Becoming Eva - Pt. 03

Becoming Eva - Part 3

Chapter 9: The Turning of the Tide

There wasn't a single day that week when I didn't think about it.

About him.

About me.

About Eva.

Classes, critiques, late-night sketching sessions, coffee in paper cups... all of it marched forward like nothing had changed.

But everything had.

From the outside, I still looked like Evan: jeans, sneakers, backpack slung over one shoulder. My professors didn't blink. My classmates didn't seem to notice.

But inside?

Inside, I was cracked wide open. Remade.

I found myself drifting during lectures, not from boredom, but from memory. Malik's lips on mine. His hand steadying me at the small of my back. His voice in my ear, low and rough and warm: "baby girl."

That whisper didn't just stir something in me. It rewrote me.

Eva wasn't just a late-night indulgence anymore. She wasn't a mask or a fantasy. She was mine. She was me.

And Evan. Evan was a suit I wore to keep the world comfortable.

Still, the guilt hadn't entirely let go. That old voice, bitter, tight, familiar, still hissed at the edges: You're faking it. You'll never really be a woman. Malik's going to wake up and see what you are. But those voices were growing quieter now.

Not silent. But tired. Because for the first time in my life, I felt something close to peace. It wasn't simple. But it was real.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Late Thursday afternoon, I stopped by Tasha's salon. She was closing up, sweeping stray curls off the floor, humming to herself. I knocked gently on the glass.

She looked up, grinned, and unlocked the door. "There she is."

I smiled, weak but genuine. "Hey. You have time?"

She arched a brow. "Always. Especially for my favorite little sister-in-law."

I flushed. "Don't say that."

"Why not?" she said, flipping the sign to CLOSED. "It'll be true one day."

The place smelled like hairspray, rosewater, and tea tree oil. Like transformation. She sat me in one of the chairs and turned it gently toward the mirror.

"Talk," she said, arms folded. "And don't skip the juicy parts."

So I told her.

The movie. The kiss. The heat between us. My fears. My cravings. The shame. The stillness that followed. The peace.

She listened without blinking. Just nodded, here and there. Once, she touched my arm.

When I finished, she tilted her head, studying me like I was a portrait half-painted.

"So," she said gently. "What do you want?"

I exhaled. "I want to be with Malik. I want to be Eva. But I'm scared."

"Of what?"

"Losing my friends. My parents. Not being... seen. Not being her enough."

Tasha stepped closer. "Then find the people who do see her. Malik already does. So do I."

Her grin turned sly. "And I have a proposal. You're going away this weekend, right?"

I nodded.

"So when you leave, you're not taking any clothes from the boys' department."

My eyes widened. "Tasha..."

"Nope." She was already wheeling over a rack of dresses. "You're going as Eva. No backup plan. No escape hatch. Just you. Just her. Fully. Safely. With someone who adores you."

She looked me square in the eye. "It's time to find out how much of her is real."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Friday night, just after dusk, Malik and I pulled into the lot of the Hotel Zephyra on the seaside in Galveston. Far enough from Austin that we could disappear.

The crisp November air smelled like salt and woodsmoke. I stepped out of the car slowly, my dress brushing the backs of my thighs, my nylons snug under the garter belt. My overnight bag, packed with lace and softness and nothing else, was tucked beneath Malik's arm.

At check-in, the clerk barely looked at us. A couple. That's all we were. Just a couple.

We walked the hallway in silence, the soft thunk of our footsteps against old carpet the only sound. He unlocked the door, let me step into the room first.

"You want to freshen up before dinner?" he asked, voice low.

I nodded, the lump in my throat too big for words.

I stepped into the bathroom, shut the door behind me, and stripped slowly. The mirror met me with someone familiar.

Stockings. Garter belt. Bra. Soft camisole hugging my chest. A faint shimmer of blush. Perfume like rose and sugar trailing from my skin. I looked like something halfway between a dream and a dare. And I wasn't done yet.

