She tries to calm herself down

She snatched her hand off her pussy like it had burned her. Her fingers were covered in her juices. Her pussy was absolutely soaked, dripping onto the cushion, clit swollen and angry from being left right at the edge. The porn still played in the background. The two women on screen were still grinding, still moaning, and it sounded filthy now instead of like relief.

Why was she having these dirty, unacceptable feelings about her best friend?

Who was the butch-looking woman she had been having sex with? The redhead with the buzz cut. The one who had her tit in Amelie’s hand.

Lauren got up too fast. Her legs were shaky. The sundress fell back down her thighs and stuck in spots because she was that wet. She stumbled toward the kitchen. She needed a drink. Clearly this unacceptable behavior was having an effect on her. That was what she told herself. Too much time alone. Too much porn. Too much thinking. A glass of wine and she would go back to the dishes and be the woman who lived in this house.

She passed the hallway mirror on the way.

Her eyes caught her reflection.

Except it was not her.

Well. It was her. Same face. Same green eyes. Same mouth. Same heavy tits. But she looked different. Short buzzed-off hair instead of the long red waves Todd liked her to keep. A tight tank top stretched over her chest, nipples obvious, no bra. Sweatpants sitting low on her hips instead of the cute dresses she preferred. The reflection moved in the exact same way she did. When Lauren lifted a hand, the buzzcut woman lifted a hand. When Lauren’s mouth opened, so did hers. She was dressed wrong. She looked wrong. She looked like someone who did not belong in this kitchen with the white counters and the wedding china.

Lauren’s heart slammed in her chest.

She walked away from and back to the mirror wanting to do a double take.

There was nothing wrong with her reflection this time.

Long flowing auburn hair. Pink sundress. Green eyes wide and a little glassy. The married woman. The homemaker. She leaned in and patted her own cheek to confirm it was skin, that she was standing there, that the other version had been a trick of the light or leftover porn-brain. Her cheek was warm. Her hair was long. She could feel it against her back.

Confused, she walked to the high shelf.

Her favorite bottle of wine was up there. The one she had gotten as a wedding gift and seldom touched. Todd liked the expensive stuff he picked. This one had sat in the back. She stretched for it. The sundress rode up again. Her bare ass was to the empty kitchen. She pulled the bottle down.

A photograph fell from underneath it.

It fluttered to the counter.

Lauren stared at it before she picked it up. Her hands were still a little wet. One of them still smelled like her cunt.

The picture was her and Amelie from back when they were in college. They were holding each other. Amelie was planting a kiss on Lauren’s cheek, that half-smile she used to wear when she thought they were getting away with something. Dorm room behind them, maybe someone’s shitty off-campus place. Both of them looked younger. Happier in a way that made Lauren’s throat tight.

Only Lauren had short buzzed-off hair.

Red stubble. Ears visible. No long waves. Her trademark softness was missing.

But how was that possible?

Lauren liked her hair long. That was how Todd preferred her, after all. She had never cut it that short her entire life. She would have remembered cutting it short. You did not forget a buzz cut. You did not forget looking like that in a tank top in some cramped apartment with Amelie’s mouth on your cheek. Must be a fake picture, her mind told her.

She turned the picture over.

On the back were three words, written in black ink that had bled a little into the paper. Handwriting she almost recognized.

PLEASE DON’T FORGET

Lauren’s eyes went wide.

The kitchen was very quiet. The mower outside had stopped. From the living room the porn was still going, two women moaning like nothing in the house had changed. The wine bottle was cold in her other hand. Her pussy was still wet under the pink dress. Her long red hair hung down her back the way it was supposed to.

She read the words again.

PLEASE DON’T FORGET

Her mouth was dry. She did not know what she was not supposed to forget. She only knew that looking at her own buzzed head in a photograph that should not exist made her feel like the floor had tilted one inch to the left, and if she moved too fast she would fall off it.