Tina snaps

The same morning

"Now, who's a fucking hot bitch?".

You sway your hips, watching the mirror drink in every curve of your stolen body. These tight little numbers would've made even the old Krissy blush, but instead you revel in how the fabric clings to your smooth skin like a second layer of sweat, how the thong digs into your dripping pussy with every step. God, you're already wet just thinking about your own perfection.

But the real thrill? That comes from replaying all your brilliant moves this past month while standing right under Kim's nose. Like how you played that airhead Bella like a fiddle—the bitch was boiling to take her **** for her mom's aggression, and you just had to stroke her dyke best friend's ego about her worthlessness in merit to knock down the domino (really, the bitch should be thanking you for that brutal honesty.) Or that masterpiece where you planted Charity's goo in Misty Olsen's mailbox right after Kim bagged Valerie. And your favorite, just from last week... ohhh, Jennifer... that delicious little meltdown...

You rub your thighs together, biting your lip. Fuck it—you've earned a quick play session after all that scheming.

-Rorty already?-.

"Oh, right, the cunt's still here." You turn to see Maylene sprawled on her stomach across the bed, her panties and heels doing jack shit to hide those curves.

-See something you like? Or... think about it?- That trademark smirk of hers makes you want to either smash her teeth in or ride her face up to the orgasm.

-Mmm, you know Lynn, the usual.- You purr, delighting in how her smile twitches at the hated nickname. Because 'only friends call her Lynn', and you both know that 'friends' is not remotely the word that may define the two of you.

-Stenback's expression when I slammed us on her face, gosh, you have no idea of ​​the satisfaction.-.

-That was three weeks ago, Christine.-.

Your lip twitches, it's Krissy, but you shake your head.

-The difference between us is I can enjoy past victories while still hunting new ones.-.

Maylene arches a brow: -If that were true, I'd have dumped you after the first night, babe.-.

You actually laugh out loud at that. You? Krissy Delle? Getting dumped? Fucking hilarious.

-Well this has been just precious, but I've got places to be.- You turn to leave, but she lets out this dramatic sigh.

-Always in such a rush, yet I'm the one who 'can't enjoy the moment'. I get lonely, you know? Especially thinking about poor Jenny...-.

-Right.- You pout in the fakest sympathy imaginable. -So tragic how Charity got her. Almost like someone tipped her off about what she's meant for us.-.

-Mm-mm. Almost.-.

Okay, tiny confession: a microscopic part of you twinges for Jennifer. She was your, Tom's, childhood best friend before life took you different ways, and somehow she became a model (the old Krissy saw her modeling shots in some magazine once). It was her first real fashion show, the one that could have launched her at the national level, when she suddenly flashed her, well, her everything on live TV. On the other hand, out of respect for your old friendship, you persuaded Charity to leave her mostly intact afterward. Probably. Didn't actually check.

-But you know who's taking it worse?- Maylene's voice drips mock concern: -Tina.-.

Your lips curl. There it is - that specific tone that makes your cunt throb. Because this bitch is playing 4D chess while everyone else struggles with checkers. Like how Cindy's become a walking joke, hated by everyone, a pathetic mess, just when she looked like a centimeter from regaining the slightest self-esteem. Masterful work that pisses you off because you didn't think of it first. Yet she still claims innocence. Bullshit.

You slink over, planting yourself beside her and tracing circles on her annoyingly perfect ass.

-Really? Do tell, darling.-.

-Well you know how she gets about our, uhm, management transitioning.- She kicks her legs like some silly schoolgirl: -It's eating her alive that we had to take Jenny too. And god, she's so tense lately. You can see it in her eyes, our poor baby sister.-.

-Yes, poor, indeed.-.

Maylene's 'concerned' frown is so overacted it's insulting. -I'm genuinely worried she might do something reckless. Like she just needs one little...-.

-Push.- You finish, watching her lips quirk.

-Well, let's hope it never comes to that.-.

---

The next day

-A what?–.

