The Sidereus Prophecy Part 1 free porn video

A WORD FROM THE AUTHOR: This story is my thank you to a community that has provided me free fiction for years. It is also my first story (and probably my last), and I will warn you- it is long. My intrepid editor, Robyn Hoode, slaved through the drafts of the story, providing insightful and helpful commentary. His enthusiasm for the subject material kept me motivated. Honestly, without him and his constant feedback, this story wouldn't exist. So, if you enjoy this story, you have him to thank, as much as me. This story is very much a slow-burn, character-driven transformation. As I said, it is lengthy, but I hope you will stay for the entire ride. Please feel free to leave a comment or to send feedback to the following e-mail: [email protected] DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. PART 1 Chapter 1 "This is the story of my life. You work hard, harder than anyone expects you to. You never complain, and then you are just pushed out because they can't keep you. Downsizing, deficit reduction plans whatever the new corporate buzzword is. In the end, it just means that the people who haven't been there long enough are out." I was understandably angry, having just lost my job. I raised my voice to wife, and while I wasn't speaking to her, my one and a half year old daughter stared up at me with big eyes, likely thinking she had done something wrong. My wife comforted her with a gentle tousle of her hair. "Daddy's not mad at you, Chloe." I wasn't mad, just disappointed. I was passionate about my work. This had happened before, and it was the same story. The boss says "We appreciate all the work you did, you have been an asset, but there is no work for you here." Thinking back, we should have just moved away while I was teaching a few years before, moved somewhere where there were actually jobs to establish at least some stability, but I wanted to buy a house, raise a family and set down roots. Also, my family was in town, and being a momma's boy of sorts, I could not see myself leaving. However, once I had all those things - a house, a beautiful wife and daughter, I still wasn't happy. As a child, I had been obsessed with play. I wanted nothing to do with activities I didn't enjoy, so you can imagine that until I matured, school was a chore. This mindset had developed into an adult desire to find a job I could enjoy, leaving me miserable in positions that did not push the correct buttons. My wife replied, "Darren, you will find something else. It isn't always going to be this way; you know that things will start picking up once the economy improves. Just find whatever you can for now. Maybe something in private practice? I'm sure there are firms out there that could use your skills." I knew she was right, but I didn't want to be even more underemployed or work in a job that meant I would never see my family. I knew she didn't mean that she expected me to work at McDonalds, but anything meant data entry or even a call centre. In my previous job, I had worked as a paralegal for the government, which is essentially a lawyer without all the fancy credentials. They do all the same work, but they get paid less. I wanted to be a lawyer, but the six years of part-time schooling I would have to do to continue working made it seem like an impossible goal. A shiver ran up my spine as I considered her words. "Am?lie, didn't you sometimes work twelve hour days in private practice? I want to be home for Chloe, you know I want us to eat dinner together. I want us to be a family. Isn't that why you left and became a public servant?" Am?lie answered, "Yes, but we need the money. But you can't really have it both ways. You can do what you want now and spend less time at home, or you can work in something you'll potentially dislike and be home for dinner every night. What about applying for some jobs below your position?" As supportive and understanding as Am?lie could be, she could also be very blunt. I replied with my head lowered as I moved toward the sink and pulled on a pair of pink rubber gloves. "I have too much pride. I need challenge in my life. I had it when I was doing all that legal research. You know sometimes I wish I could go back." Am?lie looked at me with an incredulous expression, although a little smile crept onto her face as she asked, "Go back?" We had had this conversation before. I started to fill the sink with hot water and two quick squirts from the dish soap dispenser turned the hot water into a mass of bubbles. Chloe watched us with a curious expression, and then got bored and pulled on my wife's pant leg. As Chloe was begging Am?lie for milk, I quickly filled the sink with dirty dishes. "Well...back to university, I would change my major. I would go pre-law probably. As rewarding and challenging as teaching was, I just couldn't take the lack of stability." Am?lie laughed lightly and gently blew a stray bubble in my direction, "Well you know what your dad would say. You want everything too quickly, it can't happen overnight." I quickly retorted, "I just feel like I go from one profession to another without any direction. And each one - it just feels like one mistake after another. Don't you wish you could go back and fix some of the mistakes you've made?" Am?lie had finished getting Chloe her milk and gave it to her. The little girl quickly chugged it down from her Cinderella sippy cup. She shook her head. "It is all an experience. I mean if you hadn't worked as a law clerk first, you never would have found out you liked the law so much. Or that you were so good at legal work. Nothing you have done is a wasted experience." I piled the dishes carefully in the dish drainer as Chloe tried to reach up and see into the sink. She was clearly mesmerized by the bubbles. I winced at a particularly ripe Tupperware container. Am?lie had left her vegetable dip to rot overnight. I left it for last and moved onto the plates, while replying, "Fine okay. But I feel like life could be better if I had made some better choices. Here is a perfect one. I only really started seriously singing and playing guitar in my twenties. Imagine if I had started when I was fifteen? I would be a much better musician. I probably would have been able to talk to girls in high school too." Am?lie grinned. "I had a crush on a guy in a band in high school, so you are probably right, but what's the point in dwelling on this? You are in a band now, and you have a girl." Since my mid-twenties, I had been in bands with varying degrees of success. And by success I mean, actually leaving the basement where we jammed. I had the drive, and people said that I had the talent to move beyond my band's dank headquarters, but I look back and think that I squandered this gift, playing video games through high school and part of university. Now that I actually wanted to play and had the drive to succeed, I didn't have the time to devote to it because of my responsibilities as a father, husband and general working stiff. Am?lie could tell that I was formulating my response. My eyes tended to shift back and forth. She laughed and said, "Okay, you are overanalyzing this. There is no point in wishing that the past could be different. You've got a family that loves you and a wealth of skills, why waste your time on what could have been?" I begrudgingly accepted her words of wisdom, even though the thoughts never really left my head. Forget the work world- I could have been a rock star. Even though there was only a minuscule tiny atom splitting chance that it could have happened, the thought still stayed with me. I noticed that such thoughts had not been as prevalent in my mind when I was younger, but as I got older, I realized that if given the chance, I would go back and shake my younger self by the shoulders until he had the same drive I had now. Am?lie gently pushed my arm. "Oh my