I need more time (Patreon)

— What the fuck? — Francis stared at his phone screen in disbelief, his fingers trembling nervously, though now they were thin and graceful. With each heartbeat, a growing sense of anxiety tightened in his chest. He read the message over and over again, but the text didn’t change: "I’m not ready to switch back yet. I need more time."

— Unbelievable, — he exhaled, pressing the phone to his chest. Was this a joke? Was she serious? He glanced at the mirror in front of him, trying to collect himself. A stunning girl with perfectly styled curls and a black dress that hugged his now new body looked back at him. But that wasn’t his reflection. Not really. Though over the past few days, he had started to doubt that more and more.

A week. It had only been a week. When he and Lisa had agreed to this swap, it seemed like it would be fun, maybe even exciting. "Walk a mile in each other’s shoes," as she called it. But after just a few days in her body, Francis was no longer amused. He no longer wanted to wrestle with bras, high heels, or the strange stares from men.

Francis angrily pressed the call button, but the phone just gave a series of dull rings. Lisa wasn’t answering, as if she was deliberately avoiding the conversation. Clenching his jaw, he threw the phone onto the bed and began pacing the room, feeling a wave of anger rising, overpowering everything else.

— "Not ready to switch back?" — he hissed, glaring at the ceiling, as if hoping the answer would fall from the sky.

From the very start, this had seemed like a dumb joke. When Lisa had suggested trying out the ritual, he hadn’t thought it would work at all. Honestly, he’d seen it as a way to get into her pants. Well, in a way, that part had worked. But he wasn’t enjoying it. Not now.

Francis sighed heavily, trying to steady his breathing. He looked at his reflection again. The black dress, hugging his unfamiliar but perfectly feminine body, wasn’t his choice. Of course not.

It had been chosen by Lisa — for her date with Mark. Her boyfriend.

— Damn it, — he whispered, glancing back at the phone, where her last message still stared back at him. "I need more time." It felt like a punch to the gut. Why did she think she could just take more time? They had agreed on just one week! And to say this now, right before the date!

Just a few days ago, when they were still texting, Lisa had assured him that they would swap back before the date. That Francis wouldn’t have to go instead of her. That’s the only reason he’d agreed to doll up now.

Suddenly, the phone rang. It was him — Mark. Damn Mark.

Francis felt his heart skip a beat, and he slowly picked up, not having a single plan ready.

— Hey, Liz, — Mark’s deep voice came from the other end. — You on your way? I’ve booked a table; we’re gonna have a great night!

— Uh... hey, — Francis’s voice came out shaky, with a slight tremble, but it was Lisa’s voice. He could’ve said no, but Lisa had insisted it was important to keep things smooth with Mark, and... he didn’t have time to think — Yeah, I’m almost ready, I’ll be there in half an hour.

Half an hour. That meant he had barely any time to figure out how to get out of this mess. He couldn’t sit across from Lisa’s boyfriend and pretend everything was fine. What "fine"? Lisa could easily flirt and chat with him, but to Francis, it felt like a nightmare. And the heels!

Francis grabbed the handbag Lisa had left for him and started rushing around the room, hoping to find something — anything — that could get him out of this situation. But all he found was lipstick, powder, and small things like a hair clip. No magical items to help him get back to his old body.

He sat on the bed, feeling panic rise again. He needed a plan. Maybe just not show up? Fake being sick? But Mark would surely suspect something. And Lisa would be furious afterward. No, that wouldn’t work. He’d have to go.

Francis closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad? He knew Mark — nice guy, easygoing. Maybe he could get through it by acting... well, like Lisa. But just the thought of acting like her was tormenting.

'He’s going to try to kiss me!' The thought exploded in Francis’s head, making him stop and grip the armrest of the chair. He sat on the edge of the bed, feeling the cold grip of panic seize every cell of his body. His palms were sweaty, and his breathing became ragged. How was he supposed to do this? Kiss Mark? Her boyfriend?! A guy?! No way!

He exhaled, counting to five as Lisa had taught him in one of their "emotion management" lessons. But she probably hadn’t anticipated he’d need it to deal with her boyfriend.

— Okay, — Francis said out loud, trying to convince himself: — I’ve got this. It’s just dinner. He won’t notice the switch. And at the end, I’ll just dodge the kiss and get out as fast as I can. That’s it. That’s the plan.

Francis tried to convince himself this might work, but the nausea wouldn’t go away. He glanced nervously at the phone — only twenty minutes left. Maybe she was joking?

The phone buzzed again, and Francis jumped. A message from Mark: "Waiting for you at the restaurant. Don’t be late ;)".

— Oh God, — Francis almost dropped the phone. He got up, grabbed the handbag, and rushed out, struggling to balance on the heels. He practically sprinted to the front door, automatically checking if he had everything — ID, phone, keys. Everything was in place, but that didn’t make things any easier. The heels clicked softly against the floor, like harbingers of impending doom.

'Damn it... Lisa, what have you gotten me into?' — he thought, gripping the door handle. Anger simmered inside, but there was no outlet for it. He couldn’t just storm off and skip the date. Lisa would kill him afterward. And Mark? He had no idea how to act around him.

His chest tightened unpleasantly. Every fiber of his being resisted the idea of going to this dinner. 'Screw it all,' — he thought, but his feet were already moving forward towards the bus stop.