Royal drama

— Did you see this?! — Tiffany's voice sounded like she was seconds away from losing the last shred of her sanity. She stood in the middle of their cramped, slightly cluttered kitchen, clutching a fresh copy of the New York Post. Her wide eyes were a chaotic mix of fury, shock, and almost comical horror.

Claire, her roommate, lazily looked up from her phone, her expression radiating doubt.

— What now? — she drawled, rolling her eyes and leaning back against her chair.

— She’s getting married! — Tiffany practically hurled the newspaper onto the table in front of Claire. — She. Is. Getting. Married. In my damn body!

Claire raised an eyebrow, scanning the bold headline on the front page: “A Royal Wedding for America’s True Princess.” Below it was a photo of a happy couple — a dashing man in a sharp suit and a poised brunette in an elegant dress.

— Well, they make a cute couple at least, — Claire smirked, glancing back at the frenzied Tiffany. — You still want me to believe you’re some kind of prince who accidentally wound up in the body of a random suburban girl?

— This isn’t funny! — Tiffany slapped her hand against the table, almost knocking over a mug of coffee. — I’m Prince Henry, damn it! That’s my body in that photo! And now this… this… girl! — she jabbed a finger at the paper. — She’s marrying… who even is this girl? I don’t know her, and that’s mean she’s clearly not of noble blood! — Tiffany wrinkled her nose, her disdain dripping from every word.

— Oh… — Claire drawled, lifting the newspaper closer to inspect the details. She paused, her mind flashing back to a strange conversation she’d had with Dr. Hastings a week earlier. He’d explained in painstaking detail how she should handle Tiffany’s bizarre behavior. “Just go along with it, even if it sounds crazy,” he’d said. “Confidence in her version of events will help her cope. It’ll likely pass in a few days.”

Well, it had been a week, and things were only getting worse. Instead of "gradually coming to terms with reality," as the doctor had predicted, Tiffany seemed to be diving deeper into her "royal drama."

— Alright, Miss Prince… — Claire froze mid-sentence, staring at the photo. Her face shifted to an expression of surprise mixed with disbelief.

— Wait a second… — she said, turning to Tiffany. — That woman. In the photo. Isn’t that… Lauren?

— Who? — Tiffany frowned and leaned in, squinting at the picture again.

— Lauren, like Walker or something, — Claire pointed at the paper. — Your childhood best friend. She came here a couple of years ago! We even went to a bar with her, remember?

— Lauren? — Tiffany repeated, furrowing her delicate brows. — I don’t know any Lauren.

Claire scoffed, pushing the paper away.

— You don’t know Lauren Walker, the girl you grew up with? Come on. She’s great. She told me all about some awful guy who broke her heart. That was the night you got drunk and declared that ‘all men are pigs,’ and then you two started ordering tequila shots, singing I Will Survive on the bar counter, and then…

Claire paused theatrically, watching as Tiffany — or rather, Prince Henry in Tiffany’s body — tensed up.

— And then what? — Tiffany snapped coldly, clearly bracing herself.

Claire, unable to hide her smug grin, leaned forward.

— And then you kissed her. And honestly, it didn’t look like a drunk mistake. No, it seemed… real. You even said back then that she’d always mean more to you than anyone else.

Tiffany froze, staring at Claire as if she’d just announced the end of the world.

— We… what?! — her voice cracked, and she immediately glanced back at the newspaper. — This… this can’t be real, — she muttered, stumbling back and shaking her head.

— Oh God… — Tiffany tilted her head back, staring at the ceiling like she was hoping for divine intervention. — This has to be a mistake! This isn’t what I wanted! I just wanted a normal life! A normal life!

She clasped her hands together in a desperate prayer, muttering through gritted teeth:

— I didn’t ask to be a woman. I didn’t ask to live in this body. I didn’t ask… — her voice faltered, and she squeezed her eyes shut. — Just give it back! Give me my body, my life!

Claire, watching this spectacle, raised an eyebrow skeptically before stifling a laugh behind her hand.

— Listen, Prince Henry, — she made air quotes with her fingers, — if you’re hoping that prayers will return you to your palace, maybe start by washing the dishes? Gods appreciate cleanliness.

Tiffany’s hands dropped abruptly, her eyes blazing with wounded pride.

— This isn’t a joke, Claire! I’m Prince Henry! — she jabbed a finger at her chest. — I was heir to the throne, I had a title, respect, my life was…

— A pompous circus? — Claire interrupted, clearly enjoying herself. — If it’s true, it doesn’t sound half bad. You just got tired of the spotlight?

