Not my wedding

"Shit..." Brandon thought, taking a deep breath and feeling how his—no, Veronica’s—long hair lightly tickled his bare shoulders with every small movement of his head. The delicate pearl earrings swayed softly, brushing against the skin just below his earlobes. Footsteps sounded from behind the door, and he turned his head, once again noticing how the silky strands grazed his skin, as if whispering: "This is real, Brandon..."

— Ronnie, sweetheart, are you ready? — came the familiar deep voice of Tom, Veronica’s fiancé, with whom Brandon had spent plenty of evenings—of course, as himself, in his own body—drinking and talking about all sorts of things. But now, that voice terrified him.

"Shit, shit, shit!" His eyes widened, and his chest—fuck, HIS chest—pressed tighter against the snug fabric of the white dress, one of its straps sliding off his shoulder, exposing soft, unfamiliar skin. It was Veronica’s skin—his sister’s skin—the woman who, in just a couple of hours, was supposed to marry Tom, her longtime partner, with whom she had shared this apartment for over five years. And he, Brandon, was standing here, in her room, while the guests waited at city hall, staring at the door with a mirror, where the reflection showed a worried young woman with wide eyes and slightly parted lips.

The door creaked, and Tom stepped inside—tall, clean-shaven, his hair styled appropriately for a groom, his calm gaze shifting into mild surprise when he saw "Veronica."

— Are you okay, Ronnie? You seem... off, — he said, stepping closer and placing a hand on her—his—shoulder. Brandon froze, feeling the warmth of Tom’s palm. It was too real, too intimate, and he barely held himself back from recoiling.

At that moment, a phone rang on the dresser. Brandon grabbed it, his heart pounding faster when he saw the name "Little Bro" on the screen. How cute, he thought for a split second before the panic took over. He answered, pressing the phone to his ear, and heard a voice—his own voice—but laced with a kind of hysteria he had never noticed in himself before.

— Brandon? Is that you? You’re in my body? — Veronica’s voice—his voice, but trembling, on the verge of a scream—blared in his ear. — Tell me it’s you, for fuck’s sake!

— Yeah, it’s me, — he forced out, hearing his new voice—Veronica’s voice—coming from his mouth for the first time. He spoke as quietly as possible, trying to make sure Tom wouldn’t hear. — Veronica, what the hell is happening? Why the fuck are we...

— Oh my God... — His voice on the other end trembled with pure panic, with raw hysteria so intense that it made Brandon’s stomach turn. — Tell me this is some sick joke! That this is just a nightmare! Fuck, Brandon, do you even realize that you’re in MY body?! Do you understand what’s happening right now?!

Brandon shot a nervous glance at Tom, who was still looking at him—at Veronica—with mild confusion but hadn’t intervened yet. He was standing close—too close—and the sensation of his hand on Brandon’s shoulder still burned like a brand.

— Veronica, keep it down, — Brandon hissed, covering the phone’s speaker with his palm, trying to muffle her frantic voice.

— Keep it down?! KEEP IT DOWN?! — His own voice cracked. — I’m standing in front of a mirror, and I see YOUR fucking face, Brandon! Oh God... oh God, this can’t be real! What the fuck did you do?!

— What? ME?! — He spun around, turning his back to Tom to avoid eye contact and to hide his growing panic. — Veronica, stop talking nonsense. I didn’t do anything!

— Oh, you didn’t do anything?! — his voice spat from the speaker. — Maybe you forgot, but which one of us was OBSESSED with this idea? Who kept talking about how weird it must be to be a woman? You’ve always been obsessed with "girly stuff," wondering what it would feel like to be a girl! You said it yourself, over and over! This is YOUR fantasy, not mine!

— Are you out of your fucking mind?! — He barely held back, realizing too late that he had raised his voice. His heart pounded in his chest and—oh fuck, why was it beating so hard in this body?! — I never wanted THIS!

— Don’t lie to yourself, — she snapped. But before Brandon could argue, he heard Tom’s voice.

— Everything okay, sweetheart...? — Tom whispered near his ear, his lips barely brushing against his skin, sending a shiver down Brandon’s spine. He froze, feeling the warmth of Tom’s hands wrapping around his waist, their breaths mixing.

But in the next second, Tom abruptly pulled away, as if he had been shocked. His eyes narrowed, his brows shooting up in surprise and suspicion.

— What the hell was that? — he asked, stepping back, staring at "Veronica" with confusion. — Why did you flinch?

— I… I just… — His voice wavered, too high-pitched, too emotional—even for Veronica. Shit, how does she even talk like this every day?! He swallowed hard, feeling a lump in his throat that he couldn’t quite get rid of. Tom was waiting for an answer, head slightly tilted, and the silence was quickly becoming suspicious.

