuzz.

    “‘That outfit’s illegal, right? Because I’m dying over here.’” She laughed again, scrolling with glossy nails. “‘Bet she tastes like pink starburst.’ Oh my god.”

    Gus stared. “Jesus.”

    Another wave of notifications hit. Dani’s eyes lit up.

    “‘Need a private snap—name your price.’ Wow. That’s… actually kind of hot.”

    Gus stepped closer. “You’re enjoying this?”

    She finally looked at him—flushed, excited, eyes gleaming. “It’s kind of addictive? I mean, they’re obsessed. Like, full-on worship mode. It’s wild.”

    “You’re reading that stuff out loud.”

    “Why wouldn’t I?” she said, distracted again as her phone vibrated. “‘Subscribing ASAP. Hope she shows more.’ Aww.”

    Gus blinked. “Subscribe?”

    Her smile was all lips now. “Guys always wanna subscribe. I’m starting to think I should charge them just to look at me.”

    He frowned. “Danielle, stop.” His voice caught. “You’re acting like some kind of OnlyFans wannabe.”

    Then her phone buzzed again and again and again. Like it was alive.

    New Like – “That body was made for a paywall.”
    New Comment – “If she drops an OF link, I’m in. No hesitation.”
    New DM – “I’ll tip $200 for a personalized clip. You down?”

    Dani blinked again. “Wait—what?”

    She opened the app without thinking. Her thumb navigated straight to a familiar layout. It wasn’t Instagram. It was a hybrid—something between TikTok and OnlyFans.

    At the top: Dani Luxe
     ‘Aspiring Baddie | Fitness Babe | Daily Teases 💦’

    She scrolled through short clips she didn’t remember filming—but they all looked and sounded exactly like her. Lip gloss shining. Crop tops barely hanging on. Coy captions like “Should I show more? 😘” and “Y’all aren’t ready for the next drop.”

    “Gus…” she said, but she was still scrolling. “Why does this all look… real?”

    “I don’t know what’s happening,” he said. “But you’re changing, Dani. First you’re a thirst-trap, then an Instagram influencer, now you’re all over OnlyFans.”

    She frowned. “That’s not—” She paused. One of the clips started autoplaying with her own voice saying, “Just wait until I get verified, bitches.” She didn’t even flinch hearing it. “—not a bad thing.”

    He stared. “You don’t even realize it’s happening.”

    She tilted her head. “I mean… wannabe? Everyone’s gotta start somewhere. Gotta build that hustle.”

    “Dani—”

    “No, like, for real,” she said, the words coming easier now, lips moving with glossy certainty. “If guys want to throw money at me for looking like this, why shouldn’t I get paid?”

    “You’re acting like this is normal.”

    She laughed. “It is normal, babe. It’s 2025. Monetized hotness is a career path.”

    Buzz.

    New Message: “You should do spicy customs. You’d blow up.”

    Her eyes sparkled. “Spicy customs… oh my god, I totally should.”

    She tapped the message with a practiced ease she hadn’t had five minutes ago.

    “Gus?” she said, still half-smiling. “If I was an OnlyFans girl… would you subscribe?”

    He just stared.

    She giggled. “Didn’t think so. That’s okay. I’ve got like, five thousand who would.”

    He opened his mouth to respond—but something slipped.

    He tried to say we’re married. Tried to say you’re my wife. But the words stuck in his throat, vanishing before they reached air.

    Dani’s phone buzzed again. She glanced down.

    New High-Tier Subscriber: @JustGus – $1,200 Tip

    A soft chime rang in her hand, like a cash register dinging behind her flawless smirk.

    “Oh,” she said. “That’s you?”

    Gus’s breath hitched. “What?”

    She looked up at him, almost amused. “JustGus. You tipped me last week for a one-night in-person meet. Took you long enough to cash in, babe.”

    “No,” he whispered. “That’s not… I didn’t…”

    But even as he said it, memories blurred. The dinner reservation—the apartment—the relationship—they fuzzed at the edges. All he could clearly remember was the late-night moment when he’d hovered over the “VIP Experience” tab, hesitated, and finally entered his credit card info.

