Turn 12 of 19

Speech starts slipping. Accidental “ain’t,” softer drawl. Jess clamps her mouth shut, then opens it and more ghetto slang comes out. Taylor tells her to speak properly; she tries and fails. Both panic harder. Her walk stays perfect heel-sway the whole time.

Jess stared at her reflection in the mirror—thick curves, deep brown skin, full lips, long nails, long lashes, heavy makeup melted into her skin. The red stilettos felt perfectly natural on her feet now. She turned to Taylor, trying to explain, but the words that came out weren't hers.

"I been walkin' like this for hours, baby, and I ain't even tired," she said, gesturing at her perfect heel-sway. She clamped her mouth shut, horrified.

"I didn't—I don't—"

She tried again, forcing the words out through gritted teeth.

"I don't talk like that. I'm not—" But what slipped out instead was "I been tryin' to speak prop'ly, but it just don't feel nat'ral no more."

Taylor stared at her, his eyes wide. "Jess. What. Is happening. To you?" he said slowly, deliberately.

Jess shook her head frantically, backing away until she hit the edge of the bed. She sank down onto it, the cheap mattress sagging under her new weight. But even sitting, her body betrayed her—she crossed her legs slowly, deliberately, one red stiletto swinging slightly. Her back arched without her thinking about it. Her tilting hips seemed to pull attention to the round curve of her ass against the stained comforter.

"I don't know," she said softly, running a hand over her thick hip, her round ass in the tight snakeskin skirt. "I don't know. But I... I think I'm losing her. I think she's almost gone."

And for a moment, the woman in the mirror smiled—a slow, sharp, triumphant smile that didn't look like Jess at all.