Meteorologist

  There will be sex scenes, and chapters with sex scenes will not contain a warning.

  Minor body horror concerning shapeshifting.

  This story is not a well researched, realistic depiction of the adult film industry.

  [colpse]

  “What?!” I shouted, my voice ringing out across the crowded restaurant, attracting gazes from nearby tables. I hunched over my pte sheepishly, cheeks burning, and spoke again, my voice lowering drastically, “She can’t actually do that, right?”

  Luna rolled her eyes, oblivious or uncaring of the dirty looks shot our way. “Well she did. The lease apparently doesn't have my name on it anymore, and now I don’t have anywhere to live.”

  “You just packed your stuff in your car? Why didn’t you tell me? What about Snuffles?” I asked, referring to her pet cat.

  She started nodding at my first question, but when she heard my second, she just gave me a confused stare. “I’m telling you right now?” She gnced around, and I truly had no idea what was going through her head as her gaze passed over the fancy decorations and the bottles of wine on the wall.

  Am I the out-of-touch one for thinking I’d want to know my best friend is homeless asap, rather than over a nice Italian dinner?

  Luna shook her head, and continued, answering my third question, “She only gave me a few hours to move out before her actual girlfriend moved in, and it wasn’t easy figuring out what I could pack into my car – and no she didn’t let me take Snuffles, the bitch. It was my apartment and my cat – are rent prices really that bad?”

  “They’re pretty bad, but I don’t know if there’s any way rent prices can justify pet theft…” I grimaced. “Look, you’re free to stay on my couch for a while – I shouldn’t even need to say that, but if you want to try rooming more long-term, I’m thinking we could work something out.”

  “Where would we find a pce? The whole reason I’m in this mess is because the market is fucked,” she eyed me skeptically.

  I took a deep breath, trying to dispel the worries that Luna would look down on me, even after how long we’d known each other. “I’m not talking about finding a new pce – I can’t afford the rent to my apartment anymore because I got fired, so I need to find a roommate either way.”

  “Greg, you have one bedroom,” her eyebrows raised as she gave me a bnk, disbelieving stare.

  “And you could take the bedroom to yourself – I can sleep on the couch – and we could get a lock installed in the bedroom door if you want,” I belted out. “It’s just… What else are either of us going to do?”

  The question hung in the air as the waiter finally arrived with our food, and we took the first few tentative bites, testing out the temperature. I carefully cut off pieces of my spinach and cheese ravioli with my knife, before moving them to my mouth with my fork, while Luna slurped down her spaghetti, hungrily eyeing the new pile of breadsticks between us.

  Luna’s eyes shot up, “You got fired?!”

  I blinked.

  She let out a giggle at herself and grabbed one of the breadsticks, tearing off a piece with her teeth. “Sorry – I’ve got a lot running through my head right now…”

  I shook my head, “Don’t worry about it. Have you even gotten a chance to sit down with a tub of ice cream and mope?”

  She ughed again, shaking her head back and stabbing in my direction with her red-stained fork. “No, and don’t you dare suggest we share some back at your pce – if I’m going to be living with you there’s no way I want you eating any ice cream.”

  I gnced down at the conglomerate of cheese atop my cheese-filled pasta, “It only upsets my stomach some of the time…”

  She raised an eyebrow at me.

  “Fine, we can have popcorn and licorice instead – but you’re going to sit your butt on my couch and cry while we watch a movie and you don’t get a choice in the matter.”

  She grinned, the genuine happiness from her mouth undercut by the pain still in her eyes, “Only if you let me choose the movie.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah – I still have the copy of the live action Speed Racer movie you gave me,” I said, my performative grumbling not enough to suppress a grin of my own.

  She leaned back in her chair, mirth fshing in her eyes, “You’re the best, Greg, I don’t know why I ever thought I needed a girlfriend when I have my bestie right here.”

  I blushed at the warm feeling bubbling up in me, sharing her sentiment, even though I hadn’t bothered with dating in a while.

  —

  I groaned and threw off my comforter, trying to escape the oppressive heat matting my thick body hair down with sweat. My bleary eyes scanned the grey walls of my bedroom, trying to figure out why it was so warm, even in the winter, before nding on the human-shaped lump next to me.

  Luna and I, after a much too long argument about who should take the bed, ended up sharing – something we’d hadn’t done intentionally in years, but still ended up falling into when we were watching movies te at night or drunk at one another’s apartments.

