Page 11 of Exchange of Heart

I had breasts.

I moved further down.

Further again.

Until…

I screamed again. I was definitely a woman who had been robbed. My dick had been stolen! I was a Ken doll with nothing but a smooth surface.

What the fuck?

I raised my hand and let it slap a sting to my cheek. Whatever demon had possessed me needed to be removed. After inhaling air and strength, I lifted my gaze back to the mirror. My chest tightened and all that air and strength rushed back out like a hurricane.

‘No, no, no, no.’

I dashed out of the bathroom and my face hit the floor moments later with my loose pants cuffed around my ankles. Yanking them up and holding them in place, I staggered to the kitchen, grabbed the closest bottle from the top of the pantry, and upended it into my mouth. It burned my throat as I tried to erase any trace of this ridiculous nightmare. The next breath I inhaled was all fire in the throat and a punch to my lungs. My tiny feet flitted back to the bathroom where my reflection confirmed the worst.

I definitely looked like Nora Claremont.

My head lightened and heavied as I tried to keep the head that wasn’t mine still for long enough to realise what had happened.

Except…

I had no idea.

A stroke? A heart attack? Was I dead and this was hell?

I stomped to my bedroom, unsatisfied with my petite body’s inability to create thunderous smacks to the floor. I threw back my white sheets and slipped beneath the cool cotton, then squeezed my eyes to a tight black seal convinced a bit more sleep would set everything right again.

When I woke, everything would be normal.

I tossed my fairy-sized body from side to side, onto my back, then onto my stomach. The goddamn breasts wouldn’t keep out of the way. Where the hell were they meant to go? Every position I twisted into came with a new problem. They hung, smooshed, flattened, and melted away from my body no matter how I laid.

Actually, not my body.

I threw my feet over the edge and dropped my head to my hands. All Nora’s ridiculous hair swept around me like a curtain, shielding my face for a private moment while tears poured down my cheeks.

I refused to accept that I’d lost my mind. I couldn’t bear the idea that the pressure to live up to my name had finally gotten to me and I’d snapped. I lifted my head as a new idea swirled through my mind. Perhaps I hadn’t been cursed, but had instead been blessed with the ability to improve my sex game. My hands shot to my chest and grabbed the breasts with impatient squeezes.

‘Ouch.’ I dropped my hands.

They were painfully tender. My eyes widened as I wondered how many times I’d done that, feeling like some sort of powerful pleasure master. Jesus, was I nothing more than a joke in the bedroom? My fingers crept under the waist of my pants past unfamiliar skin and reached beneath my saggy underpants. The folds of soft skin sent ripples of sickness and pleasure through me.

Pleasure, because the soft touch sent goosebumps down my arms.

Sickness, because this wasn’t my body.

This wasn’t my body.

I snatched my hand from my pants in shock. Had I crossed a boundary?

I grabbed my phone and scoured my contact list before remembering I didn’t have Nora’s number. If I had her body, did she have mine? I needed to retrace my steps and make my way back to Nora’s to figure out what in the demon-possession fuckery was going on.

I went to the bathroom and dropped my oversized pants to the floor as my hand floundered about to grab hold of a penis I no longer possessed. I mourned my loss as I sat on the toilet, then washed my hands and clutched the waist of my pants. I found the keys that I’d thrown to the bench last night then stormed out the front door and waited in front of the lift.

Despite it being five in the morning, Gerald hobbled out from two doors down with his walking stick. My head dipped a curt nod, but his gaze travelled over me, eyes widening at my messy hair and erect nipples poking through my thin baggy shirt. My fingers continued to clutch the waist of my enormous pants to stop them from falling. Impressively, he managed to twist his expression into disappointment and desire all in one. I wanted to scream that this wasn’t the body of someone who’d been fucked and was making a shameful getaway. This was the body of someone who’d been fucked over. There was a difference.

The lift pinged open and we both waited for the other to move inside. I’d been waiting for Gerald, forty years my senior, since I’d said goodbye to the removal company and given them a generous tip eight years ago.