Witch of the Web

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Sitting across from Summer (Daryl?), I’m a little confused to say the least. Willow looks up at me and lets out a noise that comes across as intense amusement. I rest my hand on her head without thinking about it as I try to piece together this new information. 

Yeah no, I’ve got nothing.

“What do you mean?” I ask, my voice sounding strained, making it even more unpleasant to my ears. “H - How?” I stammer. Summer lets out a heavy sigh. She looks back at me, though she seems confused. I follow her gaze and quickly remove my hand from Willow and put it beside me. 

Close one.

“I suppose I should go back a bit. Do you remember how we used to fawn over the girls in school? And we’d wonder what they were like?” she asks. I give her a jerky nod and she continues. “Well for me, I was more wondering what it was like to be them.”

“Well yeah, that’s totally normal isn’t it?” I interrupt her which prompts an odd expression from her. She lets out a dry laugh.

“No Vikkie -” 

“Just Vik,” I correct nervously. “Nobody’s called me Vikkie since well, you I guess.”

“Right. Well, no Vik,” she starts and I bite back a wince. I actually kind of like the name Vikkie, but I have a reputation to maintain. Yep. A reputation. I look back at her again and she has this look like she’s not looking at me, but through me. “Guys don’t fantasize about being girls,” she continues. That just doesn’t seem right, though. Here I am, a guy, and I think about what it’d be like all the time. I open my mouth to say as much and she laughs. “Don’t even try to use yourself as an example Vik. Just don’t.” 

Well shit, can she read my mind or something?

“So how’d you go from fantasizing about being girls to being one?” I ask, the answer seems important. For curiosity of course. She beams at me before schooling her expression to a more neutral one.

“The first step was admitting to myself that I was a girl already. After that I got a hormone replacement body mod and dealt with some bureaucratic bullshit to change my ID and docs.” She has an amused look on her face before continuing. “I was already running my restaurant at the time, but it was based out of the Wall district and I wasn’t very popular. Still I saved up money and got some work done till I was happy and then suddenly bam!” she slaps the table, causing Willow to bolt out of sight. “As if overnight, business picked up. I figured word got out about a hot cook making good food and every thirsty guy within two districts was coming down to watch me.” She snorts. “So I leaned into it, dressed all hot and sexy and soon enough I had enough creds to move locations to a more respectable part of town. I was able to drop the sexpot look and have settled in nicely since.”

I listen carefully through her whole story, my face etched into a frown. Surely it couldn’t be that simple. Right? I mean, if the option is there, wouldn’t everyone do that? It’s only logical.

Willow returns to my lap, from a different direction than she ran and stretches out to bap my head again. This time, numerous articles about something called trans people flitted past my eyes. I shake my head to clear it before looking back at Summer who has this knowing look on her face that makes me feel vulnerable. 

I. Hate. Feeling. Vulnerable.

“Well, thanks for the place to rest, I should probably get going, yeah?” I say as I go to stand up. Willow topples off me and yowls in protest. Summer stands too and moves closer.

“You don’t have to go,” she assures me. Part of me really wants to stay too. But it really hits me that she’s got this whole life. She’s living the dream and I don’t want to ruin that for her. She sets a hand on my shoulder and stares straight into my eyes. “In fact, I insist you stay for a while. You look like you haven’t eaten in days and I’ve missed you.” The last words are spoken in barely more than a whisper.

How fucking dare she? 

I stare at her, indecision warring in my head. On one hand, I am really fucking hungry. On the other hand, this whole conversation is making my head spin. I look at Willow to see what she thinks and - Gross. Why does a digital cat need to lick their - 

“Fine!” I snap and drop back onto the couch. “Whatever! I’ll stay. For now at least,” I add that last part as a consolation for myself. The idea of staying for too long leaves me feeling weird in ways I can’t really figure out. Summer is practically radiating light at this point and her glee is a little infectious as I find myself smiling along with her. “Still don’t know why you’d want me around though. I didn’t think we were that close,” I grumble.

“Maybe not, but you weren’t the only antisocial one, you know. And you were my best friend, thorns and all.” She smiles. Her face has changed but I recognize that smile. She’s going to say something she knows I’ll hate. Bitch don’t do it! “Like a rose,” she breathes out. 

Fuuuu - huh. That felt kind of nice. 

That really gets my mind running. I never would’ve realized Summer was my old friend if she hadn’t told me. And using a vastly different proxy body in Lanadel had worked wonders for my anonymity. It could work out here too. Now I just needed to convince Summer to help me look like a woman.

Temporarily. 

Till the heat dies down.

Because I’m not actually a woman. 

This is a bad idea.

Wait, why am I in another room?

“-ure you wanna do this?” Summer asks, her concern clear in her voice. I must’ve zoned out. 

“Huh?” Great response Vik. She lets out a sigh, as if she’s used to it and I realize she kind of is, or was at least. I’ve always been prone to zoning out, ever since I was a teenager. 

