Cousin Amy 16

Chapter 16: Emerging From the Cocoon

Prying open his heavy eyes, Scott groaned loudly. A splitting headache pounded in his skull, and sunlight streamed through the open curtains. He rolled over, feeling the unsettling flop of his breasts as gravity pulled at his chest. Finding his face smothered by a mass of pink hair, he clawed to clear it with his long nails. As the reality of his transformed appearance came flooding back, he groaned again.

Believing Jessica was beside him, Scott snuggled in closer, only to be startled by an unexpected voice. "Morning, Aimes," Emily croaked. "Do you feel as rough as I do?" Scott flinched at the sound of her voice, causing a stabbing pain to oscillate throughout his throbbing skull. "I'll take that as a yes," Emily added, chuckling lightly.

“Where... How did I end up here?” Scott managed to mutter, his throat dry as he surveyed Emily's bedroom with half-closed eyes.

“You really were out of it last night, weren’t you?” Emily said as she turned to face him. “But to be fair, there was a lot of gear going around.”

Suddenly, a flood of memories came rushing back: the blaring music, the skimpy outfit, the crippling pain surrounding his lower legs, and finding a use for his frustratingly long nails, delving into bag after bag, using the long acrylic tip to discreetly shovel white powder into his nose whilst on the dance floor. Not usually one for wild partying, the concoction of drugs he had taken to keep up appearances, plus a day of non-stop drinking, had really knocked Scott for six. “Do you have any paracetamol? My head’s pounding,” he croaked, his face puffy and stiff.

"Let me check what's left," Emily murmured, her voice thick and her movements sluggish as she gingerly got out of bed, a hand pressed to her throbbing forehead. "Don't say I never look out for ya."

"Thank you," Scott rasped, his voice rough and his eyes squinting against the light. "And, uh, some water, please."

Emily gave him a half-hearted glare, managing a faint smile as she shuffled from the room.

Alone in the room, Scott became acutely aware of the pangs of pain radiating through his feminized body, a souvenir from a night of dancing in sky-high heels. His legs burned from ankle to thigh, and his enhanced buttocks throbbed incessantly. Rolling onto his back, an unusual warm sensation, accompanied by what sounded like plastic crinkling, caught Scott off guard. Reaching back, he felt something covering his shoulder. Grimacing, he peeled it off to uncover the tender, inflamed skin beneath. As he ran his fingertips across the area, a sudden prickly pain jolted him into a sitting position, his heart racing with confusion.

Wanting to investigate further, Scott forced his exhausted body to its feet and stumbled over to a full-length mirror. The sight that greeted him chilled him to the bone. The temporary tattoo on his shoulder had changed colour and now appeared bright pink. This puzzled him at first, but as his foggy mind sharpened, a horrifying thought seized him. Spotting another covering on his lower back, Scott peeled it away with trembling hands, revealing the black outline of another butterfly. This one was larger than the ones on his shoulder, with the surrounding skin red and raw. As panic set in, Scott's mind raced, desperate to recall how it had gotten there. Denial crept in, but the truth was undeniable. He was staring at a tattoo! An extremely girly tattoo that would be nearly impossible to hide or remove.

(See image 32)

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as Scott stared in horror at the 'tramp stamp' inked on his lower back. Every second felt like an eternity until Emily re-entered the room, her casual tone contrasting sharply with Scott's rising panic. "You should keep that on for at least 24 hours; otherwise, it might get infected," she advised, referring to the protective covering discarded next to the mirror.

"Emily! Em, is this real?" Scott's voice quivered with fear as he turned to face her, his eyes wide and pleading.

Surprised by the sudden burst of emotion, Emily set down the glasses of water she had been carrying, moving to comfort the person she believed to be her best friend, Amy. "You don’t remember going to the tattoo place?" she asked, wrapping her arms around Scott, who looked on the verge of tears.

"No," Scott whispered back, his voice barely audible.

"It was Jen’s idea," Emily explained. "We were at the kebab shop when Han mentioned how it was a real shame that we hadn't gone back to colour in the butterfly tattoos we got last time we were all together. That's when Jen suggested we go and make them pink right then." As Emily continued recounting the story, Scott's mind raced. He couldn't recall any of it. "What about the one on my back?" he blurted out, interrupting Emily mid-sentence. "That was your idea," Emily said, stepping back with a smile.

