Chapter #13Dana Without Dana by: Seuzz   The most dangerous thing you could do is to bolt from Dana's body. What if she came back to normal, and remembered what you did to her? No, it seems best to stick it out here. Maybe you'll gradually pick up her memories. Maybe something will come unstuck.
Maybe you'll just learn to fake your way through life as Dana Pak.
"We came to study, right?" you say, and your voice sounds in your own ear like a vague croak. "Guess we should get started on that."
You start to unzip Dana's backpack—and thrill a little at the thought that now it's my backpack!—but are distracted by the sight of your hands. They small and slim, with tapering fingers ending with shiny fingernails. Briefly mesmerized by the sight of them, you pause to study and flex them, and to touch and rub your fingertips with your the tips of your thumbs. Dana's fingers. I have Dana's fingers.
Abruptly you bolt to your feet and stumble through the dining room for the restroom. You shove open the door—
And a dude with a shaggy beard looks up from the sink to give you a pop-eyed double-take.
"Oh! Um! Sorry!" you gasp. "I thought this was—! I mean—!" You totter back on your heels and let the door fall shut. MEN, says the sign that's hanging there.
Shit. Who knew that "instinct to use the wrong restroom" would be the first mistake you'd make in a body without the right memories? You toddle over to the correct restroom and go inside.
The mistake with the other room has nearly killed the urgent curiosity that drove you from the booth, but after steadying yourself while leaning against the sink, you lift your eyes to look at your reflection.
Yes, Dana Pak looks back.
You have a "classic" Asian face: oval in shape, with intelligent, almond-shaped eyes over strong cheekbones. Dimples show in your deep cheeks when you smile—even when you purse your lips into only a small smile. Thick, coffee-black hair falls on either side of your side in straight lines down to your breasts. You've got a good figure too, even if it is only barely detectable under the folds of the thick sweatshirt that Dana put on to meet you.
And the thought of how she tried to "cover up" for this meeting relights that spark you felt at the table, and brightens it.
"Sorry, honey," you murmur aloud as you lean in at your reflection with a leering light in your eye. "But you're not gonna be able to hide yourself from me like that. I'm running things now." You reach up to cup a breast, and a thrilling chill runs through you. You pull your hair back, and a little gasp escapes your throat as it tickles your cheek.
Walking carefully, you make your way back to the table where Zach is already busy at his schoolwork. He only glances up at you briefly before returning his attention to the math problems.
You fall back into the booth and study him. You say nothing and he says nothing either—not even to look up for a second—until finally you feel irked.
"So, are we not even going to talk?" you murmur almost under your breath at him.
That gets a rise out of him. Or at least a look. He pauses, pencil still pressed to the paper, to gaze up at you from under his brows.
"Talk?" he says. "About what?"
"Anything. We could at least try to be in character." You glance around the dining room.
"Okay," he says. "You want to talk some more about my dates who like to vomit on me when I'm not vomiting on them?"
You're about to say something sharp in retort, then realize that he is being in character. Suddenly, you are curious. Or maybe just morbid.
"Do you like me, Zach?" you ask him. You lean back in your seat and give him a narrow, probing smile. Impulsively you snatch up a plastic coffee stirrer and start to provocatively chew on it. "Like, do you— like me?"
He stares. Then he shifts his head to look furtively around the dining room as you continue to chew on the stirrer.
When he turns back, you can sense he's about to ask something stupid like Is this role-playing or what? You're about to snap something at him to stop the question before it can come out, but it's like he felt the lash of your thought without your having to say anything, for he whitens a little, and hunches.
"Why are you asking me that?" he asks.
"I wanna know. You've never flirted with me, Zach, or tried anything with me, like with other girls." Is this how Dana would talk about this stuff? You doubt it.
His lips briefly disappear. Then he says, "I like being friends with you."
"So that's all? Just 'friends'?" Suddenly you feel very disappointed in him—in yourself.
"Dana, I— I didn't want to make anything weird. Of course, if you want—"
He sits up, as though blooming with courage—or with spite.
"I didn't say anything about what I wanted," you retort. "I'm asking what you want."