    Dani tilted her head. “Don’t worry. You’re not the first simp to blow a paycheck just to smell my perfume.”

    He stared at her, heart pounding. “Dani…”

    She clicked her tongue. “Mmm, nope. No girlfriend vibes. You bought a night. That’s it.”

    He looked down at himself. He wasn’t wearing the shirt he’d put on earlier. He was in a plain hoodie, the kind someone might wear to hide their nerves walking into a rented Airbnb.

    Her smile sharpened. “You’ve got about, what—four hours left on the clock?”

    His mouth opened, but no sound came.

    Dani turned toward the mirror, running her fingers down the curve of her hip. “Better make the most of it.”

  • Kaylee’s Bully

    Kaylee’s Bully

    Melissa Carter was tired.

    Forty-eight years of stress and worry had worn grooves into her features like the bags under her eyes. Her shoulder-length honey blonde hair had faded from its once richer shade.

    She glanced down at her phone again. Kaylee hadn’t answered her last two texts. Of course not. She never does when she’s hiding in her room. 

    Melissa knew what was happening. And she knew who was behind it.

    Brittney Dalton, a spoiled, venomous little snake of a girl who seemed to thrive on tearing other girls down. The queen bee of Ashbury High. She was popular, rich, and seemingly untouchable. 

    Melissa knew that Kaylee was with Paul. He was her best friend and rock. Supporting Kaylee through all the bullying. She left her daughter in safe hands and went to confront Brittney.

    The bell above the door jingled as Melissa pushed into the café. She spotted Brittney right away, sitting alone near the back.  She was lazily scrolling through her phone, sipping some overpriced pink concoction with whipped cream.

    Brittney Dalton looked like trouble wrapped in a pleated skirt. She sat at the café table with her legs crossed, midriff exposed beneath a too-tight crop top, her blonde hair in pigtails tied off with bows that made her look younger than she was, but only in the most manipulative way. 

    Melissa hated confrontation and almost got cold feet.But then she pictured Kaylee crying while admitting she hated going to school now. That was enough to steel her nerves.

    Melissa marched across the room, planting herself at the edge of Brittney’s table.

    “Excuse me.” Her voice came out weaker than she intended.

    Brittney barely glanced up. “Yeah?” 

    Melissa felt her jaw clench. “We need to talk. About my daughter.”

    Brittney’s lips curled into a smug little smile as she leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “Ohhh… Kaylee.” She dragged the name out like it was a joke. “What about her?”

    “Cut the act, Brittney. I know what you’ve been doing to her. The way you’ve turned her life into a damn nightmare.”

    Brittney tilted her head, pretending to think. “Sounds like a her problem, not a me problem.”

    Melissa’s growing rage gave her courage. “Enough. This stops now. You leave her alone, or I swear—”

    Brittney leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. “Or what, Mommy? You gonna ground me?” She let out a breathy little laugh, twirling a strange, dark little pendant shaped like a twisting vine that was hanging from her neck.

    Without thinking, Melissa reached out and grabbed Brittney by the necklace, jerking her slightly forward. The pendant swung wildly, catching Brittney’s skin just below her collarbone.

    “Ow!” Brittney gasped, recoiling with wide eyes. She slapped Melissa’s hand away, her other hand flying up to cover the fresh scratch.

    “The hell is wrong with you?” she snapped, voice louder now, drawing glances from other tables.  A thin, angry red line appeared on her where blood welled up instantly.

    Britney stood up fast, knocking over her drink. Liquid splattered across the table and floor as Brittney pressed a napkin to the scratch, inspecting the tiny smear of blood on the white paper.

    “You’re a freaking psycho,” she hissed, clutching her phone like she was ready to call someone.

    Melissa was instantly regretful. She could already feel every set of eyes locking onto her. 

