Chapter 3 - Day Three


Chapter 6
Liz>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>Heather Day 3>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>Heather


A warm breeze blows in through the window, gently fluttering the curtains around it. It carries with it a dense, sticky heat - the day prior had baked it into the busy campus so deep that not even night could take it away. With the sun’s return, it heralded another day of dense, sticky heat.


As the breeze blows over Heather, it rouses her from a rather tortured slumber. Her dreams had been wracked with feverish dreams; interrupted by brief snippets of consciousness - something she blamed the heat on. She’d tossed and turned between vivid mental images of being tossed by a shadowy, dominating force - thrown through the air, but waking up just before an impact, like a falling dream she kept reentering and resuming between awakenings.


Even if she’s awake, it takes her a while to move. The heat and the terrible slumber - to say nothing of the resulting headache - acted as a siphon to her energy. She lay, moist and sticky with sweat, sprawled out on her bed. Her covers have long-since be thrown off, and with as hot as the night was, she slept in little more than a pair of panties and a t-shirt. 


“Fuuuuck.” she grumbles, catching herself before she lapses into sleep again. Another warm breeze blows across her body - this time bidding her eyes open, turning to the open window. Why the hell was it open, anyway?


Oh - because she was a smoker now, apparently. The recollection brought with it a long, pained groan. Last night, she’d broken down and followed Liz’s advice - not wanting to piss off her fire alarm in the process, she’d opened her window and hung out of it, puffing on her first smoke. She hadn’t expected it to go as smoothly as it did - she expected red eyes, sore throats, coughing and hacking… But, well, everything went down smoothly. Either it was a lot easier to pick up than she gave it credit for, or she was just a natural. Heather didn’t like the thought of either.


Finally, she sits up in her bed, peeling the sticky t-shirt off of her and throwing it haphazardly into her laundry-bin across the room. It misses, but she’s too out of it to care. As part of her normal routine, she looks across the room at her vanity… This time, dreading what’s to come.


She… Was still Heatherish. That’s about all she can ask for, now. Something really fucked up was happening - either she was blacking out, or sleepwalking, or something, because today, her hair was shorter. It was sloppy, given; but now, her ponytail was little more than a memory. Her eyes stay locked on her reflection - things just seemed to get worse from there. Furrowing her brows, she noticed that even they looked different. They were thicker; bushier than her normal, sleek style. Maybe people would miss her feet, she thinks - but a prime feature on her face? There wasn’t a chance in hell people would miss that.


Shit - she thinks; her feet. She looks down at them - but before she even sees them, she sees something worse. Her body was… For lack of a better word, unshaven. She knew for a fact that she’d just shaved yesterday after suddenly developing stubble - but what had grown in that stubble’s place defied explanation. Noticeable, dark hairs had sprouted along her legs, leading all the way up to her crotch; from there, up to her navel. Shifting the wrong way on the bed, she could even feel a little bit of hair on and between her plump asscheeks. A chill works its way up her spine as she looks at her arms - even they had a bit of growth on them; with even more beneath them. 


“A-am I turning into a werewolf or something?” Even her half-assed attempt at a joke didn’t put her in any better mood. Finally, she’s able to look at her feet - like the rest of her, they were much hairier; and perhaps a size bigger than yesterday. More than any concern about her looks, Heather wonders how the hell was she going to go anywhere like this.


She… She was already in hot water with one of her professors; and this shit was just throwing her off-track. She had to get this shit figured out… But she still needed to get to class. As she throws herself out of bed, she involuntarily scratches her rear - with the way it was changing, she didn’t blame herself.


As she went about her routine, she began to notice some greater peculiarities - but by now, she was almost numb to it. None of her socks stretched anywhere near well enough to accommodate her feet, now - and even worse, her bras were starting to feel looser. She had to set aside a sports bra to guarantee that she won’t be adjusting her tits all day.