god, you are still thinking about it. Give it up." I nodded slowly, knowing I couldn't win. She looked down at my pink rubber gloves and laughed. "You are such a princess." I quipped, "Maybe, but at least I don't have red, raw hands like you when you do the dishes." I removed the gloves and gently pulled Am?lie towards me. "Thanks for the advice. I guess I will just start looking, I know that any break in pay will be a problem. I'll just take what I can find." She pulled me close and we kissed- nothing with burning passion, but a kiss of trust and of security. "That's all I ask." Chapter 2 Despite the apparent sorry state of the economy, I managed to find another job quickly. I was lucky, in that my soon-to-be former boss gave me a sparkling recommendation to her manager. In turn, this manager spoke to a colleague who desperately needed a secretary. I was originally not thrilled at the prospect of being a 32 year old secretary, even though the title is now the politically correct- executive assistant. Still, I knew that we needed the money, so I readily accepted the position after a brief interview. The position actually paid better than my previous job, but it had all the challenge of tracking tasks on calendars and playing phone and e- mail tag with people on a regular basis. Still, it was money and experience, plus there was a greater chance for a permanent place in the organization than my previous job. I told myself that I would go into this job with a positive outlook, and that I would do what I always do, work hard and hope to whatever all- knowing entity above that they would be able to keep me long enough for me to gain some seniority and scale the ranks. To be honest, I was still enamoured with law, but I told myself that I would just keep applying and hope for the best. If this job turned out to be permanent, then so be it. Am?lie seemed happy with my attitude, and the weeks that followed were pleasant. Our home life was generally happy. The trials of being new parents certainly tested our relationship, but we soldiered through. The late night crying fits, diaper changing, and the near constant sickness among all family members, still it was worth it. Am?lie was also more willing to enter the bedroom with me, likely because I was no longer depressed and mopey. I had staved off unemployment, which is what she wanted, so she was happy to reciprocate in other ways. My band was moving forward and writing new songs became easier because of my restored focus. My daughter was finishing teething, and winter, the longest in recent memory, was finally ending. It had held its place in the seasonal hierarchy with a death grip that brought unusually cold temperatures in March. With the melting snow, the first sign of spring, I breathed a sigh of relief. Living in Canada and near the coldest capital in the world (on average), winter can be an unpleasant affair. As a kid, I remember liking it a whole lot more, but then I didn?t have to shovel, salt and sand the driveway, stress about driving in snowy and icy conditions, and I swear the cold didn?t bother me as much then as it did now. I basically lived on our backyard hockey rink, so I was ignorant to all that winter had to offer, short of the annoyance of having to shovel the rink. Nevertheless, winter was ending and Am?lie and I had decided to have another baby. Something about spring and the end to snow and ice, plus the overall good luck we had recently- it seemed like the right time. We had talked about it before, but I didn?t feel that I was ready yet due to my lack of stability, but two weeks into my new job I was offered a permanent position with benefits, sick leave and vacation, as long as I passed the brief probationary period. When I brought this news home to Am?lie, she was overjoyed. Yet something in the back of my mind, a child-like voice lilted, you are unhappy. I realized that I was. At work, I was terribly bored. My boss was an understanding and caring woman. She understood, as a parent herself, the need to take time off to care for sick children. Unfortunately, the job had none of the challenge of teaching, where each and every day was a different adventure. It lacked the academic stimulation of analyzing legal texts and forming coherent arguments with that research. I was basically a secretary, and I saw myself that way. Better than the job. Four weeks into the new job, I was thinking about leaving it on a daily basis. My boss was so impressed with my work that she reduced my probationary period to two months; however, all I could think of is that my mind needed to be challenged. I asked for more work, but my boss said that I wasn?t ready. She was going to bring me in slowly. The organization was growing, and she explained that by being her executive assistant, I would learn the business. All I knew so far was that the company did audits of other businesses to determine how best to improve based on set criteria. I wanted part of the higher level work, but I was given minimal tasks, and I completed them usually by 10 AM. The only thing that made me stay was Am?lie and Chloe. I knew that I needed to continue working until I found something else, so I spent the rest of the time searching for other jobs and daydreaming about my band actually leaving the basement. The other two members were fathers also, and while it was difficult, we managed a weekly practice. We understood when one of us had to cancel because of an illness in the family, so it actually worked out nicely. We were a hard rock/progressive band. I was the lead singer and guitar player. The music was very bass and drums heavy, my guitar simply adding depth and flavour to pounding rhythms. My vocal went from soft almost spoken word to outrageous and pained screams to drive a chorus. Being in a band was another thing that made me happy; it was a pleasant escape from the drudgery of my desk job. I still had dreams that one day I would make it, but that dream was fading as I got older. On Friday night, Am?lie and I planned a special evening. Chloe thankfully went to sleep around 7 PM, so we uncorked a bottle of wine and celebrated my recent success. We finished in the bedroom and with two and half glasses of wine in my system; I was thinking less about having another baby and more about slapping Am?lie on her ass while I took her doggy style. Am?lie, in my eyes, was perfection. She was a classical beauty who needed very little makeup. I had been with girls who literally had to put their face on, Am?lie was not like them. She wore makeup only to accentuate her eyes and cover the odd blemish. She wore her light brown hair a little longer than shoulder length. It curled lightly at the ends, making it look as if she had little ringlets in her hair. As I kissed her body, I relished in its softness. I will admit that I enjoy curvier women, some would call them fat, but only the most ignorant heroin chic obsessed person would say that my Am?lie was fat. Truth be told, she was what I would term voluptuous, with full round breasts, a round globular ass that shifted up and down in even the loosest of pants. She had small love handles that I enjoyed squeezing. There were times that I felt freakish for enjoying forms that were not the norm. But really, Am?lie is average, as her size 10 jeans can attest. However, Am?lie and I had fought about her weight before. I thought that she was dieting in an unhealthy way. She told me, especially after Chloe was born, that she felt fat and unattractive. Still I could not keep my hands off of her. We came to a compromise when she accepted that it was possible for a man to like curvier women, and for me to understand that her desire to go to the gym daily was not an unhealthy obsession to lose weight, it was an attempt to stay active. She felt working out made her feel better about herself, and I accepted that. We continued foreplay. I moved to her