Cousin Amy 22

Chapter 22: Home Sweet Home

With his towering high-heeled pump pressed firmly on the accelerator, Scott raced back to Epsford. His entire body ached, every muscle sore from the feminine attire he had endured for what felt like an eternity. Yet, despite the physical discomfort, a strange sense of calm began to wash over him. The future was uncertain and filled with unanswered questions, but one thing was clear - whatever challenges lay ahead, he would face them as Scott, as a man.

His mind buzzed with plans as he sped down the familiar roads. After dropping off the car and changing into something more comfortable, he’d head back to his apartment, grab his kitchen scissors, and finally cut away the burdensome blonde mane that had been driving him mad. Then, he’d deal with the fake lashes and nails that had tormented him for far too long. And after that? Perhaps he’d pack a bag and book a flight to Thailand. An old school friend lived there, and the photos he posted online always looked incredible - sunsets on pristine beaches, exotic food, and a carefree lifestyle that felt like a distant dream compared to the chaos he had endured recently.

As Scott pulled into the driveway outside Amy’s house, a wave of relief washed over him. Swinging his nylon-covered legs out of the Mini Cooper, he groaned as he planted his aching feet on the ground, the pressure on the balls of his feet intensifying as the stilettos forced him seven inches above what felt natural. The thin heels sank into the gravel with each step as he tottered toward the front door, every movement requiring more effort than the last.

Once inside, Scott paused, taking in the space he had once enjoyed visiting, where he used to find a peaceful escape while watering the plants. A humourless chuckle escaped his inflated lips as he scoffed at the irony. Hopefully, this would be the last time he ever laid eyes on this place - a place now tainted with strange and uncomfortable memories.

His eyes swept over the room, each piece of furniture triggering a flood of cringeworthy memories. The once-unremarkable coffee table now stood as a reminder of the countless days he had pushed it aside to make space for practising his walk, strutting up and down the room like a pageant contestant. The computer desk carried its own set of humiliations—endless hours spent typing and writing letters, forcing himself to adapt to the awkwardness of acrylic nails tapping against the keyboard or clumsily gripping a pen. The armchair beside it, where he had spent what felt like an eternity perfecting the art of sitting gracefully, smoothing out all manner of skirts before neatly crossing his legs, now loomed like a throne of embarrassment.

Clicking further into the room, Scott's heavily made-up eyes fell on the kitchen table, causing memories from Emily’s birthday to come rushing back. He shook his head in disbelief, still struggling to comprehend that he had actually sat there, dressed in a skimpy pink bunny outfit, drinking and socializing with Amy’s friends before heading out to the club. How he had survived that night without being outed was beyond him - a drug-fuelled extravaganza filled with dancing, flirting, and making out with random men. The memories churned in his stomach and felt like something that would haunt him forever.

Suddenly, the jangling of keys sent a jolt of panic through the crossdressed man. His heart leapt into his throat as he spun on his tall heels, just in time to see the front door creak open. His breath caught, and his eyes widened in disbelief - it was Amy!

Panic surged through Scott's veins as he watched his cousin calmly close the door, still momentarily unaware of his presence. He considered running, but he knew that even if he managed to summon the energy and speed needed to reach the bedroom, the clatter of his heels would give him away before he could take two steps. Time seemed to slow as Amy turned, her movements almost in slow motion. When she finally laid eyes on her feminized cousin, the gasp that escaped her lips echoed throughout the room as her bag dropped to the floor with a heavy thud. Frozen in place like a statue, her eyes widened in disbelief as they scanned up and down the terrifying figure before her—her mirror image. "Who… who are you?" she stuttered, her voice trembling with shock and fear.

Scott’s plumped lower lip began to tremble as he struggled to find the words. Gathering every ounce of courage, he forced himself to speak. “Amy! I know this looks bad, but I can explain,” Scott blurted out, trying to use his regular voice. But after spending so much time speaking in a higher pitch, it came out like a strained, husky version of Amy’s voice.

“Scott!” Amy shrieked, her voice so sharp it made his ears ring. She pointed at him, her hand trembling with adrenaline. “What the hell is going on? Why are you wearing my clothes? Why do you look like me?”

(See image 44)

"I… I… I'm sorry," Scott replied, his voice shaky as he lowered his eyes in shame. "I should have stopped it. I should have said no," he continued, his knees beginning to wobble, the emotional and physical exhaustion catching up all at once.

Amy's expression shifted from shock to concern as she saw her cousin on the verge of collapse. "Sit down before you fall down," she said firmly, gesturing toward the armchair. "Tell me everything."

Scott nodded meekly, his heels clicking softly against the floor as he tottered across the room, his movements still strangely graceful despite his distress. Amy watched, shaking her head in disbelief, as her cousin navigated the room in her tallest heels as if they were a natural extension of his legs.

“You look different,” Scott said, trying to break the tension of Amy’s intense stare after arranging himself awkwardly on the chair - his voice wavering as he took in her unusually casual appearance. She wore a print T-shirt with an image of trees, baggy jeans, brown hipster boots, and a light blue blazer. Her once long blonde hair had been replaced with a chin-length bob, its colour now her natural brown. It was all very unusual; however, even more perplexing, she was wearing barely any makeup.

