You wake up alone.

When your eyes open again, you're alone in your living room, still naked but, finally, limp.

Your eyes roll over to check the wall-mounted clock: 6:23PM. It had been hours since... everything. The events of the afternoon unfold like a paper crane in your mind, every flap of paper bending away to reveal a glimpse of something impossible. Devi masturbated furiously in your living room? Only in your dreams. You drank a shit-ton of months-old whey protein? Stupid, but believable. You served up man-shots and Devi downed them like they were vodka and she just passed the MCAT? That's...

Inevitably, the mad images unfolding completely into memory, and you jolt up in your seat.

Now Devi, and her equipment, and every puddle she was forming on your living room floor, was apparently cleaned up and vanished. You look over to where you remember dropping all your clothes, and see that they're still in the ugly pile you left them. You awkwardly stumble over to it, feeling just a bit off-balance, and reach for your boxers... and pause. Your arm looks... different. You hold both of them out in front of you, and sure enough they seem almost alien to you. The same skin tone more or less, as is the bone structure... but they don't look like yours at all. Out of mostly terror, you stumble into your bathroom and look in the mirror to find, much to your relief, your own face...

... but a touch leaner. Your neck, too... and your chin is more pronounced. Since you were in the buff in front of the mirror anyways, your eyes travel to see the other changes. Your stomach took a notable dip as well, though still a far cry from being considered cut or lean. But your slowly burgeoning love handles, the odd sink in your chest, the flab under your arms when you shook them... they were gone. You pinch yourself to be sure it's real; not only is it real, but you don't seem to be left with any extra skin either, which was the popular horrible drawback of sudden, insane weight loss. You kick your scale out from underneath your bathroom cabinet. The spinning dial therein confirms it: at some point, somehow, you dropped just over 30 pounds of weight in a day... perhaps in that fateful, ninety-or-so-minute window. You go over every event therein: your absurd hunger streaks after masturbation, the volumes of food you ate as a response, your inhuman levels of "output" on a single, sexy whim... the stomach pains, the protein drink, Devi's reactions... your mind rushes to its obvious conclusion, and you declare it aloud:

"Holy shit, that... that whey powder stuff is fucking amazing!"

You're an idiot.

After placing a next-day shipment order for another tiny barrel of the stuff, you find yourself where you originally intended to go: Devi's front door, though your third series of knocks doesn't grant you entry. It seems strange that she wouldn't let you in, given that you had clothes on this time... but then, there was everything she had done, everything she drank, everything you did to contribute...

Your phone rumbles with a text from her:

<Please stay away from me. I will text you your results.>

Your brow furrows at the phone. You try to make this about wanting to show off your weight loss, or to poke fun at her for what she did, but... more than that, you're worried about her. She was losing her damn mind, and if it was because of you... well, the burden sat upon your conscience, as much of it as remained at twenty-seven years.

"Devi, open up!" you call at the door. You look to and fro. "Devi, we should talk! I have clothes on this time! I've also got something to show you- and it's not my dick! Promise!" You look around again, and at the far end you see a horrified old woman who wasn't there before, and was intent on not being in your field of vision anymore as she tries, desperately, to enter her apartment. You wave sheepishly. "Sorry, Mrs. Fields- it's a... just a joke Devi and I came up with. Y'know, just for laughs, ha ha." You make it worse. She rustles her keys faster. "You see... uh... the dick is like, a... metaphor? And-" Devi's door flies open and you're yanked in.

"What the Hell are you-" The door slams behind you as you regain your balance. "-even saying out there?!" You find yourself standing in her living room, as sterile and as littered with high-tech gadgetry and mysterious machines as you remember it. The great Dr. Waltz herself has already changed out of her clothes from earlier: she's in a brand-less white t-shirt instead of that sweaty turtleneck, and the black slacks were gone too, replaced with purple pajama pants... and no socks. You were now keenly aware of how unprepared for your visit she was, as her chest is now totally unrestricted and quivering with every sudden movement she offers.

You try to not undress her with your eyes while she dresses you down. "Mrs. Fields is good friends with the landlord, and I doubt either of us can afford to piss her..." She looks you up and down, giving you a license to briefly sneak the same on her. "... Did you... ?" She keeps looking at your limbs and your face, and you finally remember one of the many things you want to tell her.

"I lost thirty pounds!" She blinks at you. "... Today, I mean!"

"Thirty..." Her eyes widen. "That's... that's terrible, that's..." Her dire expression erodes, and she is left rolling her eyes. "... impossible, like everything else your body seems to do." She throws her hands into the air (jiggle, jiggle) and sighs. The feisty genius stalks over to her laptop, presumably to update her notes. "Derek, my concern for you is compounded with every discovery... did you know that no less than four different sources of seminal fluid are contributing to your ejaculations? The ultrasound wasn't configured to track them all, so we're still only guessing, but... this is clearly a deeply-rooted, anatomical anomaly, and one that we can't assume is good or helpful." She gets a cup of tea she had been nursing and takes a sip. With eyes still closed, she continues, "I think you're being way too irresponsible with this, and I have to recommend that you control your urges until we know the greater effects on your physiology. Do you under-" She opens her eyes... and is struck silent by what she sees.