The soft glow of streetlights filtered through the window, casting flickering shadows on the ceiling. The air was thick with the slow, curling tendrils of smoke, the sharp, earthy scent of weed wrapping around us like a blanket.
The big rift in their marriage, she had said; his love for herb, juvenile and immature in her eyes, her love for booze—“not around my daughter!”
Alice lay beside me, naked but unsuggestive, satisfied perhaps, one arm draped over her stomach, the other lifting the joint to her lips. She took a long, lazy drag, her nose twitching slightly before she passed it to me.
Neither of us had spoken much since we left the motel.
I exhaled, letting the smoke unfurl past my lips, watching it swirl in the dim light. The silence between us felt heavier than usual—not awkward, not tense, just… weighted.
Alice finally spoke, her voice quieter than I expected.
“Do you see me differently?”
Her eyes flickered toward me, unreadable, searching.
I hesitated.
Differently? How couldn’t I?
She was everything I desired to be—the way she rode him, took him, owned every second of the night—the way she made it all hers.
But she was still Alice. My Alice.
And then it dawned on me.
It wasn’t her I saw differently.
It was me.
I took another hit, letting the smoke sit heavy in my lungs before releasing it slowly.
“No,” I finally said.
She studied me for a moment, her expression unreadable.
“Good,” she murmured, sinking back against the pillows.
I passed the joint back to her.
“Do you see me differently?”
She took a drag, held it, and let it slip past her lips in a slow, thoughtful exhale.
Her fingers toyed with the hem of my skirt—the same skirt I was still wearing, the one now marked, still slightly damp, a silent reminder between us.
She smirked, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
She rolled over and kissed me.
Her breast grazed my hand, and my fingers sought her.
I cupped her, feeling her softness, feeling her react to my touch. I let her slip between my fingers, hardening against my palm.
“What are you doing, babe?” she whispered, her voice a lazy purr—one I knew would get me into trouble.
“Feeling.”
“And what do you feel?”
“Envy.”
She stilled. Not fully, just for a breath, just long enough for me to know she wasn’t expecting that answer.
I swallowed hard, my thumb grazing over her nipple, rolling it gently.
“You’re perfect,” I murmured. “The way you move, the way you take what you want. The way your body…” My voice faltered, but I forced myself to finish. “The way your body just is.”
Alice didn’t tease me this time.
Instead, she lifted a hand, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
“And you think you aren’t?”
I bit my lip, feeling my throat tighten.
Her fingers trailed down, brushing over my collarbone, drifting lower, stopping just at my chest.
I didn’t have an answer.
But by the look of her nose, she did.
“Tomorrow,” she said, her voice softer now, more measured. “We’re going back home. If you truly want this…”
She hesitated.
Then she took my hand, pressing it tighter against her skin.
“You are perfect the way you are, babe,” she whispered.
But the tears trailing down my cheeks gave me away.
She sighed, pulling me closer and pressing her forehead to mine.
“It’s the easiest thing in the world, babe. But what about school? David?”
David.
I had spent the last two days away from him. For the first time in my life, he had not been a part of me. Not even tucked away at the furthest corners of my doubt had he existed.
“David,” I echoed, the name sounding foreign, clumsy, almost harsh in my mouth.
Alice watched me, waiting, letting me process it for myself.
“David wears baggy clothes.”
“Yeah, babe,” she murmured, fingers drifting back up to brush a tear from my cheek. “He does. He also takes long, steamy showers with the boys.”
A startled laugh escaped me, sharp and unfiltered.
Alice grinned, her nose twitching as she took another lazy drag from the joint.
I wiped my cheeks, shaking my head, but the heat that flushed through me wasn’t just from embarrassment.
“Too bad he has a bad knee.”
There she went again, to places I couldn’t quite follow.
The look she gave me confirmed she agreed.
“Blue eyes, blonde… yeah, you’re my type,” she giggled, tapping her finger against my nose. “Let’s just say Dr. Leigh is quite accommodating when he receives my dad’s deliveries. And with his bad knee, David…”
“Can’t attend gym class,” I finished, the realization sinking in.
Alice grinned, eyes flashing.
Her expression and the mimicked “Bingo.” let me know I had to keep up.
“What?” she said, watching my mind turn.
I hesitated as realization sunk in.
“No more showering with the boys,” I whispered
Alice’s smirk faltered—just slightly. Just enough.
And she saw it.
No more sneaking glances.
No more standing in the steam, letting my eyes feast on their bodies, hungry for something I never had the words for.
No more pretending.
Her smile returned, slow and knowing.
“It’s okay, babe,” she giggled, “You still got a few more weeks of staring. After that? You can do what I do: Sneak into the storage room, stand on the wooden box, and peek through the broken vent.”
Finding sleep in Alice’s arms was easy.
***
I sat on the bed, watching her the way I had for the past half hour, fiddling with the butterfly pendant between my fingers. The soft rise and fall of her breath, the faint twitch of her nose, and the way her lips curved into an occasional, unconscious smile all soothed me. But my eyes drifted to the stained skirt slung over the chair, then back to her. The sleeping beauty beside me. The relentless mistress from last night. My mind struggled to bridge the gap.
Soon, she’d wake. I could hear it in the subtle shift of her breathing, the way her fingers curled ever so slightly in her sleep. I wished I could sneak off and make her tea and honey before she stretched, before she smiled, and before she said something beautiful in that soft, husky morning voice.
Instead, her brow furrowed, and her first word was—
“Motherfucker.”
She groaned, rolling onto her side, one arm flopping toward the nightstand. Her fingers fumbled blindly, knocking over the ashtray instead of whatever she reached for. A few ashes tumbled onto the floor.
“Babe,” she groaned, her voice thick, “Can you grab my water bottle from my bag?”
For a second, I sulked, feeling a little cheated out of my morning snuggles. Then Alice made a face while she swallowed, her green eyes pinching in discomfort, and my giggles broke free before I could stop them.
“Still worth coming back for your Saturdays?” I teased.
The water almost caught in her throat. Those tired, pained eyes flashed with life again, and her lips curled—slow, knowing.
