The Wrong Kind of Perfect

Evan lay on his back, staring at the ceiling while his heart slowly settled into a normal rhythm.

Satisfied?

Yes. Physically, at least. There was no denying that. The evening had been intense, and Debbie had made it abundantly clear how happy she was to be with him. She had given him exactly the sort of enthusiastic affection that the strange new reality seemed to insist he deserved.

Yet something was missing. Evan couldn't quite put his finger on it. During the evening, he had tried to lose himself in the experience, to stop thinking about potions and magic and impossible changes to reality. He had smiled when Debbie smiled. He had kissed her back. He had played the part of the boyfriend she believed him to be. For stretches of time, he had even managed to enjoy himself.

But some detached part of his mind had remained standing somewhere outside the moment, watching everything happen.

That bothered him.

Debbie was beautiful. There was nothing complicated about that. She was charming, affectionate, confident, and completely convinced that Evan was the greatest man she'd ever met. Unlike Stacy, who had been affected similarly by the first potion, Debbie didn't carry years of complicated history with him. There wasn't a lifetime of arguments and resentment tangled up with whatever magic had done to their relationship. Debbie simply adored him.

That should have made everything easier.

Maybe that was why Evan had eventually stopped fighting it.

Stacy's advice from earlier kept coming back to him. Don't overcomplicate everything. Don't try to be a hero. It was possible that Evan needed to stop fighting the magic long enough to figure out what it was actually doing. He had been exhausted. Exhausted from trying to understand Madame Ruth's potions. Exhausted from watching his life become something he barely recognized. Exhausted from constantly worrying about what new rule would appear next.

So, sometime during dinner, with Stacy's head resting against his knees and Debbie's hand wrapped warmly around his, Evan had made a decision.

Just for tonight.

Why not?

Debbie was happy. Stacy wasn't protesting. Evan could pretend, for a few hours, that this bizarre reality was simply his life. He could enjoy himself. Not worry about the magic. Not worry about Stacy. Just let things happen.

The problem was that the moment Evan had stopped resisting, Debbie had become almost impossible to slow down. By the time they returned to the house, her enthusiasm had reached ridiculous levels. She had spent the entire journey talking, laughing, holding his hand and making it very clear that she had no intention of letting their anniversary end early. Evan had barely had time to process any of it.

The moment they entered the house, the collar came off Stacy. After that, Debbie's attention returned entirely to him, and Evan found himself swept along by circumstances he had stopped trying to control. And with almost no experience in relationships, and even less experience with situations remotely resembling this one, Evan spent all his energy and attention just trying to keep up.

Under normal circumstances, being alone with a beautiful woman who clearly wanted him would have been nerve-wracking. What if he said the wrong thing? What if he touched her the wrong way? What if she could see through his facade and realize that he wasn't the Evan that she was in love with?

Instead, everything seemed to happen naturally. His body seemed to know what to do even when his mind didn't. Debbie responded with enthusiasm and affection, and for a while Evan managed to stop asking questions.

Like lovers who had done this a hundred times before, their fingers danced across each other's bodies, quickly pulling articles of clothing off, discarding them as soon as they were free. Evan, standing naked with this beautiful woman he had just met, who believed him to be her boyfriend, felt incredibly aroused. Not as aroused as he'd been in bed with Stacy, and not nearly as aroused as he'd felt when he was punished for falling asleep without Stacy next to him, but abnormally aroused.

Was this normal? Was this what it was like for regular guys with their girlfriends? If so, how was it that couples ever kept their hands off of each other for any amount of time?

"Is that for me?" Debbie had asked, her manicured finger tracing his aching erection. "Mr. Mercer, you shouldn't have!"

Things happened pretty quickly after that. First kissing, then falling on the bed. In each other's arms they explored their bodies playfully, passionately. Soon Evan was flat on his back, Debbie straddling him, her hand firmly gripping his penis.

"Enough opening act," she said. "Time for the main event."