    “Brittney, wait—” Melissa tried to lower her voice, reaching out, palms open, desperate to deescalate. “I didn’t mean—”

    “Don’t touch me!” Brittney barked, stepping back another pace, holding the napkin tighter to her skin like she was about to dial 911.

    This was getting dangerous fast. “Brittney, just calm down—”

    Brittney swayed on her feet, blinking rapidly. Her smug expression cracked for the first time.

    “…whoa…” she muttered under her breath, gripping the edge of the table for balance. Her phone slipped from her hand and clattered to the floor.

    Melissa’s panic surged. “Are you okay?“

    Brittney didn’t answer. Instead, her knees buckled, her body tipping sideways.

    “Oh my god!” Melissa lunged forward, catching her just before she hit the ground. Brittney’s body was limp, unnaturally warm, like she was burning up.

    Melissa could hear the voices murmuring around the café.

    “I’ve got her—she’s fine, she just… fainted,” Melissa lied, plastering a weak smile on her face as she carefully hoisted Brittney to her feet. “She’s a friend of my daughter’s.”

    Someone was definitely filming.

    Melissa quickly grabbed Brittney’s bag, stuffed the fallen phone into it, and practically dragged the girl toward the door, forcing another brittle smile at the gawking customers.

    “It’s okay, she just needs air. She’s fine. Really. She’s fine.”

    Melissa half-carried Brittney to her car parked right at the curb. She fumbled with the door, managing to ease Brittney into the passenger seat. The girl groaned faintly, head lolling toward the window, eyes fluttering half-open, dazed and glassy.

    Melissa hurried around to the driver’s side, slamming the door shut behind her. Melissa leaned across the console, gently shaking Brittney’s shoulder.

    “Hey… hey, can you hear me? Brittney?”

    Brittney’s lips moved, but no sound came out. Her face had gone pale… no, not pale—grayish. Her skin looked off, like something under the surface was crawling just beneath it.

    Melissa swallowed the lump rising in her throat. She reached for her phone, fumbling with the lock screen.

    “Jesus, I… I’m calling an ambulance, just hang on—”

    A wet, gurgling sound cut her off. The girl’s body had started to tremble. Her arms jerked once… then again. Her mouth opened in a silent scream, her glassy eyes rolling back into her head.

    “Brittney?!”

    Melissa grabbed her again, trying to steady her, but Brittney’s skin felt damp and sticky.

    Then, right before Melissa’s horrified eyes, Brittney sank.

    It started at her jawline, skin collapsing inward like it was losing structure, bones softening and melting. Her lips slurred into a shapeless smear as her cheeks caved.

    Melissa yanked her hands back as Brittney’s body slumped like overcooked pasta.

    “Oh my god. Oh my god. What the fuck—what the fuck?”

    Brittney’s head split open like a popped blister, releasing a thick, shiny black ooze that immediately started pooling in the seat. The rest of her followed—skin, clothes, everything—collapsing into that growing, writhing puddle.

    Melissa screamed, scrambling back against her door, clawing for the handle.

    “No! No, no, NO!”

    The ooze shifted, moving unnaturally, as if alive. It pulsed once… then stretched toward her.

    She kicked at the dashboard in terror, frantically twisting the door handle but the black slime leapt toward her, a snake of liquid lashing out, splattering across her neck and chest before she could even scream again.

    “Ahh—!”

    Melissa’s back slammed into the window as she clawed at the sludge, but it clung to her skin like tar, crawling up her throat, slipping under the collar of her sweatshirt.

    “No! Get it off—”

    It seeped into her mouth, forcing its way past her lips and down her throat.

    Melissa gagged and thrashed, tears streaming down her face as the last of the ooze disappeared inside her. Her body spasmed once, twice… and then everything went still as she passed out.

    Melissa didn’t even remember driving home.

    The streets, the lights, the turns… all of it blurred together into a sickening fog. She felt cold and hot all at once, the weight of her clothes suffocating against her skin. Her throat still burned from where the slime had forced its way inside her.