“Oh, fuck, babe,” she purred, voice dripping with satisfaction. “If this is the price I have to pay to watch you cum like that? Make every day this painful.”
Then, her eyes softened, “How about you? How are you feeling?”
My eyes blinded her with brightness, my smile tormented her with its freshness, and my voice taunted her with unbearable energy, “Me? I’m game for another round.”
She pulled the pillow over her head, and I heard her muffled cries, “Go away!”
When I stepped out of the bathroom, she was already half-dressed on the bed, a joint lazily rolling between her fingers—hungover, unbothered, and ready for whatever came next.
“Kiss me, take a hit, and let’s get this day over with,” she said, completely Alice.
When she locked the door behind us, everything we’d brought was packed away; the ashtray had been emptied and rinsed, and the room thoroughly aired out. Even the bed was stripped, and the linens folded and stuffed into our bags to be washed later. She left nothing behind.
“You lock it every time?” I asked as she put the key in her pocket.
“Every time,” she sighed.
“But there’s nothing in there?”
She paused, her fingers pressing against the key for just a second before she answered.
“Exactly,” she exhaled. “And I need to keep it that way. If I don’t lock it, she’ll come in looking for anything—cash, whatever she can take—but worse… she’ll leave something of herself in here. Something I can’t unstick.”
As we descended the stairs, the air thickened—stale, stagnant. The sour tang of cigarettes clung to it now, curling against my throat.
Her mother sat hunched at the kitchen table, staring at an unopened bottle of vodka, a trembling cigarette hanging between her fingers. She looked worn thin; her skin stretched too tight over bones that had forgotten how to carry her. Her hair, slick and unwashed, clung to her skull like something left in the rain too long. When she lifted her arm in something like a greeting, her fingers curled inward, the tremor so sharp it seemed to rattle her bones.
“Alice,” she said, her voice sounding like the grinding wheel of a windmill, “how was your stay?”
Alice’s jaw tensed. She exhaled, low and slow, before whispering, “Veni, Vidi, Vici.”
“Oh, who’s this?” the old woman said, pointing at me.
“Claire.” Alice’s voice was calm, but there was a blade beneath it. “This is my friend Veronica. She held me up while I cleaned your filth, dried the dishes you left rotting last week, and helped me buy your groceries. And when night fell, she tucked me in and ensured I was loved—something you never had the courtesy to do.”
She tilted her head, her smile cold.
“So, really, thanks for staying uselessly drunk and out of sight. It’s the rarest kindness you’ve ever given me.”
Clair Caldwell turned towards her bottle, and as we closed the door behind us, I heard a faint voice. “See you next week.”
Out on the street, I nearly had to run to keep up with Alice, her steps determined to get away as fast as she could.
“Stop,” I said, “Just stop, Alice.”
I caught up to her but didn’t find the tears I expected. I wasn’t even sure I found Alice, at least not my Alice.
“It’s okay,” she said, “I just need to get her off me. I’m done with the crying; I’m done with hoping. One of these Fridays, I’m going to find her dead. And it won’t even matter. But…she doesn’t get to define me.”
So, I decided to cry for her.
“If anything, she defines everything you’re not,” I sobbed.
And then she cried, and in the cold drizzle of March rain, the people driving by saw two high school girls hugging under the cold streetlight, giving them plenty of opportunity to moan about ‘kids these days.’
The bus ride home was a reversed transformation compared to Friday. For each of her dried curls, another star sprinkled in her eye, and by the time we saw Henry’s DS as the bus pulled into the station, she was on fire, with rosy cheeks and utterly Alice.
“How was the weekend?” Henry wondered, but his voice carried all the tension of knowing.
“Veni, Vidi, Vici,” Alice echoed, but forceful this time.
“You don’t have to go there…not anymore,” he said, his voice carrying all that love I had discovered in him the past week.
“I don’t have to, no. Yet, I need to.”
Behind that bird’s nest of hair and beard, his eyes were nothing but unconditional love.
Get in,” Henry said, taking our bags and opening the door. “I’ve got a roast going—should be perfect by the time we get home.”
The drive home—not to Alice’s house, but home—settled me.
“So,” Henry started, “how did the world greet you, Veronica?”
I flushed instantly, but Alice jumped in without even realizing I needed rescuing before I could find the words.
“The world loved her!” she declared, launching into a breathless rant of half-truths, painting our weekend in broad strokes that revealed just enough without crossing into dangerous territory. She spoke with the ease of someone who had nothing to hide—but everything to protect.
From the driver’s mirror, Henry’s eyes met mine.
He knew. Maybe not everything, but enough.
And if he wasn’t exactly comfortable with it… he understood.
Dinner was a treat.
With the most natural ease, Henry poured the wine into generous glasses.
And the roast?
It wasn’t just tender.
I surrendered.
It melted, dissolving like silk on my tongue, the juices spilling warmth down my throat. I closed my eyes—maybe a second too long—almost breathing the meal. It settled deep inside me, satisfying something that had nothing to do with hunger.
Not a word about the weekend—just existing in the moment, treated as equals.
Henry knew what Alice needed, and he provided.
Turns out, wine makes me hot on the inside.
Being warm and tingly around Alice was effortless.
As soon as her bedroom door closed behind us, she shed her clothes like second skin and kissed me.
“I need to wash the weekend off,” she said, voice low, unbothered. “I’m going to take a hot, steamy shower and emerge… healed.”
I watched her stride towards the bathroom, effortless, untouchable, feeling nothing but gratitude.
Then, just before stepping through the door—she stopped.
She looked over her shoulder.
That stare.
“That,” she murmured, voice dripping with promise, “was an invitation.”
***
The air was thick with the slow curl of smoke, tendrils of it dancing in the dim light.
Naked, tangled in each other, the joint passed between us, lazy and unhurried. The comfort of my skin on hers, without the need for hesitation, doubt, or second thought. The weekend’s weight faded into the haze—not forgotten, just lighter now.
Her fingers traced slow, absentminded circles over my stomach.
“Do you still feel it?” she whispered.
I blinked, hazy, tilting my head toward her.
