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My finger nervously drummed on the smartphone screen while I stared at the ceiling. Marie's room was... crap. Complete, absolute crap. The wallpaper in black and pink spirals, peeling at the corners. Clothes scattered all over the space by me, just like those damn instructions I had memorized in this shitty group home for troubled teens. Damn it, I’d spent a whole month in this disgusting place, and only when I stopped trying to be myself and started acting like Marie, like they wanted, did they bring me here, to my damn “favorite” family.
— Oh, fuck, Marek, finally you’ve come for a visit, huh! And you brought your beautiful wife! — I heard from downstairs. That damn John, the "dad" fucking asshole, was yelling like an idiot again. Maybe I should just leave and go to that idiot Eric's place? What the hell am I doing here? My hand lowered the phone to my chest, and I grimaced again. Damn my tits! I threw the phone irritably to the side and sat up, grabbing my shirt tightly. Nothing. No curves, no silly nipples pressing against the fabric. Just a flat, teenage chest, like a boy who hadn't even gone through puberty yet.
— Shit! — I automatically muttered and stood up from the bed, noticing my reflection in the dirty mirror on the wall.
I stared at it—and felt that splitting headache paradox again. A pale, angular girl with long, unevenly cut hair, dark circles under her eyes. Teenage skinniness, flat chest, sharp collarbones sticking out from under the worn-out t-shirt. The body of an unformed teen—but the face… The face was mine. Mine, for fuck’s sake. Mine.
But it didn’t look the same. Less makeup, cleaner skin, lips a bit thinner than I remembered. But the mole was still there, and the gaze—same as the one I saw in the mirror that morning before the experiment. The gaze of Stephanie Green. The gaze of a woman who no longer existed.
I clenched my teeth and grabbed the phone from the table, feeling the anger inside me slowly boil. What the fuck? Why am I acting like some stupid fifteen-year-old rebel?! I can’t even think like an adult anymore! And why do I actually want to go out and hang out with Eric, as if I’m really that damn Marie Smith? Why are my anger, my thoughts, my habits changing, as if I’m not just playing her, but...
...shit, as if I’m becoming her?
I exhaled sharply and looked at the mirror again. Damn this "Town" project. When I agreed to it and convinced Mike, it seemed like it would be fun. Cool. Just a couple of months of living in a new body, playing someone else, for money. "The more you get into the role, the better the result!" the brochure screamed. "100% immersion into a new personality!" it was written in bold letters.
But they didn’t warn me that your mind would start bending under this damn script. They didn’t say that if you pretend to be a teenager for too long, you’d start thinking like one.
I shook my head, like trying to shake off this idiotic stream of thoughts. Deep breath. Exhale. Everything’s fine. Everything's under control.
The main thing is not to forget who I am.
I’m Stephanie Green. I’m 22 years old. I’m not some Marie. I’m just playing her role until this damn experiment is over. And once it’s over—I’ll go back to my life. To myself. To...
...To Mike?
I froze, feeling my stomach tighten into a hard knot.
Shit. Mike.
Or rather... Apolonia.
When I saw her in the kitchen, I almost gave myself away. It was so... weird. So unnatural. I knew that face too well. I knew those features, that gaze, that...
...that fear in her eyes.
The fear that Mike never had.
I bit my lip and suddenly collapsed back onto the bed. The phone beeped with another notification. Probably Eric had written something again. I didn’t care. I stared at the ceiling, trying to process all this madness in my head.
Everything was wrong.
When I first came back to school after I "returned" home, I saw her for the first time—Apolonia—but pretended I didn’t recognize her. How the hell could I not recognize the person I had been in love with since childhood? Mike, damn it, I would recognize you even if you turned into a dog. But back then, I thought it was part of the experiment. Part of the role. And those damn fines. No, I wouldn’t screw things up, and I would see it through to the end. Still, I started watching how Mike was handling it, even hoping we might talk without anyone watching us... But it turned out to be harder than I thought.
And now, when I saw him... No, her, again, in that shitty kitchen at John’s, when I saw how she was embarrassed, how she clung to Marek, how she instinctively adjusted her dress like she had worn dresses her whole life…
...this wasn’t Mike.
Or rather...
It wasn’t him anymore. Or was it? Damn it, what the hell is going on?!
I bit my finger and squeezed my eyes shut. No, bullshit. Complete bullshit. Mike just...
Just what? Got too deep into his new role? Or maybe he had changed too much?
I suddenly sat up on the bed, glancing toward the door. John’s hoarse voice was still shouting downstairs, drunk as hell, Marek’s laugh, and Apolonia somewhere down there... God, Apolonia. Seriously? My Mike and this walking stereotype who couldn’t even speak English properly?!
I angrily threw my phone at the wall. It bounced off with a dull thud and landed on the bed, still flashing on the screen. Fucking, goddamn... Damn it, just shit! I buried my fingers in my hair, trying to pull myself together. My chest was still flat, teenage-like. My palms clenched tightly. Stephanie Green, for fuck’s sake, get a grip!
But in front of my eyes, over and over, that pathetic scene from the kitchen kept appearing. It was her. Him. Damn, Mike.
Or maybe not Mike anymore?
The image of Apolonia—hunched over, shy, with her stupid Polish "proszę", the tenderness with which she adjusted her dress, her pathetic attempts to hide behind Marek...
What the hell? Where was my Mike, who just a month ago could shut anyone up with his fucking rude tongue? Where was that guy who laughed at the stupid "Town" brochures, saying it was all a scam and a circus? Where was that asshole who used to grab me by the waist in jest, and I’d smack him on the back of his head, laughing?
I came here, I signed the contract because I was curious, it seemed fun, and they promised a lot of money. But now… now all of this was slowly turning into a nightmare.
That’s it. I need to get out. I need to clear my head.
I picked up my phone and blankly stared at the screen. Eric had written:
"Yo, where are you? We’re at the 'Bistro' with the guys. Come out, I miss you 😘."
I scoffed. "Baby." Stupid. Did he really think I’m his girl? I still haven’t decided how much I even need him. Though right now, I noticed I actually liked the "baby" thing, and it always made me laugh when he cracked his stupid jokes. Though before, I’d roll my eyes, but now...
I slapped myself on the cheek, hoping to shake my head. I’ll just go out and walk around. Maybe I’ll stop by them, maybe not. Need to clear my head. But as I reached for my jacket, John’s voice came from downstairs:
— MARIE, FUCK! Are you deaf or what?! Go eat, you freeloader!