The Victim (Part 1)

[rododoro3]

I rouse myself.
I don’t know where I am, I don’t know what happened, but he’s looking right at me, and it makes my heart pound.

“Scott,” he says, he of the shining eyes, burning with hope, with desire. “Scott, do you love me?”
I want to say yes. I’m used to saying yes. My mouth forms the word, but nothing is coming out. Why is Avery asking me if I love him? How did I get into his room?
“Scott,” he repeats, and the urgency in his voice worries me, “Do you love me?”
I look at him, and I try to think, but it’s too difficult. I look at Avery and I think ‘Love’, but Avery isn’t there.

That’s when I remember. “No.” I reply. I grab my jacket, and I slam the door to his room closed. I don’t look back. Not even once.

I stride through the night, thoughts spiralling through my addled mind. I remember the fragments, the bits and pieces of that time, the time I was truly in love with Avery. The time I looked at him, and felt burning desire.
This time I just looked at him. I’ve always been gay, but I’ve never been attracted to Avery. I’m not the type to judge by looks, but he was so shy, so retiring, I didn’t have anything other than looks to judge him by.
He was obviously attracted to me, though.

I barely remember what he did, but I know, right in my gut, that it wasn’t natural. And I hate him for it. I despise him for making me feel emotions I didn’t feel before. I loathe him for forcing me to act like someone I never would’ve been. And I hate him for making me love him.
I try to slip my jacket on, but it’s too small.
I can’t zip it up, and I can only barely shrug it over my wider shoulders. My shirt, baggy, like most of my clothes, is straining at the seams, and I can see inches of ankle poking out of my jeans, stained a fluorescent copper from the streetlights.

I don’t know what happened, and I don’t know how it happened. All I know is that it didn’t last long, and that it ended today.

---

My clothes don’t fit. I’m like a scarecrow now. I used to be 5’ 8”, not too short, but definitely not average. And now, from what I can tell, I’m an even 6’. My frame is longer, still stick thin, but my shoulders are broader, my waist narrower.
I barely squeeze into my largest tank top, and I settle for cargos because my jeans look painted on. I’m lucky that it’s a weekend.
I want to drive to the nearby shopping center to outfit myself with appropriate clothes, but when I find myself adjusting my seat, I decide against it. I’m still uncoordinated with my new body, and I don’t want to be responsible for traffic accidents.

I run into one of my mates from the swim team, Cal. I call him, and I wave, and he just shoots me a look, and waltzes by, as if I don’t exist. I decide that two can play this game, but I become discouraged when two turn to three, and three turn to five, and I realize that every single one of my acquaintances doesn't know me any more.
And then, as another friend walks by in silence, I see Avery.

He’s just staring at me, with so much longing and desire, I have to suppress the urge to yell at him with all the air left in my tired lungs. I want to choke him, to force him to undo whatever he’s done, to make me remember.
Instead, I walk over to him, and I say, in my new, lower voice, “Why are my friends ignoring me?”
He pales, then flushes, then starts stuttering, and I just lean closer, pushing into his personal space, uncomfortably aware of the mere inches between our mouths, and he looks like a starving man presented with an elaborate feast.
I shake my head in disgust.

“I, I-“ he stammers, “I thought it would be easier for both of us if you, if you-“
An ugly suspicion takes root in my mind, and my restraint is gone, and my hand flies out, but before I grasp him by the throat... I remember I hate bullies. I was always picked on, always the “runt”, and I don’t want to become something that I hate so much, even if the snivelling wretch in front of me made me a different person in the first place.
“If you didn’t have any previous friends to be devoted to,” he finally admits, “You would only feel the need to be devoted for me.”

I stare at him, at this being, this person so removed from people I knew before. No one I’d ever known would be so heartless, so selfish – Who would erase someone’s life willingly, just because of... a crush?
I speak quietly. Normally. “If you ever talk to me again-“ my voice cracks, “If you ever approach me, I will kill you. I will take your life away, like you took mine.”
He didn’t think of me as anything except an adoring slave.
He used whatever mind control he wanted to use on me, and wiped the memories of everyone I knew as an afterthought.

A word wells unbidden to the surface of my mind: Magic. I don’t know why I’m so certain, but... I don’t even want to admit it to myself, but I have to. Ever since the change, my thoughts have been less... complex.
Simpler.
And when I have a thought as certain as this one, I don’t doubt it.