She smirked. “Babe, you felt it this weekend. I know you did.”
I hesitated, trying to reach inside her mind to figure out exactly where she was going.
“The envy,” she said.
It flashed back; how I felt when she brushed against me, how she felt in my hands, how she made him feel in that motel room.
“I don’t just feel it,” I sighed, “It burns.”
She looked into my eyes and found what she was looking for far beyond them.
“Okay,” she said, “Then…”
Her fingers reached toward the nightstand.
A small bottle.
White. Labeled.
My breath caught.
“These,” she said, voice smooth, “are for you.”
I took the bottle. It felt strange—solid, real, cold in my hands.
“What is it?” I asked, my voice quieter than I expected.
Alice smirked, but there was something softer beneath it. “Medicine,” she said. “The kind that doesn’t just numb the pain—it mends you.”
I swallowed. “Is it safe?”
She giggled, shaking her head. “Babe, it’s estrogen. It’s not changing you—it’s just enhancing what you already are.”
Then she paused, studying me. All the questions dancing behind my eyes.
“It’ll be subtle at first,” she murmured. “Your skin. It will feel softer, more yours. More alive.”
Her fingers traced lazily across my chest.
“This touch?” she whispered. “It’ll hit you differently. Not changed, just so much stronger.”
Her hand stopped over my heart.
“Your heart. Your emotions. Your essence. All of it will be stronger. And that’s a good thing. A real thing. Even if it means you’ll be crying your eyes out in the school bathroom for no other reason than being you.”
She pressed soft kisses to my chest, teasing, slow. Then, with a playful nip at my nipple, she sighed dramatically.
“Then, you’ll deny me this pleasure,” she huffed, “because this? This is where the magic happens.”
Her grin widened.
“Tingly at first, almost unbearable after a while. Fabric rubbing against you? Forget it. That’s when you start budding.”
She looked up, grinning wickedly.
“Oh, and you might get a fat ass.”
Giggles.
Giggles sliding into realization.
A silent, hesitant reflection.
“What about…down there?” I whispered.
Alice didn’t tease. Didn’t smirk.
Instead, she shifted closer, her warmth pressing against me. Her fingers traced a slow, absentminded circle against my hip, grounding me.
“She’ll… soften,” she murmured. “She won’t be the center of your experience. But she’ll still love the attention. She’ll still come out and play.”
Her fingers slid up, resting over my heart.
“She just doesn’t get to define the game.”
I hesitated. “What about school? David?”
Alice’s giggles started deep—so deep I could feel them against my skin, before they climbed up her throat, spilling out in full, bubbling laughter.
By the time she caught her breath, her words were barely comprehensible.
“David? Oh, babe—he’s so fucked.”
Then, she sobered—just slightly.
She rolled onto her back, stretching like a cat, her nose twitching as her eyes landed on something unseen on the ceiling.
“I mean, sure, he struggles at school—barely pulling through for now—never undresses around the other boys, barely speaks in groups, and just manages to disappear just enough to stay out of all the photos.”
She turned her head toward me, grinning wickedly.
“Tell me, babe—how long before someone asks why David keeps showing up to school looking prettier every day?”
Then—her hand found mine.
“You have to fight it still, babe,” she murmured, her eyes almost apologetic, almost asking for forgiveness. “The moment someone sees you, it’s over. Just until graduation. It’s still so meaninglessly fragile. He has to play his supporting role until the very end.”
Then—she rolled on top of me, her weight settling, grounding, keeping me here.
“That means easy on the lip gloss before first period.”
It made sense.
Besides, I had almost tuned out. She said prettier, not pretty.
“Here,” she said, “One pill a day for now, babe. Let your body catch up first. If and when you need more…Dr. Leigh will have to come into the picture.”
The tiny pill felt unnaturally heavy in my hand. As if the weight of it carried all that it meant.
“It’s a strange fate,” Alice teased, “that we should suffer so much fear and doubt over so small a thing.”
Then, leaning in.
“If you’re ready. Just let it melt under your tongue.”
I know I still sound stupid, but I felt different.
That feeling lingered like a secret between us, a secret so precious that hiding inside David felt almost like a game. A game of I know something you don’t, a game of undressing their glares and asking, “Do you see me now?”
A game where I was delightfully in control and even took charge. A game where their taunts were met with blue eyes, telling nothing.
Alice’s mid-week lull was met with my keen desire to see more and have her show me more.
I was living in her clothes but finding my own within them.
The showers after gym were delightful. I didn’t care if they stared…in fact, I welcomed it.
Because I was pretty.
Something beautiful.
And their laughs? It was envy.
On the weekend, I refused to let her fade into Silent-Alice during the bus ride; this time, she didn’t need to. I had seen it. I had lived in her world.
The yellow house didn’t sigh at our arrival. But inside, her mother’s absence didn’t erase her presence—the mess had returned.
We didn’t speak. We just got to it.
By the time we sat behind that locked door—in that strangely sterile room that was hers but never truly hers—I pulled out the scented candles, the incense, and a few blankets I had stolen from her bed.
“I reclaim this room,” I said, “in the name of everything delightful, everything wonderful, and everything Alice.”
She hesitated.
Then, without a word, she stood, undressed, and rolled a joint. Cross-legged and calm, she pulled her favorite blanket around herself, settling into the moment.
“Yeah, could work,” she muttered.
But her tone betrayed her.
She was touched.
Meeting Clair the morning after didn’t alter how I felt. I accepted her. Her fate. Her house.
And I think she accepted me—just a little—based on how little my eyes judged her.
“Same girl, Alice?” she slurred, her cigarette wobbling between two fingers.
“Why can’t you find a decent guy with a decent cock to fix you?”
I couldn’t resist.
“Because, Mrs. Caldwell,” I said, my voice dripping with golden honey, “No cock can fix like I do.”
My kiss was full force. Alice played along, sinking into me, her lips curving just so—a taunt, a promise, a victory.
Her mother could say whatever she wanted.
She would never define even an inch of a thought in Alice again.
