A Short Smoke Break to "Think"

*Click... Click-click

— …Fu... — the sound slipped out barely above a whisper as the girl, holding a cigarette she’d recently swiped from her mom’s purse, kept flicking the lighter. — Gotta come up with something...

In the dark, her face was lit only by the flashes of the lighter — pale, still with a child's flush, but the eyes... the eyes were all grown up. Matt — or rather, the former Matt — a thief, a heister, a loner, already knew how this shit worked: panic was the worst thing you could do. But now his hands… weren’t his. Small, with neat little fingernails practically begging for nail polish.

— Shit, this isn’t a dream, — he muttered out loud, but the voice came out high-pitched, with a slight, strangled tremor.

His head throbbed. The room around him was completely unfamiliar, yet disturbingly fitting for who he was now — with a Princess Elsa backpack tossed on the floor, a teddy bear slumped at the edge of the bed, and every other cliché of a girl’s bedroom. Kimberley’s room.

Small hands brought the cigarette to her lips, and a second later, a loud coughing fit echoed through the room. Loud enough that even the teddy bear, collapsed on the edge of the bed, seemed to glare at her — or was it him? At Matt. The thief. A thirty-two-year-old man who just yesterday had broken into a jewelry store in St. Louis. Everything had been going according to plan until he saw that stupid ring in the display case — thin, with an amber stone and strange symbols. He slipped it into his pocket… but something about it made him want to try it on. Just for the hell of it.

And then he was suddenly in this girl’s body. She’d stared at him in the reflection of the display case — thin arms, a slightly upturned nose, freckles. And in that very moment, a stern voice rang out behind her:

— Kimmy! What do you think you're doing?! — a woman in a strict suit yanked the ring off the girl’s finger and tossed it somewhere behind the counter. And as soon as she removed the ring — flash, a sharp yank in the chest, like his heart had stopped for a second, and his "soul" got anchored to a new vessel.

Then came the yelling, the panic, a firm hand gripping her palm. It all happened too fast. Kimberley didn’t even understand how she’d ended up "home" in her own bedroom.

But after a while, she figured it out. She was in the past. The same city — but ten years earlier. Aside from the ring, there was no logical explanation, and she had to find it. The problem was, she had no damn idea what the thing even looked like anymore, and even if she did find it, deep down she somehow already knew there was no going back. Not after "Mom" took the ring off her hand.

— Shit, — she whispered, trying to flick the lighter again. — I just wanna... wake up.

She took another drag — more carefully this time — and almost managed to inhale when...

— KIMBERLEY ANN TAYLOR!

The door burst open so loud even the teddy bear toppled from its post. Light flooded the room — cold, yellow — and in the doorway stood a tall woman in her mid-thirties, like a damn fury — Mrs. Taylor. In one hand — a jar of night cream, in the other — a crooked finger ready to jab whoever dared.

— What is that in your mouth?! That... what IS THAT?! — she stormed forward with three sharp steps. — Kimberley, were you DIGGING around in my purse?!

— I... I wasn’t... — Kimberley started, already cursing herself inside for sounding so unsure. The voice gave her away instantly — high-pitched, almost squeaky, scared. No trace of that calm baritone Matt used to talk his way out of way worse situations. Where the hell was that baritone now? Where was his confidence, his sarcasm?

— DON'T LIE TO ME! — Mrs. Taylor's voice cracked like ice, and for a second the air in the room felt like it dropped ten degrees. — You... were smoking?! In MY room?! FROM MY purse?! KIMBERLY ANN, YOU ARE FIFTEEN!

‘I’m thirty-two, you bitch!’ — she wanted to scream back. Wanted to — but the body refused to fight. Everything inside clenched up, her legs folded under her, and her lips — those soft, unfamiliar lips — could only mumble:

— I... I just... wanted to try...

No slap came. And maybe that would’ve been easier. Instead, her mother snatched the cigarette from her fingers, tossed it into a glass of water — a sharp hiss followed. All that drama, ruined by an annoying pssshh. And then something worse than any hit: Mrs. Taylor bent down, grabbed the girl’s wrist — fragile, like porcelain — and yanked her toward the door.

— Bathroom. Now. You’re gonna stand right there while I WASH YOUR MOUTH OUT WITH SOAP! — her voice and stare were iron. — You wanna act like an adult? Fine. I’ll show you what it means to be one.

— B-but... — Kimberley was already being half-dragged down the hallway. — It’s not... I didn’t...

‘This isn’t your business — you’re not even my mom!’ — she wanted to scream, but again, all that came out was a thin, cracking whimper. She — Matt — suddenly realized just how easily this body surrendered. It didn’t know how to be stubborn. Didn’t know how to fight back. Not physically, not mentally. It wanted to be a “good girl.” It was so... obedient. Disgustingly so.

And then he — she — was in the bathroom. Her face flushed red, the reflection showed a skinny frame, messy hair, and wide, terrified eyes. And the soap. Plain white soap already in the woman’s hand.

— Open your mouth.

— D-don’t... m-m-mom... — Kimberley whimpered, clutching her hands to her chest, that “mom” like the final nail in the coffin, sealing who she was now. And then she felt it — the soft fabric of the T-shirt clinging to her skin, outlining small but unmistakably feminine breasts.

— I said — open your mouth. Or I’ll do it for you...

And she opened it.

The soap was disgusting. Bitter, slimy, it pressed down on her tongue like it was scrubbing off more than taste — like it was erasing memories. Kimberley coughed, her eyes welled up with tears.

‘What the fuck is this. Some dumb bitch is making me eat soap and I’m fucking scared! I’m actually scared of her! If I ever get out of this, I’m never telling a soul! Ever!’

— That’s it. Now go to bed. And I don’t want to hear another word about smoking. Tomorrow we’re seeing Dr. Henderson. Clearly, the hormones are acting up again.

Doctor. Henderson. Hormones?! A chill swept down her spine. She didn’t know what it meant, but it sounded way too... clinical. Like it was locking her even deeper into this body.

The bed greeted her with cold sheets. The teddy bear was back at its spot, as if nothing had happened. Only now Kimberley — Matt — curled up tight, knees to chest, trembling all over. Her nose ran, her eyes stung. From the soap. From the tears. From the crushing sense of control she — he — no longer had.