clit, and she let out a soft gasp. I always tried to have her climax first, knowing that it was inevitable for me to reach mine. She ran her hand along my hard abs, slightly softened by a sedentary desk job, but still visible and firm to the touch. As I deftly brought Am?lie to orgasm, my thoughts went to another place entirely. Am?lie was straddling my cock a little too much, so instinctively, I tried to think about something else to avoid early release. I had pretty good control, but the wine had caused her to be more involved than usual. Perhaps unsurprisingly, I thought about my job and how bored I was in it, even as I entered Am?lie. It allowed me to maintain my control. Ten minutes later as I was climaxing, our bodies entwined and such thoughts were ripped from my mind. The bliss of the moment and the soft afterglow as I held Am?lie banished my unhappiness. Shortly after, both of us were sleeping, the wine and sex bringing us to such a state much easier than usual. That is when I had the absolute strangest dream in my life. Chapter 3 I was stepping out on stage, but instead of the tens of people that I had played for in previous bands, there were thousands. I could hear and see in the background the bustling of the inner workings of a rock show. ?Camera two ready. Adjust tilt on centre-left spotlight.? Another voice, this one asking in a worried tone, ?Have we got the right mix for the vocals tonight? There were complaints last night. People said they sounded thin.? I had never been backstage at a concert of this magnitude before. I had played some tiny clubs with at most a hundred people, so to step out on stage in front of thousands would be a thrill, even if it was only in a dream. I knew that I would wake up feeling that I had just been teased with what I truly wanted, but for now, I would bask in the spotlight. It was the sort of dream where I lacked any sort of control. I knew that my body was there, but I lacked the means to manipulate it. I could still feel the energy coursing through my veins, the elation at having reached this point, and my nerves were on a knife edge. The dream itself was incredibly vivid. I could feel my emotions as if I were awake. Dreams are usually detached and random pieces of thoughts and desires, but this felt real, even though I couldn?t move. With my vantage point amounting to tunnel vision, I could only see what was directly in front of me, but what I saw was nearly forty people moving in unison, completing tasks they had done hundreds of times before. From what little I could see, I was impressed- they moved almost as one entity. I saw two roadies pushing out a whole rack of guitars. I caught a glimpse of one of them. A sunburst Fender Stratocaster. I usually used something with a little more meat, but it was still a beautiful guitar. As the roadies pushed the rack passed me, I noticed another guitar. This one looking like it belonged in Prince?s collection. The guitar was much smaller than I was used to as well, like something a child would use. It was acoustic, although I could see it had pick-ups, so it was meant to be plugged into an amp. The strangest part in all of this- it was hot pink with a black and white tiger- striped glitter-laden strap. I guess one of my guitar players was a woman, and a tiny one at that. If this was supposed to be a rock show, and I was supposed to be the lead singer, why would I allow something so sugar-coated poppy? The guitar lacked any rock credibility at all. I was about to say something along the lines of ?I hope that guitar is only here to be smashed,? but I was interrupted. Plus, when I tried to move my mouth, I couldn?t. It was as if it was sewn shut. In fact, beyond the emotions and the energy, I could not feel my muscles at all. Then I heard something that you do not hear at rock concerts usually, unless it is a glam rock show, or perhaps KISS is taking the stage. ?Wardrobe!? I blinked my eyes slowly, realizing that I was gaining control of my body. A male voice spoke, but I couldn?t crane my head to see what he looked like. ?We have 34 costume changes tonight. Where?s the list? Now look, this isn?t going to work. I know that she wanted us to change the order tonight, but we just can?t. There isn?t enough time for that costume change and the set will have to be redone for it. The lights won?t reflect properly anyway because there wasn?t time to reprogram them.? Another voice spoke, this time female, ?Just do it! We have a 10 minute intermission for that set change. Just do it.? I shook my head, or at least I tried to. It felt like I was trying to move while buried up to my chin in quick-hardening cement. It budged an inch and then another inch. Was it always this chaotic backstage, or were these people just incompetent? I was beginning to think that something was wrong because the dream felt so real. Usually when I dreamed or had a nightmare, there wasn?t time to react to the wrongness of a situation because you just float from scene to scene. Dreams are usually like watching only parts of a movie, except for this one, which felt like watching the whole movie but being strapped to the chair at the same time. ?We have two minutes to show time people.? I blinked again, nerves now beginning to make me feel sick to my stomach. I looked down, and I saw that I was dressed exactly as I expected for a rock show. In fact, this is what I wore during band practice usually. I had on a pair of grungy looking Converse shoes. My light blue jeans were ripped. I also wore a light green hoodie with a simple white t-shirt underneath. Now I began to feel that I was in the wrong building, and the others were beginning to notice just how out of place I looked. Between the pink guitar, the backing dancers wearing red and green candy cane coloured skirts, and the piano player wearing a blue wig, it was clear that I was at the wrong venue. I could hear the crowd, unlike any crowd I had heard before. The screaming was ear-piercing. Someone, noticing my discomfort quickly gave me a set of industrial strength ear plugs. It sounded like screaming teenage girls. There were boys as well, but they were not nearly as loud. This simply did not happen at rock concerts. I doubt anyone ever fainted during the solo of ?Enter Sandman? like they have at Justin Bieber concerts. I wanted out of here. Young women with makeup brushes approached me, and I tried to move my arm to shoo them away. I managed to move it, but it only brushed against one of them. The girl I brushed against shook her head and turned to me. ?If you don?t look right, they will make you into what they want. Crowds always do that.? It was the first time anyone in this psychedelic acid trip had actually spoken to me. I moved my mouth, but the left side was still paralyzed, and I only managed a slight gurgle. How did they expect me to sing if my vocal chords didn?t work? Another young woman, this one far more annoyed than the other actually poked me in the chest. ?You starlets are all the same. Well don?t blame us if those people out there devour you. Out you go.? I don?t know how this simple rock concert had suddenly turned into an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, but I didn?t have time to ponder that question. The girls pushed me onto the stage. The band started playing, but I didn?t recognize them or the song. One of the roadies handed me the sunburst strat, and I slung it over my shoulder expertly. I checked the cable making sure it was looped. This would keep it from being unplugged suddenly, however, I quickly realized it was wireless. In fact, the whole band was wireless. I looked at my bandmates, who in turn looked at me, but it wasn?t really me they were looking at. It was the crowd. I didn?t know where my cues were, so I kept the music playing. The backing dancers in the tiny red and green candy cane patterned skirts moved to the rhythm, their