When she steps into the shower, she reaches for her razor - but, looking back down at the treasure-trail running up her navel, she realizes full well that she won’t be able to take care of the growth. As she washes herself, she finds her gaze drawn back down to her feet - maybe it was just her; maybe it was the hair, or the fact that she’d been stomping around in boots all day yesterday, but they almost looked visibly… Rougher. She wouldn’t be surprised if they did. What she was surprised about, however, was… Well, how little it bothered her. Their size was a detriment, that was a practical concern, but try as she might… She couldn’t say they looked bad. Were they what she’d imagine a cheerleader would have at the end of her legs? No, of course not, but they… 


Heather finds an odd warmth running through her. The feeling was familiar, but foreign - it was like she was seeing her feet in a different light for the first time. Or, at least… Seeing these feet in a different light. She could hardly consider them hers - and hardly considered them an improvement, but… Well, she never felt excited looking at her feet before. 


“But why now?” she murmurs. She finishes her shower up, eager to get out - and get her feet off of her mind. The sensations they made her feel were doubtlessly good - but what was behind those sensations bothered her. She felt like she was turning into a… 


“Freaky pervert dyke that loves foot shit.” 


The words come unbidden to her lips; spilling out in a dull monotone. Heather blinks afterward, shaking her head. Now, where the hell did that come from? That wasn’t something she’d say - moreover, she wasn’t even thinking about half of that. Pervert? Foot… Stuff? Maybe that was at, like, the back of her head, but… D-... Lesbian? It was the last thing on her mind.


“Okay, I’m freakin’ out here.” she grumbles, drying her hair. “So, I’m… H-hairier than a grizzly bear…” The words come out in a monotone again, and she shakes her head. “And I’m looking less than… Fetching… But… But I have a boyfriend.” she asserts - then retracts her statement. “Had. I had a boyfriend.” she corrects herself. She was in a steady relationship with a guy from her hometown until she moved up here. It was only last semester that they broke up - they always knew distance would be the death of them.


Heather sighs. She felt obliged to prattle on about how she didn’t have any problem with lesbians… But, she had enough things to worry about than to justify something to herself that she already knew. Ultimately, she knew who she was; what she liked. Who she liked - and…


For a split second, she thinks of Zelda’s hands wrapped around hers.


Heather doesn’t bother finishing with drying her hair - she marches up to her dresser and starts getting dressed, eager to distance herself from her prior train of thought; not sparing a solitary second on returning to it. Frustration and anxiety boiled in her gut - she could hardly take it as she dug through her autumn wardrobe, trying to find something that’d cover her up and not give her heat stroke…


Unfortunately, she had to opt for the former of the two - a combination apparently being too much to ask for. She finds herself looking at herself in the mirror, dressed in a t-shirt with a hoodie over it - which she didn’t intend to take off, even if she was giving herself the option - and a pair of jeans. While she was at the mirror, she tried her best to make her hair look… Presentable - but, she doubted she’d have much of an effect.


Begrudgingly, she moves over to her boots. They were the largest thing she had - a size smaller than her feet or no, she was stuck with them. She crouches down beside them, and immediately, she can sense a foul smell in the air. Given how hot it was yesterday, she’d worked up quite a scent. Her nose wrinkles - but she presses onward, barely registering how little she cares. Bereft of socks, she manages to squeeze her feet into them rather tightly - the material stuffy and sticky around her flesh. It makes her shudder - but by now, she knows better than to think she has another option.


Heather grabs her bag fiercely, eager to get a move on - she jumps when she slams the door behind her; not expecting to close it with such force. Even before classes began, she could feel her emotions swirling in her head; in her gut. Things were falling apart around her - her body was changing for some inexplicable reason, her train of thought kept getting rerouted into unfamiliar tracks, and she hadn’t even been walking for five minutes and she’d already begun to sweat. She could feel the bitter look on her face as she made her way down one of the footpaths - and she could tell that it didn’t matter if she went to class or not - today, she wasn’t getting anything out of it.


With that realization, she veers off of the main path and into a shadier one, under the cover of a cluster of trees. There was a secluded area she always liked to pass by when she was having a bad day - a small, stony plaza with a fountain in the middle, and a few benches around it. Usually, she liked to read or doodle or collect her thoughts…


Today, she just wanted a smoke. When she arrives, she tosses her bag down onto one of the benches, plopping down beside it and fishing through it. She pulls a smoke from her pack and lights it hastily - immediately feeling a wave of relaxation seep into her alongside the heat and smoke. As trails of it flow past her lips, her eyes are drawn to a figure sitting on a bench opposite.