---

And so the world fades into a pattern. I wake up, and I get dressed, and I leave my room, and I go to class. Then after class, I go home, and I do homework, and then I slip into a tank top and shorts and go to the gym, and I attack the machines with the fury consuming my heart.
And when the manager hesitantly asks me to leave, I leave without a word, and I shower, the cold water anchoring me in reality, and then I lie down in bed, and I stare at the ceiling, and I don’t think of anything.
Phone calls to my parents are fruitless. They don’t remember a thing.
At least I have my ID and license, even if the stats don’t correlate with my new measurements, but I need a job. My money is going to run out soon.

Then, the manager asks the fateful question, the question that changes everything.
It’s closing time at the campus gym, and I’m out of the door, but he taps my shoulder, and I turn to look at him.
“Look, Scott.” He says. I’m surprised he knows my name. “You’ve been working out like crazy these few days, and you’ve made some pretty hefty gains.”
I’ve made gains?
“So I was thinking,” he pushes on, undeterred by my confused gaze, “If you want to join the gym, perhaps work part time as a trainer. People pay a lot of money for the dedication that comes naturally to you.”

I say “Yes.”
I want to scream. I want to ask why he wants to employ a person whose thoughts stand still, who becomes a blank slate while working, mindlessly churning out reps, mechanically scribbling homework.
I want to find what else Avery did to me.

---

I slam open the door, and I snarl, a furious, bestial growl, “Did you make me dumber?!”
He leaps up from his computer, hastily turning off the screen, trying to prevent me from catching a glimpse of the two naked men cavorting on it, and when he realizes what I’m asking, he shakes his head frantically.
“No, no! I didn’t make you dumber, quite the opposite!”

With two strides, I’m on him, and I force him into the wall. I don’t hold on to him. His body is touching mine, and I know he can feel the heat radiating from my exhausted limbs, feel my sweat slowly sliding down his body. I don’t care.
I want him to realize how powerless he is – how powerless he made me.
The creep has a raging boner.

“I changed your thinking process, so you don’t overthink.” He stammers, explaining. “You don’t need to think about things, you’re almost like a computer. You hear something and you process it. You don’t consciously think.”
I regard him, unbanking the fire in my eyes, letting him bask in my fury, and he whimpers, “What’s the factorial of 9?”
362,880.
He’s telling the truth.

“Mathematics isn’t the only area you excel in. You’ve got boosted linguistic capabilities, some foresight of the future, and you can grasp most concepts in science instinctively.”
I don’t have any more rage left to give him.
Defeated, I close my eyes, and step back, letting him go. “Which magic did you use?”
He raises his eyebrows, thrown off guard, but quickly recovers, recognising the gift he forced onto me. “I used an ancient ritual. My family is full of witches, and traditionally, we all get to choose our future mate, and shape them into the perfect lover. But, after a few days...” he sniffs. “I was so sure you loved me back, Scott! I let go of the mind control, I let you go... Scott... Please...”

He’s looking at me, with those pleading eyes, but I can only feel the revulsion bubbling in the pit of my stomach.
“No.” I say. And I turn and walk out the door, retelling the fairytale before.

Avery’s words replay in my mind for the rest of the evening. The old me would have been shocked, deeply disturbed by the very thought of being tampered with by someone else. But the new me accepts it without question, simply understanding and grasping the concept, proving further how much I was changed by Avery.

It’s evening, and I haven’t eaten since lunch, but my body steers me away from the nearby McDonalds and towards an organic grocer next door.
When I leave with 2 kilos of lean chicken breast under one arm and a bag of vegetables slung over the other, I remember I don’t know how to cook properly.
These past days, I’ve been cooking the university way, putting instant noodles into boiling water, but meeting with Avery seems to have implanted the mind of a chef in this new body.

I dig into my first proper meal in weeks, and the meal blurs until I set down my knife and fork, and belch. The glass in front of me has the dregs of what remained of the egg carton in my fridge, and I take care in washing it, instinctively knowing egg stinks when left overnight.
I intend to drop the rest of the dishes into the sink, putting them off until the undefined “later,” but Avery was merciless, and I find myself cleaning them, wiping the plates of scraps and reverently drying them.

I shower quickly, taking note that at least this personal habit hasn’t been tampered with, and hop into bed with nothing more than my boxers.

---

I’m dreaming.
I know I’m dreaming, but I still can’t muffle my gasp as I feel the energy saturate my body. The core of my being is ignited by the power, the pulsing waves of pleasure crashing over me.
My heart thunders in my ears, quivering as it accelerates, heating, beating.
With a lurch, the world spins, and instead of looking outwards, to the ceiling, I look inwards.
My arms are slammed away from my body, biceps blooming, triceps expanding, blown outwards by my arching lats.