bodies gyrating in rehearsed movement. I sighed inwardly, this was a pop show, and one so pop that I wouldn?t have been surprised if the dancers bled bubble gum. The set piece was from some sexed up Hansel and Gretel with a buxom witch adding the odd harmony part over the instrumental. It was actually well done, but I was too caught up with the fact that every last person in the arena was booing. I made my way to centre stage with a little smirk. They came here and obviously paid to see some pop starlet, but I was going to give them a rock show, whether they liked it or not. I sneered at the crowd. I located my amp, a nice Marshall full stack and turned it up. Amazingly, there was an option to turn the volume up to eleven, which I quickly did. This had a two pronged effect: one, my stage volume was now eclipsing the drums and everything else, and two, it absolutely ruined the sound mix. The audio engineers would have to manually turn down my amp, instead of just at the sound board. They would have to turn everything else up at the board just to match the volume of my guitar. I motioned to the drummer, a clean cut young man who couldn?t have been more than twenty, and I started into the opening riff to ?Smells Like Teen Spirit.? It was a little thing Kurt Cobain used to do when he was seriously pissed at his audience. He would play the first two bars and then switch to some innocuous pop song, usually sung out of key. The drummer didn?t play along. The audience booing penetrated through the sound waves of my grunge anthem, beating it back to the point where only booing could be heard. The guitar player, another clean cut and very boyish looking young man wearing white cut off shorts and a sequined vest, whispered in my ear, ?You better get centre stage and start playing the right song or they will tear us apart.? This was my dream and with the level of control I had been given, I was not about to let some hormonal girls ruin my fun. So I kept taunting them, singing bum notes and even starting to play one of my band?s songs. I wanted to hear what those huge power chords would sound like in a stadium like this with a tube amp cranked to 11. The fans wanted what they had paid for, and they continued to boo raucously. As I stepped up to the microphone, centre stage, the spotlight struck me. I was bathed in a bluish glow. The band restarted the song with the guitar player shouting into his mic, ?Hey sorry about that! Technical difficulties. I am sure if we picture who we want, she?ll come out.? At this point, I was just about ready to wake up. I had had my fun. I finally recognized the song that was playing and my brow furrowed as I laughed into the microphone in front of me. I shouted, ?You start the show with a cover? How original.? The backing vocalists sung: ?Don?t need your sad face baby But I made up my mind Don?t need a re-run baby You?re so back in time Get back in time? made up my mind Great, now I had to listen to this inane pop song. I moved to the microphone and started shouting into it again, trying to drown out the music. I noticed that I had a guitar pedal in front of me, and I quickly tuned in a tone to give my guitar an extremely screechy sound. It literally made it sound like my guitar was wailing like a banshee. I hit pinch harmonics, incredibly high-pitched notes. It sounded like two devil cats having a spat over living space. As I moved to the microphone, to scream into it again, I noticed that I had to angle it downward slightly. I made the adjustment, and then I made it again. I looked down and, I couldn?t see my shoes anymore. The cuff of my pant legs completely covered them. The backing vocalists sung: ?Don't need a rescue It's all good baby I been hittin' my stride Hittin' my stride? I had to admit, the backing vocals were good. It didn?t sound like they were using auto tune or any studio magic. I glimpsed into the monitor in front of me to determine what was happening. At first, I thought I had lost my belt, but I felt it cinched around my waist. The stage itself had a number of different cameras built into it, and in the monitor, I could see my image. The same that was plastered on the big screen. The same one that was causing such vitriol from teenage girls who had minutes before been screaming in anticipation for their wonderful bubble gum princess hour to start. My eyes widened as I saw what appeared to be snakes roosting in my hair. My hair was cut quite short since I had started my new job. Image of professionalism after all. The dark brown roots seemed to have been infested with a number of long blond snakes. To any casual observer, I had a blond mop on my head, but the snakes (or were they tendrils?), were actually attacking my dark roots. As I created a cacophony of sound on my guitar, I could actually feel the tendrils entering my skull, and like a reverse chia pet, the blonde tendrils actually pushed out my dark roots. I was bald, save for what looked like a very lively mop on my head. I remember my sister having a doll whose hair you could style at differing length. You only had to pull a string at the back to release the hair and then pull it to full extension and the long flowing locks would retreat. I felt exactly like that doll because soon enough, my scalp burst with long strands of blonde hair, and gradually, it went from a pixie cut, to shoulder length, and finally to full ringlets, dancing and waving, hanging just to the small of my back. As I thrashed about on the guitar, my newly grown blond locks obscured my vision. I thrust my head to the side, which caused the dangling ringlets to sweep across my back. My bangs still obscured my vision, so I stopped playing for a moment and quickly pushed them out of my way. I must have looked very odd with my dark brown sideburns, but I was more curious about whether the hair on my head was actually a wig. I tugged roughly on the hair, managing to pull a few strands loose, but it was certain that this was no wig. Still, this was a dream. So, as odd as it was, I doubted that I would remember any of it when I woke up. I noticed that my playing was getting worse. I had started to solo over top of the music, but it was a messy screechy attack on the pop music before me. My nails kept getting caught on the strings, which caused me to hit a lot of unintended notes. I stared down at my hands. It was getting harder and harder to hold the pick properly. My nails kept jabbing the fleshy part of my palm on my right hand, while the nails on my left made it nearly impossible to form full chords. I tried a simple C5 power chord, and while I managed to get it to sound properly, the long nails clipped the strings above and below. It was at this point that I noticed the colour on them. Invisible brushes drew hot pink lines down each grown nail. I had previously kept my nails in bad shape, as I tended to bite them causing them to be uneven. Now, each nail was immaculately shaped and coloured. They had grown from uneven nubs to elegantly crafted professional-looking tips. Over top the pink polish, the invisible brushes drew white stars on each nail. I was having trouble reaching frets, not only because of my nails but because my hands were clearly shrinking. Previously, I could go from the first to the fourth fret with my pinky with little difficulty. Now, I was having trouble going from first to second. