Winning Match

Even though John Brown wasn’t in his room right now, the place felt pretty damn alive. Actually, no—it looked like John had completely forgotten the house rules and turned the room into some fucking gamer den where nobody had ever heard the words “clean up after yourself.”

— Fucking hell, shit! — a loud, almost screeching yell burst out, followed right away by the creak of the bed as the girl leaned forward, wincing for a moment but trying not to show how heavily her huge boobs swayed, constantly getting in the way—pressing against the controller, jerking painfully with sharp movements, or just pulling her body off balance.

— Fuck… how the hell does that even happen… — she muttered quieter, staring at the TV screen where her character had just died again.

Annoyed, she grabbed a can of cola sitting nearby, took a long gulp without even looking away from the screen, and then suddenly jerked forward when a comment about her flashed on screen:

"Mike5542 is that the same chick, right?"

"Yeah, it’s her, I caught her when she forgot to mute, Clus was in that match too"

"Lololol, I was there too, thought I’d go deaf"

"Hey, Mike, lol. Or Michelle? Drop your Insta or at least your tits, lmao!"

"Come on, she’s about to start screaming again, don’t rush it 😂"

"Baby, don’t listen to them, I’m your knight, just text me!"

Cola sprayed out of her mouth and ran down her chin, dripping onto her boobs and spreading into a dark stain across the pink fabric.

— Kh… kh… are you fucking kidding me?! — she coughed, sharply setting the can aside and wiping her lips with the back of her hand.

The gamepad almost slipped from her fingers, but she caught it, glaring at the screen. Her cheeks were burning like she hadn’t been, just a few days ago, a 45-year-old man who had suddenly woken up… as this.

— Drop them my Insta… — she muttered through clenched teeth, pointing a finger at the monitor, already getting ready for the next round. — I’ll fucking drop it for you now…

— Ahem-ahem! — Amanda Brown’s displeased voice came from behind, making the girl jerk again, but this time not from anger or surprise—more from the sudden wave of panic that hit her as she sharply turned her head, feeling her long hair slide over her shoulders with an unfamiliar weight and stick to the cola-wet skin.

— Amanda… I… — she started hoarsely, trying to justify herself for some reason, even though just an hour ago she thought her life was over and didn’t give a damn about anything.

Amanda stood in the doorway, arms crossed under her breasts, her green sweater stretched tight enough to show the tension in her shoulders. The woman’s eyes burned with cold fury.

— “Amanda… I…” — she mimicked in a high, mockingly calm tone, full of clear disapproval. — Are you serious, Mike? Care to explain… what the fuck is this?

The girl instinctively tightened her grip on the gamepad and looked away, lowering her gaze—only to regret it immediately, because it landed on the last thing she wanted to see. Her cleavage.

It was like it had deliberately ended up right in front of her eyes, showing how the pink fabric stretched while her boobs rose heavily with her breathing, and he… she quickly looked away, feeling everything inside tighten with wild, burning shame.

— I asked, — Amanda’s voice dropped, turning harder, — what the fuck is this, Mike?

— I… — she swallowed, instinctively trying to straighten up, but that only made her boobs jerk harder and pull her down. — I was just playing…

— Playing? — Amanda slowly looked around the room. — Playing?

She stepped inside, and an empty can crunched under her foot.

— In our son’s room. While I, trying to pretend everything’s fine, was explaining to everyone—and to Mike included—why he suddenly had to go to camp in the middle of summer! — Amanda finished, sharply kicking an empty pizza box, sending it rustling into the corner.

A heavy, pressing silence immediately filled the room.

The girl’s shoulders dropped, her face turning even more guilty.

Amanda silently stared at her for a couple more seconds.

Then she huffed through her nose.

— God… — she said quietly, with some strange kind of disappointment. — If I didn’t know you were my husband, I’d think there’s actually some sniveling little schoolgirl in front of me.

The words hung in the air.

Mike… or not exactly Mike anymore… clenched his teeth, as if offended by how she was both right and wrong at the same time. He wanted to snap back, like before, put her in her place… but instead he just looked away. But then:

— I’m not acting like some schoolgirl! — he suddenly snapped, raising his head. — I just… fuck… what the hell am I supposed to do?! Go to a beauty salon or just show up at work and say “Hi, I’m Mike. Except now I have no idea how to do this fucking job, but maybe I’ll sit here and try to figure out these power plant blueprints? Oh, and maybe you didn’t notice—I’ve got a pair of huge tits now, wanna feel them?!” Like that?!