By the time we arrived back at the house with the groceries, she had left, but a trail of cigarette smoke lingered under the ceiling. The smudged glass on the kitchen table was half full.
“Not like her not to finish her breakfast,” Alice commented, “You burned her good.”
“That’s not all that’s burning, babe,” I whispered, “Let’s get ready.”
Her transformation was as flawless as last week, and that smell of leather was enough to have a girl begging to be bound.
“No,” I said as Alice tried to hide me inside a respectable dress. Cute, short, but…I wasn’t going for cute.
“That one,” I said, pointing at the bright red, skin-tight skirt she’d just discarded for herself.
Alice paused, holding the dress between her fingers, her lips parting just slightly.
Then, a slow, knowing smirk curled at the edges of her mouth.
“Oh, babe,” she murmured, her voice dipping into something low and indulgent, “I love it when you take what you want.”
She tossed the dress aside, picking up the red skirt and holding it up against my hips, her fingers ghosting over my waist.
“This one’s dangerous, you know.”
Her eyes flickered up, green fire meeting blue.
“Are you?”
By the fourth tequila shot, she had landed on an answer.
He was towering, rugged, and pressing. His breath felt like drool, and I did not doubt that in his mind, I was already naked, begging for harder and faster.
“This?” I smiled, “Oh, honey, you can’t have this.”
Alice’s stare grew deep green, her nose stopped twitching, and her breath caught hot on my skin, “If Stephan doesn’t walk through the door right now, you’re coming with me to the bathroom.”
If Stephan had been reduced to a prop and a tool the weekend before, his role played no part at the motel. Sure, he was plowing into her, but it was as if she didn’t even acknowledge his existence.
She was buried between my thighs, pushing me over the edge, making me fall into a chasm deeper and darker than night itself. She caught me so she could fling me deeper and deeper.
But when Stephan’s grunts deepened, I just had to watch; I had to see. He ripped the condom off, and when he covered her back in thick, sticky sperm, I could finally surrender.
Sigh.
It didn’t last, though. This was just the effect the decision had on me, not anything like the actual changes that were about to happen to me.
It started with dreading Sunday nights; I’d find myself crying in front of the bathroom mirror. I’d think too long between her sentences and dwell too long on my answers. Somehow, everything had to carry a deeper meaning.
It was the same on the weekends; I withdrew and became a spectator. I loved watching her ease around her body and the way she demanded how, but I just wanted to exist in her tenderness. And I did. Just not like that. At first.
By April, blurring the lines between David and me was becoming almost impossible.
I didn’t speak much at school—my honey-dipped voice slipped through too easily, too naturally. Speaking like David had become difficult. Foreign. Crude.
Unnatural.
I was more focused, thanks to Alice’s ever-growing homework regime. But I was also more distracted.
The way my skin could feel dry, urging me to reach for lotion—just for an excuse to feel myself. To feel my skin.
I had started wearing a bra—not for looks, not to feel different, and certainly not to support anything.
No, it was a protective layer, stopping my clothes from rubbing against me. Because I felt everything.
I found myself locked in bathroom stalls more and more often, sobbing over starving children in Africa, over how crude and inconsiderate people could be, the tone of a sentence sounding slightly shar, or just trying to find balance within myself.
The whispers were the same. But they felt different.
It wasn’t just how every crude whisper stirred my very soul, or how every tender touch rushed through me like burning grass on a windy day.
I developed a deep craving for chocolate.
Not that bitter, crude American chocolate you grab at the corner store. No—something smoother. Creamier. Melting the moment it touched my tongue.
The kind even David couldn’t resist during lunch—his eyes half-lidded, legs crossed, slipping into a half-euphoric bliss.
David faltered. He didn’t hold up his end of the bargain. He’d sit cross-legged and flutter his eyes, resting his chin delicately on the back of his fingers—soft, poised, unconsciously…me.
I didn’t even notice before catching their stares, their whispers. Had they seen me?
And that started making me sick. Because I longed for their comments.
You look pretty today.
I love what you’ve done with your hair!
Did your eyes always shine so blue?
But their unheard whispers didn’t align.
Freak.
Alice’s notes weren’t hidden pieces of encouragement anymore. They were still quirky and half-nonsensical, but more than anything, they were instructions and corrections.
Too sexy, too long.
Legs wider, gaze firmer.
I give up. I’m wetter than a drowning hamster, and I’m fucking you in the kitchen when I get home.
I was shedding David, and he wasn’t putting up enough of a fight.
The weekends? They didn’t stay in observance for long. They snared me in, and soon sweat, bodies, and sex were the finest chocolate.
I wasn’t just watching Alice pulled, stretched, and filled. I was there, pulling her, stretching her, filling her. I’d drool over Stephan, making sure he was kept tingling whenever Alice shifted position. And her aroma on him?
I’d catch his eye lingering on me, I felt how he desired me as he took her.
And more alarmingly, I felt how that desire matched my own.
And that realization set cracks into the foundation of David.
I was glancing at her across the table; she was lost in some book. It was her third time reading it, but advanced English is advanced English.
I closed my book, and her eyes found mine.
“Giving up?” she teased, still not brought to the limit of her patience.
“No,” I said, “I’m done.”
Now she sighed.
“We’ve had this talk.” Stern.
I giggled.
“No, Ms. Caldwell, I finished my homework. All of it. For the entire week.”
She put down her book. No, really, she closed it and put it down on the table. She leaned on her elbows, a lazy lock of red temptation falling on her face.
“Look at you, babe,” she said, “Would you like Ms. Caldwell to show you how proud she is?”
I swallowed.
“Babe, you mentioned your doctor. About the showers…”
I couldn’t help trailing my finger across my chest.
“I know you can’t see it…but…I feel it.”
“My budding flower?” she teased, “The way your entire body flinches at my mere touch? Do you have any idea what power you’ve given me?”
“Alice,” I started, my voice carrying enough for her to realize now was not the time.
“I’ve got you, babe. I already booked the appointment for Friday. He will probably have busted your knee before next week.”
I sighed.
“I know. Two more showers to go. Make ‘em count.”