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted one of the roadies. He was holding that pink acoustic guitar with the very girly strap. My fingers were slender and long, perfect for playing piano or for reaching far along the fret board. I looked down and my fingers were shrinking, but they were also losing their slenderness. As they shrunk, they became chubbier, until I was left with stubby digits that could barely reach around the neck of the strat. The roadie, without any warning, brought the pink acoustic toward me and I quickly slipped off the strat and handed it to him. Now I could not make nearly as much noise as my clamour would be relegated to the tone of the steel stringed acoustic. I wouldn?t be able to squeal or screech at all. The crowd roared their approval, but half of them were still booing. I noticed before that that same roadie was only a few inches taller than me, but as I tried to move back into position at centre stage, I tripped on my pant legs and nearly fell off the stage. I could feel my belt was still cinched around my waist, keeping my pants up, but with less leg to fill them, they had pooled at my feet. As I got back to the microphone, it was a good five inches too high. I stood up and gripped the pink acoustic; it fit my new hands perfectly. The frets were tiny. Suddenly, the chords appeared in my head and my hands, these alien appendages, started to play the correct song, which elicited another round of applause from the crowd. I realized that I was still controlling my hands, but I was falling into what is known as muscle memory. I did not even need the chords because apparently, I had played this song enough times that my muscles knew where to go in each part. I stared up at the jumbo screen that was displaying all of my changes to the raucous crowd and noticed that my face looked softer. I considered myself to be a pretty good looking guy. My wife certainly thought so. I did not have rugged looks, but I was not boyish either. I had near constant stubble above my upper lip and on my chin. This was a result of me using my razor blades too long before chucking them. My chin was well-defined with a slight cleft. My jaw line was angular. I had slight pock marks on my cheek as a result of bad teen acne, but it was not very noticeable. My jaw line was the first to change, starting to round out gently as weight was added to my face, giving it a more feminine and definitely younger look. I looked like I was in my early twenties with that simple change. The dark circles underneath my eyes, a result of insomnia, quickly disappeared. My face was not exactly worn, but it was clearly a man?s face with rough skin and uneven bumps along my cheekbones. My pores shrunk and my skin bore a fresh look, as if I had just left a spa. My facial hair also disappeared, actually retreating into my face as the pores shrunk. I looked even younger than twenty now. I would have had a very hard time buying alcohol without being carded. My jaw line rounded out entirely as my cheekbones rose to prominence, gaining a sudden rosy glow. My lips formerly thin and pale, reddened and plumped. The bottom lip plumped the most, placing the mouth in a near constant pout. Phantom brushes painted my lips ruby red. The backing vocalists sang: ?Got my red lipstick on Engine's revving You're so far behind And I'm taking mine.? My eyes widened considerably as my thin eyelashes gained volume and curled outward. My dark brown brows had the colour drained from them, now matching the colour of my hair. The bushy blond brows thinned to the point where they were just expressive lines dotting a face that could not have been more than eighteen. My nose thinned and turned upwards slightly, it maintained the small point, but it shrunk in width as the nostrils flared only to become smaller. My face rounded out more, gaining baby fat around the cheeks and chin. The bluish spotlight that still bathed me in light actually entered my eyes, blinding me momentarily. My orbs filled with blue light, the hazel and the offending colour dancing as if paired in a washing machine, until the blue was victorious. If you looked hard enough, you could actually see tiny flecks of hazel amongst the sky blue of my new eyes. I let out a startled gasp as the face displayed on the massive screen couldn?t have been older than fifteen or sixteen. My eyes widened as I realized that it was the face of a teenage girl. She had wide expressive sky blue eyes, a soft and rounded jaw and high cheekbones. The baby fat on her face made her look younger, so even when she wore makeup to try and look older, say eighteen, her face would betray her. I would be lying if I said she was pretty, she was beautiful, but since she was me, I wasn?t going to admit that. I had heard that there were ways to end dreams. I remember one dream where I fell off a chair and then woke immediately. I didn?t want to let this bizarre dream reach its conclusion, so if I could induce the feeling of falling in my dream, maybe I would wake up. I had difficulty moving quickly because of my pant legs. I had to waddle because, while I could lift the pant legs, they would just return to their pooled state when I moved an inch. As I started to tuck them into my socks, I felt a compression in my chest. My ribcage was shrinking, and the sudden decrease caused me to momentarily lose my breath. I gasped for air, and as I did, my tight white t-shirt started to move forward. I stared down and the sparse chest hair that I had was gone. As if someone had attached a bicycle pump to my chest, my pectorals started expanding. I didn?t have an overly muscular chest, but it was noticeable enough when I felt my pecs suddenly dropped as they began to gain heft to them. It started with little nubs where my nipples were seemingly trying to pierce the material of my t-shirt, but they grew to the point where I could feel them dangling. It was a bizarre feeling, but I put it out of my head and finished putting my pant legs into my socks. As I stood, my new breasts wobbled. They pressed up against my t-shirt obscenely. A young man in the front row gawked at my chest as I continued my trek toward the front of the stage. It was impossible to think that moving a few feet would be so difficult, but it was. It seemed as if the closer I got, the farther away I was. Maybe I could just throw myself backward? This is exactly what I did, but it was clear the guitar player knew my intentions and he quickly caught me. He whispered in my ear, ?This will be a lot easier on you if you stop fighting.? I shook my head furiously and pushed him away, yelling, ?What the hell are you talking about?! This is just a crazy dream. You aren?t even real. I just want to wake up!? I still had my male voice, but I knew that wouldn?t last. I continued toward the front of the stage, however; as I did, I suddenly stepped out of my shoes. My socks looked ridiculous. At the end, where the toes would usually go, the sock was completely empty. Like my hands, it was clear that my feet were tiny as well. I removed the socks altogether, but as I did, I noticed that the pink acoustic was hanging lower than before. The sleeves of my hoodie had engulfed my hands, making it impossible to even fret the guitar. I waved the long sleeves about, trying to free my hands. This elicited laughter from the audience. My shoulders slimmed and the hoodie sagged down further. Now I looked like I was playing dress up in my older brother?s clothes. Nothing fit. My breasts still pressed against my t-shirt, but the bottom of the shirt moved lower to a point where it looked like I was wearing one of those shirt dresses that were so popular in recent years. The shirt, which previously hung just above my crotch, now reached just above my knees. While it seemed like ten minutes had passed, it was actually only one or two. I could tell by the swell of the music that the song was reaching the chorus for the first time. The backing vocalists sung: ?Oh, oh, Been feeling so fly Since you been gone My face to the sky, Sunglasses on Turning up the beats so sick, I'm like a brand new chick? I remember how much I hated this song. The lyrics were so inane. It was clearly about a girl who broke up with someone and then just dances her problems away. Still, it was catchy, and I could actually feel my hips swaying to the music. With an uncomfortable crack, my pelvis widened and fat accumulated on my hips. I