Dinner was dimly lit, romantic, intimate. We sat close. His thigh brushed mine beneath the table. His hand rested lightly on my knee, warm, grounding. The waiter didn't flinch when he handed Malik the wine list. When I spoke, he smiled like I was someone to admire.

Told me with every look, every touch, that he saw her.

Malik never stopped looking at me. He pulled out my chair, refilled my water, rested a hand lightly on my thigh under the table. Every gesture told the world I was his date.

His girl.

His.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Back at the hotel, Malik gently closed the door behind us and turned down the lights. "You look incredible," he said softly. "Even when you're scared."

I smiled. "I'm less scared when I'm with you."

I stepped into the bathroom again. This time, I took my time.

I peeled off the outer layers, freshened my perfume, and adjusted the straps of my garter belt. Then, after removing my bra, I slipped into something new: a sheer, pink babydoll nightie: soft as whisper, short enough to reveal the lace tops of my stockings. I looked like something from a dream. Or maybe a prayer.

When I stepped out, Malik was sitting on the bed.

He looked up. And stared. His mouth parted, his eyes darkened, and something electric passed between us.

He stood. Walked slowly to me. Took my hand.

"You're beautiful," he said, and kissed the back of my fingers.

And then he drew me close.

His arms enfolded me, surrounded me, possessed me as he swept me into a soul-stealing kiss. He was gentle, conscious of my feelings, my sensations, but it was clear that he was in charge. We stood there, enjoying the feel of each other's bodies, hands roaming over each other. Malik's hands lightly touched the small of my back, making their way down, gentle as a whisper, and came to rest on my hips. Grasping me through the sheer nylon of my nightie, he massaged my backside.

"Eva" he said my name a murmur, like a secret only he was allowed to say.

My breath caught. I could have pulled away; he would have let me.

But I didn't.

Malik leaned closer and I could feel the heat of him against me. The air between us pulsed. He didn't speak. Just slid one hand downward, tracing from my elbow to my wrist with maddening slowness. His fingertips brushed over my pulse. My heart thudded so hard I was sure he could feel it.

He turned me gently to face him.

The moonlight caught the edge of his jaw, the dark stubble, the curl of his hair at his temple. His shirt clung to him, open slightly at the collar, revealing a hint of the man beneath: ebon, solid, chiseled, achingly familiar.

"You've been fighting this," he said, voice barely above the rain. "But you feel it too. Don't you?"

I tried to speak but my throat closed around the words. His eyes, dark and searching, left me no room to hide. Not from him. Not from myself.

He stepped forward, closing the distance. One hand rose to my cheek, his thumb brushing along my skin with exquisite care.

"I know this is all new to you," he said. "And I know you're scared. But I need you to know: I don't play games, Eva. Not with you."

The gentleness in his voice nearly undid me.

"I never wanted to need anyone," I said, my voice breaking. "And now I don't know how to stop."

"You don't have to," he whispered.

His lips touched my forehead first, chaste, reverent. Then the bridge of my nose. Then, finally, my mouth.

The kiss was feather-soft, barely there. It lingered. I leaned into it, into him, into everything I'd tried so hard to resist. When he kissed me again, it deepened, slow, aching, patient. His hands cupped my face. Mine curled into the fabric of his shirt.

He walked me backward slowly, carefully, until the backs of my knees met the edge of the bed.

He paused, lips brushing mine, waiting...

I met his gaze, and Heaven help me, I gave the faintest nod.

He guided me down, kneeling beside me like I was something fragile.

Malik didn't reach for me. He just looked, his breath shallow, his hands braced on the seat beside my hips.

"You're..." He shook his head slightly. "You're breathtaking."

I reached for him then, slipping my fingers under the edge of his shirt. The heat of his skin made mine feel suddenly bare, electric. He let me peel it away.