“I thought you didn’t smoke.”


Heather freezes, her eyes going wide. Staring back at her, with a snide grin on her face, was Zelda. She looked the same as ever - pale, dark, and scary; but today, she seemed to be following the same school of thought as Heather when it came to fashion. Zelda, too, wore a dark blue hoodie over a t-shirt for some band Heather had never heard of. Bitterly, Heather figures Zelda’s choice was out of preference rather than necessity. Her brow furrows at the thought. She opens her mouth, ready to say something…


“Hey, it’s cool. I get it.” Zelda says, holding her hands up innocently - Heather notices a lipstick-stained cigarette between her fingers. “Trust me, I do.”


Heather huffs. “There’s nothing to get.” she says bluntly.


Zelda leans back in her seat, spreading her legs a little. “Oh? C’mon - you see me bring down Hecate’s wrath on a lighter, and little miss straight-As doesn’t wanna get involved with tall, dark, and scary. So, teacher’s pet tells a little white lie - what’s it to her? What’s it hurt the spooky chick, she’s used to it.” Zelda takes a drag of her cigarette. “She’s used to it.”


Heather feels her temper rise - but, as it does, she feels a little scared… More of herself. She knew why she was getting this angry - but… She didn’t get angry; not like this. The stormy look on her face melts into one of concern - something Zelda evidently notices. “Sorry.” she says, quietly.


Zelda sighs a little. “Eh. Me too.” Heather’s brow quirks in response. “You deal with shit like I do, you get used to the worst of people. You know me; seems like everyone around here knows me,.”


“Well, not really.” Heather defends. “I won’t lie; you’ve… Got a bit of a name for yourself.” Zelda can’t help but snort. “I never paid it much mind, except…”


“Except you don’t know what’s true or what’s bullshit, so you assume the worst.” Zelda concludes. Her cigarette spent, she flicks the butt off into the grass. “I’m used to it. Really - I don’t care. Some people are judgmental, some people are assholes, some people are judgmental assholes.”


Heather finds words spilling from her mouth again - but this time, they aren’t entirely unwarranted. “Well, would you care if somebody wasn’t any of the three?” Her words ring sincere, and though they confound Heather, she can’t say it’s… Utterly alien.


Zelda seems caught off-guard. She looks down, then back up. “I guess I would.” she admits, shrugging. “Would that be you?”


Heather slowly nods. “I try to be. I mean, I know what judgmental looks like,” she admits, Liz coming to mind. “and I think I’ve seen my fair share of assholes.”


Zelda smirks. “Hey, play your cards right, and you’ll see one more.”


Heather snorts, breaking into a fit of chuckling - almost dropping her cigarette in the process. Zelda’s harsh laughter joins hers - only as they’re winding down does she realize… That Zelda might be a little more serious. Only as she realizes that, does she realize how little she cared. 


The pale woman across from her stands up, walking before Heather. “I hate to do this again - but that was the last smoke I had. Mind if I…”


Heather has one in her hand before Zelda even finishes. She takes it eagerly. Heather reaches for her lighter, but as she does, Zelda reaches for her wrist, giving her pause. With the cigarette between her lips, she nudges it against Heather’s; lodged between her own. Ash falls lazily to the ground as the tip of Zelda’s cigarette begins to burn - their lips barely a few inches from each-other. Heather can feel hers quivering.


“Well, if I can get anything from you, pet,” she begins; Heather hoping she was just shortening ‘teacher’s pet’ from earlier. “it’s that your eager to please. Bein’ like that for a gal like me…” She trails off. “Well, maybe you’re not full of shit.” As she pulls her cigarette from her black lips, she blows another plume of smoke toward Heather, then steps away. “So, what’s your name?”


“Uh,” Heather begins, scratching her head. The… Kinda-sorta-not-really-kiss they’d just shared left her heart pounding for reasons she couldn’t exactly explain. “Heather. Heather Redding.”