felt my angular hips filling out, pushing against the confines of my ripped jeans. My ass, which Am?lie believed at times was non-existent, received much of the same treatment, expanded against the pockets until a pert bubble butt had formed. I had an hourglass figure, although my hips were just a hair wider than my chest. I began to feel a draft on my legs. I peered down at my pants and saw that the rips and tears were actually widening. The stitches holding the jeans together tore, and the fabric split into short thin strands. At this point, I was in my boxer briefs with what appeared to be a skirt made from the split fabric of my jeans inching its way up my thighs. It had difficulty navigating over my hips, but eventually it pulled itself up. The verse restarted and then the chorus began again, but everything was a blur now. The sleeves of my green hoodie began to melt away. My arms previously untouched, and rather silly looking attached to such tiny hands, softened as all of my arm hair disappeared in the same way as the hair on my head. In its place, grew sparse and very fine blond hair. My biceps softened and were quickly covered by a thin layer of fat. I never had arms like a bodybuilder, but now, they fit the rest of me perfectly, soft and silky looking, with just a hint of a wiggle as I tried to shake myself out of my quickly dissolving hoodie. My belly, which really had no trace of fat on it before, softened and grew outward. The supple flesh invaded my abs, filling in each little crevice between them with fat. A little hint of love handle peeked against my t-shirt on each side, which was also dissolving. Apparently, this girl had been enjoying the craft services table. She wasn?t fat, but she wasn?t skinny either. My t-shirt was actually morphing into a skimpy sailor outfit. My breasts now supported with a red sequined bra created significant cleavage as the top two buttons of the ridiculous sailor outfit remained open. The socks that I had pulled up to just below my knee unraveled and then reformed into a pair of sheer stockings. The stockings traveled up my legs, the muscle I had built from so many hockey games melting away. My thighs expanded, the skin becoming silky, my leg hair having long since retreated. My former jeans had been dyed pink, the strands now forming a bizarre skirt that looked like someone had just sewn the slat of a Venetian blind on the ratty remains of a jean skirt and decided to make it a piece of clothing. The slats shook and jostled with each other as I shook my hips, beginning to feel the music. The swell of the music brought the end of the chorus and the beginning of the bridge. It was the same lyrics and beat. They didn?t even bother to change the key. I hated this song, but I wanted to sing it. I blinked slowly and walked over to the microphone, now a good eight inches taller than me. As I walked, I noticed a pair of pink Converse hi-tops appear on my feet, the laces tying themselves. The backing dancers sung: ?I'm like a, I'm like a, I'm like a brand new I'm like a, I'm like a, I'm like a brand, brand Turning up the, turning up the, turning up... I felt a sudden emptiness in my boxer briefs, and within seconds, the only thing I was wearing was a thong. Nothing was pushing out against it. One of the roadies adjusted the microphone for me. I took the pink guitar off and gave it to the roadie. I could feel my heart beating in my chest as the lyrics poured into my head. I sang in my male voice: ?Turning up the beat so sick.? The crowd had stopped booing. Some were actually cheering. My Adam?s apple retreated into my throat as my neck gained the same smoothness as the rest of my body. I felt a slight tickle in my throat and along my vocal chords. I coughed slightly as the music swelled again. I sang in a voice that was very clearly a soprano female with more power than my male voice ever had, ?I?m like a BRAND NEW CHICK.? The audience roared, but all I could hear was my wife?s voice. She sounded concerned. ?Darren! Darren...-wake up!? She was shaking me. Chapter 4 Am?lie had never had to shake me awake, and considering it was Saturday, dread began to fill my mind. Was there something wrong with the baby? Did we need to call an ambulance? My heart raced, the dread causing my stomach to cramp. I am the paranoid type, and with an active imagination, my mind began to formulate all sorts of possibilities. Was Chloe having trouble breathing? In the instant that it took to imagine the worst possible scenario regarding my daughter, the next moment, I began to notice that something was off. My eyes shot open, and I saw that Am?lie was staring at me. I had only seen her like this one other time. About a month ago, I was hospitalized with severe stomach flu. I was unable to ingest anything, even water, and I quickly dehydrated. As she watched me in the hospital, she cast a similar look, however; this one was one of horror and disbelief. The look of disbelief was absent at the hospital. I had stupidly taken sleeping pills last night after the wine. I was just so used to taking them, I didn?t even think about the side effects of mixing them with alcohol. Had I stopped breathing momentarily? Am?lie and I slept with separate comforters. She said it was because I always stole the covers from her, but I think we were equally guilty from the times we shared hotel beds together. I was surprised to see my comforter completely off my body. I was still groggy from the sleeping pills, and I could see that it was just light outside. The room was dark, except for a little sliver of light where the two curtains met. Am?lie muttered, ?I don?t even know how this happened...you hit me in your sleep. I turned over and you started thrashing. I thought you were going to hurt me.? Clearly there was more, but Am?lie was not forthcoming. She just stared down at me, seemingly unable to compute what had occurred. I felt extremely lethargic, my limbs seeming to weigh the same as patio stones. I had mixed the pills with alcohol before. I did it rarely, but still, I had never felt this hung over. My head ached, and even worse, I felt a wave of nausea. This was not a wonderful way to start the weekend. Odd though, I had never been sick from wine. Any light is an anathema to one nursing a hangover, but I would have to get out of my bed to banish that sliver, and my headache was just too debilitating. I noticed that my pajama pants were pooled strangely at my feet. I remember putting them on after sex last night, but as I tried to kick them on, I had a lot of difficulty. The closer that my feet got to the ends, the higher I had to pull the waist. When I finally managed to pull them up, the waistband of the pants was sitting right below my chest. My mind said that this was impossible. ?I saw them grow out of your chest Darren. I saw the whole thing. I can?t even begin to comprehend it, but I saw it,? Am?lie muttered to me, a look in her eyes that made me believe she thought this was inconceivable despite having witnessed it. While my hangover was still making coherent thought difficult, the look in Am?lie?s eyes sent a burst of adrenaline through my system. I became aware that my clothes didn?t fit, beyond my pants, my shirt was hanging down to just below my knees. And what I thought in the darkened room was my blanket obscuring my vision was clearly a pair of breasts. My mind immediately shot toward the bizarre dream I had. I read fantasy novels, enjoyed Lord of the Rings in theatres, and I had seen the Harry Potter movies, but none of this was possible. We live in a world devoid of magic. The only way to change genders was through hormones and expensive surgery, and that did not allow the newly made women to have children, nor the newly made men to impregnate them. My mind registered the fact that I was clearly in another body, but the logical part of my brain suggested that this was still a