“Same ol’ Vik,” she says with a giggle. “You asked me to help you… disguise yourself as a girl.” Why did she pause? And when did I actually get around to asking her that. I should nip this in the bud, it’s such a bad idea.

“R - right. I did ask that,” I mutter. Now, just change your mind and - “Yes. Please make me look like a woman.” Curse my traitorous mouth. 

Fuck.

Summer’s smiling though, so it’s not all bad at least. 

The whole process goes by in a haze. She has me put on some clothes, does some make up and styles my admittedly too long hair. It’s been a while since I felt like bothering getting it cut.

She covered up the mirror before we got started and I know why. There’s no way this will work. I’m just going to look like a guy in drag. Hell, not even. I’ve seen a couple drag shows online and they all look amazing honestly. I’m just going to be some sad skinny fucker in a dress and makeup that doesn’t hide shit. And there goes the mirror cover.

I can’t look.

Maybe one little peak won’t hurt.

Woah. 

That’s got to be a trick mirror or something. Maybe a digital overlay? I can’t look like that. 

I’m a guy. 

Guys don’t look like pretty delicate flowers. 

Guys don’t smile when they see themselves in a dress. 

Guys don’t cry when they see their reflection either. 

I’m a guy!

I’m a guy. 

I’m a guy?

Am I a guy? N - no! I’m a man! Right?

Summer’s saying something to me but it’s all kind of fuzzy and I’m feeling a little light headed. Maybe I should’ve gotten some food first. I try to focus on what’s being said to me but everything is just spinning and - oh - Soft kitty. 

****

Everything feels a bit fuzzy. And not just because I’m petting Willow. Because I am. She’s so soft and I know I should be more concerned with what’s happening, but honestly I’m just so tired. I’m in Lanadel. I’m not totally sure how I got here though. 

I open my eyes and see the ceiling of my tower bedroom. Tilting my head down, I can see Willow busy kneading my torso. She looks like what I assume a baker would look like while preparing dough for their daily work. She looks up at me and a little baker’s hat appears on her head in a poof.

Huh. Didn’t know she could do that. 

Come to think of it, something else isn’t quite right. I’m not in my proxy body. I’ve got my gross meatsuit still. Maybe I’m dreaming. That’d explain a lot. And honestly, who could blame me. Lanadel has always felt more like home than anywhere else. Well, except maybe my parent’s place. But that hardly counts without them there. 

I reach up to wipe away the tears that form. I can cry here. Nobody can see me except Willow and I know she doesn’t care. I glance down at her again and she’s watching me intently. Still kneading though. It feels really nice actually. Maybe this dream isn’t so bad. I’d still prefer my proxy body though. 

Why?

The thought comes unbidden. Why? It echoes around my head, threatening to drown everything else out.

Why what? Ha, take that uncomfortable question. Won’t get me to get all introspective.

Willow stops kneading and makes her way up to my face. She gives me a little headbutt but leaves her forehead pressed against mine. 

Why do you prefer your proxy body? 

The thoughts are clearer now. Are they Willow’s? They don’t really have a voice, it’s more like the echo of a thought rattling around in my head and picking up traits of my own internal monologue.

Not sure how I feel about how that sounds like a woman though.

Why?

Because I like it. Alright? Happy now? It’s getting really hard to separate my thoughts from hers. 

Are you happy? 

What sort of question is that? Of course I’m not happy. I haven’t been happy since my parents died. Hell, I haven’t been happy since before that! The only times I’m even close to being happy are when I’m in Lanadel. When I’m in my proxy body. When I can’t feel the crush of my skin against my bones. 

If I was happy, why would I avoid eating? Have I been avoiding eating? I rack my brain to try and remember the last time I ate. A few days ago at least. Why haven’t I been eating? I need food to live. I need to live if I’m going to get that new spine. I don’t need that anymore, do I? So why am I bothering? Why did I bother?

Do you want to be happy? 

Well yeah. Everyone wants to be happy. But nobody gets to be. How could it be possible when the human condition includes wearing an uncomfortable meatsuit that doesn’t fit. Except, Summer seems happy. Her smile is amazing and undeniably sincere. I’ve seen so many fake smiles, most of them in the mirror, so I can recognize a genuine one. So what makes us different?

Well, she’s trans for one. 

Two, she did something about it.

Three, she chased her dream and is living a good life.

That’s not an option for me though. Right?

Willow has gone back to kneading my torso and I notice something a bit odd. My skin changes wherever she presses. With each release, my body changes little by little. What’s she doing?

Making us happy. 

Us? 

Us. 

I guess we are bonded. Oh no. Has my miserable existence been dragging her down? Figures. I’m really no good to anyone. Fucking hell. Do I really deserve to be happy?

Yes. 

How can you be so certain? I’ve done some awful things. Hurt people, even if indirectly. 

Because you care.

She pads back up to me and lays her fuzzy forehead against mine again. 

You insist you’re a bad person, but your first thought was to protect me. I want to help you. 