— I just… got nervous, — he finally forced out, straightening his posture.

God, this dress… it was too tight, too light, too… wrong. He could feel the fabric clinging to his new body, the soft weight of his breasts pressing against the corset, the slipping strap once again reminding him of itself. On instinct, he reached up to pull it back into place.

And, of course, Tom noticed.

— Are you sure you’re okay? — His eyes softened slightly, but his voice still carried concern.

— Yes! Yes, of course! Just nerves, you know, the wedding and all that… — Brandon forced a smile, trying to make his voice sound more relaxed. It seemed to work. Tom sighed, as if he had absorbed the "bride’s" nervousness, but then gave a gentle smile.

— I get it. Alright, if anything, I’m here. We’ve talked about this. — He squeezed Brandon’s shoulder a little tighter, and Brandon fought the urge to shrink away from the warmth and strength of his touch. — The car will be here in 15 minutes.

Tom left. Brandon exhaled sharply. His hands were shaking. Everything inside him was twisted into knots, and he felt like if this went on any longer, he was going to throw up.

The phone vibrated in his fingers. A video call. The same caller—"Little Bro." Brandon grabbed the phone, accepted the call, and saw himself. His own face—Veronica’s.

She was sitting somewhere in his car, clutching the phone with trembling hands, and her eyes—his eyes—were filled with tears.

— Oh God… — she whispered, blinking and staring at the screen like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. — It’s you… It’s really you…

Brandon had no idea what to say. He watched as his own face trembled, his lips quivered, a tear rolled down his cheek. It was too much…

— Veronica, don’t cry! — he blurted out, but immediately clamped his mouth shut. His voice sounded so weak, so… feminine. He squeezed his eyes shut. God, why do I sound like this?! Why is my voice so… soft, so high, so wrong?!

— What the hell else am I supposed to do, Brandon?! — She sniffled in his deep voice, wiping her face with a hand. His hand. The sight was… weird, ridiculous, awful, pathetic. He had never even imagined he could look like that. — I’m in your body! Your fucking body! And you… you…

She was gasping for air, completely losing control.

— Veronica, calm down, — he tried, but he felt panic rising in himself too. — We… we’ll figure this out…

— HOW?! — she snapped. — Do you even realize how fucked we are?! You’re supposed to be at the wedding as my guest! I am supposed to be in that dress, not you! This is my WEDDING! I… Oh God, Brandon, how are you… how are you even moving? How are you talking? Do you feel everything?..

She swallowed hard. It was like she had only just realized that he could feel everything in her body. Her skin. Her breasts. Her voice. And that thought made her even more unsettled.

Brandon turned away from the screen, as if that would somehow help.

— I… yeah… — He gripped the phone tighter. — But now’s not the time! We need to figure out what to do!

— I know what to do! — she suddenly snapped, though her voice was still shaky. — Wish for everything to go back! Say it! Now!

Brandon blinked.

— What?

— Just say it, Brandon! — She was practically screaming. — Say you want everything back! That you want things to be the way they were!

— You… you think I did this? — His expression twisted, but something unpleasant clenched inside him. — This wasn’t me, Veronica! I didn’t wish for anything!

— You always said… — She shut her eyes tight, nearly sobbing. — You always wanted to know what it’s like to be a woman! God, Brandon, you were obsessed with it! You played around with the idea all the time! This is your fantasy, isn’t it?! Are you happy now?!

— What?! No! — he exhaled sharply. — Fuck no, Veronica! I never admired anything like that! I didn’t want this! This… This isn’t my fault!

She stared at him—at herself—through the screen, her lips trembling.

— Then say you want to go back. Just say it.

Brandon swallowed. His heart was pounding. His breasts rose and fell with every breath, the corset pressing into his ribs. He looked at the mirror. At his new face. At Veronica.

He took a breath.

— I want to go back, — he said. Nothing happened.

Veronica stared at him through the camera, pressing her lips together.

— Stronger.

— I want to go back, — he repeated louder. Still nothing.

— Fuck… — She clenched her fists. — Fuck! Why isn’t anything happening?! Brandon, why isn’t this working?!

— I told you! I didn’t wish for this! — he exhaled. — Veronica, we just… We just have to figure out how this happened and…

— You’re insane! — She ran a hand through her hair. His hair. — God, Brandon… We can’t tell anyone. No one, do you understand?!

And right at that moment, a voice came through the speaker—his mom’s.

— Brandon! What’s wrong? Are you that nervous for your sister? — Her voice was full of warmth and concern, but Brandon gripped the phone tighter, his delicate fingers trembling.

A second. Two. He didn’t know what to say. And it seemed like Veronica didn’t either.