Your voice cuts through the classroom, drawing a few confused glances—though most of your classmates barely look up from their phones. Ms. Kepernitz just smiles, unfazed, and repeats herself like she's explaining something to a particularly slow child.

-A paired assignment, Miss Harris. The Great Depression is too vast to cover alone, so each team will focus on a specific aspect. Miss Klahan, Miss Lee—I'm doing the splits this time. My apologies.–.

The two girls exchange horrified looks, as if she'd just sentenced them to solitary confinement. Courtney slinks back to her seat, defeated.

Your fingers dig into the edge of your desk. She's handpicking the pairs? Trap. Has to be. She's putting you with one of her puppets. Your pulse kicks up, but then Cassidy's voice echoes in your head. Maybe you are being paranoid. Either way, you'll play it safe. Do all the work yourself. Keep your distance. Easy.

-...Miss Harris, Mr. Andrews. You're neighbors, correct?-.

Your head whips toward Rory so fast your neck cracks. Him? The quiet, awkward virgin who stares at your sister like she’s the last slice of pizza at a party?

-Uh, yeah.– Rory mumbles, already turning pink.

-No!– The word bursts out before you can stop it. The class erupts into snickers. Rory's tentative smile crumples. You wince—shit—but Ms. Kepernitz just moves on like you're a glitch she's decided to ignore.

Clenching your teeth, you risk another glance at Rory. He offers a weak, 'Guess we're stuck together' grin. You answer with a sigh that could wilt flowers.

---

Lydia Pruitt's laughter fades into white noise the second you spot Bella slipping out of her classroom. You mutter a half-assed excuse—Gotta go—before breaking away, Kendra Alvarado's raised eyebrow ignored as you stride after Bella.

-Liz.- Her voice is a winter gust, her arms crossing as their usual: -Any news?-.

-No, no, I just wanted to talk. Look, I...-.

-Hey.- Megan's voice slices between you. Perfect. Bella's been a wall lately, but when Megan here, reasoning becomes truly impossible. She gives you a puzzled glance, then nudges Bella: -What's up?-.

-Nothing particular. Elizabeth was about to tell me something, right?-.

-Yeah, right.- You swallow the acid in your throat. Their twin stares—Megan's impatience, Bella's detachment—tell you you've already lost: -I've been thinking. We need to slow down, reassess the plan.-.

-There's nothing to reassess.- Megan cuts in, sharp as a switchblade. You haven't asked her, though. But Bella just nods along.

-Time's running out. Our enemy doesn't hesitate. We can't afford moral crises, we need to be logical.-.

Logical, you would like to say, like either of you isn't guided by ****. But you control your breath and make your point: -I am. Look, you think that your copies will continue to share your, our, commitment to the cause. But this is not how we work, and you know it. The moment we nest in another mind, our ideas change, and you're talking about taking thousands of women from all over the world...-.

-Keep your voice down!- Megan's fingers dig into your arm. You wrench free, turning to Bella in a pleading motion.

-Bella...-.

-I've already thought of that.- Her reply is smooth, rehearsed: -That's why I won't release control immediately. I will directly take the reins of them until I've explored their hosts' minds thoroughly, and I'm keeping the... uncooperative ones on a leash.-.

-Which takes time. That's why we can't wait anymore.- Megan adds.

Your breath stutters. You drop your voice into an alarmed hiss: -Bella, are you crazy? You can't pilot thousands of bodies. It's suicide!-.

-That's why we'll all do it.- Bella's gaze pins you: -Me. Megan. Cecilia. Everyone.- a beat: -Including you.-. It's not clear by her tone if it's a question or a verdict, but it makes your stomach lurch.

-Cindy did it once.- Megan tosses in.

-For five minutes! And it was just goos, and she...- You hesitate, failing to see any sign of rationality in their eyes that would prevent you from saying out loud the next part: -She lost control and almost killed that janitor, remember? She said that her mind was shredded and set on fire. Bella, don't do this.-.

