A Year After I Changed (Patreon)

— Oh, fuck off, Jeff, with your bullshit jokes, — I snapped, swaying a little, looking for something to hold on to, — the floor under my feet felt almost soft, and my head was buzzing like I’d just been pulled out of a washing machine. Well, that wasn’t far from the truth — yesterday I got pretty wasted with this idiot, “celebrating” the anniversary of how I became like this.

— Lisa, — Jeff exhaled with a crooked grin, slapping his empty beer can down on the table, — come on, stop freaking out already. You were the one who suggested it yesterday… well, almost.

— Whaaat the fuck? I said — fuck off, Jeff! If you say one more time that we kissed yesterday, — at that word I twisted my face like I was really about to puke and coughed, — then I’ll take this can of yours and shove it up your ass!

— Liz, calm the hell down, — he spread his hands, looking at me like I was an idiot. — You were the one all over me! And, by the way, the initiative was clearly not mine.

— Oh sure! — I hissed, pushing an empty pizza box off the table, which crashed to the floor right away. — Next you’ll be saying I jumped on you screaming “take me, cowboy!”

— Well… — he chuckled meaningfully, and that chuckle made me shiver with disgust. — Not word for word, but close.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to push that disgusting image out of my head. Damn, a year ago I could’ve laughed at that joke, slapped him on the shoulder, and we would’ve moved on to talking about football. But now… damn virus. Damn body. Damn strappy top that my boobs kept trying to spill out of, the ones I’d already fucking gotten used to.

— Jeff, — I exhaled, bracing myself against the table with my hand, — I’ve been putting up with your hints for a whole year. A whole year. I still like girls! You and me are just friends. Friends, Carl!

— Yeah, right, — he smirked, — friends who yesterday…

— One more word, — I threatened, pointing my finger at him, — and I’ll gouge your eye out with this finger.

He raised his hands, pretending to be a peacemaker, but the corners of his mouth still twitched. Then he reached into his pocket, making sure I was definitely watching him, pulled out something — some white rectangle, looked like a photo — and started examining it, smiling. I realized it was a Polaroid shot.

— What the hell are you staring at?.. — I muttered, pretending I didn’t really care, even though my eyes were already drawn to that white rectangle in his hand.

— Oh, nothing, — Jeff stretched out lazily on the couch, grinning, — just some nice memories.

I narrowed my eyes but still reached out, yanked the photo from him. My fingers trembled, though I tried to make it look like it was just the hangover.

— Well, wha… — I started, but the words stuck in my throat.

It was me in the photo. Black top, straps slipping a bit off my shoulders, hair tied in a messy ponytail, strap on my wrist. I was sitting on Jeff’s lap, leaning so close our mouths were almost touching. His hand was on my thigh, fingers squeezing the fabric of my shorts just a little. The shot looked like in the next second everything would go further.

— This is… — I breathed out, as flashes of last night flickered in my head, like someone had switched on an old projector and was rolling a film full of smudged frames, the clearest one being me sitting on top of Jeff, his chest under my palms. I could even hear my own laughter and feel my thighs pressing against his sides.

— See, — he nodded at the photo, — now you know who jumped on who.

— What. The. Fuck. Is. This, — I forced out, holding the picture between two fingers like it was radioactive.

— Chuck took it, right before he left us, — Jeff was still sitting back, watching my reaction.

— Left… us?.. — the words caught in my throat. I held the photo at arm’s length, like that would make it weaker. But damn, it felt like it was pulsing in my fingers — too bright, too alive.

— Yeah, — he shrugged, — said we were “busy” and went out for a smoke.

— Busy?! — I turned to him, my top slipping dangerously off my shoulder. I had to yank it up, feeling my boobs bounce and press softly against the fabric. That pissed me off almost as much as his smirk. — Jeff, what the fuck actually happened?

