You accept, you like being Angelica

-Anna, prendo una pausa.-.

The words slip from your tongue with effortless fluency, the Italian lilt feeling more natural each time you speak. The waitress nods, asking if you need anything, but you shake your head. You slide open the back door, stepping into the cool night air. The city hums in the distance, a quiet undercurrent to your thoughts as you pull a cigarette from Angelica’s pack.

Three days. That’s how long it’s been since you became Angelica Baggio, since you stepped into her flawless, olive-toned skin. Three days since you assumed her mannerisms, her responsibilities, her life. The lighter flares and you inhale deeply, the burn settling in your lungs, exhaling with satisfaction.

It’s unsettling how quickly you’ve adapted. The day after the date with Monica had been shaky—despite the memory zap, you had to remind yourself to respond as Angelica, to sign paperwork with her elegant scrawl, to navigate conversations with staff and suppliers without hesitation (and you also had to deal with the grudge she's holding with the fish supplier over a half-damaged batch). Apparently, you had underestimated the complexity of her job, the first evening.

But by the second day, you were moving through the kitchen like you had been there for years. Tasting sauces, adjusting seasoning, handling deliveries, charming customers—people who knew Angelica, who had no clue they were really speaking to David Anderson. Even you were starting to believe it: the more time passed, the more Angelica Maria Baggio felt real, and David... less so. You even found yourself wondering if “David” was just a split personality resulting from your burnout. This is the disturbing part.

But there was her pinning you on the ground, Jessica, or Monica, whatever you should call her now. Your encounters with her have been quick and secret, since you don't want to leave Angelica dealing with a public lesbian relationship the day you release her. So, short texts, furtive meetings away from the workplace, and so on. Though, you can't say you aren't leaving the mark.

You run a hand through your new bob-cut. Jessica had mentioned Monica worked at a prestigious salon (one that has David you never heard of, and as Angelica you vaguely recalled a friend of two mentioning it), and despite Angelica supposedly being fine with her ponytail, yesterday you surprised the staff with a new style. Entering her place, acting like a normal customer, and feeling her soft hands rub through your hair basking in the obliviousness of her colleagues...

You flick ash onto the pavement and return to the restaurant. The atmosphere is unchanged, save for a couple leaving in a hurry. Your mind jumps to unsatisfied customers, but then you notice the way she grinds against him as they step outside. Not dissatisfaction, but impatience for a dessert you don't quite provide.

Rather, the real "surprise" of the evening has been seeing one of the cheerleaders of your school, Leah McBride, here with her family. Angelica’s memories have supplied the missing details: they dine here every couple of months. But to you, Leah was the first person tied to your real life that you've encountered. So, you told Roberto you'd serve them tonight, and you briskly approached them.

-May I take your order?-.

-Fettucine for me.- Leah’s voice was neutral. Carbs, huh? But more than that, while taking notes of her parents' orders, you studied her face, searching for anything: recognition, suspicion, envy maybe? After all, Angelica has quite a figure for her age.

But Leah hasn’t reacted. To her, you were just the owner of this restaurant. And perhaps, this was the best part: not just that she didn’t recognize you, but that she couldn’t even begin to imagine that there was anything to recognize. No one could. Except Jessica, of course, and whoever created the pens.

A voice pulls you from your thoughts.

-Angelica, Charles in the cellar is asking for us.-.

You glance at Roberto; his tone is calm, but you already know what this is about. You suppress a groan: your sommelier is skilled, sure, but he’s obsessed with bottle placement and insists on constant adjustments. You anticipate him down the stairs, reaching for the light switch—

And suddenly, you’re slammed against the shelves.

-Ma che—?!-.

Roberto’s hands grip your wrists, pinning you. His breath is warm against your neck as he inhales deeply, savoring the smell of your skin.

-Damn Angie, I was starting to think you were mad at me.- His voice is low, eager, lustful. Your body locks in shock.

-You ignored all my cues yesterday... but it's been days since our last time.-.

Your pulse pounds in your ears. A hundred thoughts have rushed at once: an incident? At first; and then, an ****? No, this is something else. Angelica and Roberto, are they involved? No, that couldn’t be: Angelica is too meticulous to mix work and personal life. Isn't she?