A quick maneuver, and with a satisfied sigh, Debbie slid his erection into her. For a moment nothing happened. Both just sat there, enjoying the sensation. And then she began to move. Debbie, seemingly practiced in the art of enjoying Evan, rode him like he was her favourite ride at the fair. The bedframe banged as she called his name, orgasms washing over her like the incoming tide.

But there were also moments that felt genuinely tender. Moments when their pace slowed enough for them to simply breathe together and hold each other. Moments when Debbie looked at him with such obvious happiness that he almost believed the strange story reality had constructed around them.

Almost.

Because underneath all of it, that nagging feeling remained. Something was wrong.

Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was knowing that none of this would have existed without Madame Ruth's magic. Maybe it was the knowledge that Debbie's feelings weren't something she had chosen for herself.

Or perhaps it was Stacy. That explanation seemed reasonable. But it was also wrong.

The truth was simpler and somehow more difficult to accept: Stacy wasn't there.

Any other nineteen-year-old guy he knew would probably have considered himself impossibly lucky. Debbie was gorgeous, affectionate, and completely devoted to him. She had spent the entire evening treating him like the most important person in her life.

Yet lying there beside her after they'd finished, Evan felt an uncomfortable emptiness.

Debbie wasn't Stacy.

That didn't mean he loved Stacy in the way Debbie believed she loved him. Evan couldn't even begin to sort through what he felt for the woman who had once been his stepmother. Their relationship was too tangled for a simple word. History connected them. The potions connected them. The bizarre rules of this new reality connected them. Every attempt to separate them had resulted in something going horribly wrong. Like it or not, they needed each other.

Evan stared toward the bedroom door. What was Stacy doing right now? Was she downstairs? Was she angry? More importantly, could she hear them?

The thought made his stomach tighten. He didn't want her sitting somewhere alone, listening to everything happening upstairs. He couldn't imagine what that must have felt like.

Then another thought occurred to him: what happened next? They had already discovered what happened when he and Stacy tried to sleep apart. Pain. Magical punishment. Consequences that neither of them had been able to predict. Would the same thing happen tonight? Would the magic somehow object to Debbie being beside him? Would Stacy be punished because she wasn't there? Would Evan?

The questions chased one another around his head. For once, he wanted to stop thinking. He wanted to be nineteen. He wanted to be stupid and impulsive and enjoy having a beautiful girl beside him without wondering which fundamental law of reality they were violating.

Looking over at Debbie, Evan saw nothing but happiness on her face. She believed this was real. To her, this wasn't a magical nightmare. This wasn't some bizarre accident waiting to be undone. This was her anniversary. Her boyfriend. Her life.

For a moment, Evan wished desperately that he could accept it the same way. He wished he could be the man Debbie thought he was. He wished he could return her certainty.

But he couldn't. Not honestly. Not after everything that had happened. The second potion had changed too much. Whatever feelings the first potion had created in Stacy, whatever strange attachments and compulsions the magic had built between them, Evan knew now that he couldn't simply pretend none of it existed.

Debbie settled beside him, one hand draped over his stomach, her breath on his shoulder. She seemed completely content, while Evan fought to stay awake. The room was quiet now. The frantic energy of the evening had disappeared, leaving only the soft sounds of breathing and the occasional creak of the old house.

Evan stared at the ceiling. It had been fun. It had felt good. But something about it had still felt wrong. He hated that. Because Debbie hadn't done anything wrong. Neither had he, at least not intentionally.

And yet the feeling remained.

A soft knock sounded against the bedroom door. Evan turned his head. For a second, nobody moved.

Then came another quiet knock.

Something inside Evan immediately relaxed.

Stacy.

He didn't know what she wanted. He didn't know what the magic expected. He didn't know how Debbie would take it if he were to get up and open the door.

But somehow, simply knowing that Stacy was on the other side of that door asking to come in made everything feel a little less wrong.