One second, I was practically bouncing in my seat with desire, and the anticipation of what would happen when we got home. Then I thought about the future. How was I going to feel about all of this on Monday? I was going to feel ashamed, wasn’t I?

The reality of Friday night hit me. I told myself that there was nothing wrong with anything I did. It wasn’t like I did anything I couldn’t have done, or least done an approximation of, in my real body. That made me imagine the night in my own body. I saw my real body in this dress, at the restaurant we’d just left. I couldn’t breathe.

“What is it, sweetie?” Lucy asked, “Are you okay? Should I stop the car?”

“Just—” I gasped for air, “Just get us home. Please?”

She put her hand on my knee. I knew it was meant to be comforting, but I jerked away.

The instant the car stopped, I threw open my door and ran for the house, leaving the car door hanging open and my heels on the floor. I fumbled to find my keys in my purse. Why did I even have a purse?

Once I was in the house, I ran straight to the bedroom, tearing the dress off, as well as the lingerie I was wearing underneath. I pulled one of my t-shirts and a pair of underwear from my dresser as Lucy walked in.

“Daisy?” She sounded really worried. I wanted to comfort her, but I couldn’t.

I slammed the bathroom door behind me.

With the lights off, I pulled on the t-shirt, then the underwear, then collapsed onto the floor, wrapping my arms around my legs.

“Daisy?” Lucy called through the door.

“That’s not my name!” I shouted. It felt like a lie.

“Ja—”

“No!”

“Honey, let me help you, please?”

I struggled to pull myself together.

“I’ll be fine,” I lied. “I just need some time.”

“I’m right here if you need me.”

I heard her lean against the bathroom door and then a sliding sound.

“You’ll let me in if you need me, right?” She asked, her voice coming from nearer to the floor, now.

“Okay.”

“Promise?”

I didn’t say anything.

“Promise?” she asked again.

“I’ll try,” I lied.

🔗

I woke up sprawled on the bathroom floor. The door was open about a foot, and Lucy was lying on the floor on the other side, still asleep.

I started to close the door, but it would have bumped her hand. I pushed it as far as I could without touching her, then sat on the toilet.

The sound of me washing my hands woke her up. When I looked, she was sitting cross-legged on the floor. She’d been careful not to block the door, so I could have walked past her if I chose.

I sat down cross-legged in front of her.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “I shouldn’t have done this.”

“Done what?”

I gestured at myself, at the dress I could see on the floor behind her.

“Any of this.”

“What happened?”

“I guess the dysphoria finally hit.” I replied.

She looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“It hit me how wrong all this is.”

“You seemed so happy, though.”

“I was pretending.”

“Why would you pretend to be happy?”

That wasn’t it. I was happy. I was pretending to be Daisy. I didn’t say all that.

“Can we not talk about it? I just need to ride this out until—” I thought back to the last time I used the chain, “Oh, never mind. I guess it’s time. Or past time.”

I stood.

“Where is it?” I asked.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“I just want to get it over with. Please.”

“I’ll get it.”

She was back within a couple of minutes, holding the chain.

I held out my wrist.

“No,” she said, “I’m not going to do this. If you want it, you need to do it yourself.”

Want it? Of course I didn’t want it. But I accepted the chain from her, and clasped it around my neck.

I saw a look that I couldn’t interpret flash across her face. She opened her mouth to say something, but closed it instead.

“Be me,” I commanded myself.

There was the flash of cold heat, then nothing. I tried the clasps. They came open easily.

“We didn’t use this again after the shoes, right?”

Lucy shook her head.

“And that was around four o’clock?”

She picked her phone up off the floor and checked something.

“Four ten.”

It was nine o’clock now, so sixteen hours had definitely passed. I almost accused her of lying. Of using the chain on me while I was asleep. But we’d figured out early on that it required consent to clasp the chain on another person. And I knew she wouldn’t have done that anyway.

“I don’t understand,” I said.

She had that same look she’d had so often lately, of almost saying something.

“What?” I asked her.

“I can’t say it,” she replied. “It would only make things worse.”

“Oh come on.”

“We’ve talked about this. I am not your psych. Not only would it be unethical, it would be counterproductive for me to act as if I were. I promise you that if I ever think that telling you will make things better, though, I will.”

I believed her. That didn’t make it easy to accept that there was something she wouldn’t tell me.

“I guess we should have breakfast. I can try again after,” I said.

“Are you going to go running this morning?”

Like this? I didn’t say it, but she heard it anyway.

“You bought those shoes, and the shorts, and the sports bra. You’ve always said that running clears your head,” she continued.

She was right. I could have breakfast after.