-That's all you ever say.- Megan rolls her eyes: -'Don't do this, wait, reconsider.' Why are you even here? Spying for Kim?-.

-I'm not spying on anyone.- Your snarl draws stares: -And to be precise, I'm urging Bella, because she is my friend. That's the reason why I'm helping her.-.

You look trepidant at Bella, hoping that at least this will reach her. But she looks away, jaw tight.

-To be honest, she always found you, the old you, too pushy. You simply happened to be one of the first people she met after the transfer.-.

...

-Speaking of the devil.- Megan nods past your shoulder. The silence hits first. The collective inhale of a hundred girls. Then the whispers.

-Traitress.-.

-How dare she show her face.-.

You don’t need to turn to know. Maria Gonzalez strides ahead, chin high, but the ghost trailing her—Cindy Hope, shoulders hunched, books clutched like armor—is the one who's just gained Bella's spit too.

She vanishes into the lecture hall together with her 'girlfriend', or whatever they are now. Megan scoffs: -Why does she even bother coming?-.

And you can hardly blame her for this: even if you feel sorry for everything she's gone through, you don't find a plausible explanation for why in the last month she has become Charity's lapdog. The same girl who's holding her mother hostage; but it didn't feel like Cindy had been **** or blackmailed. She just... did. And you were there.

---

One month earlier

The scrape of chairs and rustle of papers die as Professor Dorothy Stenback slaps a stack of tests onto her desk.

-Gentlemen, these are your midterm scores.- Her gaze flicks to the sea of female students, mostly females, mostly you: -Review them. Question me if you fail to comprehend a correction.-.

You flip yours over. A sharp exhale escapes your nose. Clearly, just because Stenback's on your team now doesn’t mean she’s softened. If anything, the woman’s grading like she's personally offended by every misplaced decimal. The groans around you confirm it.

Not that exams should be your priority—not with everything else burning down—but still.

And speaking of such priorities, your eyes drag to the front row. There she is. Maria Gonzalez pores over her test, pencil tapping. In any other world, she'd just be another student in Stenback’s mixed-grade lecture. But this isn't any other world. And the fact she still walks into these classrooms—knowing all the girls here want her skull on a spike—is either bravery or sheer audacity.

Your eyes then shift to Maria's side. Someone slides into the seat beside her. You blink.

"Is she insane?".

-Excuse me, professor.- Maria stands, striding to Stenback's desk. The room tenses. The teacher's eyes narrow as Maria stabs a finger at her test.

-I believe your corrections contain some mistakes. Here, you marked the Ratio Test as mandatory for convergence, but it’s needlessly complex here. And the absolute value in log(x) is redundant when I’ve already stated x>0. Furthermore-

-Miss Gonzalez, as I've already stated several times, the Ratio Test is non-negotiable in this course. As is proper logarithmic notation, in every circumstance.-.

-Nevertheless, these cannot be considered errors-

-I'm afraid they are, in my classroom.- The professor places her open hand on the sheet in a firm motion: -And I see here that you neglected to explicitly cite the Mean Value Theorem. Therefore...-.

-Excuse me.-.

The interruption is a whisper. But the way Cindy Hope stands (spine straight, hands clenched) silences the room.

Stenback's glare could flay skin: -Yes, Miss Hope?-.

Her voice wavers, but her words don't: -I... I agree with Maria. You didn’t penalize me for skipping the Ratio Test. And the MVT was implied in her prior proof. Maybe you... misapplied the rubric to her work?-.

-Ms. Stenback.- Maria's voice is dripping with venom now, making all of you cautiously prepare for any escalation: -I assumed I could expect impartiality, despite the recent frictions. Was I mistaken?-.

The silence isn't silence. It's the vacuum before a detonation. Every eye locks onto Cindy. You can't see her face, just the tremor in her wrists, the white-knuckle grip on her chair.

"What the fuck are you doing?" You try to communicate with her telepathically, but to no avail.