  I slipped out of bed, dampening the thump my bulky frame made as my feet hit the wood below and tip-toed out into the kitchen, searching my mind for the contents of my fridge. I settled on throwing together an omelette, and got lost in chopping, cracking and frying.

  My mind was stuck on retionships – failed ones because that was all Luna and I each had – and as I whisked the eggs with a fork, I thought back to my previous boyfriend from a few years back. There hadn’t been anything in particur that broke us apart, but more so the feeling that we’d always been talking past each other.

  Even now I felt the lingering frustration at not being able to understand him, the desire to get into his head and hear his thoughts and finally figure out what I’d gotten so wrong. I pictured him, his tall, skinny frame and long, curly hair – wondering what he was doing now, if he’d found someone that understood him.

  I raised my skinny, hairless arm, staring down at the stove at a harsh, vertigo-inducing angle as I poured the eggs over the sizzling diced peppers. My body froze, eyes watching the eggs cook while my mind struggled to figure out what was wrong with the scene before me.

  Oh, duh – I forgot to salt the eggs!

  I pinched into my salt dish and sprinkled it over the pan, strangely needing two pinches instead of one to gather enough.

  “Morning!” Luna shouted from across the room.

  I spun around, ready to greet her, only for her to freeze and cover her mouth with her hand.

  “Oh my god – I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you two were… Greg didn’t mention it…” she babbled, trailing off as her eyes wandered. “Where is he?”

  I blinked. “I’m right here?” I squeaked, my voice coming out strangely.

  “Who…? What…?” she muttered, tilting her head. Her confused expression persisted as she walked over to the couch and fell back into it, trying to rub the sleep from her eyes.

  My body turned, taking me a few steps over to stare into the reflective pstic on the door of my microwave. I stared at the reversed image of my ex in front of me, confusion all over his face. We both flinched, confusion mixing with shock until slowly morphing to disbelief. “What the…”

  Just as I was thinking about what my reflection was supposed to look like, along with the fact that I should’ve had to look up to the appliance on a shelf above my oven, the image morphed, shrinking and twisting as I lost a handful of centimetres of height.

  “What the shit?!” Luna hissed from the couch, evidently watching.

  I spun to face her, “Uh, tada?” I announced, spreading my hands as if I’d just finished a magic trick.

  Her wide-eyed stare didn’t dissipate. “You– you aren’t an imposter are you?” She stammered, ducking slightly behind the back of the couch as she watched me suspiciously.

  I took a moment to think. An imposter would say that they weren’t one, and I’m supposed to say the opposite of what they would say so… “Yea, I am,” I responded, a half-suppressed grin on my face.

  She remained staring at me, struggling to process.

  I hastily corrected myself, “Wait, no I’m not!”

  Her face twisted up in confusion, and she opened her mouth up to speak, but closed it after a moment, still thinking. A few seconds ter she shrugged and rexed. “So what the fuck was that?”

  The eggs on the stove started to brown, the smell prompting me back to the task of cooking. I shrugged with my back to her. “I dunno, some kind of transformation, I guess?” I said, eyeing the underside of my omelette and debating whether to start over.

  “Do you know what this means?!” she asked, her voice getting closer as she stood and moved to the kitchen.

  “I can use my powers of being able to turn into an ex to get a job somehow and be able to pay rent?” My voice rose, hope leaking into my tone as I considered that she’d already found a way to profit off of this strange occurrence.

  “What? No,” she said, confusion on her face. “It means magic is real.”

  “Oh,” I let out. “I thought for sure you had less than scrupulous ideas about stealing my ex’s identity.”

  “Sh– They’re not a bad person, Greg – I thought you broke up on pretty good terms?” Luna peered past my shoulder, looking into the pan at the messy mush of scrambled eggs that used to be a coherent omelette. “Looks good,” she added.

  “Yeah, I didn’t have any hard feelings until his face jumpscared me in my own reflection – I’d prefer not to be haunted by my exes, thank you very much.” I turned off the burner, giving up on making the food any better, and pted up two portions, most of the browned pieces making their way onto my pte.

  “Thanks,” Luna muttered as she took her pte and sat across from me at my table, a cheap tan piece of Ikea furniture who’s thin limbs always looked one push away from snapping. She nodded as she took her first bite, looking up at me afterwards. “It’s weird, I should’ve been able to tell you weren’t the real version of your ex because she looks way different now – I think she started transitioning not that long after you broke up.”