I don’t respond for some time, so she goes back to making biscuits. Thinking of it like that makes me smile. So do the feelings I can feel from her. LOG made a thinking feeling intelligent feline and intended to use them as a tool. For all my crimes, I can’t imagine doing something like that. Is that enough to make me worth liking? Willow seems to think so. So the least I can do is get a little introspective I guess.

Why do I prefer my proxy body? Well it’s soft, and feels comfortable and doesn’t leave me feeling gross. If I could use it in meatspace, that’d be even better. 

Huh. 

How’d I get into Lanadel again? What was I doing before? Summer was helping me disguise myself. I looked so much like my proxy body that I - Oh.

Fuck. No no no no.

I look down. Seems Willow is almost done. I realize what she’s been doing. I look like my proxy body again. I feel a certain satisfaction at that.

No I don’t.

This isn’t right. I’m not.

I can’t be. 

It’s not allowed. 

What would my parents think? 

What would my parents think?

They’d probably be ok with it. They were always good people like that. They’d have been so supportive of Summer. And me? 

A memory springs up. One I’d mostly forgotten. I was playing with a doll with my mom. She had one of her own. I told her that she was the mommy and I was her daughter. She’d looked at me as if she was seeing me for the first time and said that I could be her daughter if I wanted. 

The next day, some local bullies took my doll and tossed her into a dumpster. They called me all sorts of awful names. They kicked me over and over until someone came to chase them off. It was Summer. That’s how we met. 

My mom tried to offer to get me a new doll but I told her boys didn’t play with dolls. I think I was just afraid of getting bullied again. She’d said I didn’t need to be a boy. My dad had agreed with her. I’d thought they were making fun of me and ran to my room. They’d never mentioned it again.

Did that actually happen? I reach out to my parents as everything begins to fade. I hear a loud ding which dispels the dream and places me firmly back in meatspace. Willow is laying on my chest. Something looks… off.

Oh.

Summer

I tuck Vikkie - sorry, Vik, into my guest room’s bed. Sh - he - they. Let’s go with they for now. They’re clearly not taking care of themself. I’d said they looked like they hadn’t eaten in a while but that wasn’t just it. They’re tiny. So very tiny. I can’t even imagine what they’ve been through since their parents - Their parents were good people. And it’s painfully obvious that Vik didn’t handle their loss well.

Living out in the worst parts of town, I saw a lot of awful things. Hunger being one of the most prevalent for those without money. I’d see people rummaging through my bins for scraps. These people hadn’t eaten in so long and even they looked healthier than Vik. The only thing I could think is that Vik’s been starving themself intentionally. 

I couldn’t figure out why until they asked me to help them look like a girl. I’d tried some gentle nudges towards what I thought was pretty obvious, but they almost left as a result. So I was surprised when they asked. I maybe got too carried away. I just wanted them to trust me enough that they’d eat for me. I’d dress them up nice and cute and then I’d give them a nice small meal to start with. But despite my masterful skill with chicken eggs, I’m really bad at handling trans eggs. 

She’d passed out. 

After crying.

And looking really confused.

I really should not be allowed near eggs.

My thoughts are spinning out of control so I do what I always do when stressed. I bake. Having this nice apartment affords me the luxury of space for a nice kitchen. Unlike most chefs I never lost my love for cooking at home. I could get home from a double shift because one of my other cooks called in sick and I’d still want to make something from scratch. Cooking is like therapy for me. It makes sense to me at least.

Back to baking. I decide on an old favorite and whip up some chocolate chip cookie dough. It gives me time to order my thoughts and something occurs to me. Vik was petting something earlier. Between the malnourishment and what might be delusions, it was starting to become a bit clearer that Vik might be spending too much time in VR. 

It’s a fairly common problem in the poorer areas of the city. Life sucks so why spend it in meatspace. Lanadel makes a very convenient getaway from life for folks. And with Vik in trouble with loggers, that suggests they are a weaver. Which only makes it make more sense. Mix that with the fact that I am almost certain they are trans. It really all falls into place. 

I put the dough on a sheet and set it in the oven. I set a little egg timer (heh, egg) and settle down to think. I’ve figured out the cause of Vik’s problems, or at least the most probable cause. Now I just need a solution. There’s plenty of rehab facilities specifically for people addicted to VR. Most of them are run by LOG so that’s a no go. I could take some time off work to help Vik myself. That has its own issues too. 

Why’d it have to be Vik? Anyone else and I’d have been able to do the smart thing and just stay out of it entirely. I don’t have the sort of safety nets needed to get involved in this sort of thing. But I’d be lying if I tried to say I didn’t still pine for them. I always had a bit of a crush on that prickly little rose bush I call my friend. Because just like the plant, despite their sharp thorns, they’ve got a soft, velvety sort of beauty hidden away for those who know where to look.

I’m still crushing on them. That’s not ideal.

The egg timer goes off, signaling that the cookies are ready. Just as I get up to get them out of the oven, my door opens and a woman with fiery red hair and a gun steps into my apartment. Then I hear a scream from the guest room. 

Great.

End Chapter 3