Roger couldn't remember a thing from the time he stepped into the blacked out van, to the time he woke up in a very different bedroom. He was, however, surprised that he could remember anything at all. He had assumed his memory would be completely wiped and overwritten by a new identity. Apparently the prevailing theory about reassignment was wrong. Not that he'd be able to say a word to anybody, he thought as he stared into the mirror with a pout, brushing his now long, wavy blonde hair.
From the moment he'd gained consciousness he'd tried to exert some level of control. Move a finger, an eyelid, something. But it was all useless. It seemed that Lilith's personality was entirely in control of his body, which was still his, with the exception of the hair.
Her lush, long, platinum hair seemed to be growing out of his own head. As he sat there in Lilith's hot pink bra and panties, he wanted to lean in and get a closer look, just to see how they did it. Surgery? Genetic therapy? If they could change the hair, why leave everything else the same? Instead, he set the hairbrush down and walked over to Lilith's closet.
The entire time, he was texting with Lilith's two best friends, Stacy and Meredith. Roger never knew he could type so fast on a phone, especially with the long french manicure his fingers now sported. They had to coordinate their outfits, but also needed to be careful to not be too matchy, obviously. That pleated skirt he got last week would be cute, he thought. Roger cursed himself as that thought floated into his mind, obviously pieces of Lilith's mind were bleeding into his own. If this was what the rest of his existence was going to be like, things were going to get very confusing.
It was easy to get lost in the flurry of clothes and makeup. He wasn't sure how much time passed before he was admiring himself in the mirror, having paired the black skirt with a white sweater, grey thigh-high stockings, and stiletto-heeled boots. He wondered how They had changed all of Lilith's wardrobe to fit him, and how he was able to walk so easily in the heels. It seems being the victim of reassignment just raised more questions than answers.
The confident, glowing smile on his deftly made-up face belied the terror at the core of Roger's mind as he strutted out of his new bedroom. He knew he was on his way to school. He was going to see his son there, and Jon was going to see him, like this. And there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.