His chest was smooth and warm. The moonlight played across the planes of him: muscle, tension, restraint. He moved like a man holding back a storm.

And somehow, that made me feel safe.

He leaned in again, kissing my jaw, my shoulder, the hollow where my neck met collarbone. Each kiss was a promise. Each pause, a question. My answer came in the form of my body, leaning into him, sighing into each touch.

He slid onto the bed beside me, his arm wrapping around my waist, drawing me into him. We lay there like that for a while, tangled in a silence that didn't need to be filled. His fingers traced lazy, lingering circles along the curve of my back. I rested my hand on his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart under my palm.

He kissed me again, slower this time. More certain. And inside that room, wrapped in the scent of the the sea, my perfume, and him, I let myself fall.

Not away from something.

But into something.

He turned me onto my stomach, then delicately grasped the lace waistband of my panties.

I was long past the point of pretending I didn't know what was coming. I reared up like a mare waiting to be bred, becoming a willing participant in the final demise of my masculinity.

His thumbs worked their way between the curves of my behind and he spread me gently apart, exposing my rosebud to him.

I felt his warm breath against my innermost depths, felt his heat radiating against me, and then... an electric shock.

"Ugh!" I flinched as I felt his tongue against my opening. He chuckled, completely in control, and dived in again, wetly caressing the most sensitive part of me. Waves of energy pulsed from my velvet ring all the way out to my fingers and toes. I writhed with each pulse, the sensation overwhelming my body and mind.

I had never felt anything like this, never knew it even existed, but in an instant, I knew I couldn't live without it. A man was manipulating me, taking control of me, and my surrender to him gave me an unspeakable, undeniable, irreversible ecstacy.

Inevitably, I relaxed my back entrance. I wanted, no... needed more. For the first time, the idea of having someone inside of me, penetrating me, entering my tender gate, became not just conceivable, but irresistible.

"Malik, please!" I gasped.

"What do you want, baby?"

"I want you... inside me," I begged. He inserted the tip of his tongue into me, rimming me, darting himself in and out, playing me like a violin.

"You have to say it, Eva. You have to ask for it," he said, then flicked his tongue into me again.

"Fuck me, Malik!" The words ripped from me without any conscious thought or intent.

He chuckled again, not derisively, but simply taking delight in our shared passion. I felt a shock of coldness against my opening. Malik's lubricated finger circled, swirled, then paused, centered on what had become a willing ache, and I felt the pressure as he sought entrance.

Another round of electric shocks as his finger invaded my body. Maddeningly prodding, caressing, exploring my silken hollow. Departing only long enough to add more lube, and then, ever so gently, joined by another finger, stretching my opening, no pain, just an ecstatic yielding to him, a letting go, a release, not just of any physical resistance, but to the idea that any of this was wrong.

It went on for several minutes, Malik working me like a master, preparing me.

He rolled me on to my back, lovingly looked into my eyes, smiling, and planted another all-consuming kiss on me, then rolled us together, me on top, he on his back, manhood rampant.

"This will hurt less if you do it yourself. Come up here and straddle me." He was going to make me the architect of my manhood's demise. Paradoxically, he would be the passive partner as I actively set about to... throw away my virginity, my masculinity, my old identity.

I knelt over him and felt the tip of his cock against my lower lips. I was in control of the pressure. He merely gazed into my eyes lovingly.

"I want to watch your pretty face as you accept who you really are," he said.

One more threshold. One more point of no return. I was already a cocksucker, but this... This was more intimate, more female. One last time, my past desperately cried out that this was wrong, sick, shameful, and that I still had a chance to stop and retain some shred of my old self.

But I felt my clothes, the nylons on my skin, making the contact between Malik and me somehow even more intimate. My nightie... MY nightie, caressing my skin in a way that I had become accustomed to, that I needed. The dull ache of my pretty new earrings, the feel of lipstick, the smell of my perfume. The presence of a virile, loving, patient man between my thighs.