    Her fingers trembled as she unlocked the front door.

    She stepped inside on numb legs, kicking the door shut behind her. The faint sound of the television drifted from the living room.

    “Hey, hon”, her husband Mark’s voice carried toward her from the couch, casual, oblivious.

    Melissa opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out at first. She swallowed thickly.

    “…I’m not… feeling well,” she rasped, her voice sounding strange even to her own ears.

    Mark sat up a little straighter, concerned.  “You okay? Do you need—”

    Melissa didn’t answer. She couldn’t. She just shook her head slowly and started toward the stairs like she was moving underwater.

    Her body felt wrong. Everything felt wrong.

    One step at a time, she dragged herself upward, gripping the banister with white knuckles.

    The light was on in Kaylee’s room.

    Melissa paused at the top of the stairs, staring at the thin slice of warm light spilling into the hallway. She could hear her daughter pacing softly inside, probably on her phone, unaware of anything that had just happened.

    Melissa pressed her lips together, fighting the lump swelling in her throat.

    I should check on her… I should tell her…

    But the weight of everything crashed down on her at once. The fear. The horror. The way her skin still crawled like something was inside her.

    Melissa gripped the doorframe to her bedroom, pushed inside, and collapsed face-first onto the bed without even kicking off her shoes.

    She curled into herself, clutching her pillow as the tears finally came.

    Melissa blinked up at the ceiling, expecting to feel like death, but she didn’t. She actually felt fine.

    She sat up slowly as the room filled with soft morning light. She looked down at herself. Her sweatshirt was twisted from sleep. Her hands trembled faintly as she touched her throat, expecting… something.

    But there was nothing. No burn. No stain. No black slime. Melissa exhaled a long breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

    Okay… okay. Maybe it didn’t happen. Maybe it was just a dream. A really vivid… terrifying dream.

    She slid out of bed and padded barefoot into the hallway, pulling her cardigan tighter around her. Everything felt normal. The scent of brewing coffee drifted up from the kitchen. The faint clinking of dishes. Mark was up.

    She smiled as she descended the stairs.

    “Morning,” he said, already pouring her a mug, his robe tied loosely at the waist.

    “Thanks,” she murmured, wrapping her fingers around the warm ceramic. “God, I needed this.”

    Mark gave her a curious look. “Rough night?”

    Melissa hesitated, then shook her head with a faint smile. “No… not really. I just… didn’t sleep great, that’s all.”

    “Well, you look better than you sounded last night,” he said, stepping in to give her a light kiss on the cheek. “Thought you were coming down with something.”

    “Me too,” she said quietly. “But I feel fine now. Honestly. Better than fine.”

    And it was true. She hadn’t felt this energized in years.

    They stood in the kitchen together in silence for a moment, sipping coffee and enjoying the calm. Melissa leaned against the counter, letting herself believe that everything was back to normal.

    Then the stairs creaked and Kaylee appeared at the edge of the room.

    “Morning,” she mumbled.

    Melissa looked up and something twisted inside her. She couldn’t explain it. It wasn’t anger. It was… revulsion.

    The sight of Kaylee’s slouched posture. The way she didn’t meet anyone’s eye. Her soft voice. Her sloppiness. She was so weak. So fragile.

    The word pathetic bloomed in Melissa’s mind like a rot.

    Melissa’s hand tightened around her coffee mug. Where the hell had that come from?

    Kaylee shuffled to the fridge, oblivious. Melissa tried to look away, fighting to keep the sneer from breaking across her face.

    God, look at her.

    The thought wasn’t hers. It slithered through her mind like smoke.

    Slouched over like a wet rag. No wonder they pick her apart—she walks around like she’s begging for it.

    Melissa’s mind fought with itself. She gripped the edge of the counter tightly.

    Pathetic little nothing, the voice cooed. You didn’t raise a daughter. You raised a doormat with a pulse.

    Her nails dug into her palm, leaving crescents in the skin.

    “Did you sleep okay?” she blurted. It didn’t sound like her. Not really.