dream. I told Am?lie matter-of-factly, ?I am still dreaming. This is just the continuation of the insane dream I had before.? My voice was sweet sounding, even hung over and groggy from lack of sleep, it was soft, dulcet. Am?lie?s eyes widened again. ?Oh my god, you even sound different Darren.? Her eyes closed as she listened to my words, obviously trying to get past how different I sounded. I didn?t have a gruff overly manly voice, but I didn?t exactly sound like a teeny bopper either. Her eyes filled with hope. ?This is a dream- wait, mine or yours?? I answered her, while propping myself up, using my pillow as a head rest. ?I don?t know, but it doesn?t matter. Here, try this. Stand up out of bed and then fall back. The jolt should wake you up. I?ve had dreams where I was falling and it wakes you up almost immediately.? I could tell she was still freaked that her husband sounded like some sophomore?s teenage dream, but she did as I asked. Am?lie frowned. ?Then it must be your dream. Still, how can we have these thoughts in a dream? It seems very complex. I have dreamt of you before lots of times, but you- well I can?t really describe it. You just really didn?t seem to be there, but even though you look like that, well you act the same way. You talk the same way.? I shook my head, my long hair swishing back and forth. ?This is impossible. It just can?t happen. If magic was real, don?t you think we would have heard about it? The internet captures the most embarrassing, ridiculous and horrible moments. There would be something on there about this. Plus, why would people pay for surgery if they could just use magic to get a pair of these?? I motioned to my boobs. It was so unbelievable, and because it had just happened to me in a dream, my mind, which needed evidence to fully believe this was real, would not accept it as anything but an extremely vivid dream. I slowly lifted myself over the side of the bed, nearly falling out as I realized that my feet took forever to touch. My hand snaked out and caught the headboard. Am?lie helped me toward her side of the bed. Even if this was a dream, my nose wrinkled at the very prospect that Am?lie could be taller than me, but she was. At 5?4, Am?lie is not a tall woman, and while I had only been 5?10 before, I was even shorter than her. Standing next to her, I had to look up. Even in this dream world, I was annoyed that Am?lie was a good four or five inches taller than me! I always felt short, since many of my friends were taller than me growing up, so being shorter than Am?lie was just the perfect addition to this nightmare. I was eager to have it end. The evidence that I spoke of earlier, I received in spades. First, as I fell backwards on the bed, I didn?t wake up. Almost immediately after, the head rush was accompanied by another wave of nausea, but this time, I knew I would soon have to grip cold porcelain. I absolutely hate throwing up. I know that no one likes it, but before the stomach flu struck earlier in the winter, I had not been sick in eight years. I had an iron stomach. Am?lie would tell me that one day I would be sorry and that I would eat the wrong thing. As a bachelor, I once ate blackened eggs because it meant I didn?t have to cook again. I would eat leftover meatloaf without a thought of what it would do to my digestive system or drink milk that was a few days past the best before date. Now, however, I was crouched over the toilet bowl about to have a very unpleasant start to my Saturday. My mind was slowly settling into the fact that this was not a dream. That what was happening was in fact very real. Every inch of this body, these sensations, thoughts and feelings that I could feel swirling about in my brain, it was all real. Am?lie rushed in behind me. I turned to look at her, my eyes narrowing and teeth clenched. ?Get out- you- you know I don?t like you in here when I am sick.? Am?lie who was clearly still in disbelief that this had happened quickly stationed herself behind me and didn?t say a word. Seconds later, I knew why. As my stomach convulsed, my tiny hands gripping the sides of the toilet bowl, I could feel Am?lie pulling the long strands of hair away from the red zone. She gathered up my mane and held it while I was sick, making sure that none of my hair caught any debris. I slowly pulled myself away from the toilet bowl, and Am?lie handed me a paper towel. She was so good at this. My daughter was the one who sought her out when she was ill, or cranky. Mommy could make it feel better, and here I was a grown man, at least in mind, and she could make me feel the same way, warm and safe. I muttered, ?Thanks...? I felt weak, but I also felt infinitely better having removed the offending substance from my body. The wine, made by Am?lie?s father, was usually not a problem. It usually went down like juice, and a little water would stave off a hangover. I leaned against the wall in the bathroom. I sat with my legs together and shook my head repeatedly. My pajama pants, which I had kicked off during the mad dash to the bathroom, had hidden the fact that there was nothing in my boxer briefs, that I was no longer a man. The front of the briefs hung loosely, while the back contained my new fleshy ass and stretched the elastic to create an unmanly silhouette when coupled with my now wider hips and prominent chest. Still, I could not hide my silky thighs and hairless legs now, nor the pink toenails attached to such tiny feet. Am?lie was staring at me, trying to comprehend the impossible. Am?lie broke the silence. She looked at me fearfully. ?Is that you Darren?? Am?lie rarely cried, but she was on the verge of tears. I lifted my hand and saw the wedding ring displayed on my left hand. It would be nearly impossible to remove now with my chubbier digits. Thankfully the ring setting had been slightly loose before, so I was not left with a throbbing pain in my finger. I frowned; I had promised Am?lie I would get it resized after I thought I had lost it. I never did, but ironically, it fit far better than before. I responded. I had wanted it to sound firmer, assertive, but I just sounded scared. ?Yes- I- I can?t explain it. All I know is that I had a crazy dream, where I was on stage, but I was me. Well how I looked before I meant.? I tried to gauge Am?lie for a response that she believed me, but her lips were tight and her eyes stared through me. She let me continue my explanation about the dream. ?The problem was that the people who were there, well they didn?t want to see me.? I stood slowly and looked at myself in the mirror. It was the same girl from the dream, minus the skimpy outfit and with her hair in disarray, the ringlets having come out and then tangling in places. ?They wanted her.? Am?lie nodded slowly, listening to me speak as if this was a test to prove who I was. I guess it was. She said softly, ?I- believe you Darren. Even though you look like that, you have the same mannerisms. The way you sit, the way you speak.? She looked into my eyes and then turned away. ?Wow your eyes...they are so blue. You don?t look like I would expect you to look, you know if you had changed genders. You-? I finished the sentence for her. ?I don?t look like anyone from my side of the family.? Am?lie feigned a smile. ?Yeah.? She laughed, and if it had been anyone else, I would have been furious with them, but I knew her. She laughed when she was nervous. We once got into a car accident, not serious, but enough that it required a police report. Am?lie was driving and hit some ice that was hidden under freshly fallen snow. She laughed when the cars struck each other, and the driver of the other car tried to argue that she was reckless, that she meant to crash my leased car into an old sedan, but I knew better. It was how she handled stressful situations. Am?lie continued, ?I have never heard of anyone changing genders like that overnight, but I