And I did. I wanted to flaunt, but I didn’t crack. I wanted to stare, and I did. At least my erection was suppressed, at least long enough for the other guys to leave the shower. I don’t know. Soft hands, soft skin, the slick soap, and way too easy access. I might have cum on the shower tiles.
And it was marvelous.
Until I came down.
Did anyone see me? Was I sure the shower stalls were empty? How long did I…how long was the moment?
Did I moan?
Too loud?
The locker room was empty, I couldn’t dry off.
A woman must not wear a man’s clothing, nor a man wear a woman’s clothing, for the Lord your God detests anyone who does this.
Mother’s voice.
The teachings in my blood.
If your hand causes you to sin, cut it off.
I didn’t realize the vomit on the floor was mine.
***
Dr. Leigh wasn’t anything like I had expected from a doctor in our life-drenched town. Alice had prepared him for everything, and he understood.
“It’s bold,” he began, his eyes meeting mine with a mix of admiration and concern. “Alice has assured me enough to drop the preliminary talks. You’re ready, but I want to take over from here.”
I swallowed, feeling a knot of anxiety loosen slightly. “Thank you,” I murmured.
How have you been feeling since starting the estrogen?” he asked, his tone both professional and warm.
I glanced at Alice and then back at him. “I’ve noticed some changes,” I began, my voice hesitant. My skin feels softer, and there’s this sensitivity, especially in my chest.”
He nodded, making notes. “That’s quite normal. Any mood swings or emotional changes?”
“Aaron, she sobs before ET even gets sick; she legit mourned Mufasa like he was family. She’s not just emotional; she’s living in pure catharsis.”
He offered a reassuring smile. “You’re not alone in this journey, Veronica. We’ll navigate it together, step by step.”
Alice squeezed my hand, her presence a steady anchor. “See? One step closer.”
“I’d recommend hair removal treatments,” he continued, “There are a few options. Judging from what I see, your arms and legs should be fine, but facial hair is another matter. How often do you shave?”
David shaves.
The realization shifted something in my gut, and it didn’t feel right.
“Every other day,” I whispered, “There’s really not much…”
“My cheeks would prefer every day,” Alice interjected.
“There are a few options,” he said calmly. “Laser is effective, but it works best on thick, dark hair. It may not be the best choice for your face with sparse growth, but it could help with body hair if dysphoria is an issue.”
I swallowed. The thought of a machine permanently erasing part of David felt… right. But my face? That was something else entirely.
“For permanent removal, electrolysis is the gold standard,” he continued, “but it’s time-intensive and can be painful. You’d need to see a specialist in the city—it’s not something I can do here. It removes hair follicle by follicle, which is why it takes months or even years to fully clear an area. But once it’s gone, it’s gone.”
“Pain.” I said, “This, being this, is pain, doctor. Don’t tell me about pain until you’ve walked half a mile in my shoes. Please.”
He studied me.
“I haven’t. And not sure I could,” he said. “For something less intensive, prescription creams can slow facial hair growth over time. Regular waxing or dermaplaning can also keep your face smoother between shaves. It depends on what makes you feel best.”
Alice tilted her head, studying me.
“Babe, whatever makes you feel best, we’ll do it.”
“Permanent?”
“Guaranteed,” he said.
“How much?”
“It depends on the provider, but anywhere from four to ten thousand dollars. Some places offer payment plans.”
My gut wrenched.
I looked at Alice.
No, I looked for her.
“I have a few connections,” he continued, “I should be able to call in a few favors. And most likely, we’re closer to four than ten.”
I’m going to be sick.
“Dad told me to put aside money for an eventual crisis,” Alice said, “We either declare this crisis…” the green glint taunted me, “That ass of yours could fetch that kind of money in the city real fast.”
Dr. Leigh smiled and shook his head.
“You want me to set you up for an appointment? Electrolysis?”
I didn’t have that kind of money. I couldn’t ask that of Alice.
And I didn’t have time to conclude.
“As soon as possible, Aaron,” Alice said, in the same voice she asked me to pass her the butter.
“I’ll get right on it. And I’ll book you in for every other Friday. Now, that busted knee? Hurting bad?”
“Real bad,” I whispered.
“I’ll provide a note excusing you from physical activities at school. It’s best to avoid any strain for now.”
He winked, adding, “If there’s anything, just call me.”
And my floodgates opened and didn’t stop until Henry dropped us off at the bus station.
***
It was nearing the end of April. That drizzle of March rain under the streetlight felt like a lifetime ago. Even the world outside had accepted that, and winter had surrendered, giving up its frosty grip to something new.
Henry had fought battles, not with my parents, but with the system. Temporarily it might be, but he had the papers saying for now, he was my legal custodian.
And it made me cry every time I reminded myself of it.
He didn’t have to; he just did.
The same way he passed me the buttered toast in the morning, re-filled my coffee, and let me kiss his cheek good night.
The last visit with Dr. Leigh was uplifting.
“Any physical changes since I saw you last?”
Oh, fuck yeah. My skin is burning, my chest is on fire, and everything is fucking on the alert! I can feel the air brushing against me like a whisper too loud, my nipples react to fabric like it’s made of sandpaper, and don’t even get me started on how my thighs feel when I cross my legs.
I swallowed hard, pushing down the heat curling in my throat. “It’s just… small pecks.”
Pecks. Like a cruel joke. Like the universe was handing me breadcrumbs when I was starving.
“Only I can see them… they feel massive, but nothing’s really happening.”
But Alice sees them. She notices how I flinch when she runs her hands over me, the way I arch into her touch without meaning. I know she feels it before I do. But no one else does. Not yet. And I need them to. I need the mirror to.
I caught myself gripping the exam table too hard, my knuckles turning white.
“How much longer?” The words left me too fast, too sharp. “Can we increase the dosage?”
I sound desperate. I am desperate. And fuck, I hate that I sound like I’m begging, but I can’t pretend like this isn’t clawing at me from the inside out.
Dr. Leigh leaned back, watching me carefully. Measuring. Not dismissive, not impatient. Just… waiting.
“Veronica,” he said, voice warm, steady, anchoring. “You’re seeing progress. It’s working. But your body needs time to catch up.”
