Subclasses Ch. 29

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Four months earlier....

The next morning, I wake up feeling refreshed and exhilarated. In the shower, I find myself humming Candlelight by Relient K.

"Someone's in a good mood," Gabi says as I walk back into our room. "Not sure I've ever heard you hum before."

"Mmhmm. Bea and I went on a date," I say.

"Last night?"

"Next July," I reply simply.

"Uhh, you're going to have to help out, Babes," she says, understandably confused.

I chuckle. "Last night, we were experimenting with time travel, or, more specifically, sending memories back in time.

"Have either of us told you about what we've been calling the Dance?"

"Nuh uh."

"We had to dive headlong into our relationship due to Bea's ability and the domme/sub dynamic, so we skipped over all the flirty, uncertain parts—what she's coined 'the Dance'—that usually precede a romantic relationship. Bea's been crafting a meet-cute for us, temporarily erasing all of our memories of each other for the duration of those dates, so we can experience those butterflies that we missed."

"Aww, that's kinda cute. What's that got to do with time travel?"

"For our second meetup, she wanted us to go to Wild Waves."

"And they're not open right now. Gotcha," Gabi says. "Ya know, I'd be jealous if she and I didn't have a date planned for this weekend."

"What are you two doing?"

"She wants to try ice skating again."

"Fun!"

"Yeah, I'm really looking forward to it," she says. "Trixy's always so in control. Even when she's being silly, she doesn't make mistakes—well, except for Sunday morning, but that's not the kind of mistake I mean. It's kind of nice to see Trix out of her element, see her struggling with something related to skill. Watching her fall on her ass over and over makes her seem more human."

I nod. Beatrix has always seemed very human to me, but I know that I've seen a lot more of her insecurities than Gabi has.

There's a lull in the conversation as I finish putting on clothes and Gabi applies her makeup. "You're not feeling jealous," I ask, breaking the silence, "of my time with her, are you? Like, you said you'd feel jealous of her time with me, but are you and I getting enough date time?"

"Babes," Gabi says flatly with a matching look, "three mornings ago I had you bound and gagged, I had my way with you, and then we spent an hour cuddling. Playing domme was a lot of fun for me, more than I thought it would be, and then the cuddling just made it perfect." She smiles fondly at the memory.

"Okay. Just checking," I say, a bit relieved. "By the way, I think Beatrix had a bit to do with you enjoying yourself more than you expected."

"Really?"

"Yeah. She told me she loosened your inhibitions, prevented you from doubting yourself."

"Oh. I hadn't known," she says thoughtfully. "I'll have to thank her for that."

"And FYI, that cuddling after a BDSM session is called 'aftercare'. Aftercare provides time for the domme and sub to shrug off those personas and return to reality."

She nods. "Good to know.

"Anyway, yes, I feel like I have enough time with you. We fall to sleep most nights spoonin' in my bunk. We're roommates! I get more than my fair share. Honestly, I'm happy that you spend so much time with Bea; if you didn't, I'd worry that she'd feel left out."

"Alright. That's a relief. Still, sometime soon, I'd like to go on a real date with you—do something fun outside this room, just the two of us."

"I'd love that! Have something particular in mind?"

"Nope. Let's both be thinking about what we could do," I suggest, "and share ideas in a couple days."

"Sounds good!" she says. "Now get over here and kiss me before I gotta go to class."

* * *

For once in my life, the chemicals actually behave like they're supposed to on the first try, and I'm allowed to leave my chem lab half an hour early. As a result, Beatrix and I get to our Viking Union table at the same time. Bea pouts at being denied a reason to dole out my ritual unpunctuality punishment.

"Honestly," I say, "I'm not really in the mood for anything kinky right now. I'm too excited about our date."

"Me too!" she says with the same happy exuberance I'm feeling. "How much of it do you remember?"

"Not very much, actually. What I do remember, I remember vividly, as if it happened yesterday, but the only memories I received were us arriving at the park and meeting on the river ride."

"That's all I remember, too. Any theories as to why that would happen?" Her tone is positive but controlled, like she's trying not to overthink something.

"A couple. Why do you think that's all we received?" I ask, giving her a chance to voice her concerns before I give my answer.

"I'm not sure. I worry that– well, that we kissed."

"That's something to worry about?" I ask, smiling but slightly confused.

