Chapter 21: Rooftop Aftermath
A sound ripped from Katy’s throat, a guttural, helpless noise that was nothing like her own. Her back arched violently off the sun-warmed concrete, her hands—his hands—clawing at the air before clamping down on Garrett’s hips with bruising force. For a single, blinding second, he felt it—a hot, impossible pressure, a breach so minimal yet so profound it seemed to split the world in two.
Then, a scalding wetness erupted against his inner thigh.
He scrambled back, a frantic, graceless crab-walk that sent a sharp pain shooting through his elbow as it connected with the ground. The night air, once balmy, now felt frigid against his wet skin. He stared, breath caught in his throat, at the evidence glistening on his pale skin, pearly strands already cooling in the breeze.
Katy was panting, her chest heaving. She pushed herself up on her elbows, her gaze—wide and horrified—locked on the same sight. The triumphant gleam in her eyes had been utterly extinguished, replaced by a dawning, sickening comprehension. The rigid length between her legs was already softening, a pathetic, spent thing.
“Oh, god,” she choked out. The words were thin, strangled. “Garrett… I could have… I could have gotten myself pregnant with my own dick.”
The absurd, terrifying truth of it hung in the air between them, more invasive than the city’s ambient noise. The plastic toy from before was a cheap joke compared to this living, breathing violation of nature. This was no game. The body she wore was fully, functionally his.
Garrett couldn’t speak. He could only feel the ghost of that pressure, a phantom imprint that made his stomach clench. He wiped frantically at his thigh with the back of his hand, the act smearing the substance rather than removing it. The stickiness felt like a brand.
Katy curled away from him, drawing her knees up. She ran a hand—his hand—through her messy blonde hair, a gesture so familiar it was like watching a ghost of himself perform a séance. “I didn’t mean to… I lost control. It was just… the feeling…”
Her voice trailed off. The sharp intellect, the observer who crafted stories, was completely offline, replaced by a raw, animal shame. The pool water lapped mockingly at the tiles.
Garrett finally found his voice, though it was rough and unfamiliar. “We have to stop this.” He gestured weakly between their two bodies. “This isn’t… this can’t be the way.”
Katy didn’t look at him. She stared out at the glittering skyline, but her eyes were seeing nothing. “I know,” she whispered. The ambition, the drive to reclaim what was hers, seemed to have evaporated, leaving only a hollow shell. “I know.”
He slowly, painfully, got to his feet, his legs trembling. The previously enticing scent of coconut and chlorine now smelled of deceit and sweat. He needed to get away from the pool, from her, from the entire dizzying precipice they had nearly fallen over. He turned and walked toward the sliding glass doors, leaving Katy sitting by the water’s edge, alone with the horrifying clarity her own climax had brought.
The plush lounger he collapsed onto inside felt alien. He pulled a towel over himself, not for modesty, but as a barrier against the world. Through the glass, he could see the silhouette of his own body, hunched and small against the vast, indifferent city. The cooling trickle of water from the pool’s filter was the only sound, a monotonous drip that echoed the finality in the air. The toy, forgotten on a table, seemed to watch them both, its plastic seam a cold, dark line in the dim light.