On the way back to the strange shop

The street looked gray and cheerless. Peeling walls, graffiti on shattered windows, the smell of dampness and gasoline. The asphalt was cracked, with potholes and bumps at every step. And among all this, swaying awkwardly on high heels, walked Brad. Or rather, now the only thing giving him away in this fragile figure were the clumsy attempts to walk straight in those tall heels and… that was it. Officially, on all documents, she was now Ballerina Sapozhnikova, a girl with a very rare name.

The tight black capris clung uncomfortably to her thin, bony hips, while the short beige top exposed a perfectly toned stomach, which now seemed even slimmer than the biceps Brad had spent his whole life training. Her hand clutched nervously at the thin strap of a handbag she kept adjusting. That bag now held everything most important to her — a phone, a wallet, and a whole bunch of other feminine essentials she wasn't ready to think about yet.

"What the hell! I'm walking down the street like a damn… slut?! This has to be some kind of nightmare!" Her fingers gripped the strap tighter as her heel slid again on the uneven asphalt, nearly sending her into another clumsy stumble. "Damn it…" she hissed through her teeth, straightening up and glancing around with that same expression of arrogant disdain Brad used to wear. Only now, it didn’t look menacing. More like… pathetic.

A cold wind brushed against her exposed stomach, making her suck in a sharp breath. "Why is this top so… short? Why is everything so tight? Damn it, and these damn heels… How do people even walk in these?!" Adjusting her purse again, she quickened her pace, desperately trying not to fall. Every step was torture — her knees felt weak, her muscles trembled in unfamiliar ways, and sweat was already beading at her temple.

Up ahead, the same shop appeared. A wooden sign with faded letters, dim lighting inside, a dusty display window. The nauseating scent of old junk seeped through the closed door. Yesterday, when he was still himself, Brad had barged in here looking for some old lighter, and the shopkeeper — a burly old man with a gray beard — had dared to scold him for demanding a discount. "I’ll show you a discount, old fart!" Brad had thrown the cash on the counter and stormed out. And now… now he was returning in this humiliating body.

— "Hey, baby, where you rushing off to?" a voice called from the side.

Ballerina flinched. Two guys in wrinkled hoodies, leaning against an old Mustang, were grinning, looking her up and down. One of them, a brown-haired guy with an earring, winked.

— "Wanna ride? We’ve got music, beer… It’ll be fun."

She felt heat flare in her cheeks. "They're… hitting on me? These losers?!" The thought was so humiliating that familiar anger flared in her chest.

— "Get lost!" she snapped, trying to make her voice sharp again. But now it sounded soft, almost… cute. The guys exchanged glances.

— "Ooh, feisty! We like that!" the one in the hood chuckled. "Wanna fight, huh?"

— "Maybe I do!" Brad stepped forward, fists clenching… but it looked ridiculous. A slender wrist, no trace of strength. Her fingers trembled. The guys laughed.

— "Hey, relax, baby, we were just kidding!" The one with the earring stepped closer, placing a hand on her shoulder.

— "Get your damn—" She tried to shrug off his hand, but there wasn’t nearly enough strength. Before, Brad would’ve taken him down with one punch, but now they just shoved her lightly, and she staggered, barely keeping her balance.

— "Damn…" she exhaled, struggling to stand straight.

And then…

— "Hey! Hands off her!"

A deep voice echoed nearby.

From the side, a tall guy in a leather jacket appeared. Broad shoulders, confident stride. He stepped closer, placing himself between her and the guys.

— "Problem, fellas?" he asked, voice calm but threatening.

The two guys exchanged nervous looks.

— "Chill, man… We were just talking." Snickering, they backed away toward their car.

Ballerina froze, breathing hard. Her eyes widened when she recognized him.

"Damn… That’s me!"

The tall guy with the predator’s confidence — her old body, her face, her… muscles. Brad! Or rather, someone who was now Brad. And the new "him" was staring at her with the same scornful squint she had once used on women just hours ago.

— "Where’s your babysitter, princess?" he smirked, tilting his head, locking eyes with her. "These punks messing with you, huh?"

Ballerina swallowed hard, struggling to find words. Her legs trembled, heart pounding wildly.

"He… he’s talking to me like that? To me?!"

