Page 12 of Exchange of Heart

‘Ladies first.’ He gestured.

‘Thank you.’ I winced at my feminine voice.

My masculinity diminished one second at a time.

We rode in silence, both of us exiting into the basement car park. I pressed the button on my keys, and the lights of my car flashed as they unlocked.

‘You’re not driving Mr Flemmington’s car, are you? He would never allow a girl like you to drive a car like that.’

My eyebrows raised in offence. ‘A girl like me?’

‘A prostitute,’ he clarified.

He’d seen his fair share of women creeping down the hall from my apartment at all hours of the night and early morning, but now that the woman was me, misunderstanding lodged in my chest with the discomfort of a chainsaw.

‘I am not,’ I shouted.

His gaze travelled over me once more. I crossed my arms to cover my nipples, which I realised were not only poking through, but completely visible in this white shirt. With my hands now tucked under my armpits, my oversized pants fell to the floor, along with my large underpants.

‘Excuse me,’ Gerald barked.

His wrinkled hands covered his eyes as I scraped my dignity from the ground, yanking my pants up with my nipples back on display. Refusing to be shamed for something I had no control over, I lifted my chin and walked to the car.

‘Thief,’ Gerald yelled.

If nothing else, he was delightfully loyal.

‘I’m not a thief,’ I screamed back. ‘He sent me out for condoms.’

Geralds lips tightened into a horrifically thin strip of disgust. I climbed into the car and slammed the door. My legs couldn’t even reach the pedals for a quick getaway, so I spent the next few minutes adjusting the seat and mirrors under his offensive glare. Finally in position, I roared the engine to life and let the car squeal away from him.

Fucking nice gentleman fucking with my already fucked day.

CHAPTER FIVE

Nora

My head pounded as a siren sunk its wailing claws into me, dragging me from my dreams and rudely shaking me awake. I didn’t recall changing my alarm tone, but as soon as my brain started working properly this morning, I’d be changing it back to the quick, consistent beeps that were short and to the point. My fingers fumbled with my phone, small and delicate in my hand. In fact, smaller than I remembered. Despite hitting every inch of the screen, the siren continued.

I gazed around my blurry room and wiped my eyes to remove the sleep, but everything remained a blur of fuzzy shapes and shadowy figures. My legs swung over the side of my bed, and my feet hit the ground with an unexpected thud. No wonder my childhood ballet teacher suggested taking up football – I had the grace of a troll. My nightie scrunched around my thighs; material stretched so tight I mentally added a new one to my shopping list.

With closed eyes, I inhaled a deep breath, counted to five, and released with it all the internal rage I’d encased since coming to terms with being Freddie’s bitch. Arriving home from class, I’d spent last night reading Fake It Til You Make It with tearful eyes. Now that I’d practiced my happy face in the mirror, no one would think any different when I waltzed into the office.

The siren continued as I daydreamed about Freddie falling from the window of his office.

‘Nora.’ The siren turned out to be a voice yelling outside my front door.

Eager knocks vibrated the wood, which soon turned to door-rattling bangs. A woman’s voice called out, hysterically begging to be let inside. I raced for the door, tripped, and stubbed my toe on the corner of my bed. Foot in hand – I had no idea my feet had hair on them – I glanced down and noticed how hideously neglected my feet had become. I wouldn’t have believed they were mine if they weren’t attached to my body. I hopped the rest of the way planning to text Hayley so we could book in for a pedicure and peeped through the hole at what appeared to be, well, me. Ripping the door open with a force that almost tore it from its hinges, I stared into the blurry outline of my brown eyes and tilted my head to analyse my black hair. It couldn’t be…

‘What the hell!’ I yelled at Nora 2.0.

My hand reached to my own head for hair which couldn’t be found. Wide eyed, heart racing, I stumbled back as Nora 2.0 stormed inside and closed the door.

‘Give me my body back,’ she yelled.

‘Your what? You’re me! You give me my body back.’ My hand grabbed my throat at the husky voice coming from my mouth.

I stretched my arm in front where tiny hairs covered my oversized hand, and my neglected feet suddenly made sense. My gaze wandered up my arm, following the swirl of tattooed feathers and scattered stars I stared at every Monday evening. My abnormally large feet trampled over my dirty washing as I burst into the bathroom, face close enough to the mirror that my breath fogged the reflection. My hand slid over the mirror revealing something impossible, yet true.