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Garry stood at the kitchen counter, absentmindedly staring at the fresh vegetables and neatly sliced bread. His hands, covered in soft black gloves, moved slowly, as if on their own. A light breeze from the open window played with the edge of his dress, sending a chill across his skin.

‘What the hell am I doing here?’ kept running through his head, like a broken record. It all felt like a terrible dream. Last night was still a blur in his memory. He could have fought back, he could have run, but something strange happened, and his body, as if no longer under his control, behaved... completely differently. Charles laughing, his hands on his waist, the way Garry froze in terror, and then... no, he couldn’t think about that anymore.

‘Damn it, I should’ve thrown him out then,’ the anger flashed through his mind again and again. How was it that he, Garry "The Hammer," ended up standing at the stove, feeling his new breasts sway, while still wearing that stupid nightgown?

He heard the soft sound of footsteps behind him and realized that the person he hated so much was already awake.

‘Oh god, he’s here,’ a tremor ran through his body. Taking a deep breath, Garry tried to pull himself together, like he always did. He wasn’t one to give in to fear. But now…

‘Everything will be fine... Just make breakfast, and it’ll all be over,’ he tried to convince himself, but the voice inside sounded as foreign as his new body. He knew nothing would “end” as long as he was stuck in this nightmare.

“G-good morning, Charles,” the words slipped from his lips too softly, too scared, nothing like how he used to speak just yesterday.

Charles said nothing, just continued dressing in his clothes, and Garry felt even more uncomfortable from the fresh memories of that night. He was suddenly frightened; for some reason, he didn’t want this man to leave, and his thoughts drifted back to that conversation about help with the debt.

“I... I made breakfast,” he mumbled, trying to suppress the tremor in his voice. "Made" — the word left a bitter taste in his mind. It didn’t feel right coming from him. It was as if admitting he had done it was what disgusted him.

Charles glanced at him briefly, indifferent and calm, as if everything happening was completely normal. Garry gritted his teeth, trying not to reveal his true thoughts.

‘What the hell am I saying? “Made”? What the hell?’ — inside, he was seething with anger and shame. He had never planned to deal with Helen’s debt. He was here to collect from her, not stand in the kitchen making some damn breakfast like a housewife.

‘I was supposed to crush her, make her pay… But now I’m Helen. Damn Helen! This is a fucking mess!’ His thoughts went back to the moment when it all started. He came to collect the debt. It was simple. He was going to press, threaten, maybe rough her up a little, like he had done so many times before. But…

Now he was the one trapped in this body, in this house, in this dress. And last night... The memories of Charles’s laughter, the way he held him — how that bastard touched his new body and how Garry actually felt some hope in his promises. The disgust and fear from those memories churned inside him again.

‘He promised... But why do I even need this? I’m not Helen, this isn’t my problem! These are her damn debts!’ Garry held back a sigh through clenched teeth. He was Garry "The Hammer" McCallum, the guy who solved things with his fists, threats, and force, not through pathetic pleas and breakfasts, cooked with his own hands in a body he despised.

"Charles, you said... something about the debts," his voice escaped before he could stop himself. But it didn’t sound the way he was used to. Soft, almost timid, as if Garry was depending on the answer. There was no threat in that voice, only helplessness.

Charles stopped for a moment, already about to leave, and turned with that slight smile Garry hated more than anything. It was mocking, and he was clearly enjoying the situation.

"Oh yes, the debts," he said lazily, as if discussing something trivial. "You do understand, Helen, that you’ll have to sort those out yourself."

The words hit Garry like a punch to the chest. ‘What?! No... You can’t...’ His heart started pounding faster, and a panicked thought flashed through his mind: What was he going to do now? The debts he was supposed to collect had now become his own. Not hers. His.

“But you promised,” Garry tried to keep his voice steady, but the words came out more and more pitiful and humiliated. Tears stung his eyes, but he fought them back with all his might. ‘Damn it, don’t cry! You’re not some pathetic woman, don’t you dare cry! Damn it, he just used me and…’

Charles smirked again, walking toward the door. “Promises, promises, Helen. You know how this works.” He turned to leave, and Garry suddenly realized that he was going to be left alone. Completely alone in this body, with these debts, and everything that was now his problem.

“Charles, wait!” he shouted, forgetting his pride. His voice was shaking, almost begging, and Garry hated himself for it once again. But Charles didn’t stop. He just disappeared through the door, leaving behind only cold silence.

Garry stood frozen at the kitchen counter, staring at the closed door through which the man he had placed his last hope had just walked out. ‘He just left... He left me here... alone.’

His fingers gripped the countertop, his perfectly manicured and feminine nails digging into its surface. He barely held back the tears, though everything inside him was screaming. ‘Why is this happening to me? It wasn’t supposed to end like this! These aren’t my problems! I shouldn’t be the one dealing with this shit!’