Zelda cocks a brow. “Not the name I would’ve picked for you.” she admits. “When I hear ‘Heather’, I think cheer squad, party girl, mythic bitch Heather.” A smile spreads across her lips. “Actually - I just think ‘Liz Beckinridge.’ She’s more of a Heather than you are.” She holds up a finger. “Just to be clear - that’s a compliment.”


Heather chuckles again, shaking her head. “I know, I know. Maybe not the bitch part, but…” She looks down, then back up to Zelda. “Actually, I can get why you’d say that. She doesn’t exactly have the best things to say about you.”


“So you know her?” Zelda muses.


Heather checks her phone. “Yeah - I’m eating lunch with her in a couple hours.” she explains. “She’s a friend.”


Zelda’s brow furrows. “She’s not.” she says bluntly. “You… Enjoy her company, or whatever, just be smart about it - whatever you think you are, she doesn’t keep friends.”


Silence hangs between the two of them - during which, both their expressions soften. Heather stands up, grabbing her bag. “Well… Not to be too forward,” Heather begins, discounting Zelda’s former… Forwardness. “but I hope that you do. Say what she will, I’m not getting the ‘turbo-sadist-satanist-deviant-anarchist-communist-timebomb’ vibe she gives off when she talks about you.”


“When anyone talks about me.” Zelda corrects.


Heather sighs. “Hey, not everybody calls you a commie. That’s all Liz.” Zelda chuckles, shaking her head and smiling. “So, let’s do this again sometime.”


Zelda pauses; as if unsure how to react. “If you say so. You’ve got a phone, don’t you?” She pulls her own out - the two quickly trade numbers. Zelda wiggles her a little before stuffing it back into her pocket. “Hit me up when you’re not too busy kissing Liz’s ass. Not like my phone’s ringin’ off the hook or anythin’.”


Regardless of the jab, Heather nods. “Will do.” She throws away her spent butt and walks off - she might’ve missed her first class, but her time with Zelda was… Oddly therapeutic. It got her mind off of the worst of her situation… But Zelda… As Heather thinks back on it, she feels a warmth growing in her - greater than the one spreading across her as she steps back out into the sun. For as much as Zelda got her mind off of her problems… She complicated things in her own way. A way, at least, Heather couldn’t quite complain about.


Heather’s second class went smoother today than it had in the past two; she found herself able to actually pay attention to her professor, at least. There was a bit of safety in putting her torturous worries and anxieties aside as she focused on what was in front of her - but those worries did their best to try and pull her back to reality. Most notably, Heather could smell herself - and she didn’t exactly smell like rises. Even if she put on deodorant and a little bit of perfume, the sweat she’d worked up was beginning to overpower her preventative measures. She found herself zipping up her already-rather-stuffy hoodie and taking a rather closed posture - as if that would abate the scent. 


No matter what she did, however, she figured she could do little about the scent of her feet. She went cold whenever she caught a whiff, even sitting up as she was. By the time she arrived at class, she wasn’t just stomping with every footfall, she was almost squishing with as moist as the insides were getting. On one hand, Heather was a little worried she might get something from putting her feet through that - but on the other; more bitter side, she recognizes that it wasn’t like they could get much worse. 


Heather didn’t feel utterly lost when she exited class - and that was something she felt thankful for. Practically as soon as she passed the threshold of the lecture hall, her phone began to buzz. 


‘u free? worried bout u ;)’ - a text from Liz. Heather felt her lips purse. She knew how Liz normally was - and she could tell how fucking weird Liz had been yesterday. Even so - her earlier conversation with Zelda made her think; even if it was a little evasive, talking to somebody else helped get her mind off of things. Hell; given that Liz was an actual friend - no matter what Zelda said - maybe Liz could actually provide a bit of moral support. A quick exchange directs her to a restaurant on the fringe of campus - she’d eaten there before, and even then, the walk had been rather bothersome. Heather sighs before she gets moving - she’d do anything for a bit of peace of mind, right about now, even if it meant stomping around in the sweltering heat.


By the time Heather arrives, she’s a sweaty mess. She has to actively avoid thinking about how she smells - she knew that, if she did, it’d just piss her off even more. Her hair was a little messier than it’d been before she left - and now, it was matted to her head. Her clothes clung to her, and her boots were moist and swampy. Even if she’d just been walking, she felt like she’d just completed an entire night’s set of routines in an hour. 