"I look different?" Amy gasped in surprise, her eyes widening as she took in the unimaginable sight before her. "You're sitting here in my little black dress with a full face of makeup and long blonde hair, and you think I look different? How did you get so thin? And have you injected your face and lips?"

Scott swallowed hard, his nervousness evident from the way he fidgeted with the hem of the dress. "It all kinda got out of control," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Jen wasn’t supposed to see me at the nail salon, and then when your mother got involved, things just kept getting crazier. At the time, we didn’t think the money would be that important to you. I mean, your family is rich and would look after you. It’s easy for you. You don’t understand what it’s like to have nothing."

"My mother? Jen?" Amy echoed, her voice a mixture of confusion and surprise. "Slow down and start at the beginning. Explain this to me. I feel like I’m going insane."

Scott took a deep breath, knowing there was no turning back, and began to recount how a foolish idea had spiralled into a tangled web of deception, leading to that very moment - sitting across from his cousin as her clone, having just returned from her grandmother’s funeral. As he spoke, the weight of his actions bore down on him, and he watched as Amy’s face, initially filled with surprise, slowly hardened into a mask of controlled fury.

The story was tougher for Amy to hear than it was for Scott to tell - he could see it in every subtle shift of her expression. She was learning not only that her grandmother had passed away and that she had missed the funeral, but also that her own cousin had tried to rob her of her inheritance. Yet, to her credit, Amy remained relatively calm - a skill she had learned in rehab. She asked the occasional question for clarity but allowed Scott to finish his tale before fully reacting.

When Scott finally fell silent, his voice exhausted and his nerves frayed, Amy remained quiet for a moment, her gaze fixed on the floor as she tried to process everything. Then, she looked up, her eyes burning with a controlled rage that made Scott instinctively shrink back into the chair. "You’re a horrible person," she said flatly, her voice devoid of emotion, which only made the words cut deeper. Scott braced himself for the inevitable outburst, expecting the shouting that would surely follow - but to his surprise, it never came. Instead, Amy fell silent again, her lips pressed into a thin line as she fought to keep her emotions in check.

Scott fidgeted nervously in the armchair, his curvaceous body jittery as he tried to gauge Amy’s reaction. “You seem calmer than I thought you’d be,” he finally said, his voice unsteady as he glanced over.

Amy’s glare cut through him like a knife. “Oh, I’m angry. Furious,” she replied, her voice steady but laced with venom. “But raising my voice won't change anything now, will it?”

“So… What happens now?” Scott asked, his voice tense with dread.

Amy’s lips curled into a smile that lacked any warmth, sending a chill through Scott's feminized frame. His stomach sank, and the heavy weight of guilt settled in, making him feel even worse. “You’re going to be punished,” she said in an eerily calm tone.

Scott sighed, trying to steady his nerves. “You’re going to call the police, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice cracking as he spoke. “Come on, Aimes. Please, don’t do that. We’re family.”

Amy let out a bitter laugh. “Family? That’s rich coming from you. You really thought saying goodbye to my grandmother for me was doing me a favour? Helping me out, were you?” Scott lowered his head. He had crossed a line. He knew there was no easy way back from this, and forgiveness wouldn’t come easily - if at all. "But no, I’m not calling the police," Amy said, her tone steady. Scott's head shot up, a flicker of hope in his eyes. "That would be too easy on you. I have a different punishment in mind - one that suits the crime and benefits me too".

Scott’s heart raced, a confusing blend of fear and curiosity tightening in his chest as gripped his nylon-coved knee. “What do you mean?” he asked cautiously.

(See image 45)

Amy’s smile widened as she leaned forward. “Rehab taught me a lot about taking care of myself. I realized that my life before wasn’t doing me any favours and that my friends were bad influences, dragging me down. I don’t want to go back to that life of partying. Besides, I've met someone.  His name's Doug, and we want to be together. The problem is, we live on opposite sides of the country, and if I just left, I’d be starting over with nothing. But now, thanks to you. I have a solution.”

“Me?” Scott echoed, his confusion deepening.

“Yes,” Amy said, her tone measured and resolute. “Now that there are two Amy's, you can continue my life here, and I can be with Doug.”

Scott’s face drained of colour as the full weight of her proposal hit him. “Oh no,” he declared firmly, shaking his head in disbelief. “I can’t be you! I don’t want to be you.”

“You could have fooled me,” Amy shot back, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “You seem to have taken to my life like a duck to water.”

“Just because I can be you, doesn’t mean I want to be you,” Scott replied, his voice rising in desperation.

"Well, maybe you should have thought about that before you decided to steal my life and rob me," Amy retorted, her voice edged with bitterness. "I'll even split the money with you - half of everything, including the inheritance."

"Please, Amy, don’t do this," Scott begged, his voice trembling as he looked at his cousin with desperate eyes - the idea of being trapped in this nightmare indefinitely was more than he could bear.

“You’ve done this to yourself, Scott,” Amy answered, her voice cold and final. She looked him straight in the eyes, her expression unyielding.  “You said my life was easy. Well, now it's yours.”