Stenback exhales through her nose: -Well then. Since Miss Hope insists, you'll both retake the exam tomorrow morning. You can go, Miss Gonzalez.-.

Maria retrieves her test. The air crackles as she returns to her seat, right beside Cindy, who slowly sits down.

---

Now

-Always following her like a puppy. Spineless.- Megan grunts. And it's true, she's always with Maria now, and with Maria's new boyfriend, one of Heather's cousins. From his point of view, he must have hit the box office.

-If she did it, we can do it better.- Bella resumes her earlier argument. Her gaze flicks to you, cold and assessing: -Elizabeth, can I still count on you?-.

You would like to say something, but the bitterness in your mouth allows you only to nod before you walk away.

---

Later in the afternoon

-Hey guys, I just made some cookies. Would you like one? Rory, Tina?-.

-Ehm, no thanks, Mum.- Rory mumbles, cheeks pink. You echo him through gritted teeth, polite as a grenade with the pin halfway out. After all, it's the third time in a row that Mrs. Andrews (or rather 'Oh, please, just call me Tara honey!') has interrupted you in the last five minutes, after grilling you at the front door for twenty minutes asking how you're doing, how are your siblings, where are your parents as she hasn't seen them in a while (officially, Mom and Dad are in a three-months cruise, and Tom is studying abroad for the semester), how is school, if you do some sports, play any instrument, if you have a boyfriend, and look at that, Rory too is single...

"If this is Charity, she's method as hell." You admit to yourself while you fend off her proposal for at least an orange juice.

-Well, okay then!- Tara trills, undeterred: -I'm downstairs if you need me. Have fun, you two!- a wink: -Just not too much fun!-. The door shuts on Rory’s strangled groan.

That's right, here you are, in Rory's bedroom. It's not that different from your old one (meaning, Tom's), but it perfectly embodies the difference between a 'nerd' and a 'geek'. Sci-fi posters all around, manga shelves in two rows, weird merchandising you honestly have no idea where they come from or what they should represent, and a sad little telescope gathering dust.

It’s almost nostalgic. Almost. Because under Rory’s nervous smile, you’re braced for Charity’s knife-twist grin.

-S-Sorry about my mum, ehm, she’s not used to me, uh, having girls over.- He stammers, scratching his neck.

"No shit.".

-Look, what if... what if we go somewhere else?- He blurts, making you frown skeptically.

-There's a diner near the mall. Study groups go there. No… mom interruptions, ahahah!-.

Your grip tightens on your textbook. A public place. In the city center. Where Charity's puppets could be anywhere. Here, at least, you're literally next to your house.

-Actually, I think...-.

KNOCK KNOCK

-Guys, sorry again!- Tara's voice sing-songs through the door: -Rory, I just found that weird pillow of yours under the couch! I think you dropped it, can I come in a moment?-.

Rory faceplants into his hands. You slam your book shut.

-Yeah, let's go.-.

Minutes later, you're walking across the park, with Rory following tight, shoulders hunched. Last time you walked here, you were fresh in Tina's skin, high on stolen life. Things were simple. Now? The frisbee guy from that day tosses a disc to his dog, Sparky. Charity gave him back. Psycho bitch loves dogs more than people, you guess.

Or maybe she’s inside him now.

The diner is student-packed, buzzing with half-assed study groups. You claim a corner table, laptop between you like a shield.

-Y-You know, it's not really mine, it's a birthday prank from my friends...- He eventually says; he's referring to his 'weird pillow', a dakimakura of Nami from One Piece.

You sigh; weeks ago, you would have teased him up to almost make him cum in his pants, and then made sure he'd rather do it in your pussy, but you're really not in the mood for that.

-Let's just start.-.

You open your notebook and your laptop, connecting to the café’s surprisingly decent Wi-Fi, then lay out the printed notes, making a show of flipping through them with exaggerated focus. You can feel Rory's eyes on you, not in a creepy way, more like a puppy that's afraid you'll throw the ball and never let him fetch it.