He leaned forward a bit, elbows on his knees, staring straight into my eyes:

— I told you from the start — we fucked. Once. Then twice. Then three times. Then—

— Stop bullshitting! Nothing fucking happened! This… this… is some fucked-up Photoshop! Or AI crap! Or some other kind of shit!

I threw the picture back on the table, like that would stop it from burning my fingers, but my eyes still kept dragging back to it. The corner of the Polaroid was a bit bent, and I saw myself there — not from the outside, but like I was right now on top of him, hair slipping out of my ponytail, breath unsteady from how close we were.

— Liz, — Jeff smirked, leaning back slowly into the couch, — it’s film. You can’t fake it.

— Fuck you, — I breathed out, but the anger in my voice was already fading.

While I stood there frozen, I didn’t notice Jeff getting closer until he wrapped his arms around me from behind.

— Hey! — I jerked hard. — Jeff, let go!

— Liz, — his voice was low, almost purring right at my ear, — we’re made for each other.

— Made for each other? — I almost laughed, but it came out broken, nervous. — You’ve completely lost your fucking mind.

— Yeah, — he didn’t even blink. — And so have you. A year ago we were just two guys, getting drunk in the kitchen. And now… — his hands slid higher along my sides, stopping under my ribs, and I felt the fabric of the top stretch tight, my breasts pushing forward. — Now you fit here perfectly.

I exhaled, convincing myself I was trying to break free, telling myself it was just his arms holding me tight.

— Jeff, — I said quietly, — let go, or I’ll…

— Or you’ll what? — he didn’t even try to loosen his grip, only pulled me tighter against him, so that my shoulder blades pressed into his chest and my stomach brushed his thigh. — Pretend again that this doesn’t turn you on?

— Me?! — I jerked, but his arms stayed locked around me like steel, and that stillness pissed me off even more. — I’m still a guy… in my head!

— Guy in your head, girl everywhere else, — he smirked, like it was some ready-made motto. — And you know what? That’s a fucking awesome combo.

I tried to twist free but froze for a second, feeling the cool air glide over my skin, goosebumps spreading everywhere.

— Jeff, I’m serious, — I forced out, but my voice trembled for some reason. — I don’t want to…

— You do, — he said it so confidently that everything inside me clenched. — You’re just scared to admit it. A year ago you would’ve been yelling at me, laughing, but now… — his hand shifted lower, and I felt the top stretch tight over my breasts. — Now your breathing shakes.

— It’s the hangover, dumbass, — I spat through my teeth.

— It’s not the hangover, — he leaned closer, his lips brushing the edge of my ear. — It’s you remembering how you moved on me yesterday.

I gasped sharply, like I’d been hit. And right away that picture flashed back: me on top of him, knees pressed to his sides, hair sticking to my neck, every breath echoing low in my belly.

— Jeff, — I turned my head, looking at him over my shoulder. — P-please, let me go.

— Alright, — his smile was almost gentle, and his hand eased. For some reason that made something inside me clench even harder.

He stepped back barely a pace, but it was enough for me to feel how empty it was without his arms, like something warm and infuriating had just been ripped away.

— There, — he raised his hands, like he was surrendering. — You’re free.

I exhaled, but for some reason I didn’t step back. Didn’t turn around to smack him. I just stood there, holding on to the table so my hands wouldn’t shake.

— Better? — he tilted his head slightly, studying me.

— Much better, — I muttered, though my tongue felt heavy and inside everything screamed that no, it wasn’t better. It was worse. Way worse than when he was holding me.

— I’m leaving! — I gathered my thoughts, spun around, and clenched all my willpower into a fist.

— Go, — Jeff shrugged, but that damn smug spark was still in his eyes.

I stepped toward the door, fists tight, cursing last night. But as I put my hand on the handle, I caught my reflection in the dusty mirror in the hallway — messy hair, top slipping down, cheeks flushed.

And for a second I imagined turning back, walking up, grabbing him by the collar and…

— Fuck, — I hissed, bolting out the door, just so I wouldn’t let myself finish that thought.