  “Oh, she’s trans? What’s her name?” I hadn’t heard from her since we broke up, nor had I known that Luna was in contact.

  She grimaced, tilting her head back and forth. “I don’t actually know her name… I found out about her transition through an… unconventional channel,” she hedged.

  I narrowed my eyes.

  She shifted the conversation, averting her gaze as she spoke. “So about your magic powers–”

  “No, absolutely not – we’re not saying I have magic powers, that sounds so dweeby,” I refuted.

  “We are dweebs… But whatever, what would you prefer, your majesty?” She scoffed, swallowing another bite of her food.

  “We aren’t calling it anything because it doesn’t exist – I need to go apply for jobs right now, not mess around with nonsense.” I shovelled food down my throat, hoping to escape this conversation, escape confronting the fact that I felt like I was watching our interaction take pce in third person.

  “But what if you were right, and you can replicate your magic, use it to make yourself rich?” She pleaded, eagerness and excitement in her eyes.

  “And do what?” I spat, “Even if I had omnipotent shapeshifting, what job could I possibly do with it that I couldn’t do otherwise?!”

  Her head tilted, hair dangling just above her pte. “You could be a really good impersonator? Or like, an actor that doesn’t need makeup or special effects?” she bounced in her seat, energy rising, “Oh, what about some kind of social media thing – you could make videos showing magic is real!”

  I shook my head, “And how do I expin it? I’m not touching any magic – I just want a normal job that pays the bills and gets me decent health insurance.”

  She blew a raspberry at me, “Dweeb. Can you at least do it again? I’m so jealous – at least let me live vicariously through you,” she pleaded.

  “No.” I stood, carrying my pte to the sink, trying not to imagine what it would be like to get stuck in a body that wasn’t mine. “I’m comfortable with my body and I don’t want to talk about it again.”

  “Okay… Sorry,” Luna mumbled, staring sadly at the remnants of her breakfast.

  No way could I stand to do that again. I certainly couldn't use it for a job; the idea of getting used to just one more body is horrifying.

  —

  Of course, between alleged magic and online job applications, there were some clear discrepancies. One was a tumultuous process that disrupted my very sense of self, and the other was magic.

  And despite all of my posturing, magic was kind of cool. I groaned, forehead resting on the top of my desk, my ptop open in front of it. There was only so much I could take before needing a break, and maybe experimenting with my ‘magic’ – even if only to disprove its existence – was an option…

  My traitorous thoughts were interrupted by my phone buzzing, the vibrations carrying it towards the edge of my desk. I snatched it up and, seeing the caller ID, groaned.

  “Hey mom,” I answered, injecting life into my voice.

  “Hey, honey, what’s going on? How’s your new job going?” Her voice crackled through the speaker.

  Of course she jumps right to it… “Uh, not too well… I might’ve gotten fired?” I hedged, tensing and waiting for a disappointed sigh.

  “Might’ve?” her voice answered, the poor audio quality making it difficult to discern her tone.

  “I did,” I admitted, sounding like I was apologising. I stood and began pacing in the cramped space between my desk and bed.

  “Oh, it’s only been a few weeks, what happened? Do you need me to send more money to cover rent?”

  Shame washed through me. “I don’t have any excuses,” I muttered, not wanting to expin the events that led to my unemployment yet again, “And no, I can pay rent for now – I fell into a bit of a roommate situation.”

  “Son, you know you can just say he’s your boyfriend – I won’t be upset about that…”

  “No,” I cringed. “It’s Luna, she had another rough breakup and needed a pce to stay for the foreseeable future – you know how it is in the city,” I said, knowing that she didn’t know what it was like in the city.

  “Hmm.” Her thoughts remained impossible to parse, leading my mind down threads of her ruminating on how much of a disappointment I was, “Well if you ever need to move back out here, there’s plenty of room in the house now that Madeline is away…”

  I stifled the urge to say that living with my parents at twenty-eight would be mortifying, instead offering the usual ptitudes that I appreciated the offer, but that I would stick it out for a bit longer.

  By the time I hung up, feelings were swirling through me, demanding to be acknowledged, and the applications on my ptop screen were begging to be finished. I stood, quietly inching my way into the ensuite bathroom, and shut the door, locking it behind me.

  I stared into the mirror at the face I had known for nearly three decades – if you ignored the fact that it was constantly getting older – and took a deep breath, feeling determination well up in me.

  I need to do anything to get a job, even if it means messing with things I don’t understand.

  With that thought, my features began to shift.

  Meteorologist