It wasn't cosplay, or some sort of experiment. It was me. And it was time to accept that, and to accept Malik into my soul.

I lowered myself further, feeling the pressure build, the tightness and resistance building. I willingly pressed down more. There was a brief, searing stab of pain, but I felt myself relaxing, loosening, and felt the unspeakable sensation of a man's cock as it entered my softest part for the first time.

Slowly, ever so slowly, pausing when I felt discomfort, I continued, accepting more of him inside me. Once, Malik told me to pull off so he could apply more lube and as I did, I felt a sense of relief, but then emptiness. Incredibly, I already missed him and I wanted him back inside.

And so he was soon enough. I eased down on him again, impaled halfway, then, inch by inch, lowered myself further until I could feel his pubic hair against my backside.

I felt my insides readjusting to the enormous intrusion. The sensation of pressure didn't lessen, but it was no longer unwelcome. The feeling of my delicate tissues stretching around his cock, the ticklish sensation every time I flinched or shifted weight, began to feel maddeningly seductive. There was a big, fleshy, male member inside me, caressing my insides! I raised up until just the tip remained inside me, then... down! Filling me again! I began writhing, shimmying up and down, working myself onto Malik. Fucking myself.

Malik pulled me toward him until we were face to face, and gave me a long kiss. Then he rolled us back over into a classic missionary position, my nyloned legs wrapped around his torso, his arms around me, and he began a series of gentle thrusts.

And now, Malik was back in charge. Taking me. Possessing me. Breeding me. Thrusting over and over into my sacred center, taking his sexual gratification from my body. And me, letting him take his pleasure from inside me, as women had done since time immemorial.

I don't know how long it lasted. The world disappeared and there was just me, Malik, and that ecstatic point of connection, pulsing our bodies and our personalities together until I forgot where he began and I stopped.

His breathing became ragged, his thrusts more desperate, and I could tell he was about to come.

"Come inside me! Please, come inside me," I begged, "I want your seed inside me!"

That pushed him over the edge, and with a roar, he stiffened, thrusted deeply into me and held it there, and I could feel the pulses of his semen jetting into me. And somehow, the pressure that had been building up inside of me caused my own release. As our orgasms subsided, my insides felt looser, more slick and full. I was devastatingly conscious that Malik's sperm were swimming up inside me, looking for an egg to fertilize.

Inseminated.

Ravished.

Conquered.

Well and truly fucked is what I was, laying there under Malik, his sweat dripping onto me, our breathing in rhythm with each other. Finally, his shaft softened enough to slip out of me and I tightened my opening as best I could, trying to retain his semen. I went to the bathroom and got a tampon out of my makeup kit (thanks, Tasha!) and inserted it into my newly minted vagina. I could feel it soaking up the juices of our sex, swelling, keeping Malik's sperm there inside my body to stay forever.

The mirror showed me a ragged, sweaty mess. Hair askew, makeup a mess, nightie sticking to my body. I washed my face, took off the tattered remnants of my stockings and the rest of my clothes, and went back to lay beside Malik.

He was already sound asleep, but as I got into bed, he turned and spooned me. I couldn't fathom all that had just happened to me, but it was clear that my life would never be the same. All I knew at this moment was that a beautiful man had his arms around me, enfolding and protecting me, and that he thought I was beautiful, and that I just might be starting to agree with him.

From outside the window, I heard the sound of the waves crashing against the shore as they had done since the beginning of time, and I drifted off to sleep.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I woke to the smell of coffee.

Malik was sitting at the little table by the window, shirtless, reading something on his phone, two steaming mugs in front of him. He looked up as I sat up, the sheets slipping down over my bare shoulders.

"Morning, baby girl," he said.

I stretched, sore in the best way. "You made coffee?"

"I made coffee," he said. "And I let you sleep in. You earned it."