The last words came out way too loud and hysterical. She even reached to lift her shirt, but stopped—her fingers froze on the edge of the pink fabric, almost exposing the lower part of her boobs. From the sudden movement, the heavy weight swayed so hard that Mike felt them pull on the thin straps of the shirt and painfully hit against her ribs. Her cheeks flared even hotter, and a lump rose in her throat.

— …fuck… — he exhaled quieter, almost hoarse, lowering his gaze.

Amanda gave a slight, almost kind smirk, lowering her arms and stepping closer, as if suddenly shedding that cold, pressing strictness.

— Oh, Mike… — she exhaled softly, without that anger now, but with some tired understanding. — I get that this is fucked up, but… you’ve got to keep yourself together, right? You used to tell me that yourself, when I was “losing it,” as you liked to say.

She smirked again, seeing how the girl just flinched at her words—probably at the word “used to”—and still kept looking somewhere off to the side, as if not even at Amanda, but straight through space, into nowhere.

— I… I just didn’t expect that… Mike?

Her hand rested on the girl’s thin, fragile shoulder—so different from what she’d been used to all these years that her fingers paused for a second, like she herself didn’t fully understand how to touch this—not like a husband, not like an equal, but like something… far more vulnerable.

— Mike? — she repeated, quieter this time.

The girl flinched.

— Hey… — she squeezed her shoulder slightly, more confidently now. — Are you even listening to me?

— I hear you… — he answered dully, not raising his eyes.

— Anyway! I was thinking… — Amanda pulled back a little, but didn’t take her hand off the shoulder—on the contrary, she seemed to grip it even tighter, like she was afraid that if she let go, he’d just “drift off” again into that weird, lost state, — …on the way there, on the way back, during those three days dragging John around, listening to him whine about that camp, about how he “doesn’t want to be around those idiots,” and at the same time… — she paused, grimacing slightly, — at the same time trying to process that my fucking husband turned into… this overnight.

Mike flinched and turned away even more, as if that could somehow help, while Amanda squeezed those soft shoulders a bit harder, more confidently now.

— At some point I even thought maybe it was some kind of glitch, but… whatever, not the point, — she continued, quieter now, but with some strange tension in her voice. — Anyway. I sent your photo to a friend of mine. A cop.

— What? To who? You… Amanda, what the hell? — the girl started, jerking slightly, but then hesitated, feeling the unexpected strength in Amanda’s hand as it gripped her shoulder tighter, almost to the point of pain, like she wasn’t letting her pull away or escape this conversation.

— Easy, — she cut her off sharply, but without yelling, leaning a bit closer so their faces were almost at the same level. — I’m not an idiot, Mike. Or… Brandy?

For a long three seconds, the two girls stared at each other.

And then. Then Amanda couldn’t hold it in and burst out laughing.

Loud. Sharp. Almost hysterical.

— God… — she even doubled over, pressing a hand to her stomach, — Brandy… fuck, Brandy… — she forced out through laughter.

— What the fuck is wrong with you?! — Mike snapped, jumping up from the bed so hard the mattress creaked, and her boobs jerked heavily, swaying painfully. — Are you out of your fucking mind?! I’m here… I’m fucking here… — she stumbled, choking on anger, — What the fuck do you mean Brandy?!

Amanda wiped the corner of her eye with the back of her hand, still chuckling, but quieter now, with some kind of nervous relief. She sharply inhaled, trying to calm down, but still let out a couple of hoarse little laughs, wiping her eyes.

— Sorry… sorry… — she exhaled, raising her hand, pulling a folder with documents out of her bag and handing it to Mike, — Here… you didn’t forget how to read, right?

Mike didn’t answer, just frowned and snorted irritably.

— Fuck you… — she muttered, but still took the folder.

Her fingers awkwardly caught on the edge, slightly crumpling it, and she clicked her tongue раздражённо and snapped it open, like she was about to prove it was all some kind of bullshit.

But on the very first page, she saw that face. That damn face that was now looking at her from the mirror.

Just… not like now.

The look there was different. More bold. Confident. Lips slightly parted, brightly painted, hair styled, boobs—almost spilling out of some shiny top.

Mike froze.

— …that’s not me — she said immediately, but her voice somehow got quieter.

— Yeah, — Amanda nodded shortly, watching her reaction closely.

Mike lowered her gaze.

Name: Brandy Lopez

— Fuck… — she exhaled through clenched teeth.

Her eyes quickly moved further.

Age: 22

Occupation: dancer, private performances, night clubs

— You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me… — she let out a nervous chuckle, but the smile came out crooked.

The girl stared at the document. Her fingers trembled as she grabbed the sheet. Her eyes ran over the lines, and everything in her head blurred. The pink tank top stretched traitorously again as she leaned forward, and her heavy boobs settled onto her knees, making it hard to breathe properly.

