Ballet Trap

Fuck, what the hell?! What is this shit… I was just… flying. I remember it clearly—I was in the air, weightless, trying to fly away from Lisa’s house after realizing she wasn’t home and there was nothing left to look for, and then... a flash, a jolt, a hit, and now…

— Aaah!.. — a high-pitched scream escapes me, and I flinch when I hear my own voice.

I reach for my throat and feel smooth, soft skin, a slender neck and... something pulsing weirdly under my fingers—is that a heartbeat? I blink rapidly, noticing my lashes feel longer, and my whole body feels like it’s wrapped in something way too tight and insanely uncomfortable. I glance down and...

— What the fuck?! — My voice! It sounds like I just inhaled a balloon full of helium or turned into some cartoon character I’d be mocking in the school hallway just a week ago. It's so weird hearing myself like this! But that’s not even the worst part—I can clearly see two mounds that somehow sprouted on my chest, pushing up against this thin pink fabric that’s stretched tightly across my body. My tiny, scrawny body, for fuck’s sake! Even from this angle I can tell how skinny I am! And... no-no-no, don’t tell me... yeah, there’s nothing between my legs—I felt it the second I touched there and yanked my hand away like I got burned.

All I wanted was to spy on Lisa, even though I wasn’t sure the whole thing would actually work. But yeah, that medallion seriously worked. I followed the instructions exactly—lay down on the bed, put the medallion on, tried to fall asleep, and after it worked, I saw myself floating out of my body. I really got out, and the first thing I did after flying around a bit was head straight for Lisa, imagining I’d catch her doing something indecent, rubbing my translucent hands together.

But she wasn’t home, and I figured that was enough experimenting, so I flew back through the walls, and then suddenly—flash, jolt, hit… Looks like I ended up inside this girl and, fuck me, I’m in her body right now! God, no, I’ve gotta get out of here, this is all wrong, all wrong! I need to concentrate.

I close my eyes, try to calm down, imagine myself leaving this body, take a deep breath, but instead of calm, I just feel… heaviness. Real heaviness, like someone hung two soft water bags on my chest, and they sway with even the slightest movement of my shoulders. Fuck, how do you even focus with these things? How do women even live like this?!

Annoyed by the things now stuck to my chest without permission, I suddenly grab them through the fabric and feel how soft they are, how the skin gives under my hands, how they respond with this strange tingling, like someone brushed my skin with a cold feather, and I shudder. Oh, God. Why did I shudder? That’s… Fuck, did I just grope tits?! For the first time in my life, I touched boobs—and they’re mine, fuck! And it actually made something heat up between my legs!

This is a nightmare, a fucking nightmare! Get a grip, Emma, you’ll find a way out, you just need to… wait! What the fuck?! I’m not Emma. I’m Alex. Alex Jennings. What the hell... Oh shit, it was in the instructions… Something about if I accidentally bumped into someone, I’d end up in their body, and my soul would take over while theirs “slept”… Looks like that’s info from this girl’s brain and I need to… I need to rehearse the “plié” stance and… God, I’m getting chills just thinking about doing that! Like a thousand little needles prickling down my skin, making the muscles in my legs tense up and my feet twist into first position all on their own. I freeze, my hand still on my breast, but I’m no longer thinking about the heartbeat or the weird emptiness between my legs—I’m thinking about how insanely badly I want to straighten my back, lift my chin, and feel the air caress every inch of my body in mid-jump.

— What the… — I start, but my voice doesn’t sound as harsh anymore. There’s something new in it now—lightness, anticipation, hunger. — Alright… I’ll just give it a try...

I lift my arms up, hesitant, like I’m not the one moving them, like it’s some kind of muscle memory, some other me, the one I’m trapped inside now, like a suit stitched together from nerves, bones, and this soft, springy flesh. I feel my wrists stretch upward, elbows bend with a grace I’ve never had, and my feet… they’re already turned out, like it happened on its own—I don’t even remember placing them in first position, but there they are. I feel a slight tension in my calves, my thighs, my ass, like my whole body’s preparing to leap, to fly, like it knows what comes next.

— Plié... — I whisper barely audibly, and with surprise I realize my knees are bending smoothly, slowly, like in slow motion, all while my back stays straight—in fact, it stretches upward, collarbones opening, breath steady, deep. I feel this tight pink leotard, hugging me like a second skin, pulling across my chest, my ass, my hips, the fabric sliding slightly with every movement, marking each motion, and how the cold floor presses through the thin tights on my feet.