— Mom, everything’s fine, — his deep voice came through the phone, but with a panicked edge that he would never allow himself. — It’s just… my period…

Silence. The sound of a door closing.

Brandon slowly turned his head toward the screen, where his own face—his fucking face—was blushing, rubbing the bridge of its nose. Veronica looked away, clearly unable to believe what she had just said.

— What? — he managed to choke out, feeling his cheeks burn.

— What? — Veronica, in his body, threw up her hands. His hands. Big. Masculine. It was wrong on every level. — What, you want her to start asking more questions?

— But periods?! — he nearly choked on her voice.

— She’s a woman! She’ll understand!

He exhaled, running a hand down his face—but froze immediately. His skin was smooth, no stubble, lips soft, and his hair once again slid over his bare shoulders, betraying him.

— Jesus, Veronica… — he looked at the screen. — You just told my—your!—mother that I’m on my period.

— What if you are?! — she snapped back, but her voice was shaking. — Fuck… fuck, Brandon, what are we gonna do?!

She looked awful. His face, his, but twisted with panic, red-rimmed eyes, his hair pushed back messily, lips trembling in the worst way… He never thought he could even look like that.

Brandon swallowed hard.

— First of all, we need to calm down, — he tried to sound firm, but his breath—her breath—came out shaky. How the hell can you sound so soft when you talk? Why does Veronica’s voice always sound like the world is about to collapse? Is it always like this?

— Are you fucking joking?! — Veronica clenched his fists. — You’re in my body, in a goddamn wedding dress, my fiancé is already outside the door, and I’m in YOUR body, sitting in a car, in men’s clothes, with a fucking dick between my legs, and you’re telling me to CALM DOWN?!

He flinched. Fuck…

— I just… — he squeezed his eyes shut. His breasts—her breasts—were pressing into the corset, making it hard to breathe. — We just need to think. No one can know. No one. We just—

— You have to go to the wedding, Brandon.

Silence.

His eyes snapped open, staring at the screen.

— What?!

— You have to… be me. At least until we figure this out.

— Are you out of your fucking mind?! I can’t! I don’t know how to be you! How to walk in this! How to even BREATHE in this! — he yanked up the slipping dress strap, but that only made it worse—only reminded him of exactly what he was.

— Do I have a choice?! — his voice screamed from the phone. God, his voice sounded awful when Veronica shouted like that… — Brandon, this is my wedding! I can’t just disappear! You have to… you have to just do what needs to be done!

— What the fuck does “what needs to be done” mean?! Do you even hear yourself right now?!

But Veronica just buried her face in her hands. His hands.

— I can’t, Brandon… God, I can’t… I don’t know what to do…

She sniffled. He had never heard himself cry before. It was… unbearable.

— Hey… — Brandon swallowed, and at that moment, there was another knock at the door.

— Ronnie? — Tom. His voice was firm, but laced with concern. — Are you sure you’re okay? It’s time to go.

Brandon froze.

His throat went dry. His breasts rose and fell with each breath. His hands were shaking.

Veronica was staring at him through the screen.

— Brandon, — Veronica suddenly whispered, her tone serious. She wiped her face with the sleeve of his T-shirt, but the tears kept falling. — Listen to me! You need to put on the veil. Now. It’s on the chair next to you. Just throw it over— it’ll help hide your face if you start acting too… weird.

He looked around and spotted it—light, white, lacy.

— You’ve got to be kidding me.

— No, Brandon, I’m not fucking kidding! — she hissed. — Put the veil on and keep quiet. And…

She suddenly fell silent, dropped her gaze, then hiccuped.

— Veronica…?

— You’re… going to have to kiss Tom.

A cold wave of dread crashed over him.

— WHAT?!

— Tom. He’s your fiancé. He’s going to kiss you, Brandon. At the ceremony, during the photos, in the car… — her voice cracked. — That was supposed to be ME!

She clamped a hand over her mouth, and fresh tears spilled down her—his—cheeks.

Brandon’s breathing grew ragged. He felt his lips—her lips!—go dry.

He was going to have to… kiss Tom?

As a woman.

God.

— I can’t fucking do this, Veronica!

— And I can?! — she sobbed again. — Do you think I can just sit here in your body, breathe in this fucking air, see this face in the mirror when it’s supposed to be MINE?! You think this is easy for me?!

She was shaking. Crying. Her hands—his!—were trembling, but she still kept going.

— Brandon… just do it. Do it because I can’t. Do it because you have to.

He stared at the screen. Then at his reflection in the mirror.

A woman. In white. A woman who, in just a couple of hours… would be standing at the altar.

And the man in front of her would kiss her.

Fuck.