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I lay there for what felt like an eternity, but sleep never came. His arm gradually loosened, and I finally felt like I could carefully slip out of bed. My heart was still racing as I slowly rose, trying not to make a single sound. Marek kept sleeping, his deep, steady breathing thundering in the silence of the night.
Standing on my feet, I quietly made my way to the door. Moonlight faintly illuminated the room, and it took me a few seconds to locate the switch. Creeping into the hallway, I headed for the bathroom, my stomach twisting with the urgent need to relieve myself. But the moment I closed the door behind me, a new wave of panic washed over me: How do I do this?
It was one of those questions I hadn’t even considered before. My hand instinctively moved, but I stopped when I realized there was nothing there now. Absolutely nothing. Standing in front of the toilet with my panties down? Impossible.
With a heavy sigh, I gave in and slowly sat down. It felt strange. No, more than that—it was horrifying. My panties, which I had carefully slid off, lay crumpled on the floor. The pose itself felt so humiliating that I couldn’t help but run my hand over my face, trying to calm down. At that moment, I noticed how my now unrestrained breasts swayed gently in time with my movements. They seemed to remind me: “You’re not Mike. You’re Apolonia now.”
I stared at the wall in front of me, feeling the tension ease slightly. But it wasn’t relief—it was more like forced surrender. My hair, messy from sleep, kept falling into my face. I lazily pushed it back, realizing how it tickled my shoulders and neck, like threads of spider silk.
When I finally stood up, I quickly pulled my panties back on and glanced at the mirror. The light in the bathroom was soft but bright enough to let me see everything. My shirt barely covered my hips, emphasizing their new width. Strands of hair fell casually over my shoulders, somehow making my new appearance even more... feminine. The lips in the reflection looked full, almost pouty. My facial features still resembled my own, but with every glance, I found more details that irritated me: slightly rounded cheekbones, eyelashes that looked as if they’d just been extended.
– Just forget it, – I muttered, splashing cold water on my face. The water ran down my cheeks, leaving a refreshing sensation, but my thoughts remained as heavy as before. – It’s just a dream. A nightmare. Or... hell.
Drying my face with a towel, I sighed and left the bathroom. No way in hell was I going back to that damn bed.
I stepped out cautiously, moving as quietly as I could to avoid waking that oversized bastard, hoping he’d keep dreaming about his perfect “Polya.” I stopped for a moment, trying to gather my thoughts, but my gaze immediately fell on the table in the kitchen corner. “What’s that?” I thought as I walked over, only to find a piece of paper just like the one from yesterday. It was another goddamn set of instructions. How the hell did they even get here? I hadn’t slept and would’ve heard everything. But... whatever, those bastards are probably some kind of damn magicians.
I picked up the sheet, feeling a surge of irritation rise inside me. The words blurred before my eyes, but I forced myself to focus.
Good morning, Mrs. Kowalska!
Today’s plan:
• Prepare breakfast for your husband: Marek wakes up at 7:00.
• Pack lunch for Marek.
• Get ready for work: clothes are in the closet, makeup instructions are under the sink. Work starts at 8:00; Marek will drive you.
• After work, buy groceries: the list is on the fridge.
• Prepare dinner by 7:00: the menu is up to you.
I scanned the text and automatically looked at the clock. 6:15. “Goddamn it,” I thought irritably, feeling a wave of anger start to rise. My brain refused to accept this reality. Breakfast. Lunch. Work outfit. Makeup. “Makeup, for fuck’s sake?! You can all go to hell with your makeup!”
Clenching my teeth, I leaned on the edge of the table. The reminder that I’d be working as a janitor at the local school felt like a slap in the face. It was like being thrown back to my school days when janitors dragged dirty rags around, complaining about yet another mess. Now I, Mike O’Connor, was going to be one of them. Fantastic turn of events. “Fucking Stephanie with her brilliant ideas.”
My eyes slid to the next line: “Marek will drive you.” I exhaled heavily, feeling my stomach churn at the thought of sitting in the same car with that giant, who thought it was okay to grope my breasts at night. “And that’s not all—there’s a grocery list on the fridge, and dinner is at your discretion, Polya. Oh, the fireworks of freedom.”
The clock on the wall read 6:15. Forty-five minutes until that experiment-machine named Marek would start demanding breakfast. I sat at the table, glaring at the instructions as if they were responsible for all my problems.
Breakfast for the husband. Cook. “What the hell, who even writes lists like these? What’s next, a smile schedule for the week? A detailed plan for how and when I’m supposed to be a caring Polya?!” I thought angrily, feeling my hands clench into fists.
Looking at the fridge, I noticed a piece of paper held up by a magnet. A grocery list. “I wonder if it says, ‘Buy a rope to hang yourself.’” I smirked darkly, but then remembered the cameras.