My muscles clench, absorbing their nectar, my fuel, and my torso is flung upwards by the force of my exploding chest. Each ponderous pectoral defies gravity, titanium bound in flesh, and I shiver as they are reverently caressed by the cold night air.
I focus the power incinerating me, and roar, forcing it to my will.
My stomach, still swollen from the amount of nutrition forced into it, ripples downwards, interlocking squares of abdominals locked in place by an iron core.
I breath in, and out, feeling the thundering rush of air in my expansive lungs, knowing with certainty the brick wall I call my abs is powerful enough to stop the fist of anyone seeking to hurt me.

The growth flows downwards through my legs, sending incendiary sparks into primed, prepared muscles, quivering with anticipation. With a nearly audible screech, my hands and feet burst outwards, growing sizes larger, and my calves follow suit, diamond-carved teardrops, pedestals for the ballooning trunks of my thighs.
My quads ripple, each muscle standing in sharp relief, and writhe, fighting against the constraints of my skin, burning with unimaginable power.
I cry for them as the growth rises upwards, crying for more, for more strength, more pleasure.

My glutes tighten, clenched tight, shaking, and then jut out, arching my back for an instant, as if to rival the shelf of my heaving, steaming chest.
Burning sweat trickles down my back as the growth concentrates, and I scream, I scream with pain, pain so strong it becomes pleasure, and for an instant it stops, and I let out an “Aah...” when I realize what’s coming next.

The growth surges into my manhood, and I erupt soundlessly, roped in by bounds of endless pleasure, as it expands, and hardens.
And when I sink back into the covers, falling back into the welcoming arms of sleep, I see the torn, mangled pieces of underwear flapping from the ceiling, cemented by my ejaculate, and I can only think, “That’s going to be a pain to clean tomorrow.”

[arpeejay]

http://www.facebook.com/arpeejay

[Mdlftr]

Great beginning!

I love how the reader has no idea what has happened, or why the narrator is a victim, until the story progresses and the details come out.

SPOILER ALERT!!!

Mind wipe, mind control, forced muscle growth.
The narrator has apparently been turned into a non-reactive, very matter of fact person without much foresight. He processes information and proceeds. He doesn't seem to anticipate or agonize over feelings. He just acts.

Interesting premise. Be very interesting to see where the author takes this.

Oh, and the muscle growth hinted at in this first chapter is intriguing, also!

Mdlftr

[rododoro3]

Originally Posted by Mdlftr

Great beginning!

I love how the reader has no idea what has happened, or why the narrator is a victim, until the story progresses and the details come out.

SPOILER ALERT!!!

Mind wipe, mind control, forced muscle growth.
The narrator has apparently been turned into a non-reactive, very matter of fact person without much foresight. He processes information and proceeds. He doesn't seem to anticipate or agonize over feelings. He just acts.

Interesting premise. Be very interesting to see where the author takes this.

Oh, and the muscle growth hinted at in this first chapter is intriguing, also!

Mdlftr

Haha, Scott isn't as emotionally detached as you make him out to be. He gets angry (murderous level angry) but he doesn't really feel sadness as we know it.

About the interesting premise... It popped into my head one day and I just jotted down a few thousand words when it happened because it was so intriguing. How would a person compelled to love someone else act without the compulsion?
I went through it this week, rewrote a bit (most of the "growth" scene, it was much shorter) and fixed it up, and I've got a lot of material already written for chapter 2.
So.... Expect it soon

[MonsterMash62]

Super interesting story. I love reality alteration stories, so this one definitely has my attention. I love the changes to the narrator, and love how they're slowly being revealed to the reader. I love the idea, and love the narrators reactions.

As a small aside, the paragraphs about the narrator being asked to join the gym are a little unclear. It sounds like he goes home and stares at the wall one paragraph, but in the next the manager of the gym is telling him to work there (without the narrator returning to the gym). It was a little confusing to read.

I'm eagerly anticipating future chapters. This one was great.

[rododoro3]

Originally Posted by MonsterMash62

Super interesting story. I love reality alteration stories, so this one definitely has my attention. I love the changes to the narrator, and love how they're slowly being revealed to the reader. I love the idea, and love the narrators reactions.

As a small aside, the paragraphs about the narrator being asked to join the gym are a little unclear. It sounds like he goes home and stares at the wall one paragraph, but in the next the manager of the gym is telling him to work there (without the narrator returning to the gym). It was a little confusing to read.

I'm eagerly anticipating future chapters. This one was great.

I did intend to write it that way, since that's what's happening to Scott, the narrator; He's on autopilot for those few days, completing a routine and remembering pretty much nothing of it.
The manager asking "the fateful question," as it were, is a deviation from the routine and Scott remembers it particularly clearly.
But yeah, reading through it, I do agree that I could've written it better.

I'll take note of this in the following chapters