Time. That goddamn word. Like I haven’t already wasted eighteen years waiting.
Frustration flared. I couldn’t meet his eyes.
“It just feels so slow,” I sighed.
Alice shifted beside me, resting an elbow on her knee. “Babe,” she said in that knowing tone, the one that meant we’d had this conversation before, “You’re not gonna wake up tomorrow with double Ds and a fat ass.”
Dr. Leigh chuckled softly. “Your body is adjusting. Rushing it could cause more harm than good.”
He set the clipboard aside, forcing me to meet his eyes.
“We’re not changing how you look. You didn’t opt for surgery. We’re shaping how you’ll feel, how you sense, how you’ll be. For the rest of your life.”
Alice moved closer, her fingers brushing my arm, a silent I see you. I feel you.
And then, out loud—her voice honey-smooth but firm. “And I love both the looks and the feel.”
Dr. Leigh picked up his pen again. “We’ll keep monitoring. Give it a little more time. If we adjust the dosage, I want it to be at the right moment, for the right reasons.”
Home, kitchen table, and buttered toast were everything I needed to be grounded. Henry was away on the weekend but had suggested we take the car for our weekend of secrecy. I packed my bag, she filled hers.
“Road trip with my favorite girl,” Alice hummed, her eyes glinting with all sorts of mischief, “You, me, the road? Let’s make it legendary!”
I was happy to let her take the lead and tag along. She? She was happy she could smoke in the car.
We owned the road, making detours because they looked inviting, stopped at spots that felt enchanting, and made out under a budding willow by a creek. We weren’t even halfway to where we were supposed to be forty minutes ago when she pulled up in the parking lot of a quaint diner.
Me, her, alone in a booth, burgers, beer, and the tingling of just being. I don’t know where exactly it came from, but it had been brewing so intensely long, and so intensely strong.
“I…I’m ready,” I whispered so faintly that the rustle of her curls drowned me out.
“That,” she said, sipping back her beer, “Isn’t the voice of someone ready.”
I looked down at my trembling hands. I urged them to stop so I could slide them across the table and find hers. It took more than one breath.
But finally, they did, giving me the strength to meet her eyes.
“I’m ready.”
“Good,” she smiled, “Now, ready for what exactly?”
She was relentless in her pull. I had to own it. All of it.
“What you have,” I said, “With Stephan…I want it. Him. I want him.”
She just fluttered her lashes.
“Damn, girl. About time!”
We let the moment rest.
“Will it hurt?”
“Like a motherfucker on steroids,” she grinned, “at first…”
Then, with a slow stretch, she rolled her head back, eyes fluttering shut.
A moan spilled from her lips, low, indulgent—as if the entire universe lapped at her crotch.
After the giggles, she retook my hands.
“But, babe,” she whispered in that warm blanket of comfort that was only hers, “I’ll be with you. Every. Single. Step.”
We still didn’t hurry. It was way past midnight before the pale blue Citroën DS pulled up in the driveway of the tired, yellow house.
“Fuck it,” she said, “Claire’s mess can wait ‘til tomorrow. Wanna head out to the motel? Just you…me…beers, weed, and chill?”
“Oh, God, yes,” I murmured, not exactly sure where me, her, beers, weed, and chill started or ended.
***
The morning drifted slowly toward noon, and under the sheets, we lay giggling. Birdsong had replaced icicles outside the window, and the sun spilled in through the crack in the curtains.
I didn’t notice. Alice’s hands trailed down my side, and she watched my every tremble, every grimace on my face, and listened for my every sound.
“And this,” she said, trailing her hand at the curve above my hip, “where does this hit you?”
“Everywhere,” I giggled between catching my breath.
She traced her hand up my side,
“And this babe, how does it sting?”
“In all the places I never knew existed,” I gasped.
Slow, deliberate, and with her green eyes shining with delight, she ran her fingers over my shoulder, my collarbone.
“I don’t need to ask about this one,” she whispered, feeling my body tensing under her.
Her hand traced circles on my chest, drawing invisible spirals onto my tender skin.
“You’re softer,” she murmured, “I feel you. You’re budding, even under my touch.”
She leaned in, her tongue traced the spirals from my fingers like a pattern, a map. Then she engulfed my nipple in her warm mouth and sucked me in. Drank me. Drank my breast.
I wept.
She withdrew.
“Too much?” she whispered.
“Not enough. Don’t fucking stop. Ever.”
***
The old Citroën felt almost awkwardly us. Too hot from the sun, too worn for real comfort, too slow for real excitement. I was tingling at the very core from Alice’s touch. Nothing like the way he used to feel arousal the few times he did. No, his felt like an itch that could be scratched. This? It was difficulty breathing in fear of rupture.
“Babe?”
My whisper only carried a fragment of what stirred inside me.
Behind the sunglasses, I felt that green sparkle. Have you ever seen a gorgeous redhead behind the wheel wearing sunglasses? Have you ever had her smile at you?
“What, babe?”
“Can you handle…her on your own today?”
Her lips stiffened.
“Babe…just…there’s something I need to do.”
She rolled down the window; the wind caught her hair. Then she pushed her glasses to the tip of her nose.
“And precisely what is more important than recycling vodka bottles and doing dishes?”
Alice was a cruel lover and an even more horrific girlfriend. But her eyes always gave her away.
“It’s silly,” I said, “Forget it.”
She smiled.
“Liar,” she giggled, “tell me, babe. What is it?”
I looked down. I felt foolish. It was irrational, inconsiderate, and…stupid. She was facing her mother, and she needed me there, and I was bailing for something selfish and unnecessary.
And all-consuming.
“I…I want to go shopping. On my own.”
She looked at me. Shook her head. And looked again.
“Well, fuck me,” she whispered, “Fucking hormones.”
***
I had never been to a women’s clothes store before. Even the mannequins in this spring’s color made my hands sweat. Perhaps I should have gone to the bar first?
A small bell rattled on my arrival, and just the smell of the store rattled my senses. A woman in her mid-forties had her items checked and bagged, and when she passed me on the way out, she smiled.
