Let's Just Watch a Movie

The silence of the room was broken only by the occasional muffled sobs coming from the pillow the girl had buried her face into. Her narrow shoulders trembled, and the light fabric of her skirt rustled faintly with her small movements. The pink top stretched across her back, revealing a tattoo—yet another disgusting reminder of how far things had gone.

– Why the hell are you still crying? – a hoarse, irritated voice shattered the sticky calm of the room. – It's been hours of the same damn thing. Maybe we should just put on a movie or something?

He scratched his closely cropped hair, turning toward her. His massive fingers, attached to muscular arms, clutched a can of beer. His new appearance—a tall Black man with broad shoulders and a wide chest—didn't faze him in the slightest. No, now he was her "man," her "boyfriend," her goddamn "protector." And he was pissed.

She lifted her tear-streaked eyes. Her thin, almost drawn-on eyebrows quivered. 'God, why is this happening to me?' flashed through her mind. She tried to sit up, leaning on her slender arms, gripping the edge of the couch. It felt like her strength was draining out through her fingertips.

– Listen, – she began in a hoarse, faltering voice, feeling her breasts heave under the tight pink top with anxiety, the fabric pulling painfully against her nipples. – You... you have to remember. Yesterday... before... we were different! Everything was different! You were—

– What kind of bullshit is that?! – he interrupted, wrinkling his nose. – I've always been who I am. Big, strong, and... – he grinned, – with girls like you.

A pang hit her inside. She thought maybe he was joking, that this was just some prank that had gone too far. Monica—what this brute was called just yesterday—had decided to surprise her husband by suggesting they play this role-reversal game with a complete swap. Back then, she—still called Steven—never imagined magic was real, that Monica was some kind of witch, and that she could somehow transform their bodies beyond recognition, turning herself into this huge guy and Steven into this modest little girl.

But after some resistance, once the transformation had already happened, Steven agreed that since it was done, why not go along with it? Of course, they had sex. Not very skillfully and not as either had expected, but still, it was their first experience. Then, when it was time to change back, Monica—now a huge Black man whom she stubbornly referred to as herself but in male form—went to "take a leak" before casting the reversal spell. She nodded to him—or rather, now her, the petite Asian doll named Lily—confidently: "It'll be fine, baby."

But fate played a cruel joke. Leaving the apartment, Monica—"Marcus" now, as stated in the new documents Lily later found with trembling hands—tripped on the stairs, hit her head on the railing... and when she came to, she was one hundred percent certain: she had always been Marcus Johnson, 6'5", 265 pounds of muscle, and that little thing at home was his woman.

Lily didn't immediately grasp the horror of what was happening. She tried talking to Marcus, joking, crying, begging, but he just laughed with his deep voice, slapped her ass so hard the thin skirt stuck to her skin, and said that "her hormones were just messing with her head."

And now, this evening, after Lily had spent the day at her new job—a waitress at some third-rate café where customers hit on her and the boss made dirty jokes—she came home and collapsed on the couch.

At first, she held it together. She tried to seem strong, told herself this wasn't forever. But the hormones, those damn hormones, gave her no chance. First came the annoying flutter in her stomach, then a dull, pulling pain in her lower abdomen, and finally, a wave of tears.

Now she lay, her face buried in the pillow, in that tight pink top that chafed her breasts with every movement, in a ridiculous pleated skirt that made it hard to sit properly, and through tears, she remembered how she had recently been a strong man.

And Marcus, sprawled in the armchair with a can of beer in hand, clicked the remote.

– You really need to chill out, Lil, – he grumbled, shifting his massive shoulders. – Want me to put on some dumb action flick? The kind where chicks scream and dudes save everyone. Perfect for a little drama queen like you.

Her insides turned at his words. She sat up abruptly, grabbed a pillow, hugging it to her chest to hide her prominent nipples under the top.

– Marcus... – she managed to say. – You... before... you weren't like this. We... were together. You were a woman! Monica! You came up with this stupid game! The spell! The magic! Please, remember!

He looked at her, blinking slowly, as if a doll had suddenly started speaking off-script.

– Seriously? – he smirked. – Magic? Lil, you need to stop watching those anime cartoons. There's no such thing as magic. There's only you... – he ran his finger down her bare back, touching the edge of her top, and smiled wider, – ...and me.

Lily trembled, pressing into the pillow. Her heart pounded in her chest like a trapped bird.

This wasn't him. This wasn't Monica. This... was someone else. In that body.

But the chances were dwindling. And the longer she hesitated, the more she slipped into the role of a sweet girl next to a powerful man who saw nothing in her but a cute body and a funny little drama queen.

He clicked the remote again.

– Alright, baby, – he said. – I'll find something for you. Maybe a drama then? And afterward, we'll have a therapy session. On my lap. Snuggle up and cry all you want.

He laughed, and Lily curled into a ball, realizing that this Marcus clearly wasn't playing, and the only chance to change everything back was becoming more and more elusive, because only he could return things to how they were.