    Kaylee shrugged without looking. “Yeah, I guess.”

    Of course you did. Nothing rattles a girl who’s too dumb to notice everyone hates her.

    Melissa took a long, slow breath through her nose as she watched Kaylee grab a yogurt from the fridge.

    “I’m going back upstairs,” Kaylee mumbled.

    What a surprise. Can’t even finish a conversation without retreating like the sad little wretch.

    Melissa nodded quickly, keeping her mouth shut. She didn’t trust herself to say anything. She didn’t trust what might come out.

    Kaylee’s steps disappeared upstairs and Melissa relaxed. It felt like unclenching a fist she hadn’t realized was tight. Her shoulders slumped. Her jaw loosened. The burning heat behind her eyes cooled.

    The bile of cruel thoughts lifted immediately and she felt energized.

    Mark returned, walking in with the newspaper under one arm, coffee in hand.

    “She heading back to bed already?” he asked with a raised brow.

    Melissa turned toward him, voice steady. “Looks like it. She’s… tired, I guess.”

    Mark snorted. “When is she not?” He leaned against the counter and took a sip. “Teenagers. It’s like their natural state is horizontal.”

    “Honestly, I envy her,” she said. “If I could stay in bed and shut out the world some mornings…”

    “You’d lose your mind after two hours,” Mark said. “You’d be organizing the junk drawer and emailing the PTA by lunch.”

    Melissa smiled into her cup. “You’re not wrong.”

    Mark kissed her on the temple and moved to grab the toast from the toaster.

    The front door clicked shut behind Mark, and Melissa stood in the hallway, sipping the last of her coffee. She let out a slow breath and turned toward the stairs.

    Shower. Reset. Maybe this’ll finally get whatever the hell is wrong with me out of my system.

    Her foot hit the first step when she heard it.

    “Mom?” Kaylee’s voice, faint but distinct, drifted from her bedroom.

    Melissa stopped. For just a second, her muscles tensed like her own daughter’s voice was a trigger. 

    “Yeah?” she called back.

    “I can’t find my charger. Did you maybe see it?”

    Melissa’s hand released the banister and she moved down the hall, each step slower than the last. Her pulse picked up. She nudged Kaylee’s door open.

    Kaylee was on the floor beside her bed, hair a mess, hoodie three sizes too big, surrounded by open notebooks, cords, and half-eaten wrappers. She looked up with those same tired, watery eyes.

    “Never mind,” she said. “I think I—”

    “Jesus Christ,” Melissa snapped, voice slicing through the air. “Do you ever not look like a fucking disaster?”

    Kaylee froze. “…What?”

    Melissa’s heart jumped in her chest—but it wasn’t fear. It was something hungry.

    The words had slipped out fast, too fast. No filter. No hesitation. And something hot and sweet slid up the back of her throat like venom.

    God, look at her.

    The voice purred now. You sure she’s not feral? Hoodie, rat’s nest hair, trash everywhere? What guy would even touch that?

    “Did you actually eat breakfast?” Melissa said, her tone suddenly light, fake sweet. “Or did you just crawl out of this hoarder pile and start crying again?”

    Kaylee’s jaw tensed. “What the hell is your problem?”

    Melissa stepped fully into the room, arms crossing under her chest. The smirk blooming on her lips didn’t even feel forced anymore.

    “My problem?” she said, head tilting. “My problem is watching you wallow in your own filth like you’re waiting for someone to rescue you. Newsflash, Kaylee—no one’s coming.”

    Kaylee flinched, her face twisting. “Why are you acting like this?”

    “Maybe if you didn’t dress like a fucking meme and carry yourself like a kicked dog, people wouldn’t treat you like trash.”

    Kaylee’s mouth fell open, but nothing came out. Her eyes shimmered with instant tears.

    Melissa blinked. Something inside her blinked too.  What did I just say? What did I just—

    Kaylee stood up, slow and stiff. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she whispered, voice cracking.