"What do I want?" he asks, flatly. "What do I want to do?"
He blinks.
"Do I get to show you?" he asks. "Or just tell you?"
"Don't be gross. I just want to know how come you've never—" You lift your chin to show him your throat, and shake your hair back. "Tried anything with me."
There's a pause before he says, very dryly, "'Never' is a long time. Maybe I just haven't tried yet."
And just like that you are tired of the game.
"Oh, you've tried," you retort. "What was that back in your car when we got here, except you 'trying'?" You flick the coffee stirrer away.
You can feel his eyes upon you, but you ignore him until he goes back work. Together you busy yourselves silently with your schoolwork for about two minutes—which is how long it takes you to discover that you have no hope of imitating Dana's handwriting.
* * * * *
It all seemed spoiled after that, so you stopped and you sat and you stared. A couple of messages came in on Dana's phone from some friends, but none of them seemed urgent and you had no idea how to answer them, so you ignored them. Finally, bored, you told Zach to take you home.
And then, because trying to be Dana, at home, when you have no idea how to act like her, was terrifying, you told him to take you to Beth Larter's house instead. He waited out in the car until he saw her let you in, then drove off. She didn't seem surprised to see you, and there was a small edge in her tone when she said that she herself had just gotten home: "Had to dump some girls I was with in order to get back," she says as she leads you down the hallway to her room.
"Tch, I'm sorry, Beth," you say as you pull her close and tuck your arm through hers. "But I needed someplace to go. I got tired of Zach and I can't go back to my place."
"Why, what's wrong?" she asks as she leads you into her room.
"I don't know how to—" You pause long enough to push the door closed, and to lean upon it, before continuing. "How to be this girl," you mouth at her while pointing to yourself.
Her brow furrows. "What do you mean?"
"Well, remember when I—?" You open your mouth and let the tip of your tongue slip out. You point it at her and make a faint gargling noise in the back of your throat. Beth doesn't react, except to nod. "Well, when I woke up, I knew all about you. How to think like you, act like you, do the whole stupid 'Hey, I'm Beth Larter' thing!' Remember?" You dance in place.
"I can't do it with Dana, though," you continue as Beth studies you narrowly. "I don't 'got' her! So, you know, I can't go home. 'Cos what if I fuck something up?"
"You mean more than you already have?"
"Don't be a bitch, you cunt. I need some place to hang out."
"But not with Zach."
"Well, maybe I should go hang out with Zach! He wasn't boring, but he wasn't a bitch!"
The moodiness behind Beth's eyes shrinks and retreats, like water evaporating under a blast of heat.
"Well, okay," she says. "I don't know what the problem is, but you can hang out here with me."
"Can I?" You force out a squeal. "Oh, gee, thanks!" You drop ass-first onto her bed.
"So when did you and Dana— Um—?"
"This afternoon, a couple of hours ago. I called her up, said I wanted to get together to study. Then I boned her"—you gargle drily again—"in the car."
"Why her?"
"Because I'm hot for her?" You scramble back onto the bed and lay back, trying to strike as sexy a pose as you can considering that you're wrapped in a burlap-like sweatshirt, heavy jeans, and high-heeled boots. "I mean, look at me."
"Mm, I guess so," Beth says. "But why her and not— I mean there are other—"
"'Cos I could get to Dana. I can't get to— Oooh!" You get a hard twinge as you think of some of the other girls at school you could be—cheerleaders, soccer players, swimmers. You clench your eyes shut and run two fingertips softly over your throat.
"Well, maybe it takes time to start remembering," Beth says. "You know, it took all night before—"
"Is your family home?" you interrupt her.
"Huh? Uh, dad's at work and my sister's probably out with friends."
"Your mom?"
"I think she's in the back yard, working on—"
"Never mind, just get on the bed with me. No!" Your hand flies to your zipper, and you pull it down. "Get down here and—" You unbutton your jeans and pull them apart. "If you're going to use your mouth and tongue, use them down here." You titter as you wonder if Dana has ever done it with another girl.
And then you are hit by a sudden and vivid impression that Beth Larter is tryinig to slide into your skull. You have the following choice: 1. Continue |
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