To Walk a Mile in Her Shoes

Carla felt pretty disorientated. She was walking along a hallway that looked fairly familiar but she was wearing high heeled boots that definitely felt off. Why wasn't she in her normal sneakers? She had a guitar case slung over one shoulder which was also odd, she almost never carried her guitar herself leaving it to their roadies.

Looking down her expansive bust seemed normal somehow but her well muscled arms seemed off too. The tight sleeveless shirt wasn't right either. Her jeans were almost right at least, but much cleaner and not a single tear in them. Something her mother might have made her wear if she'd allowed anything as plebian as jeans.

Continuing down the hall it came to her where she was. This was her label's offices. She'd been here often enough recording albums and in meetings with the suits she should have gotten that right off. Why was her head so fuzzy? She must have gotten hold of some really good shit she guessed. Hopefully whatever it was wouldn't screw with her music, Kim would give her a ton of shit over that.

That had to be why she had her guitar, they must be recording today. Though her guitar had always already been in the studio before, and she wasn't walking towards one of the recording studios but the rooms they'd done so many interviews trying to find new guitarists after some disaster inevitably caused a need for a new one.

Shaking her head she continued on, it felt inevitable, like she couldn't change her path if she wanted to.

Reaching a door to one such room she raised her left had to knock and realized her nails were painted black. That was odd, she never painted her nails.

"Come in." She heard a oddly familiar voice call. Shrugging she pushed open the door and stepped into the room.

What she saw there should have stopped her in her tracks but she felt herself continue to walk forward regardless.

Sitting in three chairs was Kim central, Tom to her left, and to her right was herself... I was interviewing myself? That didn't make any sense. And why did Kim and that other me look odd, skinnier or something? Off somehow anyways.

"Welcome, glad you could make it." Tom started in with a look in his eye I'd never seen from him before, predatory somehow. Very disquieting.

Kim looked up from the clipboard she was holding. "Rebecca Strange?"

"Yes." I heard myself reply. Becca? I was Becca somehow? What the fuck was going on?

"Sorry I wasn't expecting someone Asian with a name like that."

"My family came to England from Hong Kong before things got bad, I'm English now."

"Right, no problem." I watched the other me say confidently, taking charge. "All we care about is if you can play."

I nodded. "That I can do." I unslung my case and opened it exposing Becca's familiar pearlescent Horizon. Yeah that was Becca's pride and joy alright. I plugged it in with an easy familiarity, turned to the three seated musicians, and proceeded to blast their socks off.

Carla knew how to play of course, had been playing guitar for years, but never like this. She lost herself in the music that poured out of her and screamed out of the amps, even at the low setting for the small room. She felt it carry her away and watched it move her audience. Kim looked manic, Her other self's eyes gleamed, and Tom looked like he'd just won the lottery.

She remembered this interview, she remembered being blown away by Becca's performance even as she was giving it from Becca's perspective.

She also remembered the accident, the fallen section of stage that trapped Steve's right arm. Had crushed it. Later at the hospital how he'd looked despondent at his amputated limb. How he'd never play again even with the best prosthetics the labels insurance could buy. So yet again they had to find another guitarist, and soon cause the label wanted another album pressed. Then another tour. Always something more.

She came back to herself, to Becca she guessed since things were still weird and she was holding her guitar. The others rose from their seats and cheered.

"That's fucking metal!" Kim whooped and turn to give my other self a passionate kiss. Neither of them saw the look Tommy gave them, but I did now. I knew there was a rest room across the hall, I guess Becca knew that too cause after we put our... her? guitar away we made a break for it. My stomach clenched as I turned on the cold water and splashed my face. I looked into the mirror and Becca's face stared back at me, one eye brown the other a pale pale ice blue. I brushed back her coal black hair in it's short page boy cut and tried to think.

That look of possessive jealousy Tom had turned towards Kim's back as she kissed that other me, the real me. How long had that been going on? The kiss had also been damn hot, that bothered me as well. How awkward was it going to be working with these women who were openly a couple while hiding my own sexuality.

What?! Where had that thought come from?

Before I could come to grips with that the door kicked open behind me. I whirled and fell into what had to be a martial arts stance, since when did I know martial arts?

There was Tommy, looking bigger and more threatening than I could remember him ever seeming. He stepped into the restroom and let the door close behind him before leaning back against it. Casual, menacing. "So that was some really hot stuff. I've never seen Kim so impressed with someone she wasn't sleeping with." He gave an ugly sneer.

I didn't relax but I felt myself shift to look more casual. What was this? Tom had said he couldn't find Becca when we'd been concerned after she ran off after playing. No wait that was another time. What was going on?

Tom swaggered forward, "Don't be so cold, we'll have plenty of time on the road to get to know each other real good, if we accept you of course." He stood close, muscular arms from hours of drumming looking huge. "You want to be a team player don cha?" He leaned in like he was going to press me against the sink and do I don't know what. He filled me with revulsion, not just because he was a brute, but because he was a man.

My hand a blur I struck up under his chin with my palm driving his head up and back. He stepped back with a grunt as I blinked in surprise. What the fuck was that? Then in the space opened up I turned into a kick that launched him back into the door. How was I doing this? I hadn't meant to do that.

"You will not touch me." I heard myself say in Becca's quiet voice, but with a dangerous edge to it I'd never heard before.

Tommy looked like he was going to say something, anger and shock on his face. Then he wrenched open the door and fled.

I looked down at shaking hands. I knew I needed this job, and I knew that I had this job. I could do this, just keep away from Tom. Not let myself be alone with Tom. Never trust him an inch.

And I couldn't trust the others. They'd never take my word against his. "Ever the outsider, way to go Becca." I said to myself bitterly in her voice, my words not my own.

The disorientation got suddenly worse. I leaned back into the sink and my hand fell on the leather of a book that wasn't there before.

I looked down and there was no title, just a golden swirl.

She followed the swirl down with her eyes and could feel herself falling.

.

Carla was lying on the floor and her head was killing her. The sounds of yelling and a struggle really weren't helping any. How did she get down here? And why was she holding a book titled The life and Times of Rebecca Strange. Oh fuck! Everything she'd just gone through came back along with a redheaded missile that plowed into her knocking her away from the leather bound book.

Lying on her back Carla looked up into green green eyes above tear stained cheeks and tried to smile.

"Don't you ever fucking leave me again!"

Holding her girlfriend close Carla squinted up at the crowd gathered around. "Someone going to tell me what the fuck that was?"