    Melissa turned on her heel, suddenly nauseous, suddenly thrilled, gripping the doorknob.

    “Forget it,” she snapped, tossing it off like the whole moment bored her. “Just… clean your fucking room.”

    She shut the door on Kaylee.

    Her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. Her skin buzzed. Her jaw ached from the grin she was still fighting to bury.

    God, it had felt so good.

    Melissa stood frozen on the other side of Kaylee’s door, one hand still clenched around the knob. Her pulse hammered in her ears.

    What the hell is wrong with me?

    She had to force her fingers to let go. She backed away slowly, numb, stomach churning with guilt… and something else. Something dark and addictive still thrumming under her skin.

    She had made her daughter cry.

    And part of her liked it.

    She squeezed her eyes shut.

    She needed to hear it, the voice whispered. And you needed to say it.

    “No,” she said aloud, pressing her fingers to her temples. “That’s not me. That’s not who I am.”

    Melissa closed the bathroom door behind her and locked it.

    She turned on the shower, hot as it would go. The bathroom filled with steam almost immediately. She peeled her clothes off slowly and stood naked in the growing cloud of steam. 

    She stepped under the spray and let the heat wash over her. For a while, she just stood there, breathing, head tilted back, eyes closed. The heat soaked into her muscles. Her chest loosened. The rising panic of the morning began to slip away.

    Her thoughts drifted, spiraling back to the moment in Kaylee’s room. The look on her daughter’s face. That edge of betrayal in her voice.

    She looked like she was going to cry again. Like she always does.

    The thought slipped out of her lips.

    “She always does…”

    Her eyes opened. Had she said that?

    She blinked at the tiles in front of her. Her lips parted again.

    “She’s so weak. God, she can’t even look people in the eye without flinching—”

    The words tumbled out, faster now.

    “Always hunched, always mumbling. Like she wants people to walk all over her. Maybe she likes it. Maybe that’s all she’s good for—”

    “Stop,” Melissa gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth.

    The voice was hers, but the words weren’t. They came slick and full of poison. And when she pulled her hand away, there was black slime on her palm.

    She looked down and the bottom of the shower was coated in it. A spreading pool of glistening black ooze, leaking from her mouth like a faucet she couldn’t shut off.

    “Oh my god…” she whispered, voice trembling.

    The memory slammed into her like a truck.

    Brittney. The café. The car. The melting. It had all been real.

    She staggered back into the wall, one hand braced against the tile, the other shaking as the slime continued to trickle from her lips in thick, choking ropes.

    It’s inside me. 

    The black pool pulsed. Moved. Almost… breathed.

    Melissa’s chest heaved. She tried to scream, but her mouth opened and something else came out entirely.

    “She’s pathetic.”

    The words spilled from her lips like vomit. 

    “Always whining. Always looking for someone to fix her.”

    “No—” she croaked, trying to cover her mouth, but her hand slipped, soaked in slime.

    “God, no wonder she’s a target. You can smell the weakness on her.”

    “Stop—” she gasped, chest seizing.

    “She’s not a daughter. She’s a burden.”

    The words weren’t thoughts anymore. They were truths, pressed into her lungs by something dark and sentient.

    “She doesn’t need protection. She needs to be broken.”

    Melissa dropped to her knees with a wet slap, her hands sinking into the black pool now circling her thighs.

    The ooze began to crawl up her legs.

    “Make her fear you,” she heard herself say, voice slipping into something younger, richer, more vicious. “That’s how you teach respect.”

    She clamped her lips shut, but it didn’t matter. The words still poured out—wet, wicked, unstoppable.

    “She was never going to be anything. But you—” the voice purred, sliding off her tongue like silk, “you still can.”

    The slime surged upward, wrapping around her thighs like latex come to life. Her skin tingled, then tightened, smoothing beneath it. Cellulite erased. Flesh lifted. Her thighs plumped with sensual, toned definition. Her knees reshaped, girlish and firm.