And I smiled back.
“May I help you miss?”
Her voice was…happy…cheerful, and devastatingly welcoming.
She was stunningly beautiful, owning the space she created around herself. She had dark brown hair, matching eyes, and a smile that could melt space. She couldn’t be more than in her mid-twenties.
“I…yes…I was hoping you could?”
Honey.
Hesitant but steady honey.
“Sure thing! What are we looking for? Anything in particular? Special occasion?”
“I…need something…me?”
I hated how I had no idea what I was doing. Did my voice crack? Would she see right through me? Would she scream in disgust?
“Oh. You’re looking for gorgeous! You sure came to the right place! I’m Audry, and you just made my Saturday!”
She beamed as her dark eyes brimmed excitedly when she led me through the aisles.
I followed her, torn between awe and absolute terror.
Silk. Cotton. Lace. Chiffon.
Textures I had never let myself consider, brushing against my fingertips.
Feminine.
Soft.
And everything Alice would place in the very back of her wardrobe.
Audry stopped at a rack lined with soft blouses, airy fabrics in pastel shades, light blues, and creams that shimmered under the overhead lights.
“These match your eyes,” she said, pulling out a silk, delicately ruffled blouse in an almost translucent shade of blue.
The fabric slid between my fingers like water. No, like the feathery touch of Alice’s curls gracing my chest.
But Audry had moved on.
“And this,” she said, plucking a snug-fitting skirt off the rack and beaming with delight, “perfectly enhances your butt.”
Her eyes meant it. It didn’t feel like a rehearsed line.
I swallowed.
Butt? I have a butt?
Audry was relentless. The little girl’s dream of playing dress up, come alive. I had my hands full, and I wanted all of it.
It wasn’t in my budget, but I desired to prolong that reality.
“Anything else?” Audry pushed, but with a wanting push, letting me know she’d fulfill all my desires.
“Pants…” I said, but leaking with honey this time.
She looked at me.
“Only if I get to decide,” she smirked, “Because if you’re wearing pants, they’re gonna hug that butt in all the right places.”
I could already tell—these pants weren’t designed for comfort. They’d cling, mold, and announce my body before I even stepped into a room. I had two choices: look good or breathe. But I’d let Audry have her moment.
“Anything else,” she chirped again.
“No…thank you, this is…more than a start.”
“Well, go try them on! All of it!”
The door shut behind me, and I pulled the sturdy pin, signaling to the world that this space was occupied—occupied but not owned.
Yet.
The blue eyes stared back at me. With marvel.
The slightly blushed cheeks told me she was overwhelmed.
But her smile? Her smile loved me.
I couldn’t wait to feel the new fabric on my skin. I wasn’t sure if you’re supposed to feel clothes you’re trying on against your skin, but I didn’t care. I unlayered myself until I stood in my underwear.
I had to see.
I turned, not entirely cat-like like Alice did, but surprisingly smoothly. I shifted my foot over and found the right angle—delicately curved, shapely rounded, and soft as a peach.
I had a butt.
I blushed from the images flashing in my head. There’s no way Stephan would resist.
I moaned too loudly.
“Everything okay?”
Audry’s voice sang through the door, sending shivers down my back.
I bit my lip to contain my giggles.
“Just a girl, slightly overwhelmed,” I sang back.
Everything felt like drowning myself in Alice’s first kiss. Every garment enhanced something in me differently. Every subtle color change showed my eyes differently. I couldn’t decide.
The blue blouse? I had to have it.
The skirt not only made my butt a shrine, but it enhanced my legs.
Legs? I have legs!
There was also a sheen, green top that I had to have for later. For when my buds had blossomed. Not just because Alice would die from it, but because I saw why she would.
It was just Audry’s pants left, and I thought, what the hell, why not?
I pressed myself into them. My calves stretched the fabric just right, and they clung to my thighs like they were sprayed on. I had to wrestle them over my hips, and my butt begged for mercy as they shaped me into…
Drop-dead gorgeousness.
The top button and my tummy fought a war of millimeters. My tummy lost.
With the blue blouse.
“Yeah, I’d fuck that.”
“Everything good?”
No. Everything wasn’t good.
Everything was perfect.
“You…have to see this,” I whispered as I unlocked the door.
Audry grinned.
“You enough?”
“Perfectly me,” I whispered.
As I closed the door behind me, I checked my account. Nowhere near enough.
Perhaps the blouse?
Or the skirt?
Definitely the pants.
I started changing back and rolling back to start.
Rolling back.
Babe, pretty please. Could you Zelle me some money?
…Alice is typing…
Sure, babe. 50?
No…
…Alice is typing…
100?
If…I asked thrice…
…Alice is typing…
WTF?! 300?!? We have enough weed, girl!
Ding.
Zelle: You’ve received $300 from Alice Caldwell.
I struggled with emojis, but I made sure Alice got plenty of them, whatever they meant.
Audry smiled as she bagged the green and the pants with my old clothes. The skirt and the blue? I wore them.
“There you go!” Audry smiled, “Will that be all?”
I blushed.
Audry was on the ball.
“Underwear?”
I nodded.
“First time?”
I swallowed, trying to force down the scorching heat in my cheeks.
“Oh,” Audry whispered, “It’s that special night?”
Audry looked around as if making sure no one else was within miles of our secret gathering.
She picked a few packages from the top shelf behind her and tucked them into my bag.
“He’s a lucky guy,” she whispered.
“Girl,” I replied, my voice burning.
“Oh,” she said, pouting, “At least my boyfriend can sleep well another night.”
A wink.
A smile.
And I left Audry with a promise to come see her again.
One I intended to keep.
And yet, I wasn’t done.
The bell jingled as I stepped inside, the scent of shampoo and burnt hair dye thick in the air.
A row of chairs, women with foil-covered heads, a stylist massaging deep into someone’s scalp. I had never been here before. Not here, but anywhere like this.
A blonde with tattoos up her arms and a piercing in her nose turned to me with a warm, practiced smile.
“Hey there! What are we doing today?”
I swallowed. This was it.