-Okay, so, um...- He begins, drumming his fingers on the edge of the table: -The Great Depression started in 1929, right? With the stock market crash? Black Tuesday?-.

You nod, without looking up: -Yeah. October 29th. Good place to start.-.

He nods too, maybe a bit too fast: -Right, right. I read that some people jumped out of windows after losing everything.- he gives a nervous chuckle: -Dark stuff.-.

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. What's that supposed to be? Charity would definitely drop a fun fact about suicide just to rattle you. You go back to typing a search into Google.

-Very uplifting. Moving on.-.

Rory fidgets, clearly not getting the reaction he wanted. After a moment, he pulls out a highlighter, then promptly drops it. It rolls off the table and under the next one. You watch him scramble to retrieve it, bumping his head lightly on the underside with a muted 'ow'.

You sigh.

Definitely not Charity's grace.

-So...- He says as he resurfaces, cheeks red: -What do you think caused the Depression? Like... the real reason? Not the textbook crap.-.

Your fingers freeze. Is he testing you?

-Overleveraged banks. Wealth gap. Capitalism eating itself. What are you fishing for?-.

He shrugs, smiling: -I dunno. Just... wanted to hear your take. You’re smart. I like hearing you talk about this stuff.-.

Your fingers stall over the keyboard. He likes you talking about the major economic disaster in the history of your country?

-Right.- You say slowly, the air around you sharpening. You **** a smile; small, polite, noncommittal: -Well, better keep the genius flowing before I lose it.-.

You flip to another tab, pulling up a JSTOR article. Rory visibly deflates, but he rallies.

-You know.- He says, trying again: -I think it's cool that you're into this. History, I mean. Most girls I know are more into... I don't know. Not this.-.

-I'm just trying to get a good grade.- You say flatly.

-Uh, yeah, I-I just wanted to say that... you're... you're different.- He says, his mouth twitching in awkwardness: -In a good way.-.

You stare at him. Is this a trap? Is he baiting you into letting your guard down? Maybe this is where she strikes—once you buy into the awkward-boy routine.

But no. That look in his eyes isn't calculating. It's just painfully sincere.

And very, very dorky.

-I'm gonna write the intro.- You announce, redirecting all attention to your screen like it's a matter of national security.

Rory gulps down whatever compliment he was about to toss next and nods.

-Cool. Cool-cool-cool.-.

You work in silence for a few minutes, copying and pasting notes into a shared document, ignoring the glances he keeps throwing your way. Every time he opens his mouth like he wants to say something, he seems to think better of it. Good. You don't need distractions. You definitely don't need compliments. And you absolutely don't need to hear anything that sounds remotely like:

-So... I know it’s probably not the best timing, but—

You snap your head up.

-Don't.-.

He freezes.

-Don't what?-.

-Whatever you're about to say, don't.-.

He blinks.

-I was just going to ask if you wanted a milkshake or something. I mean, we're already here and it's kind of their thing—

-I’m good.-.

-Oh. Okay.-.

Silence again. You type faster. After twenty minutes and a glass of orange juice coming from a waiter whom you examined everything, from the walk to the posture, the awkwardness settles into something almost tolerable. Like background radiation. You've outlined the first three sections and managed not to snap at Rory, who's now deeply invested in drawing a weird little diagram of economic collapse involving stick figures jumping out of a skyscraper.

You allow yourself one breath. Maybe he’s just annoying. Maybe he's really just Rory. But you still keep one foot ready to move. Just in case.

Two hours later, your laptop battery is nearly dead, your coffee's gone cold, and your tolerance is officially on fumes. The shared document is halfway decent, though—enough bullet points, citations, and sad economic figures to make it look like you care.

Rory, on the other hand, looks like someone who's been slowly suffocating in his own hope. He hasn't said anything vaguely romantic or even friendly for the last forty minutes. His pencil's been tapped into oblivion, and the napkin he doodled on earlier has now turned into an elaborate sketch of what you think is the Dust Bowl... but might also be a girl in a field crying over a broken tractor.

