Chapter 1: Silk and Whispers - The Awakening
The first thing I felt was the choke of silk around my thighs. I kicked, a frantic, uncoordinated motion, and the sheet gave way with a whisper. My head throbbed, a dull, insistent beat behind my eyes. The light was wrong. Too soft, too pink, filtering through a canopy I didn’t own.
I pushed myself up on my elbows and the world shifted. There was a weight on my chest, a heavy, unfamiliar drag. I looked down.
Lace. Black lace, straining over curves that swelled like something from a cartoon. My breath hitched, a sharp little sound that didn’t sound like mine. I followed the line of the teddy down, over a laughably narrow waist, to the swell of my hips. My skin was too smooth, too perfect.
“What the hell.”
My voice. That was the second shock. It was higher, laced with a breathy cadence that made the question sound like a plea.
I scrambled out of the bed, my legs tangling. I was shorter. The floor felt farther away. I stumbled, catching myself on a vanity cluttered with more bottles and tubes than a department store counter. The scent hit me—vanilla, candy-sweet, cloying. The room was a riot of pink and purple, frills on everything, stuffed animals piled in a corner where my guitar case should have been.
My guitar case.
A cold slice of panic cut through the fog. I turned, my heart hammering against my ribs—against those ribs—and saw it.
The mirror.
A girl stared back, wide-eyed and platinum blonde, her hair a waterfall of shiny waves cascading past her waist. Her lips—my lips—were full and pouty, glistening with some sticky gloss. Her face was a perfect heart, with huge blue eyes framed by lashes so thick they cast shadows. And the body… the body was a caricature. The kind you’d see on a poster in a garage, all impossible proportions and skin-tight black lace.
I took a step closer. She mirrored me. I lifted a hand, trembling, and touched the glass. She did the same. My reflection’s fingers, tipped in long glossy red nails, traced the outline of a swollen lower lip.
My mind refused to accept the evidence of my eyes, but as I stood there, transfixed by the image in the mirror, my denials turned to sighs of pleasure as I ran my long nailed hands across this new topography.
My frustrated wish to be noticed had never envisioned anything like this. But there was no doubt I would be now.
But there was no doubt I would be now.
A giggle escaped those pillowy lips. It was a bright, empty sound that bounced off the pink walls. I touched my chest again, my fingers—her fingers—sinking into unbelievable softness. A jolt went through me, hot and sudden, settling low in my belly. I gasped. The sound was utterly foreign.
My phone buzzed on the vanity, rattling against a perfume bottle. The screen lit up with a name: ‘Bri-Bri’. I didn’t know a Bri-Bri. My hand, moving with a new, fluttery grace, scooped it up. The case was sparkly.“Jackie! You alive? We’re meeting at the Vortex in like, an hour. Did you get the outfit? You better be wearing it. No flaking!”
The voice was loud, tinny, full of a gossipy urgency I recognized from a thousand reality shows. A name floated up, unattached to a face: Brittany. My friend. We were going out.
“I…” My voice failed. I cleared my throat, trying to find a lower register. It came out a husky whisper. “Yeah. I’m up.”
“You sound weird.Hungover? From two shots? Lightweight.” She laughed. “Just get ready. Kai will be there.”
Kai.Another floating fact. Football team. Broad shoulders. A smile that made Brittany squeal.
“Okay,” I breathed.
“Bye, bitch! Look hot!”
The line went dead. I stood there, the phone slick in my palm.Jackie. They’d called me Jackie. A memory, thin as smoke, tried to form. Last night. Staring at my own ignored reflection in a dark window. The bitter taste of being unseen, of being Jack the anonymous, the quiet one in the back row. A hot spike of childish, desperate thought: I wish they’d all just look at me.
This was not what I meant.
But looking at the girl in the mirror now, the panic began to melt. It dissolved under a wave of sheer, dizzying fascination. She was stunning. Objectively. I traced the sharp line of my jaw, the elegant slope of my neck. My thoughts felt… slower. Thicker. Like wading through warm syrup. Trying to grasp the ‘how’ or the ‘why’ was exhausting. It gave me a headache. A simpler thought pushed through: Bri-Bri is waiting. Kai will be there.
I need to get ready.
The closet door was white and shaker-style. I pulled it open. A wall of color and fabric hit me. Dresses, mostly. Tiny, sparkling things. Jeans with rhinestones. Platforms. I touched a sequinned mini-dress, then let my hand fall. Something else called to me.
At the back, hanging alone, was the outfit. The one from the photo Bri-Bri had sent. I pulled it out.
The leggings were a second skin of shiny black latex. They hissed as I unrolled them. The top was a scrap of black fabric with a neckline that plunged to nowhere. The heels were instruments of architecture, glossy black with a toe so sharp it could draw blood.
Getting dressed was a ritual. A struggle. The latex clung, fighting me as I shimmied it up over my hips, my thighs. It compressed everything, making my waist look even smaller, my backside rounder. The top barely contained me; the swell of my breasts strained against the thin material, threatening to spill over. The heels changed my posture, forcing my spine into a curve, making my walk a teetering, hip-swaying thing.
I turned back to the full-length mirror.
The girl who looked back was a stranger. A gorgeous, dangerous stranger. She was all sharp edges and vinyl shine, a promise and a threat. My mind—Jack’s mind—tried to rebel. This is insane. This is…
I leaned closer to the mirror, watching her eyes. The blue was vivid, but behind them, something was fading. The frantic, calculating light was dimming, replaced by a simpler, brighter gleam. The details of my old life—the smell of old books in the library, the specific fretboard calluses on my left hand, the quiet dread of Monday’s calculus test—they slid away like sand through my fingers. I grasped for them, and they dissolved, leaving only a vague, pleasant buzz.
Jack was becoming a ghost. A whisper.
I surveyed the crumpled remains of yesterday on my old desk chair: boy’s jeans, a band t-shirt, boxers. They looked like a costume from a play I’d finished. I felt nothing for them.
My new hand, with its perfect nails, reached for a tube of gloss on the vanity. I applied it without thought, smacking my lips together. The scent of vanilla and synthetic berries filled my nose. I felt a smile bloom on my face. It was an easy smile. A pretty smile.
I grabbed a small clutch, dropped the sparkly phone inside, and took one last look.
I DRESS IN SHINY BLACK LATEX LEGGINGS, A LOW-CUT BLACK TOP, AND COME FUCK ME HEELS.