— "I..." Her voice broke, and she coughed, feeling the heat of shame flood her face again. Too thin, too fragile a sound. Not her voice. — "Who the hell are you?! Why are you in my body?!"

— "What?" His eyebrows shot up, and he looked her over as if only now realizing she was even standing there. — "You mumbling something, doll? Say it again."

Ballerina swallowed, feeling her fingers tremble weakly on the strap of her purse. That look… God, that look! Smug, appraising, like she was a piece of meat. Exactly the way she — no, he, Brad! — used to stare at girls in the club when he was himself.

"But this... this can't be real."

— "You..." She tried to straighten up, but her body betrayed her, trembling, especially on these stupid heels. — "You're... in my body!" Her voice cracked, turning high-pitched and shrill, and she felt her cheeks burn even hotter.

The guy in her body snorted, folding his muscular arms across his chest.

— "You out of your mind?" He chuckled, shaking his head. — "I just got back from the gym. Saw those two dumbasses bothering you and figured I'd help. And now you're screeching like a lunatic. What, you on your period?"

— "What?!" Ballerina nearly choked on air. — "You... You serious? You're in my body, and you dare—"

— "Whoa, chill out, sweetheart." Brad stepped closer, and she instinctively backed up until her spine pressed against the cold brick wall. He towered over her — exactly how she used to dominate weaker people. But now… God, even with the heels, he was a head taller. And it was her body!

He smirked wider, looking down at her.

— "Damn, you're kinda cute. Nice rack, but the voice is too squeaky. If you didn't act so crazy, you'd be a total snack."

She gasped.

— "You... You bastard! Do you even understand what's happening?!" Ballerina tried to pull herself together, but her lips trembled. This couldn't be real.

Brad scratched his head with a crooked grin.

— "You sure you're all there? Had a few too many drinks, huh? Or…" His eyes raked her up and down. — "Maybe you're just dying for me to bend you over right here on the street, is that it?"

— "WHAT?!"

Her voice shot up so high it cracked, her face flushing deep red.

"He's... He's talking to me the way I used to talk to girls... This... This has to be hell!"

— "Aw, c'mon, don't get all worked up." Brad took another step forward, and Ballerina tried to move aside, but her heel twisted awkwardly, nearly sending her crashing down.

— "Careful there, doll. You gotta learn how to walk in those pretty shoes of yours."

He caught her waist with strong hands — her hands — and she nearly choked from the humiliation.

— "Let go of me, you creep!"

— "Hey, relax. I'm just keeping you from face-planting again. Though if you want me to..."

He leaned in closer, so near she could smell minty gum on his breath.

"This can't be real… That's my body! But why is it acting... like me?!"

Finally, she managed to push him away — a weak, trembling shove.

— "Don't you dare touch me! I'll get my body back — and when I do, you'll regret this, you bastard!"

Brad stepped back, smirking.

— "Ooh, feisty! You know, that's kinda hot. If you change your mind, I'll be around."

He winked and turned, striding away with the same confident swagger she used to walk with — like he owned the whole world. Brad — or whoever was in her body now — didn't even glance back, just kept walking, leaving her standing there, humiliated and shaking on the sidewalk.

Ballerina was still breathing hard, teeth clenched, when her gaze darted back toward the shop.

But... it was gone.

Where the shabby old store with the worn-out sign had stood just moments ago, there was now only a blank, gray brick wall, peeling with faded paint, as if no shop had ever existed there.

— "What the hell?!" she whispered, taking a few shaky steps forward. "I saw it… I know I saw that sign, that—"

TRRRRRRRRRR!

The sharp ring of a phone cut through her thoughts. Her purse trembled in her trembling hands as she fumbled it open, nearly dropping it before pulling out a sleek, white smartphone in a pink case. The screen lit up with an incoming call.

"My Bunny 💕🐰"

— "Wh… what?!" Her voice came out a weak squeak. Ballerina froze, staring at the screen like it might explode. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest. That name… That was how girls saved their boyfriends' names.

TRRRRRRRRRR!

Her fingers hit "decline" automatically, and the sudden silence felt almost louder than the ringtone.

— "Oh my God…" she whispered, a cold knot tightening in her stomach. — "What the hell is going on?!"

The phone buzzed again. A new message.

"Hey, babe, where’d you go? I’m waiting. ❤️"

Ballerina stared at the words, her heart thundering against her ribs.

What kind of nightmare was this?