I slipped into the bathroom, cleaned up, pulled on a pair of satin tap shorts and a soft tee. I added a little gloss, a little powder. When I stepped out, Malik was still looking at me like I was the best part of his morning.

We spent the day along the coast. No plans, just movement.

At the beachside market, he bought me a bracelet made of white sea glass. He fastened it around my wrist like it was an engagement ring. I laughed, but my fingers lingered on the charm.

At lunch, he pulled my chair out, sat beside me, not across. His hand stayed on my thigh under the table. Protective. Present.

We strolled the seawall. He reached for my hand and didn't let go.

And when we rode the ferry to Bolivar, the wind tangling my hair, he wrapped an arm around my waist and kissed me, really kissed me, deep and warm, full body pressed to mine, tongue slipping past my lips like we had all the time in the world. A few people noticed. One old man smiled.

I didn't care.

After last night, I felt claimed. Wanted.

At one point, after miles of walking in heels, I sat down on a bench near a food truck and rubbed at my calves. Malik knelt in front of me without a word, lifted my foot into his lap, and began massaging gently over the arch, thumbs kneading, slow and careful. I nearly moaned.

"That's not fair," I whispered.

"What?"

"You're making me fall in love with you."

He smiled. "Good. Makes what I have planned for tonight easier."

We ended the day with fried shrimp and cold beer at a weathered little seaside joint where the hostess called me "darlin'" and winked at us as we took our table by the window. The sun bled orange over the water. I kicked my heel off under the table and curled my foot against Malik's shin.

"I don't ever want this to end," I said.

He looked at me, his gaze full of something deep and quiet.

"Then don't let it."

Back in the hotel, I peeled off my heels the second the door shut behind us. My toes were throbbing, my arches aching. But the rest of me... was humming.

Malik locked the door, then turned to me with that slow, deliberate gaze he used when he wasn't in a rush to speak.

"You okay?" he asked softly.

I nodded. "Just a little sore."

He stepped closer, brushed my hair back from my cheek, then let his fingers trail down to the base of my neck.

"From the walking?" he asked.

I swallowed. "Not just from the walking."

His eyes darkened with understanding. "Oh... Right."

There was a beat of silence, comfortable, full.

"I wanted to..." I started, then stopped. My face went hot. "I thought maybe I could do what we did last night. Again." My voice was smaller now. "But I'm too sore. It still hurts."

He nodded once. No hesitation. No disappointment.

"That's okay."

I looked up at him. "Really?"

He smiled gently. "You think I only brought you to the coast for that?"

I gave a tiny, crooked smile. "I mean... the thought crossed my mind."

He shook his head and leaned in. Kissed me once on the cheek. Then again, at the corner of my mouth. Then lower.

"There are," he said between kisses, "other ways I want to know you."

He reached behind my neck and unhooked the clasp at the top of the zipper of my dress. He drew the zipper down an inch or so, tentatively, waiting for permission to go farther.

I looked into his eyes and barely nodded. The zipper resumed its way down, I felt the cool air on my back. He gently pulled the dress off my shoulders and it whispered its way to the floor.

I stood before him in a bra, garter belt, stocking, and panties. Malik kissed my neck, then my shoulder, then rested his head against my chest, just being, both of us content in the moment, and the he dropped to his knees as he laid feather-soft, maddening little kisses on my belly. I had a momentary vision of a belly ring, realizing that, yes, if he wanted it, I would get one.

With a tenderness I didn't expect, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of my panties, soft pink satin with a tiny bow, and slid them down, inch by inch, exposing my... what was left of my manhood.

But even that wasn't taboo for Malik. I saw him open his mouth, felt his warm breath against my penis, and suddenly, it felt wrong...

"Malik..." I hesitated. "I don't know if I'm ready for... you doing things to me. Like that."

He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes. "You're allowed to enjoy this, Eva. All of it. Not just giving."

"I know," I whispered. "But it feels... backwards. Like something a boy gets."

