James wandered for a few blocks before hailing a passing cab. The click-click of her heels on the pavement had begun to depress her, the heat was getting to her, and the tiny ass little tote she would have easily carried in her original body now seemed to get heavier with every passing block. It was a rough neighborhood and she counseled herself that a cab would be safer than walking anyway. Giving in at last, she had jumped in the cab and given directions to the motel where she had first stayed in San Diego in what seemed like another life.
Not thinking, James charged the room to one of the cards she had stolen from Otis. She had only a finite ammount of cash and, for whatever reason, Otis hadn't yet cancelled the cards. It wasn't the same room she had once stayed in. The irony would have been too much. However, it was the same liquor store just down the street. She walked in and after a minute of browsing selected a big, cheap, plastic bottle of Old Crow whiskey. Paying cash this time she trudged back to the motel, hating herself and the world every step of the way.
Since regaining her original memories, the everyday movements of her female form, every bounce and jiggle and sway, seemed unutterably alien to James. Each split second was a reminder of how lost she truly was. Sweat had nearly soaked through the too-tight blouse. It gathered beneath her breasts and freely ran between them. The gaudy earrings were a dangling distraction and James briefly considered tearing them out and throwing them in the gutter. The thong was an intrusive presence in the crack of her ass and the high heels were killing her feet.
Why in the name of God had she dressed like this? Embarassed and, more than anything else, irritated with herself, James shook her head and muttered a curse under her breath. She had finally remembered who she was, but now she had to fight to not slip into the host of Jill-ish behaviors she had learned in the past three months.
Back at the motel James locked the door, turned down the light, clicked on the TV, ignored whatever it was that was playing, and quickly cracked the bottle open. Not bothering with the plastic cup on the bathroom counter just yet James took a long slug directly from the bottle, a big healthy gulp. She didn't know what was going to happen to her - - and she didn't care. That was for tomorrow. Tonight was for herself and for self-pity. She planned to drown her sorrows.
If she was lucky, maybe she would wake up dead.
But she wasn't lucky. James woke up the next day, sometime past noon, very much alive and with a pounding headache. It was the mother of all hangovers. Stumbling into the bathroom she noisily threw up what little was on her stomach. It wasn't until she was on her way back to bed that she noticed...