“Something sexy.”
Her smile widened. “Ohhh, I like you.”
She patted the chair, and I sat, my pulse kicking up.
“What are we thinking? Layers? Soft waves? A nice little face frame?”
I shook my head. “No. Something… ragged. Intense. Rough around the edges.”
She arched a brow, then grinned like I’d just handed her the keys to her dream project.
“Oh, babe. You just made my day.”
She grabbed a pair of scissors, spinning them between her fingers like a knife trick. “Strap in, sweetheart. This is gonna be fun.”
The first cut was reckless. Deliberate.
A lock of tired-looking blond hair tumbled to the floor.
I smiled.
No turning back.
Snip. Snip. Chop.
My reflection blurred behind a curtain of loose strands. Some curled around my cheeks, jagged and uneven. The rest lay in a heap around me, remnants of someone else.
“You good?” she asked, still moving, shaping, and cutting.
Not good. Excellent.
“Yeah.”
She smirked. “Good, because you’re about to be dangerous.”
When she finally stepped back, I barely recognized the girl staring back at me.
Choppy layers. Sharp angles. Hair that looked like it had survived a storm—my storm—and won.
“Well?” she asked, tapping her scissors against her palm.
The look on her face was enough.
“I fucking love it!”
The proof?
Out on the streets, the pale blue Citroën passed me, no honking, waving, or stopping.
My stomach twisted.
She didn’t see me.
She didn’t recognize me.
I had to dial her up.
The call barely rang once before she picked up. “Babe?”
“Turn around.”
I watched her swerve, the most illegal of U-turns, cars honking.
It took forever.
The blue Citroën glided, searching.
And still, when it stopped, it screeched to a halt, horns blaring behind her.
The driver’s door swung open, and Alice stepped out, eyes wide, green fire locked on me.
The moment hit her like a punch to the gut.
Her lips parted.
“Oh. My. God.“
Traffic was jammed in both directions, horns blaring, voices raised. But Alice was above it all.
She stepped slowly towards me.
A car door slammed. “Hey! Red! Fucking move it!”
Alice didn’t even flinch. She took my hands, her grip firm, steady, like she had to feel me to believe this was real.
“Damn,” she whispered, breaking through the honking and shouts, “That’s three hundred bucks well spent.”
Another car horn screamed.
“Move the damn car!”
Alice let out a slow breath, her lips quirking into a smirk.
She turned—casual as sin—and tilted her sunglasses down just enough to look the guy dead in the eye.
“Shut it, tiger,” she drawled. “I’m sure your world is real important. But mine just changed.”
And then? She turned back to me. Locking everything else out. Two high school girls sharing a moment frozen in time.
“You, babe,” she whispered, “in all your perfection, you always find ways to make me melt harder.”
Me? I was thinking of those jeans in my bag, determined to make it a meltdown.
***
I lay on the bed and watched her as she came out of the bathroom. Her curls were wrapped up in a towel, and droplets of water still glistened on her skin. If there was anything, apart from everything, I envied about her—in her—it was the comfort of which she was so effortlessly herself. I suspected the only reason Alice didn’t spend her entire time naked was because it was frowned upon. And even that notion she owned, everyone else got it wrong.
I watched as she wrapped herself in leather, setting me on fire. How she dried her hair, fixed her makeup just perfectly, lit a joint, and looked at me.
“You ready, babe?”
More ready than she could ever suspect.
I grabbed my bag, demanded that red top I knew she had packed, and headed for the bathroom.
Audry’s underwear choices were naughty. I hoped I left her a tip.
My black bra played nicely against the sheen of the red top.
Who cares if they were small?
Nonexistent.
I saw them. I felt them.
And they were beautiful.
I slid into the pants. Or fought my way in.
The fabric stretched, resisted, and clung like it had been stitched onto my skin with intention.
They hugged, sculpted, and owned me—demanding to be seen.
And for a moment, I wanted to stay in front of that mirror all night.
The test.
All of Alice’s hours—training, repeating, testing, correcting. Were they about to pay off?
I took a breath.
Foundation.
I dotted it onto my skin, the way Alice did, the way she taught me. Not too much. Just enough.
Blend, babe. Always blend.
My fingers moved without thinking. Slow. Smooth. I knew this. I had done this before.
Concealer.
Alice would smirk. No one covers freckles in this house, babe. But still, I dabbed just enough under my eyes. Subtle. Soft. Just a hint of correction.
Brows.
Shape, don’t smother. Gentle. Controlled.
The arch came naturally, the flick of my wrist something Alice had drilled into me.
Eyes.
Alice’s voice whispered in my head.
Babe, your eyes carry wars. Don’t drown them—frame them.
The liner didn’t shake. My hand was steady and precise. I pulled it into a perfect wing, watching the girl in the mirror become.
Lips.
The final step.
I traced my bottom lip with color, a shade deeper than natural. It was the kind that said, “I woke up like this, and you wish you did too.”
I leaned back, exhaling.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
I did it.
The girl staring back at me?
She was ready.
I stepped out of the bathroom, my heels clicking against the floor deliberately.
Alice’s head turned.
Then she spun.
Her whole body followed, instinct overriding thoughts as if her brain couldn’t process me fast enough. Not gracious, as if it was intended, but caught completely off guard.
A cloud of smoke slipped from her lips, but her jaw? It forgot its mission entirely.
She didn’t speak. She couldn’t. She just… stared like she was seeing me for the first time.
Her lips parted slightly again, her green eyes dragging over me—slow, lingering, wrecked.
And then? A whisper.
“Well… fuck me.”
Her voice was hoarse. Like the words had to claw their way out.
I walked over, slow and smooth, the way she always did.
My fingers brushed against hers as I took the joint from her slack grip, stealing her last excuse for distraction.
I brought it to my lips. Inhaled deep. Let the smoke swirl between us as I exhaled, keeping my gaze locked onto hers.
I leaned in, close enough to see the freckles on her cheeks and feel the slight hitch in her breath.
My lips just barely grazed her ear.
“Oh, babe,” I purred, thick with amusement and promise, “I intend to.”