— I wanted… — Tiffany hesitated, covering her face with her hands. — I just wanted to know what it’s like to live as an ordinary person. To be free from all the responsibilities. To experience what it’s like to do whatever you want.

Claire burst into laughter.

— Well, congratulations, darling. You’re no longer a prince. You’re Tiffany. An “ordinary suburban girl.” No money, no status, and plenty of bills to pay.

— This is a nightmare! — Tiffany groaned, staring at the newspaper again. Her eyes lingered on the picture of Lauren, the name now pulsing painfully in her head.

Claire softened her tone, seeing her roommate was genuinely on edge.

— Hey, come on. I know this isn’t easy… — she placed a comforting hand on Tiffany’s shoulder. — But maybe you could… I don’t know, call her?

— Call her? — Tiffany let out a harsh laugh, shaking her head. — I already did! You were there, Claire! We called together, remember? Or should I remind you how that went?

Claire leaned back, arching an eyebrow.

— Oh, right. That was the night you almost smashed your phone against the wall. Yeah, unforgettable.

Tiffany shot her an irritated look.

— Because she — or rather, he — that damn impostor in my body didn’t even want to listen to me!

Claire lounged back, the picture of unbothered.

— And how exactly do you think it looked from her perspective? You — I mean, Tiffany — calling and screaming, ‘It’s me, Prince Henry, give me my body back!’ Honestly, I would’ve hung up too.

— She pretended not to recognize me! — Tiffany threw her hands up like it was the ultimate insult. — Not only did she steal my life, but she’s also acting like she’s perfectly fine with it!

Claire rolled her eyes as Tiffany continued, now rambling at lightning speed:

— You have no idea what I’ve been through this week! Do you think it’s easy? Do you think it’s normal?! I thought this was some kind of lesson from the universe or something, and I tried to push through it, to fit into this simple life — well, I fit in, as you say! Into your stupid stores with that terrifying underwear I don’t even want to describe! Into your weird grocery runs where you argue about cheese discounts! Into your job where every other customer yells at me, and I have to pretend I don’t want to throw a tray at them! You… you have no idea how hard this is!

— Oh, I’ve got a pretty good idea, — Claire deadpanned, rolling her eyes again. — I do it every day. Welcome to the real world, Your Highness.

But Tiffany, fired up by her rant, barely noticed the sarcasm.

— And these damn heels! — she shouted, pointing to her feet. — How do you even walk in these? I’ve got blisters so bad I… I can’t even… never mind! And makeup? It’s torture! Every time I try to put on mascara, I feel like stabbing myself in the eye!

— And this is with me teaching you, — Claire reminded her, raising a finger. — If you’d tried on your own, you’d probably have blinded yourself.

— Thanks for that! — Tiffany snapped sarcastically, clenching her fists. — But let’s not forget, I’m just trying to survive in a body that doesn’t even belong to me!

Claire snorted, clearly running out of patience.

— Alright, stop. First of all, your body is what you have right now, and as I see it, you're doing just fine. Second, I’m not your nanny, got it? I’ve done more for you this week than anyone else would. I’ve taken you shopping, taught you how to waitress, and even showed you how to put on makeup — when I could’ve just said, ‘Google it yourself.’ And all you do is complain!

Tiffany’s mouth fell open in shock.

— Complain?! I…

— Yes, complain! — Claire cut her off, standing up and crossing her arms. — And you know what? I’m done feeling sorry for you. If you want someone to baby you, find a new roommate.

— But…

— No buts! — Claire raised a hand, silencing her. — You wanted to be an “ordinary person”? Congratulations, you’re now an ordinary girl with an ordinary life. And in this life, no one’s going to pamper you.

— You don’t understand, I…

— No, Tiffany, or whoever you think you are, you don’t understand! — Claire raised her voice, pointing a finger at her. — If you can’t deal with this, then here’s some bad news: this is your normal life. So stop whining and either start adapting, or sit in the kitchen crying into your coffee. I don’t care.

With that, she turned and headed to her room, leaving Tiffany standing in the middle of the kitchen, clutching her chest and gaping in indignation.

— But… — Tiffany finally managed, her voice trembling. — It’s not fair…

Claire stopped abruptly, not bothering to look back.

— You know what else isn’t fair? The electricity bill. And it’s due tomorrow. So think about how you’re going to pay for it, Your Highness.

The door slammed shut, leaving Tiffany in deafening silence.