    Melissa gasped as the ooze encased her hips, squeezing until they flared, pushing outward into a perfect hourglass. Her ass lifted in seconds, swelling behind her, bouncy and sharp beneath the slick layer now coating her skin like second skin.

    “Stop—please—” she whimpered, but her voice cracked, betraying something new inside her: excitement.

    The ooze kept climbing.

    Her stomach flattened in an instant, muscles drawing taut beneath the shifting black. Her waist shrank smaller and smaller until it looked impossibly sculpted.

    Melissa arched back with a strangled moan as the slime flowed up over her breasts, which swelled under its grip. They grew rounder, fuller, almost pornographic. Her nipples stiffened beneath the living sheen now dressing her body in something between ink and desire.

    Her back straightened. Her posture shifted. Her shoulders drew back like she belonged on a stage, or a throne.

    And all the while, the words kept coming:

    “She’s weak. A crybaby. Always so needy.”

    “You spent years nurturing a worm.”

    “She’s nothing to you.”

    The slime wrapped around her throat and jaw. She convulsed once as her skin flushed with new color. Her lips plumped even more, glossy and kissable, her cheeks sharpening to high, symmetrical angles. Her nose tilted upward slightly, perkier. Her lashes darkened. Her brows arched with a built-in sneer.

    She tilted her head, watching her reflection twist into something else.

    Her hair lengthened, thick and styled effortlessly even wet, the dull blonde gone—replaced with a brighter, sexier shade that shimmered like spun gold in the mist.

    When it reached her eyes—her irises lit up like fire behind glass. A new brightness. A new hunger.

    “I’m not her mother,” she purred, rising from the floor as the last of the slime sealed over her toes like heels painted into flesh. “I’m her better.”

    Melissa stood fully now. Not the woman who’d begged herself to stop. Not the tired, anxious mother who whispered apologies and swallowed her rage.

    This woman was all tits and venom. A cruel goddess sculpted in dripping black sheen and deliberate beauty. Every curve designed to dominate. Every breath soaked in poison and power.

    And she was smiling.

    The door slammed open without warning.

    Kaylee flinched hard, nearly dropping her phone.

    Beside her on the bed, Paul looked up from his spot on the floor, where he’d been leaning back against her dresser, scrolling through memes. His broad shoulders tensed, eyes narrowing.

    There was a woman in the doorway. She was tall and terrifying, wrapped in glistening black that clung to her like skin. Her body was impossibly sculpted. Her long, blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders, face framed perfectly, lips full and glossy, eyes sharp and lined like daggers.

    “Who the hell are you?” Paul said, standing now, instinctively stepping between the woman and Kaylee.

    The woman’s face contorted into a wicked smile.

    “You don’t recognize me?” she said, voice rich with honeyed poison. “Aww. That’s disappointing.”

    She stepped into the room, each click of her heels deliberate, predatory.

    “Back off,” Paul said, squaring his shoulders. “You need to leave.”

    “Oh, Paul,” she purred, eyes raking over him like she already owned him. “You always were the loyal one, weren’t you? Big, gentle, devoted. Playing the role of protector like some kind of golden retriever.”

    His brows pulled together. “How do you know my name?”

    She walked right up to him now, close enough for her scent to fill his nose.

    “Oh, I know all sorts of things,” she whispered, reaching up to trail a finger down the center of his chest. “I know how you’ve supported Kaylee while Brittney bullied her.  I know how you’ve been there through thick and thin. I know how you’ve secretly wanted her.  Lusted for her.  And how she’s been oblivious to it.”

    Paul stepped back a half-inch, but his eyes didn’t leave hers. There was something… wrong. Something electric in the air.

    “Get away from her,” Kaylee said from behind him, voice cracking. “Whoever you are, get the hell away from him!”

    Melissa didn’t even look at her. She kept her eyes locked on Paul’s, voice syrupy and smooth.

    “You’ve always wondered what it would be like to have someone want you, haven’t you?” she whispered. “Not just the sweet one. Not just the friend. Someone who actually wants you…”

    Her hand pressed to his chest, and he didn’t move.