His hands stilled on my waist. "And what do boys have to do with this?"

I opened my mouth, then closed it.

He lowered his voice to a near whisper. "Eva, you're not a boy. You're not a man. I don't think you ever were. And I don't want you like one. I'm attracted to women. That's why I'm attracted to you."

I couldn't speak. The air between us felt charged. My skin buzzed beneath his hands.

Then he kissed me again, on my belly, on my thighs. His tongue moved along the crease between my thighs and my crotch, moving with quiet certainty like he already knew how I'd taste.

I felt the cool air on my thighs, the tickle of lace at the tops of my stockings. And then from my crotch jutted something decidedly un-female.

He didn't touch, not yet. He just looked. Then leaned in, pressing his cheek against my hipbone, breathing in the soft perfume I'd dabbed there hours earlier. His hands rested behind my thighs.

"You smell like sugar and sea salt," he murmured. "I could stay right here."

I laughed, breathless. "You're ridiculous."

He kissed the inside of my thigh. I stopped laughing. I hardened even more.

I stood there, hands trembling slightly at my sides, not out of fear, but out of the stunning, dizzying realization that I was about to be touched, not just seen.

And he hadn't even moved yet.

He looked up at me from his knees. "Tell me to stop if you want to."

I shook my head.

"Tell me if it's too much."

"It's not," I said. "It's just... new."

He smiled. This warm, grounding thing that pulled me back to myself. "Then let me take care of you."

And he took me into his mouth.

How could I have ever thought this would make me like a boy? I was utterly passive as I let his hands, his lips, his tongue have their way with me. My erection was like a little toy for Malik's amusement. He cupped my scrotum, rubbed between my thighs, making me instinctively spread my legs. It all made me weak at the knees, and sensing this, Malik moved us to the bed, and with me on my back, lifted my knees and buried his face into the shadowed warmth of my behind.

"Stop!" I gasped.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine, I just want you." I suddenly had to have him in my mouth. With a determination that surprised even me, I unfastened Malik's pants and deposited them and his briefs an the floor. Maneuvering myself into a 69 position, I felt Malik resume his assault as I stared at the erect shaft that had confirmed me as a woman.

I was overwhelmed by the aroma of his musk, by the heat radiating from his loins, his smooth brown skin, and the scratchy texture of his pubic hair

Somehow, this was home. I had a man, and this was his manhood, and I was his girlfriend, and I was here to make him happy. With that thought, I swallowed him to the root. Malik and I feasted on each other, teasing, tasting, feasting on each others' essnce until I felt him stiffen, just as I was about to reach my peak, and as I pulled his midsection into my face, wanting all of him, I felt him pulse, and fill my mouth with cum, just as I released into Malik.

We both chuckled, then laughed out loud, in joyous awe of the pleasure we could give each other. Malik moved until we were face to face.

"Eva?"

"Yes, Malik?"

"It's never been like that for me."

"Really?"

"Yeah, baby girl. Not even close. That was fireworks, the screen exploding, time lapse flowers blooming, all those cinematic cliches. The best."

"But no trains going into tunnels?" I asked.

"Oh, believe you me, girl, in a couple of days, when you're back in fighting trim, Amtrack is going to be right back on schedule!"

We both laughed, then chuckled, then smiled. The smiles didn't fade. We kissed and held and caressed each other, delighting that we had found each other.

"Malik?"

"Yes, baby?"

"I love you."

"I love you too, Eva."

And with a depth of contentment I never thought possible, I fell asleep.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The morning light spilled into the room, soft and golden, catching on the rumpled sheets and Malik's bare shoulder. I lay still, wrapped in a hotel robe that smelled like lavender and wood smoke, listening to the steady rhythm of his breath.

I didn't want to move. The weekend felt like a dream I hadn't woken from yet, only now the dream had weight. Color. Shape. His hand was resting near mine on the bed. Close, but not touching.

He stirred.