saw it happen. Everything Darren. I wish I could unsee it, that it was just a nightmare. That this wasn?t real because I don?t know what to do. You know, if this was Buffy, we would just meet the gang down at the Magic Box for some research, but I don?t know. I just don?t know.? We had fallen in love with Buffy the Vampire Slayer on Netflix, watching nearly the entire series, so I understood Am?lie?s reference. I couldn?t imagine what was going through Am?lie?s head, but my paranoia filled in the blanks. I thought that she wouldn?t love me anymore, if this was permanent. I thought that she would throw me out, and I would be forced into a halfway home for wayward girls and never see my daughter again. Then I remembered that she just held my hair as I puked, and that she believed that this was me. ?Well the obvious place to look is the internet. If there is a record of this happening, it would be there.? I pulled my pajama pants back on and rolled up the legs. ?Maybe now that I have been exposed to magic, we will be able to find a magical solution. I mean, we didn?t think that magic existed before this right?? So, we got onto our phones and scoured the web for anything related to magical gender change. Am?lie asked me matter-of-factly, ?Did you anger any gypsies or witches? Enter into any strange hall of mirrors?? I shook my head. She continued, ?Are you wearing a cheap looking medallion, or did you visit any beaches recently?? I shook my head and added that it was still freezing outside. Each time Am?lie suggested another cause I shook my head. We looked for an hour and then returned to the bedroom. From what I could see, nothing had changed beyond my body. All my male clothes were still in my closet, and my phone didn?t suddenly have a pink case with sparkles or anything. I looked out in the driveway, and I could see that both cars were still there, my sport wagon and Am?lie?s SUV. I pulled my wallet out of my dress pants, and it showed all my identification, credit card, debit card and social insurance number. Am?lie was still looking down at her phone as I finished looking around the bedroom. ?Wait- what about a wizard in a bathrobe?? I laughed. ?Wait, you made that one up right?? I appreciated the levity she was trying to bring, but to be honest, I was scared. We had no idea beyond the internet where to look. We couldn?t exactly go to a doctor. They would think we were both hallucinating from a drug trip or mentally ill. I knew I needed to be strong. I was a father, and I had responsibilities. I had to care for Chloe, pay my bills and contribute to the mortgage payments. I couldn?t break down and simply say ?poor me?. It isn?t what an adult would do. My thoughts were interrupted by Chloe who was calling for Am?lie. ?Mama, mama!? Chapter 5 If we were lucky, Chloe wouldn?t wake us up before 6 AM, even on a weekend. Chloe had no concept of time, or how tired mommy and daddy were. There is no such thing as sleeping in when you have a young child. When Am?lie and I were dating, we would often stay out until 3 AM, get home and sleep until noon. That was the life of someone whose only responsibility was to show up to class on time, and even then, it didn?t always happen. Our lives changed irrevocably when Chloe was born. I had battled insomnia all my life, but having a new born baby exacerbated this, causing me to seek medicinal measures to resolve my inability to sleep. Considering I had just thrown up, and my head was still pounding from the severe hangover, I honestly just wanted to go back to sleep. However Am?lie looked equally tired, and Chloe would not relent, so I figured we would start the routine. Plus, falling into the routine would allow me to ignore the bouncing of my chest and the way that my ass moved when I walked. It was all very disorienting. Not only was I lower to the ground, my centre of gravity was altered, plus it felt like I had ten pounds of hair attached to my scalp. I couldn?t imagine even trying to lift my head when I got that mane soaked from a shower. I noticed that I didn?t smell the same way either. My arm pits, smooth and hairless, still smelled of my deodorant, but the scent was superseded by the flower blossom smell coming from my hair. The hair, which had bangs that tended to dangle in front of my eyes, smelled like strawberries. It was so- girly. I suppose I would have to ask Am?lie for help with it because I had no idea. I had previously lived in a world where it took five minutes to style my hair. I never used a blow dryer. I had a sudden urge to cut it all off when I thought about how long it took Am?lie to dry her hair, and hers was only shoulder length, while mine tickled my ass. I walked into the kitchen. Am?lie had put Chloe in her high chair and was preparing to give her breakfast and despite my recent queasiness, I actually felt hungry. I walked over to the cupboard and reached up for a bowl without thinking. I did this every morning, taking a bowl out and putting cereal into it, add milk and presto- my morning routine. This time however, I couldn?t reach the shelf. This was embarrassing because Am?lie could reach the second shelf, and previously, I only needed a chair to reach what was on the third shelf. I sighed and then dragged a chair from the dining room table. I retrieved my bowl and proceeded to shovel cereal into my mouth as quickly as possible while sitting hunched over in my chair. Am?lie said nothing. I was having trouble reading her. I wondered if she was still having trouble processing what had happened. I know I was. It was an uncomfortable silence because I really wanted to know that Am?lie still believed me, that she wasn?t going to call the police and report her husband missing. Chloe broke the silence, but it did not help the tension. She was at a stage where everything she did was adorable. From the way she would comically wave her hands when saying ?no?, to the way she would tell us whenever she sat down, it was all ridiculously cute. A few months ago, Chloe and Am?lie stayed over at her sister?s place, and according to Am?lie, she asked for me constantly. This was such a time. Her eyes opened wide as she scanned the room for me. She turned to me, sitting a mere three feet away, and said, ?Daddy?? I knew that she wasn?t calling me daddy. She was wondering where I was. Chloe then turned to Am?lie and asked her the same question, her eyes still adorably wide, her voice lilting and expecting an instant response, ?Daddy?? I frowned as I felt a tiny pang in my heart. The worst part came when I moved toward her. Still expecting her daddy, I stepped in front of her and proceeded to make faces at her, she quickly dismissed me with a wave of her hand and a quick ?no?. Undeterred by her rejection, I moved to gently tousle her hair. This elicited another request for daddy and another painful tug on my heart strings. I looked at Am?lie who was on the verge of tears. Her eyes were closed, but I could see tension in her face. I was the one in our relationship who usually showed my emotions. I was the type who got immersed in movies, fell in love with characters and hated when they died, who cheered when the villain got his or her comeuppance. I had never attributed this to a female versus male dynamic in our relationship, but Am?lie often joked that I was more of a woman than her when it came to certain movies because they really got to me. I gave Am?lie the playful nickname of ?Robot?, which she disliked immensely. As we matured in our relationship, we stopped using such nicknames to belittle each other. Now, however, Am?lie was the one showing more emotion than I was. I don?t know if I was just burying my feelings, or if I was still groggy from the sleeping pills, but I was just numb. I felt like I was going from one extreme to another. I could have cried when Chloe rejected me, but now, I felt nothing. I broke the silence. ?I am sure she w