You are s-o-o-o cute (Patreon)

“Like, wow, sooo cute!” I coo at my own reflection, tilting my head just right for another selfie. I pout, arching my back slightly, pushing out my chest for a more “flattering” angle. “Hehe, Kevin’s sooo not gonna, um, like, recognize me! I’m, um… gonna be, like, a surprise, right?” I trail off, giggling awkwardly. Did I just… sound like that?

The phone trembles slightly in my hand as I take yet another picture in the swanky red car. Everything from the polished mirror to the sleek, tight black dress hugging my curves feels… wrong. So wrong. But something inside me pushes me to keep going. To act like this. Why am I even trying to look… cute?

“This isn’t your body. This isn’t your life.” The thought whispers in my head, but I push it aside, blinking slowly as if trying to shoo away a bothersome fly.

“Ugh, like, why am I sooo… dumb?” I murmur in frustration, but my words come out in that same bubbly, vapid tone, tripping over each other like I’m some bimbo trying to sound smart. My gaze drifts back to the rearview mirror, catching sight of a pretty, empty-headed redhead staring back at me with wide, confused eyes. Her lips are glossy, slightly parted in a clueless pout, and her accent—god, it’s like some over-the-top parody of a foreign girl trying way too hard to fit in.

I blink again. And then, out of nowhere, the words tumble out:

“Omg, like, Kevin’s car is soooo fancy! Such a cute ride!” I flash the camera a wide, sugary grin, wiggling a little in the seat as if to show off more of the shiny, skintight dress. What am I doing? Why am I in the passenger seat, acting like some… trophy girlfriend? Why am I even talking like this? But the real question is—why does he want me like this?

How did I end up like this?

Two weeks ago, I was the guy who scoffed at girls like this—the types who followed rich boys around, fluttering their lashes and begging for attention. I despised Kevin and his arrogant smirk, the effortless way he controlled people around him, the way he made every victory seem so… easy. And now?

Now I’m his latest prize.

“Mmmm… Kevin’s gonna, like, totally freak!” I murmur dreamily, a dumb smile spreading across my lips as I lean closer to the side mirror. “Hiii, babe…” I whisper softly to my own reflection, blinking slowly, my voice dripping with a lazy, exaggerated sweetness that feels so painfully fake. “Like, do I look cute?”

The worst part is—I really, really want to look cute.

It’s insane. Every time I try to think about what happened—how I went from being his rival to this vapid, giggly thing—I just… blank out. The memories are fuzzy, melting into a fog of girly thoughts and excitement over stupid things like clothes, makeup, and… him.

“Hii, Kevin,” I practice again, playing with the strap of my dress, pushing out my chest for a perfect cleavage shot. “Miss me? Did you, like, think of me?” The words pour out like a waterfall, spilling into a syrupy sweet tone that sends shivers down my spine. This isn’t me! But I can’t stop myself.

I frown slightly, fighting the urge to smile stupidly at the camera again, but the pout just makes me look… poutier. I know what he likes. I know what makes his eyes light up, what makes that satisfied smirk spread across his face. It’s like the knowledge is burned into my brain.

“I—um, like, need you, babe…” I murmur softly, fluttering my lashes. The urge to just… be what he wants is overwhelming, swallowing me whole.

But the worst part?

I can’t tell if I want to fight it… or if I want to make him proud. Like, I mean, well, I'm so-o-o-o cool girl, isn't, come on...