CHAPTER NINE
Corey
Umbrella-less, I pulled into the curb outside Nora’s apartment.
It’s lack of presence may be the final strand that snaps, creating a distance so far from my father there’s no coming back.
The green images Nora kept referring to as aliens were pictures I’d drawn as a child based on my father before he saw me as a constant disappointment.
Without that reminder, I worried I’d forget my father wasn’t always terrible.
I couldn’t believe I’d left it on the ground because I was worried about a little electrocution.
Neither of us unbuckled, and neither spoke. We were two regular people trapped inside each other’s bodies, with regular-people problems.
Nora hadn’t spoken since learning my father was my boss, and I knew better than to bother with a pitiful attempt at convincing her I had other dreams. I used the only conversation she’d be interested in – anything related to switching back. ‘I tried searching online, you know?’
‘For the umbrella?’
‘No.’ The words whooshed from my mouth with a hint of frustration. ‘To see if this had happened to anyone else.’
‘Oh, right. So did I,’ Nora admitted.
‘Nothing. Only stories and movies.’
‘And really bad fanfiction.’ Nora’s face scrunched like a disgusted Shar Pei.
My fists tightened, and I banged my head against the headrest. We’d arrived at too many dead ends to keep faking optimism. Even Nora – to whom it came naturally – had struggled to plaster the smile on her face today.
‘So, what, we try again tomorrow?’ Nora asked.
‘I have a better idea.’ I adjusted my crooked hat and looked past her to the bar outside her window.
‘Drinking in a seedy bar?’
‘Fuck yes, drinking in a seedy bar.’
The golden sting of whiskey burned my throat as I threw back my drink, the only familiar sense in this tiny body. Nora nursed her pina colada with large hands while her grey eyes looked from us, the sticky bar counter, the peeling blue paint on the walls, and back to us again.
‘Give it a rest, would ya? You’re meant to be relaxing.’ My barstool rocked on its uneven legs.
‘I can’t,’ she hissed.
‘Another.’ I slammed my glass onto the counter.
The lady behind the bar wandered back over with a grin. ‘You’re really putting these away.’
My heart raced as I took in her tight jeans and low-cut shirt.
‘I could put you away, too,’ I smirked.
The grin fell from her face. ‘Sorry, I’m not into chicks.’
‘What? I—’
‘Am a lesbian,’ Nora supplied with a pointed look in my direction. ‘You simply can’t resist the curves of the female body, can you?’
I looked down at my body and sighed.
‘Yeah. Vaginas. Obsessed,’ I mumbled.
Which was technically true. This morning, the ache between my legs had been an invitation I couldn’t ignore.
My fingers slipped beneath my cotton underwear and trailed along the soft folds.
There were so many parts I wanted to explore, but first, I’d slid one finger inside, then another.
It was great, really, but it wasn’t making me groan like I’d expected.
My moist fingers then stroked up the centre of my folds – her folds – fuck.
The line of what belonged to who was blurry now that everything was in my possession.
It was already day two, so I’d come to terms with the fact that this was my body.
At least for now. I’d made it to my clit, and that’s when I’d released a pornographic moan.
Girls in bed never moaned the way I did.
I’d frozen at the realisation. Oh my god.
Were they faking it with me? It dawned on me that every girl I’d been with had been sexually neglected, because the more I rubbed, the more the pressure built until my legs shook and my brain stopped working.
What the fuck had I been doing in bed with women my entire adult life?
Well, other than clearly not getting them off?
I’d spent the next half hour treating myself to a rubix cube treatment, learning every pattern and combo possible to figure out how to send myself into a new dimension of pleasure.
What I wasn’t prepared for, was the revelation that the tiniest point of a nail was equivalent to the blade of a knife.
In the end, I’d been equally satisfied and mortified at how bad I’d been with my hands during every previous sexual encounter.
Then came the crushing realisation that Nora’s body had turned me on. I refused to be turned on by Nora Claremont.
‘Sorry,’ the bartender repeated sympathetically.
I blinked away the arousing memory and focused on my empty glass. ‘All good. Can I get another, though? Please?’
She nodded and poured me the biggest pot of honey I’d ever seen. I reached to grab it, but she kept her hands on the glass so I couldn’t slide it back to me.
‘Just, go easy on the drinks. Okay?’
‘Scouts honour.’ I held up four fingers which I’m pretty sure was not correct, but she released the glass regardless.
‘Are you gonna drink that or what?’ I nodded at Nora’s untouched cocktail.
God. She was such a buzzkill.
‘I am,’ she said.
‘You haven’t even taken a sip yet.’
‘We don’t all throw our drinks back, Corey.’
‘Yeah, well, maybe you should. Then you wouldn’t be so…’ My hands waved from her head to her toes.
‘Wouldn’t be so, what? So Corey-looking? Is that the key? To get drunk enough that I somehow look like myself again?’
‘I don’t know, but I’m sure as hell giving it a go.’ I picked up my drink and poured it into my mouth.
Nora stared at me, her expression unreadable. Before I could ask what was wrong, she picked up her drink.
‘Bottoms up.’ Her head tipped back as she chugged the entire cocktail in one go.
‘Yesss!’ I cheered. ‘That’s what I’m talking ’bout.’ My hands drummed the counter. ‘Another of the tall white looking cocktails please.’
The bartender shook her brown curls with a chuckle. ‘You two are single handedly funding the bar today.’
‘Does that mean we technically have shares in this place?’ I asked.
‘You wish. What’s the deal with you two, anyway?’ She poured juice and Malibu into a glass.
I raised my perfectly shaped eyebrow at her.
‘Well, are you friends or closet lovers? I can normally pin people down in the first five minutes, but even you two don’t seem to have a damn clue what you are.’
She’d pinned us down more than she realised.
‘We’re close enough to know what it’s like to walk in each other’s shoes,’ I replied.
Nora snorted. ‘I’m a big hunk of a man; I get what I want. My parents fed me with an engraved silver spoon from birth.’
‘I’m Nora Claremont, a wee little thing who thinks I’m so hard done by, when really, I’m not cut out for what I want. Oh, and I hide it all with overwhelming enthusiasm and positivity,’ I mocked, nostrils flaring.
Nora spun on her bar stool. ‘That’s not true.’
I jumped off mine to stare her down, which was my first mistake. I became even shorter with my feet on the ground.
‘So intimidating down there.’ Nora lowered her head to me with a smirk.
It was hard to be mad when I’d flooded my body with the whiskey I’d been shotting the last thirty minutes, so I admitted defeat. ‘Damn it. Being short sucks.’
Nora rolled her eyes and accepted the new cocktail from the bartender. ‘Poor you. You’re so hard done by.’
She had me there, and I couldn’t help the laughter. ‘I’m sorry I said that.’
‘Wow, I’ll mark it in my diary. The day Corey apologised.’
Something about the amusement in her eyes sent a little spasm of… something through me. The same feeling I’m left with when Paddy points out something disappointing yet utterly true about myself.
And it gave me a little hope that this disastrous situation might at least help me to understand the little parts in life that can bring joy.