Jon heaved on the floor his...no, his mother's stomach contracting impotently. He felt tears in his eyes. He hyper-ventilated between heaves. This isn't happening. This isn't happening.
"Shh...it'll be alright honey." His mother was there, stroking his...her hair and whispering meaningless comforts. Finally, the heaving stopped and he began to calm down.
"W-Why won't anything come out?" Jon asked, finally. Not the most important question at the moment, but the only thing he was capable of facing. His mother's voice, choked with sobs, coming out of his mouth was so disturbing it almost sent him into shock again.
"You haven't had solid food in two weeks, dear." His mother informed him. She had a pensive look on her face. "You know what? This can all wait. You obviously need some time to get used to this. I'll go tuck Mikey in and then go make you some chicken noodle soup." Suddenly she was in mom mode again.
"Tuck Mikey in?" Jon asked dully.
"Hon, you were using that hypnosis machine for six hours. It's nine o'clock."
"Oh." Jon felt numb. It was better than feeling anything else he might be experiencing at the moment though. His mother left the room. Jon got up, ever so carefully so as to experience as little as possible, and ignoring the alien feeling of his now hairless legs rubbing together beneath the dress, sat down on his parent's bed. He tried his best to stare at a wall and pretend he was mindless, thinking of nothing.
Some time later, his mother returned, with a bowl of chicken noodle soup and a folded up tv tray. She set it down in front of him, and finding that he was ravenous, Jon began to eat. He meant to slurp it down, but he couldn't seem to take anything but small, dainty sips, as hungry as he was. Jon didn't think about that though. He barely thought about anything.
"Your father's not home. We thought it would be best if he stayed at a hotel a few days with you being-" She saw Jon's face shift and cut herself off "with you being the way you are." Yes. That's best. Jon thought, and then stopped himself. He couldn't think. Not like this. If he did he might think about his mother's full hips swinging from side to side under the dress he was wearing, or her wide, cushiony buttocks spreading out beneath him as he sat down, or-No. Stop.
His mother sat down beside him. Too close. He couldn't tell her, but he could hardly stand to be around her, knowing...knowing...Stop thinking about it! Suddenly, the soup was gone.
"Would you...would you like to slip into something more comfortable?" Jon looked at her for what felt like the first time since he'd woken up. Really looked at her, but tried to drive away the nagging thought in the back of his head that he was looking at himself. She wasn't an ugly woman by any means, maybe even a little pretty, but you'd probably call her handsome rather than beautiful, and Jon couldn't think of her looks as anything but, well...motherly. Low cheekbones and a high forehead framed large, warm brown eyes under pencil thin, carefully arched eyebrows. It was a wide face, with rather a large nose, a somewhat prominent chin offsetting the gently rounded curve of her jawline. Around it all was a halo of curly, deep brown hair that dropped to her shoulders. And one could tell this face, while pleasant enough, did not belong to a young woman. There were subtle lines around her mouth, crow's feet around her eyes, her skin had a slightly pink, fleshy undertone to it, and her hair was just ever so slightly thinner than it should be.
But it was her expression he really notice. Her brow was furrowed in concern, and her thin lips drawn tight in an almost grimace, but there was hurt in her eyes. Because of me, Jon realized. "Yes." He said quietly.
His mother walked over to a corner of the room that was filled with bags and boxes that he had been too distracted to notice before. From one of them she drew out a slightly frilly, blue silk nightgown. In her...their size, Jon knew. The bags were full of clothes, he realized.
"It's just like mine." His mother said, shyly.
That thought was a needle driven into Jon's mind, opening fresh wounds and threatening to send him to the floor again, bringing his soup back up. But as he hesitated, he saw the hurt beginning to form in her eyes again, and decided it really wasn't any worse than the dress he now wore.
"Will you...will you help me get changed?" Jon asked.
