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— Are you fucking serious right now, Jess?! — leaning on the soft bed of the rented apartment in the Denver suburbs, on Madison Street, I froze, feeling the sheet sink a little under my palm, while the strap of the damn lace bra dug painfully into my shoulder and for the third time in the last ten minutes slid off again, forcing me to yank it back with an irritated motion.
The guy in front of me—though it was probably more correct to call him a man now, considering he was officially thirty-seven—stood with his arms crossed over his chest, looking at me like I was guilty of every sin known to mankind. I knew that expression better than anyone, but before, when his face still had the soft, younger features of my girlfriend, it looked kind of cute. And now… shit, I hate to admit it, but it scared me, even if I tried my best not to show it.
— Couldn’t be more serious, Kyle! We’ve been in the program for a month and a half, and you… — Jess, or rather now Craig Riley according to the new documents, stepped closer and let out an annoyed snort. — …and you act like this is some damn weekend getaway. Seriously! You look like you just crawled out of a washing machine, you’re not even trying to look like Sarah.
I took a deep breath, feeling the weight on my chest from my… no, not mine, just these tits, shift, making the underwire dig painfully under my ribs, making me wince and once again reminding me that right now I wasn’t me—Dan Stifler, twenty-seven—but Sarah Miller, a twenty-two-year-old “freelance interior designer” who’d recently moved to Colorado from Portland.
— What do you mean I’m not trying? Then what the hell is this, in your opinion, huh? — I glanced down, nodding at the red lace set I was wearing. — And anyway I didn’t even have to put this shit on… — I continued, feeling that damn strap slide again and doing everything I could not to repeat for the fourth time that “I work from home, I don’t need to dress up.”
Craig raised his eyebrows so sharply it was like I’d just confessed to torching his car.
— Sarah, — he said, putting way too much weight on that stupid name. — You understand that sooner or later someone might recognize you on the street or, if you still have to make online calls, — Craig went on, never taking his eyes off me. — Someone might recognize your face. It’s still yours, and let me remind you we’re hiding from serious people who want to get rid of us.
— Well, technically, your face didn’t change either, so…
— Are you an idiot? — Craig said it calmly, but there was clear sarcasm in his voice. — Do you seriously look at me and see the girl I used to be a couple months ago?
He stepped even closer, and now, with less than a meter between us, I felt the difference full force.
Jess used to be tiny, skinny, with a soft gaze and a voice that could calm you down with just the tone.
And now standing in front of me was Craig Riley — broad shoulders, short hair, a voice a tone and a half lower, even his gestures were straight, sharp. The face — yeah, familiar, the same one, but with obvious signs of age, which, even though they weren’t real and were artificially created, still gave the impression I was looking at Jess’s dad, not Jess herself.
I swallowed.
— I… — I started, then faltered. — Well, you’re still… you know… you’re still you. In some way.
— “In some way”… — he repeated, smirking. — Kyle, fuck. Sarah, I…Full story (14 000 characters - 4 parts + add. images) is open to subscribers here or on Patreon