Date of disappearance: 14 months ago

Last seen: club “Pink Velvet”

Status: missing

Silence.

— …no, — almost a whisper.

— Yeah, I was shocked too, and honestly, I’d have thought you were that whore if I hadn’t seen with my own eyes how you turned into this that night.

Mike flinched.

— Watch your fucking mouth… — she hissed through her teeth, raising her взгляд.

Amanda raised an eyebrow for a second, but didn’t back down.

— What? — she smirked, quieter now, crossing her arms. — What’s it got to do with you, sweetheart? Don’t you get it? — she paused for a moment, like it was all obvious and waiting for her “husband” to figure it out on his own, but when that didn’t happen, she added, — you’ve got documents now. That’s the most important thing, Mike!

Mike froze, still staring at the paper.

— Documents?.. — she repeated dully, like the meaning didn’t hit right away.

Amanda nodded, tilting her head slightly.

— Yeah. Real fucking documents. Not some fake shit from the internet, not some bullshit. A real case. They were looking for her. Then… — she shrugged, — they stopped.

Mike lowered her gaze to the sheet again.

Her fingers tightened around the paper.

— And you’re saying this so calmly? — she exhaled sharply. — Like… everything’s fine? I’m some missing stripper now, and that’s fucking normal?!

— You got a better option?! — Amanda snapped back just as sharply, raising her voice for the first time. — And you could at least say thanks! Instead you’re sitting here… clean this place up! Now!

Mike jerked, like she’d been flicked on the nose.

— What?.. — she slowly lifted her head, not immediately processing what she had just heard.

Amanda stood in front of her, no longer laughing. At all. Her взгляд was hard, focused. Not the same as a few minutes ago.

— I said — get up and clean. — she nodded toward the floor, where cans, boxes, and trash were scattered. — Have you even seen what you’ve turned this room into?

— Are you seriously ordering me around like some… — she faltered, giving a bitter smirk, — like some girl?

— You are a girl! — Amanda shouted, snapping from the built-up tension, and turned toward the exit so sharply that Mike didn’t even immediately process what had just happened, just staring after her with her mouth slightly open, still gripping the folder in one hand and the crumpled edge of the pink tank top in the other.

— Amanda, are you fucking insane?! — she barked at her back, abruptly jumping up from the bed, and immediately winced in pain when her heavy boobs swung down and to the sides with unpleasant inertia, making her whole body jolt along with it.

Amanda, already standing in the doorway, glanced back over her shoulder. Her face was stone-cold.

— Watch your mouth, since you’re a girl now and NOT A WHORE, — she replied dryly. — Until you clean up, you’re not leaving this room!

The door slammed.

Mike was left standing in the middle of the room, breathing heavily, that fucking folder in her hand.

For a few seconds, she just stared at the door, like she expected Amanda to come back now, say “okay, I was joking,” wave her hand—and everything would disappear. But the silence only grew heavier, and somewhere in the corner of the room the console quietly buzzed, reminding her that the round in the game had long ended.

Her gaze stayed fixed on the door.

— Not leaving, huh… — she repeated quietly and suddenly jerked forward, taking a sharp step that echoed through the house. — Fuck you! — she shouted, taking a step toward the door, but froze halfway.

Because…

Click.

— I said, until you clean your room, you’re not going anywhere! — Amanda’s muffled voice came through the door, followed by the sound of footsteps.

Mike stood there, staring at the door with a look like she was about to burn a hole through it with her eyes.

— …bitch… — she hissed through her teeth.

She took a step toward the door, her bare foot landing on a cold energy drink can. Her boobs swayed again, the straps of the tank top digging into her shoulders.

— Amanda! Open the fucking door! I’m not cleaning this place like some… like some…

But there was already no one there—somewhere far off, a TV started talking loudly, the weather forecast.

Her gaze dropped again—to her boobs, then to the folder.

Mike… or Brandy? stood like that for a few long seconds, as if stuck between two choices—rush the door and start pounding on it until that stubborn bitch opened it… or just… stay.

She suddenly kicked an empty can, and it rolled across the floor with a clang, hitting the wall.

— Fuck all of you… — she muttered through her teeth, stepping toward the bed and bending down for the gamepad, but suddenly—even to herself—letting out a sharp, almost sensual gasp as her left nipple brushed the edge of the table and shot a jolt through her whole body.

— AH—! — it burst out of her, and she froze, stuck in that awkward position—bent over, arm stretched toward the gamepad, messy hair hanging forward, heavy boobs swaying—feeling her breath go uneven, and in that moment clearly realizing that, even if she’d resist a bit longer, trying to understand what the hell had happened… she was going to clean this damn room.