Oh, he tries... (drama)

He's on his feet now. He rushes at you with a cry of rage, **** to retake the power you've claimed over him. In the grip of his anger and hurt, he comes at you recklessly: a simple sidestep is all that is needed to send him crashing into a standing lamp. He tumbles, and it tumbles with him. There's a flash and the sound of breaking glass, and half the light in the room goes out.

"But I won. I claimed you. You're mine..." There's a note of uncertainty in Isaac's voice now.

"It's not a contest," you say. "And no, I'm not."

He looks up at you. "But... you're stuck like this, right? That means you're pregnant, right? I fucked you, and now you're a pregnant girl. I did that to you. You can't undo that, Doe. Not ever."

So he knew. He knew before he even put in the DVD. You **** down a wave of cold rage before it can overwhelm your sense, once again very much aware of your still naked female body, and of his naked male body, and of what you did together only minutes ago.

His anger builds. "You were supposed to become my fucktoy!" he shouts, and you can't but raise an eyebrow at that. "My bred bitch!" You grow more incredulous as his rant goes on. "My dream girl... All I'd have to do is take care of you, and you'd do whatever I wanted! I'd keep you knocked up and fuck you whenever I wanted!" His face turns nearly purple in his rage. "THIS ISN'T HOW THIS IS SUPPOSED TO GO!"

His fucktoy? His bred bitch? You can't help it. You laugh. And of all the things you could have done, that hurts him the most. He seems to shrink into himself, an impotent resentment growing in his eyes. Suddenly, you know: he could have dealt with your anger. He could have dealt with your resistance. It would have been a different sort of fantasy - taking the whore against her will instead of having her offer herself to him - but he would have enjoyed that just as much as your surrender. But derision? Laughing in his face? He was completely unprepared for it.

You shake your head, and your long red hair sways gently with the motion. "You don't know anything about women, Isaac, and you don't know anything about me."

"You're not a woman, John!" he roars. "What would you know!?"

"I am now, thanks to you," you reply, meeting his gaze. "I always will be, thanks to you. And Isaac? My name is Doe."

He looks away; he can't hold your gaze. He doesn't stand up. He lies there on the floor, blood welling up the cuts made in his arm when the bulb shattered, glass all over the floor. You're careful to show no sign of either the rage or the pity that you feel. In the space of one day, you've lost your best friend and your life has been completely transformed: you went from a boy cursed to become a girl whenever he got horny to a girl cursed to become a mother over the course of the next nine months, and even if you had a part in choosing this, he KNEW it would happen. WANTED it to happen. You refuse to pity him.

"Goodbye, Isaac," you say. Still completely naked but with your clothes in hand, your lust for him long since cooled, you leave him to bleed in front of the television.