-Roberto... I...- You have no idea what to say, what to do, how to feel.

Then—

-My my, was I really just a one-night stand?-.

Roberto jerks back, a stubborn grin forming as he steps away. You turn toward the voice, already knowing who it is. She steps from the shadows, blonde hair cascading over her faux-fur coat, lips curled into an amused smirk.

You glare, expressing all your resentment for this prank.

-Oh, babe, don't be so truculent.- Monica, Jessica, teases: -But I have to ask... how did it feel? Being so close to a man? You know, it's what I feel every time I'm with you. Those strong, powerful hands holding you down, that broad chest pressed against yours...-.

Your lips twitch in irritation, refusing to glance at 'Roberto'.

-Jessica. Can you give me back my second, please?-.

She pouts, then zaps him with the blue pen. His body crumbles, leaving only his skin behind. Using the black pen would not have removed the clone, which would have returned if reinflated again.

-How did you even get here?- You demand.

She grins: -Easy. First, I used the blue pen. Then, I made him zap me and drag my skin here.- she steps closer, her hands brushing on your curves as she attempts a kiss. You turn your head away.

-You were reckless. And flippant. And it wasn't funny.-.

Monica blinks in mock astonishment before chuckling: -You’ve really become a woman, haven't you, Davie?-.

Her voice drops into a sultry whisper: -Alright, I owe you an apology. Please, babe, don’t be mad at me.-.

Your resolve wavers under her touch. You glance back, and she steals a proper kiss.

-You're so cute when you scowl.-.

-Jess, I need to go back to work. We can talk later.- You try to cut it short before the warmth in your groin becomes too unbearable.

-Oh, I doubt we’ll be talking, later.- She replies, then her tone turns serious: -But there's something you should know. Tomorrow, the wife of some army general is coming to the salon. It could be our chance to learn more about the pens.-.

Your arms cross: -You think the military’s involved?- you frown.

-Think about it, David. Transforming people into skins, reading minds, erasing memories... don’t those sound like espionage tools?-.

-Come on Jess, do you think our army would ever... ok, no, delete that. But would be a little strange for them to send certain things by post, in fact, it took only a mistake and they arrived at you. And this technology seems too advanced even for them.-.

-Then it applies even more to everyone else.- She observes cunningly: -Besides, even if they didn't create them, it doesn't mean they don't know anything. Come on,- she insists, noticing your expression: -aren’t you curious to find out who made them?-.

You don't reply immediately; instead, you look at Roberto's deflated skin on the ground.

-Babe, it's too risky. Look at what they can do to people just with one click! And we're talking about the military! It's dangerous, with or without the pens... and I don’t want you getting hurt.-.

Monica’s eyes soften before she kisses you again: -Oh, how sweet! But at least, tell me you’ll think about it.-.

You roll your eyes: -Jessica...-.

-Look.- She interrupts with a gentle brush of her knuckles against your hair: -I’ll be waiting in Angelica’s apartment upstairs. Come find me when you’re done.-.

You raise an eyebrow: -I thought you didn't want to talk.-.

-Oh, but I can still be very persuasive with my mouth.- She smirks. You groan at the innuendo, but smile despite yourself. She gestures toward Roberto’s empty skin, her fingers fidgeting with the blue pen.

-If we bring him back now, he’ll be confused. So...-.

You sigh, taking the pen and zapping him.

Two hours later, you're zapping him again, this time with the black pen. Roberto leaves with the rest of the staff, confused about his memory lapse, but none the wiser. You remain alone; except, of course, for the blonde beauty upstairs, but you don’t join her yet.

Your hesitation isn’t just about the military. It’s about the way your clone had looked at you the whole evening. The disappointment of losing Angelica. It's not like you want to steal her life, but... you do want to stretch it a little longer. Still, Jessica is right: this might be your best shot at answers.

You glance at the blue and black pens in your hand. A dangerous thought takes root: you don't want Jessica to go through that risk, but maybe you could infiltrate alone. Sure, it would be dangerous, and she will oppose the idea, but it may be the best choice.