"Kind of, yeah. The whole point of the Dance is that we get to experience the fun, uncertain stuff that happens before becoming girlfriends. What if we skipped all that again? What if that's the nature of our dynamic? If we did dive right in again, Future Me would want to send the memories back in chunks so that we could artificially draw out the butterflies." She frowns slightly. "It kind of makes me sad, to be honest. It would mean that we really don't need a third date."

"I suppose that's a possibility, but I don't think it's likely. Or, well, I suppose we could have kissed—that seems completely in our nature—but I don't think that's the reason for the limited memories."

"Why not?" she asks, a bit of hope returning to her tone.

"Because I don't remember how I got in line. I remember entering the park a minute ahead of you and heading to the lockers, but I don't remember getting to the lockers or walking to the ride. I was at the gate and then, suddenly, I was near the front of the line in my bikini, holding an innertube."

"So?"

"So," I say, "what if the reason is that the amount of info to be sent was too large to be sent back the whole four months?"

"Hmm." She sounds unconvinced. "Why wouldn't we recharge my battery and do another transmission, later, back to the same point in time? With time travel, it doesn't matter when the memories are sent, only to when they're sent—'where' in the timeline they're received; the destination matters, but the origin does not."

"Except, in this case, the origin does matter," I counter. "I suspect the next part of the date was too large to be sent back the full four-and-a-half months. Rather than split the memory of whatever happened next in order to send it back in pieces and try to seamlessly patch those pieces together, we decided to send the full memory back a shorter distance, and we'll receive that next, larger chunk in the next week or two. Remember, not only did you have to send this info back four months, but you had to do it twice—once for each of us. That requires an enormous amount of energy.

"We still don't know what happens," I continue, "if you try to do something that requires more energy than your battery contains. Perhaps we still won't know in July. I think we must have done the math and decided that it was too risky to attempt sending so much information back this far."

"Hmm," Bea says. "I have to admit that I am scared to test what happens. I don't think it would kill me—at least, I really hope that's not the case—but I'm scared I'd 'burn out' my battery and lose my ability altogether." I nod. "Very well. You've convinced me."

"Good!"

We each take a few bites of our lunch.

"What did you think of the portion of the date that we did receive?" she asks.

"I'm as giddy as a schoolgirl," I gush, suppressing a giggle. "I feel like I'm dating two versions of you, or, more like hoping to date a second version of you. Even though I know how I feel about you and you feel about me, I don't know how the other version of you feels about me. I'm legitimately nervous about it, 'cause I'm completely infatuated with her."

"Right?!" Bea says excitedly. "I want to ask Other You out, but I have no idea if you'll say yes. Even you telling me, right now, that you're infatuated doesn't seem to matter. It's like I can feel that other version of me—feel the flutter that she's feeling—but she can't 'hear' you right now; Other Me can't apply my knowledge to her feelings."

"I think that's a good thing."

"Oh, for sure," she says. "I wouldn't want to ruin the happy suspense. This is all turning out better than I had imagined when I came up with the idea last week." She pauses. "Wow, that really was only last week. I'm surprised that it didn't feel contrived to meet you at Wild Waves five days after we first ran into each other at the movies."

"I suspect you accounted for that when you set up the date," I say. "Several times, I started to notice incongruities and the thoughts faded before I could consider them fully. Forced immersion for the win. If only Ant-Man had that ability," I say, winking at her.

She completely ignores the quip and the attached eye movement. "Huh. I suppose I'll have to update the 'code' of With Forgotten Memories. Actually have to, I mean; I get the feeling that I'll be compelled to do so." She chuckles. "I'm glad you're enjoying this all as much as I am."

"I really am. Thank you for this, Bea. I know it's a lot of work, and I want you to know I appreciate it. A lot."

"Well," she says, a glint in her eye, "it's not exactly altruistic." She smirks at me.

"True. That doesn't make it any less of a gift, though. I worry sometimes that I don't do enough for you. Being a sub often feels like being a consumer while the domme does all the work of producing."

"Oh? And what would you call last night?"

"You mean experimenting with your ability? I dunno. Just that, I guess."

"I call it planning," she says. "Maybe I should stop erasing your memories of our planning sessions. I just like the things we do to be a surprise to you."

"Have I forgotten a lot?"

"No, I wouldn't say that. I'd guess about two or three hours since that first time I installed the 'please' and 'thank y-o-u' triggers. I'd guess I've done another couple hours of planning on my own, but the payoff is so, so worth it. I love making you cum, love doing such a good job bringing your fantasies to life that you have no choice but to orgasm. You have no idea how rewarding that is."