"Morning," he murmured, voice low and half-asleep.

I smiled into the pillow. "Morning."

He sat up slowly, rubbing a hand through his curls. "You want coffee?"

"You made coffee again?"

"They have fresh brewed in the lobby. I brought two cups and a full carafe."

"You are a dear, sweet man and a wonderful provider."

He leaned over, kissed my temple, and said, "Get used to it."

We packed slowly. Malik folded my dresses carefully, like he knew they meant more than fabric. I laid my stockings flat between soft tissue paper. The silence wasn't awkward. Just... heavy. When he zipped up the bag and placed it by the door, something inside me sank.

"I'm not ready to go back," I said.

"I know," he replied. But we had to.

The car ride started in silence. Music on low. Tires humming over highway asphalt. I watched the coastal scenery slide past: the tall grass, the grey water, the far-off silhouette of a boat moving across the bay. Every few seconds, I glanced down at my lap: pale pink dress, delicate bracelet, nails still red. The gold heart earrings caught the light every time I turned my head.

I felt so seen this weekend. So alive. Now I felt like I was slowly fading out again.

About an hour into the drive, Malik glanced over. "You okay?"

I hesitated. "Yeah. I think so. Just... thinking."

"Wanna talk about it?"

I shook my head. "Not yet."

He nodded, turning his eyes back to the road. His hand reached over and found mine, resting on the center console.

We stopped at a gas station just outside Columbus. Malik got out to fill the tank. I slipped inside to use the restroom. The door was familiar: blue sign, bold letters. I didn't even think. Just pushed it open and walked inside. Empty.

I walked straight to a urinal, the motion automatic. Stopped short. Stared. And saw myself in the mirror above the sink.

Dress. Hair. Earrings. Painted lips. The room spun for a second.

I was in the men's room.

I turned on my heel, heart racing, and slipped into the stall instead. Sat down. Breathed. Tried to laugh at myself. Failed. When I came out, I couldn't look at the mirror again.

Back in the car, Malik glanced at me. "Everything okay?"

I nodded, then shook my head. "I used the men's room. Without thinking."

He blinked. "What?"

"I just walked in. Like I've done a thousand times. I didn't even realize what I was doing until I was standing in front of the urinal in a dress."

His lips parted, like he didn't know whether to laugh or hold me.

I beat him to it. "You can laugh. It is kind of funny."

"I'm not laughing."

"It just... reminded me how far I have to go. How automatic all the old patterns still are. How much of Evan still lives in me."

He reached over, laced his fingers through mine.

"Then maybe," he said, "don't disappear next time."

I looked down at our hands. "What if I don't know how?"

"I'll help you learn."

The rest of the drive was quieter, but not empty. We played music, passed a bottle of water back and forth, and shared small glances that meant more than they said.

The skyline of Austin crept up slowly: glass and steel on the horizon, shimmering in the afternoon sun. My stomach tightened as we crossed into the familiar sprawl. The closer we got, the more I felt the weight of what waited for me.

My apartment. My classes. My silence. The armor of Evan, waiting on the hook behind my bedroom door. Malik turned down the music.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

I looked out the window. "I feel like I was someone real this weekend. And now I don't know how to be her here."

"You don't have to be her all at once," he said. "I don't think she's going anywhere, though."

"And neither are you?"

His eyes didn't leave the road. "No, baby girl. I'm not."

He walked me to my door. Carried the bag with the dresses and stockings and lingerie I suddenly didn't want to hide. I unlocked the door slowly, not ready to say goodbye.

"This wasn't just a getaway for me," he said.

I nodded. "I know."

We kissed once, soft, slow, no hunger. Just meaning. Then he turned to leave. I stepped inside, the familiar hush of my apartment settling around me like a fog. I looked down at my hands. Still painted. Still hers. I touched one of the little gold studs in my ear. The weekend was over.

But Eva...

She wasn't going back in the box.

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