"My idea!" Scott shrieked, his response was a mix of disbelief and shock. "Really?"

"Yeah, we all got one after you insisted on getting a new one," Emily continued, recalling the events of the early hours of the day. "I got a little cat on my side. You said it was cute, remember?" She added, showing him the covered area on her side, just below her ribcage.

Trying to mask his despair with a feigned smile, Scott nodded. "Oh yeah, I remember now. Something to remember the occasion by," he lied, his heart sinking.

"Exactly," Emily agreed, her lips forming a smile. She handed him a glass of water and some painkillers. "Here, take two of these. They’ll make you feel better. Do you want some toast? Coffee?"

Scott shook his head, feeling an increasing need to be alone. "No, I think I just need to go home and sleep."

"Okay," Emily answered, understanding his need for solitude. "Give me half an hour, and I’ll drop you back by your car. Sound okay?"

Scott nodded, his mind a whirlwind of regret and confusion. Just as Emily turned to leave, a sudden thought struck him. "Em!" he called out. She turned back to face him. "I don’t have anything to wear."

Emily smiled cheerily. "Take a look through my wardrobe. You’ve left loads of stuff here over the years. I’m sure you’ll find something."

With that, she left the room, leaving Scott alone with his thoughts, consumed by a growing sense of fear about how he would explain this to Jessica.

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An hour later, as Emily turned off the engine of her hatchback, Scott peered out the window at the unfamiliar house across the perfectly manicured lawn. Anxiety gnawed at him; he knew Amy had been here many times, yet he didn't even know the names of the people who lived inside. Turning towards his purple-haired companion, he bit his bottom lip and adopted an innocent grin.

“Erm… Em,” he said with a playful air, “I think I killed some brain cells last night 'cause I can’t remember your grandparents’ names.” It was a risky question, one that Amy shouldn't be asking, but the alternative - walking in and not knowing what to call two people who had known Amy for years - felt far worse.

Emily’s head snapped toward him, her expression one of disbelief. “Really?” She raised an eyebrow. “For real?”

Scott pouted, letting his shoulders slump a little to seem more vulnerable. Emily sighed and shook her head. “Ken and Glenda,” she answered, her eyes still wide with shock. “You alright, Aimes?” she asked with a hint of concern. “You seem a bit... off since you got back from that rehab place. Is there anything you want to tell me?”

Scott quickly shook his head, his voice quivering slightly. “No! I’m fine, Em,” he assured her. “Honestly, I just need some sleep, that’s all.”

Emily, scanning Scott’s face, nodded slowly. “Alright, we’ll be quick. In and out, okay?” she promised.

Scott nodded in reluctant agreement. The thought of visiting Emily's grandparents was the last thing he wanted to do. They had called to wish their granddaughter a happy birthday as Scott was getting ready. Upon learning that Amy had stayed over, her grandparents insisted she accompany Emily for a slice of birthday cake. With their house conveniently on the way to pick up Amy’s car, Scott could hardly say no. Especially after Emily explained how excited her grandparents were at the prospect of seeing Amy, whom they hadn't seen in such a long time.

Accompanied by the familiar click-clack of high heels, Scott stumbled from the car, his aching feet threatening to give out on him. Quickly regaining his composure, he checked the top of his dress to ensure nothing had slipped out, while a breeze tickled his toes and ran up his bare legs, making him acutely aware of how out of place he looked on the quiet suburban street. Trying to hide his discomfort, he attempted to channel Amy’s confidence, though he knew his cousin would never have chosen such a revealing dress for this occasion.

Without extensive knowledge of every item of clothing Amy had ever owned, Scott had done his best to pick an outfit from Emily’s overstuffed closet, relying solely on the images posted on his cousin's phone. After fifteen minutes of searching, with his head pulsating and his energy drained, the pink-haired man was ready to give up. However, just as he reached his limit, he came across a post of Amy posing in a green dress.

