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"She recognized me… or not?" — the thought raced through my head as I wiped my face with a cotton pad soaked in micellar water. The mirror reflected the same thing as always—my face, just with this ridiculous body: 158 cm of humiliation, tits constantly threatening to spill out of my bra, and an ass any Instagram model would kill for. But something was off. I leaned in closer—and froze.
"No, fuck, no-no-no!" — my fingers clutched the edge of the sink. Wrinkles. Thin, barely visible, but they were there—by my eyes, on my forehead. My skin had lost its elasticity, as if someone had injected ten years into me overnight.
"I'm not Apolonia, I'm Mike, fuck! I'm 23!" — my inner scream was drowned out by the Polish language that had already seeped into my subconscious.
My heart pounded like a rabbit before the shot.
"Hey, you fucking scientists! Is this your new trick?!" — I mentally screamed, gripping the tube of face cream so hard it crunched. The reflection in the mirror wasn’t me—it was some mature woman forced to play dress-up in a sexy maid costume. Even my breasts, which Mike usually dismissed with a sarcastic "at least there's one upside to this shit," now sagged slightly lower.
– What the fuck?! What the actual fuck is going on?! – I yelled, unable to hold back my voice, completely forgetting that I was supposed to behave like "Apolonia." The tension I’d been bottling up all day finally burst out. I ran my fingers over my cheeks, feeling the softness, the slightly looser texture of my skin. My hands shook when I brushed against a faint fold under my chin that seemed to have appeared literally overnight.
– No… No-no-no!
— Polya! — Marek’s loud, worried voice rang out from behind the bedroom door. A moment later, he was already standing in the bathroom doorway. — What happened?
I froze, pressing myself against the sink, trying to hide my face behind long strands of hair.
– My face! – I blurted out, pressing myself so hard against the sink that I might as well have tried to dissolve into it. My voice trembled, and I felt the panic taking over.
Marek stepped closer, his broad frame filling the entire doorway.
– Polya, cut the mystery, – his voice was firm but laced with concern. – What’s wrong with your face?
I could feel his gaze—heavy, studying.
"Oh right… the fucking experiment," — flashed through my mind. I forced myself to sound like the "modest Apolonia" from the dossier again.
– I fucking look like an old woman! — my gestures betrayed the panic I was desperately trying to suppress. My hand instinctively reached up to fix a stray strand—an automatic habit formed over the past month—but the lump in my throat wouldn’t go away.
Marek squinted, tilting his head slightly, then suddenly chuckled, shaking his head.
– Polya, come on, – he said, his laughter genuine, but it only pissed me off more. He reached out to stroke my cheek, but I jerked away. – Thirty-three looks amazing on you. You don’t even have gray hair, unlike my mom. You look great.
– Great?! – I snapped, pushing off from the sink and spinning toward him. – Look at me! This wasn’t here yesterday! Wrinkles! Skin! This is not normal!
He took a small step back, as if sensing I was on the verge of exploding. His calm smile faltered slightly, like he was seeing something he couldn’t quite understand—but at the same time, not wanting to make it worse.
Goddamn it, for a second, I felt like a typical woman freaking out about her age and fading beauty.
– Come on, stop it already, – Marek said, throwing up his hands as if surrendering. – I love you the way you are, – his voice softened, turning almost soothing. He stepped closer, his eyes warm—but that only pissed me off more.
– Are you… are you serious?! Enough already… – I didn’t know what to say. I wanted to spit out everything I thought about this experiment, about how everything was getting way too fucking weird.
What the hell? Why had my face changed? Why was I speaking Polish? Why hadn’t anyone contacted me in two weeks since this experiment started? When was this shit going to end?
And why did everything feel so damn real, like I was actually living in a real city?
God, playing this role, I hadn’t even noticed that I was almost becoming this "Apolonia."
I took a deep breath and lifted my gaze to the camera, which… what?! Where the fuck was it?!
I scanned the bathroom walls, the corners, the ceiling. The tiny red light that had been there before—gone. Nothing. No trace of any equipment, no sign of hidden surveillance.
– Polya? – Marek’s voice came again, but now there was an edge to it. – You okay?
I froze, feeling the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Something was wrong. Very wrong.
I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. If the camera was gone, that meant… They removed it? Or moved it? What the fuck?
My head spun. The camera was gone. But that was impossible—I’d seen it. It was there. I had seen it myself!
"They just removed it," — I tried to convince myself. But why? And more importantly—when?
I hadn’t heard anything, no one could have entered the apartment unnoticed. Or… could they? Maybe during the day, when I was at work.
God, how long had it been? A month! This was supposed to end in a month. This was probably just another phase of the experiment. They were testing me. Yeah, that had to be it…
Fuck, I’d been here for a whole month, and—
— Polya! — Marek’s voice jolted me out of my spiraling thoughts. His face was tense now, like he could feel my panic, but I wasn’t looking at him. — You’re scaring me.
— I’m fine, — I lied, forcing myself to pull it together. — Just tired.
He narrowed his eyes, not buying it. His voice became steadier, more controlled.
He was always like that. I had no idea who Marek was before this experiment, but he was either a damn good actor or… not an actor at all.
I didn’t understand anything anymore.
— Just tell me what’s going on?! — he suddenly snapped, his voice louder than I expected, as he grabbed my face with his large hand and forced me to look straight into his eyes… from below.
Jesus, he was huge.
And yet… there was something kind in that face, in those eyes. Sweet and… oh, fuck, what the hell?! What kind of thoughts were these?!
Marek leaned in, his warm breath ghosting over my face. I wanted to say something, but the words got stuck in my throat, like I’d forgotten how to speak.
His eyes—intense, focused—were so close that I could see my own reflection in them. And that reflection only filled me with more disgust and fear.
– Polya, – he murmured softly, and in his voice, I heard something I didn’t expect. Concern? Tenderness? Or had I just been in this body too long and started seeing things differently?
– You’re overthinking this. You’re beautiful, you hear me?
I wanted to scream. To tell him it was all bullshit. That I wasn’t Polya, I was Mike. That this body wasn’t mine, and every touch of it disgusted me. But instead, I froze, as if bound by invisible chains.
The camera!
I had to remember the camera. Even if it wasn’t here, it had to be somewhere. They were watching. They wanted me to play my role to the end.
– Don’t… – I rasped, but his hand was already gently cupping my cheek. His fingers were warm, rough from work, but the touch—almost tender.
I stiffened, unsure how to react. His face came closer, his breath mingling with mine. And then—a sharp, desperate kiss. His lips crashed into mine with such force that I barely had time to react. My body responded on its own—my lips parted, and I felt his tongue slide inside.
Fuck, this isn’t me.
It’s this body. This cursed body of Apolonia.