I straighten up and do another plié, this time a little deeper. Slowly. I didn’t think I’d enjoy this. No. I definitely didn’t want this. But… then why did it feel like warmth just flared up in my chest the moment my heels lifted off the floor, and my arms stretched out to the sides all on their own, curving into a smooth, graceful arc?

Again. I can’t stop. It’s just fucking amazing when everything works out, like I’m actually a ballerina and… Wait, wait, wait! What the hell, I’m not… I can’t like this, I’m not Emma, I’m Em—Alex, goddammit, Alex Smith, I’m 18, I love rugby and beer, I’m not some chick who dreams of being a ballerina.

I stop, despite this massive urge to keep going, to try other positions, fighting it off and closing my eyes again, trying to focus and remembering the instructions: to leave the body, I just need to concentrate on my breathing and, on a certain count, imagine myself leaping out of it. But a sharp, loud ping from a message on my—no, Emma’s—phone distracts me. I can’t resist. I have to check it. There’s something really, really important—there’s no way I can leave this body without seeing it!

“Congratulations, Emma Travis! You have been accepted into the Academy of Classical Dance.”

A wave crashes over me. Everything inside tightens and at the same time bursts—like fireworks of joy, fear, and something else I can’t explain. I grab the edge of the windowsill, feeling my breath catch, goosebumps crawling across my shoulders, my neck, my back. Tears rise to my eyes—God, this is so fucking amazing, I’ve dreamed of this for so long and now… wait, what? I dreamed of it? But I’m… Alex. I never wanted ballet, or pink leotards, or any of this shit.

I push off the windowsill, turning slowly, feeling my breath turn shallow under the weight of emotion, feeling my chest—my chest—rising and falling beneath the thin fabric of my clothes. Fuck, this outfit and these tits are so uncomfortable, it’s a nightmare… But goddamn, getting into the ballet school is so fucking cool—finally, one step closer to the dream of dancing on stage. And maybe Robin will be there and then he’ll fall in love with me and I… Robin, who the hell… who is that? My… Wait, is that the guy Emma’s in love with? Shit, why can I picture him so clearly and why do I shiver just thinking about him? That’s it, I need to end this. I need to leave this body before Emma’s thoughts completely take over.

I stand in the middle of the room, frozen, eyes shut tight, trying to focus. Inhale—exhale. Fuck, it’s so hard to concentrate. Not only am I stuck in this body, but now my head’s full of ballet school dreams and Robin. Goddammit, just… just go away. I need to get out of this body! Just get out. Get out. Erase all of this. Erase this trembling, almost childlike thrill at the word “academy.” Erase the image of Robin, as if he’s painted on the inside of my eyelids—vivid, warm, with that… that weird tenderness that sets off something wet and warm deep inside me. NO!

— Get out! — I whisper, clenching my fists. — Out. Get the fuck out! This isn’t mine, it’s not mine, goddammit!

I feel something melting in my chest, where these newly-acquired forms weigh heavy under the pink fabric. No, really. The thoughts—they’re quieting down. The feelings, the urges, the thoughts are sinking inside, retreating, and suddenly it’s easier. It’s light, like someone finally let go of me. I inhale and finally relax. My head is empty, calm, my thoughts are… mine again. I even smile.

— It worked… — I mutter, looking around the room in disbelief. — Holy shit, it worked! I’m back in control!

Alright, that’s it. Focus now, Alex, and get the hell back. Deep breath. Count to five. Picture my soul leaving the body, floating up, light again, transparent, free. I count… and nothing. I’m still in this body—I can feel it without even opening my eyes. What the fuck?

I walk over to the mirror, my steps thin and unsure, and stare at my reflection again with a hint of dread. Same girl—slender back, narrow shoulders, hips under the pale ballet leotard, and that… ridiculous pink frill on the shoulder. All of it still mine. My body still isn’t mine. But inside—it’s me, Alex. Just me. I reach toward the mirror like I could pull myself out, and close my eyes.

— Return… back… — I exhale. — Come on, back home… Fly out, just fly out…

Silence. I feel nothing. No flash. No swirl. No heat or cold. No movement. Nothing.

I open my eyes. I’m still here.

— What?.. — I say. — No… No-no-no…

Looks like… Fuck, looks like Emma’s soul flew out of this body and I’m stuck here until she comes back?! Fuck! But where the hell is her soul now, and what the fuck am I supposed to do with all of this?!