Second Chances
Abigail leaned casually against the wall outside her French Poetry class. Her phone was blowing up non-stop this morning. The group chat for the party had over a hundred members now, all of them clamoring for Mackenzie’s attention. The girl was obviously using speech-to-text, and the various mistranslations that caused were getting thoroughly memeified.
Chloe was also texting her, sending frequent updates on her search. There was no progress yet – the bar wouldn’t be open for hours, and no one in the neighborhood had seen anyone by Kayla’s description. The tone of her messages was getting increasingly frantic. Abigail sent her a few words of encouragement, and warned her she’d be out of touch for a while.
She took a couple quick selfies, checking her outfit. These clothes felt so drab after a taste of Mackenzie’s closet. The billowing black skirt came down past her ankles, and the collar of her shirt was so starched it could practically stop bullets. Her plan could definitely benefit from something more flashy, but at least she felt comfortable in these clothes. That counted for something.
Abigail was just about to set her phone to do-not-disturb, when a message came in from an unknown number. She smiled to herself, and made a new contact. It was faintly disappointing that Eve didn’t have a six-six-six area code.
“Working hard,” the message said. “Need a couple distractions?”
The picture was from the back room at Eve’s shop, with what appeared to be a bubbling cauldron and trays of ingredients spread out on a table in the background. At a guess, the picture was taken from about ten feet off the ground.
Eve’s cleavage, shot from the top down, filled nearly the entire image. If the witch had clothes that would keep up with her growth, she had apparently elected not to wear them. Her bare breasts were too close to the camera and somewhat out-of-focus, which somehow made them even more alluring.
Abigail turned off her phone screen before anyone could see. She leaned against the wall, heart pounding in her chest.
Yeah. She felt plenty distracted all of a sudden.
Her phone buzzed again. “I felt that.”
“You just made me wet before class. Thanks Eve.”
“Just think of it as motivation,” came the reply. “Besides, something tells me getting you hot and bothered is going to help your cause. Ta-ta for now.”
Abigail looked up just in time to see Dylan walking by, heading into class. His head was turned away, hands in his pockets. Studiously avoiding eye contact with her. She wondered briefly if his memory of events had changed so much that the two of them had never met. It made sense – so much of the reason they’d gotten to know each other hinged on her being tall. Or maybe he was ignoring her because she was short again. Both thoughts were surprisingly painful.
She waited for a ten count, then followed him into class. There was a desk open beside him, and she slipped into it. It occurred to her that maybe this was how Elijah always managed to find a seat next to her in Biology. It was a decent strategy.
Even sitting less than a foot away, Dylan continued to ignore her. She should just say hi. But somehow that seemed insufficient, after what the two of them had shared. Especially when she didn’t even know if he remembered her.
She was still considering conversational ice-breakers when Professor Martin started class. Today was a lecture on early influences of the Romantic movement. The professor clearly enjoyed the subject – the middle-aged woman paced up and down the aisles, declaiming verse with her fist against her chest.
It was somewhere between, ‘spontaneous outflowing of emotion’ and ‘well-loved muses,’ when an idea occurred to Abigail. What was a good way to start a conversation with the shy boy beside you in class? Specifically, one who was so much younger than her?
She tore a page out of her notebook, and scribbled a couple quick words, with two check boxes.
I like you. Do you like me? Yes, No.
She waited for Professor Martin to walk past. Then folded it, and tossed it onto Dylan’s desk.
Abigail watched him out of the corner of her eye as he opened it.
The boy quickly moved to cover the paper so no one else could see. He made a hurried check-mark, and folded the paper again. The next time the professor turned her back, he returned it.
Yes.
She grinned to herself, a warm little feeling bubbling up inside her. She considered writing more, but Professor Martin had moved her passionate lecture to the front of the room, and was facing the class. Anyway, she’d said enough for now.
Class ended. She started to pack up, a flirtatious opener already on her lips. But when she turned, Dylan was out of his seat, halfway to the door. She swore under her breath, threw her things into her backpack, and hurried after him.
He was on the lawn by the time she caught up.
“Well someone’s in a rush to get out of here,” she called, faintly out of breath. “You’d think you’d want to stick around and see what the cute girl who likes you has to say. Something good maybe? Guess you have someplace better to be.”
“Yeah,” Dylan said, not slowing down. “I’m looking for someplace where I can open my mouth without saying something stupid. Know any holes around here? Preferably deep and dark?”
“No, but there’s a dumpster behind the art building. It’s perfect. Because you’re trash.”
Dylan stopped – a good thing. With her shorter legs, she was having trouble keeping up.
“I deserve that.”
“We should talk about what exactly it is you deserve. Do you want to start with why you’re avoiding me? I can make some guesses, but I want to hear it in your own words.”
He slumped his shoulders, sighing. “Because you basically told me you didn’t want anything to do with me?”
Fuck – was that how things had gone down? Was this reality’s version of her really that cruel? It was possible. If he’d never come to her rescue in class the other day, she might never have given him a chance. He kind of came off as a creep, after all – until you got to know him.
Abigail cleared her throat, adjusting the collar of her shirt. “Um. Can you tell me exactly what I said?”
“This is stupid.”
“Please. Dylan. Humor me.”
He shrugged in exasperation, throwing up his hands. “After we finished, in my dorm… you said you’d think about it.”
Abigail looked at him blankly. “And?”
“And… that’s it. But I’m not stupid. I know how to read between the lines.”
She punched him in the shoulder. Hard. “God damn it, Dylan!”
“You were trying to let me down gently!” He flinched, dodging another blow.
