To himself.
Unfortunately he wasnotdrunk enough that he would forget all this tomorrow. He was drunk and mortified. It was a horrible place to be.
He leaned his head against the mirror—he was pretty tall and the sink was stupidly low—though the edge of the counter dug into his thighs, but he really didn’t even care at this point. He let his breath fog up the mirror as he contemplated whether he should try and find someplace to eat off some of the alcohol or whether he should head straight home.
“This is all your fault, V-day. If I could magically not have to deal with the next few days, I would do it. Fucking spend a few days in a coma, or get hijacked by aliens, or be possessed by a demon. Just wake the fuck up the day after the worst holiday of the fucking year, and move on with my life,” he breathed.
He was getting teary now, which he really fucking hated, but when he blinked his eyes, it looked like there was something written in the fog his breath was causing on the mirror.
Huh. That was weird. He managed to pull a hand up and trace the weird design with a finger. It was strangely distracting, and he thought he did a pretty good job of it for how drunk he was.
Only he was apparently a lot drunker than he thought, because his finger lifted off the mirror, only he hadn’t actually moved his hand. And now that he was trying, hecouldn’tmove his hand. Or anything else. It was like his body was moving without him, and he had a moment to wonder if he’d passed out or was having a seizure.
He was suddenly totally clear headed then, like he hadn’t drank a speck of alcohol, and he was not… himself. He stared out of his eyes at the mirror, and his reflection smirked back at him, only they weren’this eyes—they were red and glowing for a moment before they faded back to their usual color.
Then his mouth opened and he heard himself murmur, “No problem, beautiful. I’m fantastic at granting wishes.”
Chapter
Two
AT LEAST HE WASN’T DRUNK ANYMORE
What the fuck?he thought, but his mouth didn’t move. He felt a vague sense of amusement, but he knew it wasn’thisamusement. Someone was in his body. With him. And they were clearly amused about the whole thing.
He watched as his hands fixed his hair and straightened his rather rumpled looking shirt. Oops. He had been looking a bit sloppy. Body Snatcher—he wasn’t sure what else to call whatever was moving him—seemed to have taken over, though, and he couldn’t say he disapproved.
He realized he should probably be freaking out. He had no control over his own body. He was apparently trapped in here with someone else. But really, he hadn’t had much control when he was drunk, and if Body Snatcher managed to get him home in one piece, it was probably better than Trent would have done on his own.
He wondered for a moment if he had some kind of split personality thing going on, because he’d read this book once, but whatever was moving him didn’tfeellike him. Not like anypart of him. He also had never had any trauma or missing time or anything weird in his entire life. Plus, there was the whole alcohol thing. Because Body Snatcher was definitely sober. As was he now.
So he’d be grateful for small miracles.
Body Snatcher was taking his time, looking in the mirror, and he seemed to be waiting for something, although Trent had no clue what.
Are we just gonna stare at ourselves in the mirror, or what?he finally asked. He sensed surprise, and Body Snatcher raised one of his eyebrows, but then he (they?) were headed toward the bathroom door.
It was kinda disconcerting. You didn’t think about being in your own skin when you actually were in your own skin. You had arms and legs and felt stuff, but right now Trent was like a passenger. He didn’t feel his legs moving, and he only knew he nodded at people by the movement of his eyes. It was kinda like being on his virtual reality headset—vaguely disconcerting at first, but he got used to it pretty quick.
Body Snatcher was walking back up to the bar, where Paul was shamelessly flirting with the guy on the other side. He even had his hand on top of the guy’s hand. What a fuckhead. Trent hadn’t wanted a scene before, but if he wasn’t driving, so to speak, Body Snatcher could do whatever he wanted. (They? He? It kinda felt like a he, but maybe that was just because Trent was a cis guy. He had no idea how body snatching worked.)
He just hoped Body Snatcher didn’t end up leaving his body permanently damaged or in jail. Because that would suck.
Trent shoulda picked a name shorter than Body Snatcher, because his brain was already tired of it, so he decided to think of the entity as BS. If he could’ve giggled, he would’ve, even though he wasn’t even drunk anymore. Life was BS lately, andbeing body snatched was icing on the cake, so he figured it fit everything about today.
While he had been pondering his shitty day and nicknames, BS had discretely taken Paul’s phone, somehow unlocked it (which was pretty cool), and snapped some photos—a nice close up of the hands and then a shot of the back of the guy’s head and the other guy.
Then he opened messages and went straight to Raul, sending the photos and typing, “I met this guy on a dating app and he offered to hook up with me in the bathroom. I saw your text and left. He’s moved on to another guy. Check the dating apps.”
BS then deleted the message and photos and slid the phone over, saying “Hey, dick head.”
I like dick heads. It’s an insult to dick heads to call him one, Trent thought. He felt the surprise again, but BS recovered quickly.
“Oh. I’d thought you’d left,” Paul murmured, grabbing his phone to look at it. It was locked again, however, so he put it down and merely raised an eyebrow.
BS just leaned around Paul to look at the other guy. “I saw a text from his boyfriend about cooking dinner, so you might want to steer clear of this asshole,” BS said.
I like assholes too, Trent murmured in his head, and he heard a strangled half laugh trying not to creep out of his mouth. He was pretty sure BS could hear his murmurs, and he couldn’t help the commentary.