I smile at her awed tone and facial expression. "Oh, I don't know. I think I have some idea. Yesterday, as much fun as I had controlling you, I had at least as much fun seeing you enjoy being controlled."

"Yeah," she says softly. There's something she's not saying.

"What is it, Babe?"

"Oh!" she says, the 'h' clipped by her accent. "No, it's a good thing. You probably didn't realize it but you called me beautiful, Baby."

"You are!"

"Thanks, but I don't think you understand. You called me beautiful while I was entranced. Objectively, I know that people find me attractive, and I believe you when you tell me I'm beautiful—that is, I believe you are telling the truth. But I don't feel it. Or at least, I didn't. Not until yesterday. You called me beautiful and it's like it became part of my identity."

She giggles shyly. "After you left, I tried to say that I'm ugly. I've never been hypnotized before and I could tell that the suggestion had lodged itself in my psyche. I wanted to see what effect that would have, so I tried to say that I'm ugly. I couldn't. I physically could not get the words out. I sort of choked and stuttered until I stopped trying. It was kind of fun, to be honest." A faint blush graces her cheeks. "I'm uhkkkkkk– See?"

"That's adorable," I say, unable to hide my mirth. I take her hand in mine. The thrill from the intimate gesture hits me every time. Every. single. time. "You're right: I hadn't meant it as a suggestion. I'm glad it had that effect though. You deserve to feel beautiful."

"I'm glad it did, too. Thank you, Sarah. Really."

"You are most welcome, Mistress," I tease of my own volition.

"Are you done eating?"

"Yep!"

"Want to lie down on my bed while I play with your hair?" she asks.

"I'd love nothing more."

Interlude: Beatrix

Sarah and I walk hand in hand back to my dorm room. Her touch is magical. It fills me with warmth and silliness and butterflies. I swear it makes colors brighter.

"Whatchya thinking about?" she asks as we walk.

"You'll laugh at me."

"I might laugh with you, but I doubt I'll laugh at you."

"No!" I protest melodramatically.

She raises her eyebrows. "Okay," she says calmly. We walk a few more seconds in silence.

"You never push," I whisper.

"What?"

"You almost never push when I don't want to talk about something, and the few times that you have, I did want to say something but was too nervous. You just seem to know, somehow, which is which."

"Oh. Is that what you were thinking about?"

"No, but I didn't want to tell you what I was thinking about and you just let the matter drop."

"Yeah," she says, eyes downcast. "I learned that lesson the hard way." I unlock the door to Nash and we head inside and up the stairs. "I've lost relationships—friendships and girlfriends—by pushing."

"Well, I appreciate your gentleness." Sarah smiles awkwardly. She struggles accepting compliments, especially when she doesn't believe them about herself. "No, really. You're safe to be with. I know we've discussed this before, but it still takes me by surprise when you let me have secrets or process in silence."

"I just do what I'd want someone to do for me." She says it as if it's obvious.

"It's that simple to you, isn't it?"

"Pretty much," she says. "It confuses me that it's not for everyone. I'm not saying it's always easy, especially when I'm frustrated or upset, but I don't understand why it seems like a foreign concept to a lot of people. It's called 'The Golden Rule' for crying out loud."

"I don't think it's foreign to most people," I say. "They'd likely say it's too simplistic."

"That's fair. Yeah, it's not like they've never heard of it, more like they think it's naïve or immature."

We get to my room. Sarah rests her laptop case against the leg of my absentee roomie's desk, then shrugs off her jacket and drapes it across the back of the chair. I do likewise with my jacket and scarf then take a seat on my bed, back against the wall. I pat my lap, and Sarah lies down beside me, using my legs as a pillow. She coos as I run my fingers through her dirty blonde hair. It's so soft. She swears all she uses is shampoo and inexpensive conditioner, but I suspect foul play: a trade with a demon or hag. Witchcraft at the very least.

"I was thinking before," I say, "that holding your hand is like Biochromatic Breath." It's a reference to Warbreaker, a Sanderson novel, that I know she'll immediately understand.

"Oh? Do I grant you perfect pitch?" she teases.

"No, but colors seem brighter."

She chuckles. "That's sweet." She hesitates then rolls onto her back to stare up at me. "I feel like I should return the compliment, but my brain is far too literal for that, and you know how I feel about lying. So instead, I'll simply say that holding your hand is one of my favorite experiences and that it's just as thrilling now as it was the first time."