“I literally meant I was going to think about it, you dumb-ass!”
“But after how I humiliated myself….”
She followed as he retreated, hands balled into fists. “Yeah, it was an embarrassing showing on your part, dude. But it was kind of cute, too. So can you get it through your thick skull that I’m not upset?”
“Okay! Geez!” He held up his hands, calling for a truce.
“Look,” she snarled. “I’ve never felt anything like that before. It gave me a lot to think about. And you’re kind of young for me, which makes this complicated. I needed time to process all that. But I’ve had a lot of experiences that have put it into perspective in the last couple of days. Okay? So I thought about it, and decided I like you enough to see where this is going.”
“It was a lot for me too. And sorry I made assumptions. I figured you’d be on to someone else by now. Someone more… worthy of you.”
She took a deep breath, and forced herself to calm down. “Dylan. What do you remember, about what happened?”
He gave her a suspicious look. “You were good. But not good enough to give me retrograde amnesia.”
“Just answer the question.”
Dylan rubbed his arm awkwardly. He glanced at the steady flow of students walking by them, making sure none were close enough to overhear. Then stepped close, lowering his voice.
“It was like you grabbed hold of a part of me I’ve always tried to hide. Something secret, and really really powerful. I’m still buzzing about it.”
“The feeling,” she told him. “Is mutual. But specifics Dylan. What happened.”
He gave her a miserable frown, eyes wide, chewing his lower lip. That submissive expression when he was embarrassed was really fucking hot.
“You teased me, about my kinks,” he whispered. “For being bullied, and ordered around. And for ladies who are really, you know. Short.”
She laughed out loud. Several girls walking by turned to stare. Dylan looked like he wanted to die.
“Yeah, it’s amazing someone as tiny as me can take control like that, huh? I’ve got to be the shortest girl in school, and I had you wrapped around my little finger from the moment we started. I guess I was really hitting all your buttons at once. And the way you lost it the moment I started touching you? Yeah, I’d be embarrassed, too.”
He looked mortified.
She reached up, and put her fingertip against his sternum. He was a foot taller than her, but for the purposes of intimidating him, it didn’t matter in the slightest. “But see, I heard a rumor. Just something on the grapevine? That you also have a thing for, shall we say, women with a bit more height. As in. Giantesses. The sort of girl that could really control you, make you do whatever she wanted. Does that ring a bell?”
Dylan glanced about, his expression guilty and terrified. “Where did you hear that?”
“Oh, don’t worry about it. Just. Someone once told me it’s possible to like two things at once. Seemed like it might apply to you. It’s true then? You like tiny girls, and big ones?”
He hung his head, looking utterly defeated. “There are these websites I go to… please, you can’t tell anyone about this.”
“I won’t,” she told him sweetly. “Not if you share them. But oh Dylan sweetie. I have another question. And you better look me in the eye when you answer it.”
He whimpered.
“How exactly did you get off, last Tuesday? Where were we standing? What was I doing?”
“Abigail….”
She smirked up at him. God this was fun. “Look me in the eye when you answer, little man.”
He fought with himself. And finally obeyed. “We were by my roommate’s computer. You had your hands on me from behind. It happened really fast. I’m sorry, I couldn’t hold back….”
“And why were we by his computer?” she asked innocently.
“Because you wanted me to look at my reflection?”
“Exactly right. But sweetie, something doesn’t make sense about that. My head only comes up… to here.” She tapped him in the middle of the shoulder. “But I seem to remember looking you in the eye, in that reflection. Right? From over your shoulder. You remember that too, don’t you? And if not, I’ll bet anything you remember when I nibbled on your ear.”
Dylan’s face was a brilliant cocktail of confusion, and fear, and longing.
“You would’ve had to bend way, way down. Practically get on your knees, for a short little thing like me to reach.”
“You could’ve been standing on something.”
“You know I wasn’t.”
“What are you telling me?”
She grinned at him. Then folded her hands demurely, backing away from him. “Have you ever fantasized about me being bigger, Dylan?”
“Keep your voice down!”
She spoke louder. “Then you better answer before I ask again. Dylan. Have. You. Ever….”
He ran to her, held his hand plaintively in front of her mouth. “Yes! Okay! I don’t know how you found all of this out but….”
“I was taller than you,” she said. Locking eyes with him, letting him see the conviction on her face. “When we were in your dorm room. There was something that let me grow. It’s worn off now. But I can grow again. Do you believe me?”
He hesitated, his eyes darting about randomly. He opened his mouth to answer her, but no sound came out.
She had him completely discombobulated now. The poor guy didn’t know up from down, never mind what to think about the mind-bending paradox she’d presented.
She relented.
“How about this. Do you want to believe me?”
He nodded at once.
“What if I told you I could be tall again? Taller than you. And not just by a few measly inches. I could be as big as you can imagine, Dylan. Just think of what I could do with you at that size. Anything. I. Wanted.”
“You’re teasing me.”
“Obviously I’m teasing you. But I’m not lying.”
He shifted his weight uncomfortably. He had run from her before, and he clearly wanted to run again. It was everything he could do to fight that instinct. The only reason he was still standing here, was because she hadn’t given him permission to leave.
It occurred to her she was using him. And not for the first time. Well, what was wrong with that? Dylan knew the score, and he wanted to be used. Besides, it felt so, so good to use him.
“Come with me,” she told him. “You’re going to help me grow. Right now.”
She turned, and walked toward the edge of campus.
Dylan followed after her, heeling like an obedient puppy. “Where are we going?”
“To get some tea.”
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