He glances at the clock above the counter, then back at you, shifting in his chair like it's starting to burn.

-So... I guess we got a lot done, huh?- He says, voice breezy but betraying a weird strain.

You nod, not looking up as you close the laptop.

-Yeah. Good progress. Perhaps we can finish separately from here.-.

You start packing your things while he looks like he just bumped his face on a gravestone. You don't want to linger. The more time you spend with him, the more you question things. And you can’t afford questions right now, you're barely keeping the pieces of yourself straight as it is.

-Y-You know.- He tries again, and this time there's a slight tremble in his voice—hope, or nerves, or both: -I meant it when I said you're special. You are really cool, and... and I don't think you're into mangas or games, but maybe next time I can give you something to read you may appreciate.-.

You finish zipping the backpack and mutter: -Is that your idea of flirting, or is Charity just getting lazy?-.

-What?- He asks, blinking.

-Nothing.- You stand up and shoulder the bag: -I need to go.-.

You push your chair back, but as you turn to leave, Rory blurts: -Wait! I, look, I know I've probably been annoying or whatever, but let me at least pay for your coffee, okay? I mean, it's not a date, unless you wanted it to be, but like—

You feel it before you see it: his hand on your arm, fingers curling just enough to stop you.

Wrong move.

You twist out of his grip like he just jabbed you with a taser, your eyes wide, your voice cutting sharper than you intended.

-Don't touch me.-.

A couple heads turn. Rory freezes, eyes wide in stunned horror.

-I-I wasn't trying to... I just...-.

You're breathing fast now, teeth clenched, heart hammering in your ears. Every atom in you is screaming that this is it, this is the reveal, this is where Charity drops the act. But all Rory does is stare, hands lifted like you're a skittish deer and he's just stepped on a twig.

-I’m sorry.- He says, and it's so quiet, it almost doesn't register.

You don’t say anything else. You just walk out, fast enough that your boots slap against the tile, but not fast enough to look like you're fleeing, and you're starting to feel like a real shit, while also cursing yourself for allowing her to make you feel like this.

-Tina!- You hear Rory's frantic voice running after you: -W-Wait, if I did something to anger you...-.

-You know how I found out it was you, Charity?- You sharply turn around, facing his shocked and confused muzzle. You give him a nervous chortle: -Because you didn't even dip properly in his memories. Everyone knows that he's crushing on Kim, not me. Try harder next time, okay?-.

You turn around to walk away once and for all, but you stop at his next words.

-I was, once.-.

You look at him cautiously, and then hesitate in front of the shame in his eyes. It seems genuine.

-W-When I ended up in class with you five years ago, yeah, I thought that becoming your friend could help me with your sister. I could only see her at that time. But then... then I started to see you. How you laugh at Nadira's puns, how you get angry when someone mistreats Heather... how you fix your hair when you're nervous...- You freeze, your fingers brushing next to your ear to adjust a stray lock.

-I don't know who this Charity is or why you seem to hate her, but... you seem to think that I got something to deal with her... and I'm sorry if I made you think so. The truth is... I like you, Tina.-.

That said, he headfirst marches away. You remain there instead, your head spinning and your pupils twitching.

What was that? Why did he say that? Or is it Charity? Yes, it has to be her, right? Messing with you, making you go crazy, it can't be that... but what if... yeah, so what if that? He likes you, and? Does he know you? Has he got any idea of what you're passing through? What should you do then? Seconding his feelings, sure. And then forgetting about your siblings, your family, your friends, spending-spending all the day having sex or masturbating or enjoying your fucking life while your best friend is still prisoner of that deranged girl for a month, a fucking month, and you're just there for a fucking school research, AND SHE HAS FREED THAT DOG BEFORE THE GIRL YOU LOVE???

You're panting, bending on your stomach, and your throat is burning. You've just screamed, you think. But it doesn't matter. You have had enough of it.

"It ends tonight.".