I gently rub the rim of her ear and watch with satisfaction as her eyes roll back in her head. "It's really unfair," she says when I at last permit her to think again, "that you can do that to me. It's like my brain has an off switch. You could use it to win any argument you wanted to."

"Oh? So what do you call it when I whisper warm breath into your ear?"

"I call it cheating. Recovering from that treatment requires a full reboot of the operating system."

"I know! It's the best."

"It's cheating!" she repeats with a scowl and a broad grin.

"I am your mistress," I say loftily, giving her a boop on the nose. "I am allowed to cheat."

"Yes, Mistress," she says, chuckling.

* * *

Our time is too short on Wednesdays due to her lab, and shortly thereafter, I shove her out my door with an affectionate pat to her butt.

I've got about ninety minutes before my physics class and about an hour of homework to do before then if I want my evening to be free to hang out with Gabi and Sarah after dinner. That gives me thirty minutes to procrastinate!

I pull out my phone and text Claire.

????

Beatrix

Hey, Baby Girl. What would you think if Sarah spent the summer living with us?

Baby Sis

Hey. She seems cool, so I'd probably be fine with it. Why, tho?

Beatrix

Her parents are transphobic. I guess last summer was awful and that was before becoming accustomed to having a feminine body

I was thinking I'd ask Mum and Dad if they'd let her live with us

Baby Sis

I think they'd let her, especially if you explain why

Beatrix

Me too. The thing is, I worry we won't have as much opportunity to refill my battery if you know what I'm on about, so I might not be able to keep her body transformed the whole time

Baby Sis

Oh, yeah. That could get awkward. Either you could get caught dominating her, or she'll look feminine sometimes and masculine others. What do you plan to do?

Beatrix

I was thinking, er, maybe we should tell them about our ability? We don't necessarily need to tell them the details of how it works, just that we can do something other people can't

What do you think?

????

Three dots bounce up and down, blinking in and out of existence for several long seconds.

????

Baby Sis

I guess there's really no other way, huh?

Beatrix

Not that I can think of

How do you think they'll react?

Baby Sis

Probably freaked. Good luck with that! ????

Beatrix

Har har. Very funny.

Does tonight work? I figure I'll just teleport there since we'll be explaining our ability anyway

Baby Sis

I guess. It's probably for the best. It'll be nice for it not to be a secret anymore

Beatrix

Yeah... okay, thank you so much for doing this! It really does mean a lot to me, and I know it will to Sarah, too. I'll be there around 4:30, k?

Baby Sis

See ya then

????

That done, I text Sarah and Gabi to let them know I'll be later than normal and that I might miss dinner. Then I pull out my maths homework and get to work.

* * *

After a semi-stimulating lecture on electric current, I leave the CF lecture hall and head to the toilets. I enter a stall and wait for the one other gal in the room to wash her hands and leave. Then, I open the stall's door a crack and Speak myself to my room back home.

A second later, I hear a loud crash from Claire's room followed by an impressive string of curses. Truly elegant stuff. I knock on the door on her side of our shared bathroom. "You okay in there?" I ask, opening the door without waiting for an answer.

Claire is on the ground beside a toppled computer chair and surrounded by books that clearly fell from a high shelf on the wall. "Never better," she spits, though I know her mannerisms well enough to know her ire is directed at the chair and not me. "Never trust a chair," she says darkly as I help her to her feet. "They'll betray you at the first opportunity."

"Sage wisdom," I say with mock solemnity. I right the chair, then Speak, "These books are on the shelf."

"Show-off," Claire says bitterly. She points at a book. "I still need that one."

"I'll hold the evil chair still for you if you don't want to just Speak the book down, yourself."

"Thanks," she grumbles, stepping up on the traitorous furniture.

"I'm guessing your battery is empty?" I ask.

"Pretty much always. I can Speak like two or three times a day and only for small things. I hope you don't take your infinite power source for granted."

"Never," I say sincerely. "Last night, we experimented with time travel!"

She scoffs. "Just remember us little folk when you take over the universe."

"Deal."

She hops off the chair and turns to face me.

"Oh, Claire! You're bleeding!" A trickle of blood runs from a cut on her forehead. "I'll go get a bandage." I return from the loo a moment later with the first aid kit. "Are you dizzy? Do you possibly have a concussion?"