    “You’ve thought about it,” she cooed. “Don’t lie. All those times she cried to you, leaned on you. All that touching. You felt something. And you hated yourself for it. Didn’t you?”

    Paul swallowed hard, jaw clenched.

    Kaylee stepped forward, panicked now. “Paul, don’t listen to her!”

    But he didn’t move.

    “I could give you what she never will,” she whispered. “You’d never have to be her safety blanket again. You’d be mine.”

    Paul’s shoulders loosened just slightly.

    “No…” Kaylee stepped between them now, voice desperate. “Paul. Please.”

    He blinked once, slowly, and looked down at Kaylee. Something in his eyes shifted and she seemed smaller now. Lesser.

    Melissa’s voice oozed with satisfaction. “Go ahead, Kaylee. Say goodbye.”

    “Paul?” Kaylee whispered, voice trembling. “Don’t.”

    But Paul didn’t move.

    Melissa turned to him fully, dragging one glossy red fingernail down his chest. “You’ve been such a good boy,” she purred, “loyal, patient. Always waiting your turn. Well…” She leaned in, her lips brushing against his. “Now it’s your turn.”

    And she kissed him.

    Kaylee gasped. “Stop it!”

    Paul didn’t pull away. His shoulders sagged, like he surrendered. His hands gripped Melissa’s waist without thinking.

    When Melissa broke the kiss, her lips curled into a wicked grin. “That’s more like it.”

    She turned slightly, hooking her fingers in the collar of his shirt and tugging upward. “Take it off.”

    Kaylee stood frozen, horrified, as Paul peeled away his shirt, then let his pants fall to the floor. He was left standing in nothing but his tight black briefs. His face was slack, entranced.

    Melissa ran her palms over his chest, slow and possessive. “God, look at you,” she cooed. “All that strength, all that loyalty, wasted on her.”

    Kaylee stepped backward, eyes wide, heart hammering. “Paul… please… you don’t want this.”

    But Melissa spoke over her, never breaking eye contact with Kaylee. “Oh, he wants it. Every inch of him wants to forget you ever existed. Isn’t that right, baby?”

    Paul dropped to his knees at Melissa’s feet.

    Kaylee couldn’t breathe. Her legs gave out beneath her and she sank to the floor, hands over her mouth, eyes unblinking.

    Melissa looked down at her, towering in all her perfect, corrupted glory.

    “This is what power looks like,” she said softly. “And you’ll never have it.”

    She pushed Paul up against the wall and pulled down his underwear. 

    “Well,” she said, voice like silk over something wicked, “you have been hiding a secret.”

    She grabbed his cock with her hand and looked up at him.

    “You’re going to be so much more fun than I thought. Now, use this monster and show me a good time.”

    Kaylee couldn’t look away.

    She was still curled on the floor, her breath shallow, body locked in place as Paul leaned into Melissa’s touch like he’d forgotten anything else existed. Like he wasn’t Paul anymore.

    She forced herself upright, hands trembling, knees unsteady. Somehow, she made it to her feet.

    And then she ran.

    “Mom!?” she shouted, voice cracking as she stumbled into the hall. “Where are you!?”

    From behind her came the first sounds. They were soft at first, then louder. Pleasure twisted into something commanding, raw. Kaylee slapped her hands over her ears.

    “Stop it!” she cried. “Mom—please—where are you?”

    She threw open her parents’ bedroom door. It was empty.

    She ran to the guest room. Empty.

    The sounds followed her—echoing from behind, from the room she couldn’t go back to. Laughs, gasps, screams.

    She checked every room, but her mother wasn’t there.

    Kaylee collapsed in the hallway outside her own room, tears blurring her vision, heart hammering against her ribs like it was trying to escape.

    And then, finally, she whispered it. “…Mom?”

    But there was no answer.

    Only those sounds.

    And the quiet, crushing truth that whatever was behind that door—wasn’t her mother anymore.

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