Lucy helped me clean the makeup off my face and tie back my hair.

🔗

Running was not as helpful as I would have liked.

It felt too good. I wasn’t as fast as usual, of course, but I didn’t really care. The cool morning breeze on my skin felt wonderful, and the trail I was on was far enough away from the road that I smelled mostly nature, not traffic.

I saw a few people I recognized. This was one of my usual routes, after all, but was unsurprised when they didn’t recognize me. A couple of men made me feel uncomfortable with the way they looked at me, but it was a very public place, so I didn’t feel unsafe. That was balanced out by the friendly smiles I got from so many women.

All in all, it was a very nice run, which is why it was unhelpful.

I still felt so comfortable like this. I shouldn’t have felt so comfortable. It just made it harder to do what I was going to have to do.

When I got home, I showered as quickly as I could. I rinsed my hair, to get out the sweat, but didn’t shampoo it. It wouldn’t matter soon.

“I don’t understand why it’s not working,” I said, “Do you?”

Lucy and I were on the sofa in the living room. I was wearing the chain around my neck again.

“What was the exact command you gave yourself?”

“You heard me. I just said ‘Be me.’”

She seemed to expect me to get something from that. When I didn’t go on, she held out her hand. I unclasped the chain from my neck and clasped it around her wrist.

“What do you want me to tell you to do?” I asked. 

The thought crossed my mind that I could command her to tell me what she wasn’t telling me. I couldn’t do that to her, though. That would have been a massive betrayal of trust.

She thought for a moment.

“Tell me to have blue eyes.”

“You already have blue eyes.”

She waited.

“Fine. Have blue eyes.”

Nothing appeared to happen, but she unclasped the chain and held it out to me.

“Well, of course it wouldn’t do anything, you already have blue eyes.” I said.

And then it hit me. My blood roared in my ears. My field of vision narrowed the spot directly in front of me.

“So, nothing happened,” I continued, “because I’m already me?”

Lucy nodded. “I think so.”

“How can the chain know who I am better than I do?”

“I don’t think it does. I think that it taps into our own intentions and beliefs. On some level, you know your truth.”

“But—”

“Listen, I’ve thought of something that might help you, and I don’t think I’d be breaking my rule. I’m not sure how magic fits in with the whole ‘ethics of psychiatry’ thing, though. Do you trust me?”

At the mention of magic, I handed her the chain back and kept my hand extended.

“Always and forever,” I replied.

She clasped the chain around my wrist, yet again.

“If this were something you could discuss with anyone else, I wouldn’t do this. I think talking this through with someone else would be better. But you’re hurting, and I’m afraid for you. But you have to know, this may hurt, a lot. Are you sure?”

“If you think it will help, I can deal with hurt.”

“Tell me true,” she said, “Which is the real you?”

I felt the flash of cold heat, I felt the choice again. She was asking something huge of me. Something I might never do without the compulsion. So, I could refuse this command and never use the chain again. I didn’t refuse.

“Daisy,” I said. “I’m Daisy.”

🔗

It wasn’t that easy, of course. I am nothing if not a stubborn woman.

“What if the chain messed with my mind?” I asked.

“Then why didn’t you love being a beefcake bodybuilder?”

“Uhh . . .”

“You think our little ultra powerful magical artifact has a kink for turning cis men into gorgeous little sexpots?”

I blushed at that.

“But, you do love being tall.”

“I’ve always wanted to be tall. You know that.”

“It could have messed with our memories.”

“I guess? Does that make you want to go back?”

“No.”

It was lunch time before I finally gave in.

“So, I don’t have to change back.”

“No, Daisy, you don’t.”

“I get to be her forever.”

“Not her. You.”

“I get to be me forever.”

“Until the sun burns out.”

“What happens then?”

“I don’t know. It’s dark.”

I threw the last bit of my sandwich at her.

She caught it and popped it in her mouth.

“Hey that was mine!” I pouted at her. Pouting was fun.

“Come and get it.”

A moment later I was being pulled onto her lap, and clamped my mouth onto hers.

“Ew!”

I broke the kiss. 

“It’s actually still in there.”

She smirked and swallowed.

I kissed her on the nose.

“I’m sorry about last night,” I said, suddenly serious.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” she told me, “I should be the one apologizing.”

“What for?”

“I’m sorry for pushing too hard, too fast. In my defense, you’re irresistible.”

“That’s a good defense.” 

I giggled. Then I giggled again because I was so pleased at the first one.

“And I accept your apology, but . . .”

I traced her cheek with my finger, gazing into her eyes. God she was beautiful.

“But what?”

“Maybe you should make it up to me?”

“Now?”

“Now.”