"I'm fine. Just cut myself a little on the way down. Doesn't even hurt. No books landed on me, thank God."

I nod and bandage her wound. "So you get to Speak two or three times a day. What happens if you try to Speak when you don't have enough energy?"

"You don't know?" she asks.

I shake my head. "I've always been too scared to try it."

"Glad to be your guinea pig," she says sarcastically. "The command doesn't work, my battery drains completely, and it takes several days before it starts recharging again. Even then, it recharges slower after that. Pretty sure that's half the reason I'm always low on energy. Zero out of ten: do not recommend."

"Oof. That sucks," I say with genuine sympathy. "It's good to know, though. I was worried I'd lose the ability entirely."

"You're welcome."

"Heh, thanks. I'll let you know if Sarah and I figure out a way to increase our natural regeneration rate."

"I'd appreciate that," she says, for once devoid of any snark.

"So, how's school?"

We spend the next twenty minutes catching up and preparing for our impending conversation with our parents, but really, there's not much to prepare, at least as far as practicing a speech goes. It's really just hoping for the best and emotionally preparing for the worst. Mum and Dad are generally caring, but that last conversation with Dad about the polyamorous nature of my love-life has me shaken.

I plan to ask if Sarah can stay with us, first. If not, there's really no reason to go through with the rest of it. Of course, it now dawns on me that I should have teleported my car here with me.

The rumble of the garage door opening buzzes through the building, and a few seconds later, I hear the side door open and close. "Here goes nothing," I say to Claire and give her hand an encouraging squeeze. Together, we walk nervously to the living room.

"Hi Mum, Dad," I say.

"Beatrix!" Mum says. "I didn't know you were coming down. Aren't you missing class?"

"About that...." I mumble.

"Beatrix Anabel Wright, you are not dropping out of uni!" she says sternly.

"What?" I ask, confused. "Oh, no, it's nothing like that."

She sighs in relief, and Dad walks in. "Hi Pumpkin!" he says cheerfully. "Wait, aren't you missing class?"

Claire rolls her eyes.

"Apparently not," Mum says.

"Would it be okay if Sarah spent the summer with us?" I ask before the conversation gets away from me completely. "Her parents are transphobic and she wor–"

"Oh! That would be wonderful!" Mum says. "Of course she can."

I sigh in relief.

"Yes," Dad says. "She'll sleep in Claire's room and Claire can sleep in the attic." Claire and I roll our eyes in unison. He chuckles. "Wait. Sarah is transgender? I never would have guessed. Or is she really a he?"

"No, no, she's all female," I say. I take a deep breath. "Claire and I need to explain something that might be– no, will be kind of shocking."

"Okay," Mum says warily. They both take seats on the sofa. "What do you need to tell us?"

Another deep breath. "W–"

"Beatrix is magic!" Claire shouts. I stare daggers at her.

"We both can do magic. Kind of. It's not really magic, but," I say, turning my head back to face our parents again. I cut off the last half of that sentence. Both pairs of eyes have bulged, not with skepticism but with disbelief.

"You too?" Mum whispers. "Both of you?"

"Er, maybe?" I hedge. "I mean, yes, but I'm not sure if we're talking about the same...." I trail off as I sense that familiar resonance.

"I have tea in my hand," Mum says, and a cup of steaming tea appears on a saucer held by her hand.

I sit down, too shocked to continue standing as the implications flood my mind. "Yes," I say, "Claire and I can both do that, though Claire's battery is currently empty."

"Well I'll be damned," Dad says quietly.

"Don't cuss," Mum says absently, though I think this is a perfectly appropriate time for cussing.

"How long?" Dad asks.

"Since I could talk," I say.

"Six or seven months," Claire says.

Mum nods, taking the information in.

"Does that mean it's genetic?" I ask.

"I doubt it," Mum says. "Though it certainly appears hereditary. That's news."

"What's the difference?" Claire asks.

"While it would seem that the ability is passed down family trees," Mum says hesitantly, "I highly doubt there is a gene that gives us that power."

"No one on the forum has ever had a relative with the ability, at least that they know of." The sentence is out of my mouth before I realize my parents might not even know about the website.

"So you've found the forum, have you?" Mum muses. For some reason, a sly smile creeps across her face. We all use screen names, so it's entirely possible Mum and I could have had conversations without realizing who we were talking to.

"Yeah, a few years ago," I say slowly. "I take it you have, too?"

"Beatrix, I created the forum."