Chapter #6Beth, Inside and Out by: Seuzz   I can handle this, you tell yourself as you exit the bathroom. I know how to act like Beth. Walking around bare-ass naked, even in the privacy of her bedroom, is not how Beth Larter would act. But you know that, even as you ignore it. Flaunting her naked body feels like a way of asserting your command of the situation.
And you need the reassurance. For even though you can visualize the kitchen and dining nook, and you know exactly how you will enter them, and will put a bagel into the toaster oven, and what number you will set the timer to, and what you will probably tell Beth's mom when she asks why you were sick last night— Despite all this, there is the nagging fear that you will freeze up or break down or have some kind of fit.
So you concentrate very carefully in the bedroom, even as you try to act very naturally (as Beth would) as you dress.
And so you ignore the pleasurable ripple that passes through your flesh as you pull on fresh, tight panties and bind yourself up in a fresh bra. You hike on a fresh pair of jeans, and pull on a long-sleeve t-shirt (white with green sleeves). You pull your hair—still wet—behind your head and tie it off with a scrunchie. You shake yourself loose inside your clothes, take a deep breath and center yourself within the personality of "Beth Larter," and turn for the door.
"Shit," you mutter as you swing back around to grab your phone from under your pillow. There are already three messages on it.
* * * * *
"Were you sick last night?" your mom asks as you march into the kitchen. "I heard you in your bathroom." Her pinched expression shows suspicion, not concern.
"A little," you snap back without looking at her. You pull a cinnamon-raisin bagel from the bag, pull it apart, and set it in the toaster oven. The dial creaks as you set it for five minutes, and the heating coil ticks ticks ticks as it warms up.
"Was it something you ate?"
"Cheap pizza. God, I'm never eating Dominos again." You keep your eyes on your phone as you lean against the counter as you check the messages.
"You've never been sick on pizza before."
"Well, I was sick on it this time! Maybe there was something on it that I didn't like. You know I think that was probably it! I think there were jalapenos on it."
"So how do you feel this morning? I hope you're not coming down with—"
"I feel fine! I didn't even throw up! I was just nauseated. Nauseating. Whatever!"
Out of the corner of your eye you see the expression on your mom's face darken, but she withdraws.
Which is good. You've got Monica and Alyx and Aurora to worry about.
Monica is the one who wound up driving Beth home last night. (The memory is hazy, but you've the impression that Beth, after driving a block, pulled over to park, went back to the party to get Monica, and got her to drive her home.) She has texted since to ask if you are doing okay. You have no very clear memory of anything between the feeling of something wet and slimy and thick shoving its way down your throat while kissing ... Zachary ... and stumbling into your house, so you are not sure what ... Beth ... would have said to Monica. You have the impression that ... she ... was crying hard and screaming. Probably ... she ... was so incoherent that Monica couldn't even understand her. But it would be a good idea to find out what got said. You went to sleep last night dreading how people would treat you after Beth got through telling people that you puked down her throat. If you can use this ... very bizarre happening ... to put a stopper in that talk, you should.
Alyx, meanwhile, says that she saw you leave early, and wants to know what is up, so she falls into the same category as Monica.
Aurora, though— Oh God, that's a gut punch. She wants to know how things went between you and "the Zackstack."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"Oh God, watch me get shitfaced tonight," you moan at Aurora. You are standing in the corner of Amanda's kitchen, hiding with your body the flask of vodka you are tippling into the tumbler of juice. She is helping block out the sight.
"What's wrong?" she asks.
"'Zack Attack'. Call the EMTs."
"No!"
You toss back a mouthful of vodka, straight, before closing the flask and tucking it back down inside your bra, where it presses coldly against a breast.
"Yea-ah!" You swirl the tumbler to mix the alcohol with the juice. "I don't think I've ever—" You touch the corner of your eye with a fingertip, for you feel a tear forming there. "I'm not drunk!"
"Not yet you aren't," Aurora murmurs, lowering her voice as Derek Linwood lopes into the kitchen. He only glances at you before circling the island to join up with a clutch of girls—centered on Jenny Lakewood—clustered on the other side. "And you don't need to."
"I'm gonna talk to him!" you say, more to yourself than to Aurora. "I'm gonna talk to him, I'm gonna tell him—" You clench your eyes shut as you break down a little. But you take it coldly as Aurora slips a supportive arm around your torso.
"Yeah, and you don't need—" She tries to take the tumbler from you, but you hang on to it tightly. "I keep telling you that you just need to talk to him!"
So easy for her to say, she talks to Zachary Dillon all the time, because she's going out with Thomas Leach, one of his friends. You— Well, you've had him for classes, and you've talked to him in a very casual way, and you've chattered at him on those few times when you've tagged along when he and Thomas and Aurora went someplace. It's not a blind date, Aurora told you, which was the opposite of what you wanted to hear, but you can pretend like it is if you want. But never had you the nerve to nudge him or give him a "look" to let him know how you feel. How he made you feel when you saw him, and especially when he looked at you.
"I just need to work myself up," you tell Aurora. "You know, like before a game."
"Yeah, and you don't need to get buzzed before a game," she insists as she tries again to take the tumbler from you. But she is interrupted by Thomas, who had apparently started missing her by this point. She tries dragging you along when he pulls her back to the living room, but you hold onto the kitchen cabinet and tell her that you "just need a minute" alone.
Oh Jesus, what if Zachary knows how I feel and he just doesn't like me? you moan to yourself. It is far from the first time that nauseating thought has occurred to you. But as you gulp down another singeing mouthful of liquid courage, another thought comes to you. But I know what he does like. Getting his cock squeezed. Brittany Weir. You shudder involuntarily: a distant aftershock of the knock-you-off-your-feet jolt it gave you last year when you found out he had done it with her. Well, of course. All guys like to get their cocks squeezed, and Brittany had obliged. You can too.
You just need to freshen up your juice with a little more ...
* * * * *
Far more vivid than that recollection—which is fogged by alcohol anyway—is the memory of stumbling up to Zachary as he was talking to a couple of guys. Zachary, with his blonde hair (shot through with dark highlights) and his brooding stare; his trim form and supple limbs and his fresh, boyish skin; his way of seeming to look through you and into you, boldly (but silently) challenging you to taste him and sup on him. He resisted as you clutched at him, and it took every fiber of determination to pull him out of his rooted spot.
But when you got him into the backseat of your car, to your astonishment, terror and delight he knew exactly what you wanted, and proceeded to give it to you.
Until it turned horrible.
That ... stuff ... that came out of him ... and went into ... you ... What could it have been? Is it connected to this "body swap" business? And if it is a "body swap," and you are here, does that means that Beth would be ... there? Does she have your memories now, the same way that you've got hers?
You shift your thumb over the screen of your phone, wondering if you should text your old number. Or should you wait to hear from ... Zachary? And if Beth is ... there ... why haven't you heard from her? Is she too freaked out?
What if I just bluff her? you think with a sudden stab of glee. I can "do" her. I was "her" just now with her mom.
It would be really tedious if you had to hang out with Beth, and be close to her, just because you both got caught in this ridiculous situation. If you pretended to be Beth, and claimed not to know anything about what has happened, could you bluff Beth, in your body, into letting you be her without bothering you and badgering you?
God, I could use a drink, you think.  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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