Remembering the dress from his earlier rummaging, Scott quickly retrieved it. The mini dress, which barely covered his feminized frame, wouldn’t have been his first choice - or even his hundredth. With its plunging V-neck and cut-out sides, it was probably not an outfit anyone would have worn outside a girls' night out. Emily’s reaction confirmed this when she questioned his decision, asking if he was sure about the look. With no other options, Scott feigned confidence, claiming it was a forgotten favourite. Emily seemed puzzled by the choice - especially given the stilt-like green sandals that completed the tiny dress - but didn’t press further.

Struggling to manoeuvre his exhausted legs, Scott staggered towards the front door, his pulse hammering in his ears and his tortured feet screaming for mercy, tightly strapped inside their platform-heeled prison. His makeup was minimal, except for his striking pink lips; however, his dark, extended lashes made him appear more made-up than he actually was. As his lengthened hair blew gently in the wind - threatening to undo the work Emily had put in with her straightening iron - his sober mind tried to adjust to the unfamiliar sensation of hair tickling his back.

Ken and Glenda welcomed Scott with open arms. As he hugged the elderly couple, Scott noticed Ken's discomfort, likely due to his rather skimpy attire. Glenda, always candid, commented, "My, that's quite the dress, Amy. I wish I still had the figure to pull off something like that!" Her tone hovered between teasing and judgment, making it hard to discern her true feelings.

After being shown into the living room, Scott tried to arrange himself gracefully on the sofa. However, no matter how he sat, he couldn’t shake the feeling of being completely exposed. Soon, with a cup of tea clutched awkwardly between his acrylic-extended fingers, the pleasantries began. The ensuing small talk was a minefield. Ken asked about recent events, and each question made Scott’s heart race as he pieced together answers from snippets of knowledge he’d memorized from Amy's social media. By the time Glenda served the cake, the tea had become lukewarm, but Scott barely noticed. He was too focused on maintaining his façade, responding to questions about 'recent trips' and 'upcoming plans,' that Emily helped to field when she saw him struggling.

After thirty minutes of what felt like an interrogation, Scott excused himself for a brief respite. With all eyes on him, he rose carefully from his seat and tottered over to what he assumed was the bathroom - having seen Glenda enter earlier. However, instead of the expected downstairs toilet, opening the door revealed a food pantry. As he quickly shut it again and turned back to face the group, a collective pause descended over the room. He could almost read their minds: "What is she doing?" "How could she possibly forget where the bathroom is after coming here so many times?"

(See image 32)

Ken, wearing a puzzled frown, stood up to show the way. "Upstairs, first door on the left, dear," he said, his gaze lingering on Scott's revealing attire with a blend of bewilderment and concern.

Once the sound of high heels clacking up the stairs had faded, Glenda turned to her granddaughter, her voice tinged with worry. "Is Amy alright, Emily? She seems very confused today."

Emily shook her head in response. "I'm not sure, Grandma. She's been a bit out of sorts lately—forgetting things, you know?"

"Keep an eye on her, love. Help her where you can," Glenda urged, her tone filled with sincere concern.

Emily nodded, her resolve firming as she made a silent vow to herself. She was determined to uncover the root of Amy's troubles and equally determined to offer whatever support her friend needed.

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After being reunited with Amy's Mini, Scott made his way back to his cousin’s apartment, the bright yellow car spluttering and revving under his wavering control. With his feet throbbing and locked in an unsuitable angle for operating pedals, he avoided shifting gears as much as possible. He stayed in second for most of the journey, silently pleading with every traffic light he approached not to turn red. Once parked, his hands clumsily fumbled with the keys, his long nails proving as awkward as ever. Finally, he managed to open the door and sighed with relief as he stepped inside. Eager to release his tortured feet, he was ready to crawl into bed and erase the day from his memory.

However, the calm solitude he had yearned for shattered the instant he hobbled into the living room to find Jessica standing like a spectre in the dim light. Her eyes, wide and unblinking, locked onto his feminized form - inspecting him from the tips of his stiletto heels, up past his shockingly provocative green minidress, to finally land on his striking pink hair. "What happened to you?" she exclaimed, her voice a cocktail of alarm and confusion.

Feeling drained and embarrassed, Scott let out a weary sigh. He couldn’t find the words to explain everything - how every part of him ached, how far he had gone to keep up the pretence, and how much he regretted the decisions that led him here. He just stood there, feeling the weight of her gaze and the enormity of what he had become, too tired to speak, and too overwhelmed to begin to explain.