She looks into the restaurant - it was pretty busy for an afternoon; enough that she couldn’t immediately find Liz. She took a few steps in, and a voice called out to her.


“Heather? Oh - hey, over here!”


It wasn’t Liz. Heather didn’t know whether to feel good or bad about that fact until she turned - and she realized that she had every right to feel really, really bad. Liz sat at a table with eight other friends - Heather felt her heart begin to race as she looked across their faces, even if she stolidly forced a smile. “J-Jessica, Karie, Marina… Long time no see!” she says, trying to be amicable. Being alone with Liz, in a state like this, she could handle - but most of the fucking cheer squad? No way.


Liz waves her over, gesturing to a seat right beside her; naturally, the only one available at the table. Heather was hoping she’d be able to put some space between them, but that was pretty clearly not an option here. Tentatively, she takes a seat - she notices Liz’s nose wrinkle even before she’s fully seated; and she dreads the prospect that anybody else noticed it too. “I’m sorry, Heather,” Liz begins, placing a hand on her shoulder… For about a moment, before removing her hand, curling her fingers and retracting it. “I was setting up a gettogether last night, and it just hit me, like - an hour ago, that I forgot to put you in the group chat. Maybe I can be a bit of a bimbo, huh?”


Heather gives a single, drawn out hum of acknowledgement. “Heh - yeah; wouldn’t have minded some notice,” If she’d gotten it, she wouldn’t have bothered coming. “but hey, I’ll never say no to hangin’ out with friends.” 


Liz smiles and opens her mouth - but she’s interrupted by another member of the cheer squad leaning in. “You look like you got the news in the middle of a workout.” she jokes; earning a few titters from the others, and a barely-audible yelp from Heather.


Heather shrugs. “Hey, it’s enough of a workout getting here in the first place.” That, at least, earns her a few chuckles. 


From her place next to Liz, she’s… Almost safe; but that’s a rather generous ‘almost’. She feels like she’s in no man’s land; staring down a line of soldiers ready to fire at a moment’s notice… It was the opposite sort of atmosphere she craved by coming here. More than get her mind off of her momentary insecurities, every faint glance or errant look her way brought them back to her mind; her self-consciousness magnified tenfold. With that, came anxiety - and with that, just came more sweat; the last thing she needed. 


Even chatting with her friends felt like she was out of it - truthfully she hadn’t seen them since their last practice, but even then, it seemed like she’d missed a lot… And Liz was keeping pace with it. While she wanted to catch up with them… The feeling was mutual; in the worst way possible.


“Did you dye your hair?” “I didn’t know you always dyed it. What made you go natural again?” “It looked so nice before - why change it?” “Maybe you should grow it a little longer… But, that might take a while.” “I don’t think the new style quite suits you.” “You look hot; in, like, the worst way.” 


Again, she feels like she’s dodging fire - and doing poorly at it. She feels defeated when she has to grab a napkin to dab some sweat from her forehead; barely able to contain herself. 


“Boots? In the middle of the summer?” The question hits Heather like a ton of bricks. She opens her mouth to give an answer - any answer; even the first thing that comes to mind…


But Liz saves her. “They were a gift. Really, I didn’t expect her to like them this much, but I’m flattered!” A few, soft coos of “Aww!” arise from the group. Heather restrains herself from giving too noticeable of a sigh of relief. Liz looks over to Heather and smiles - but, maybe it was how worried she was feeling, but she didn’t feel… Any warmth from it. The smile was sincere - but almost… Dark. “Really, she’s been surprising me a lot lately.”


A few of the others turn their heads to Liz - Heather included. “Oh?” one bothers to ask, leaning in; rapt. 


Liz chuckles. “Yeah - yesterday… And, you know how hot it was yesterday…” she begins, rewarded with a few affirming nods. “We were eating lunch, and even if they’ve got AC in the dining hall, I was fucking melting. Plus, I’d just walked all the way from the library, and my feet were fucking killing me…” 


Almost on cue, Heather feels something on her lap. Her brow quirks - but; as she’d been trying to keep her cool for this entire time, she persists. She leans back in her chair, trying to keep casual - and, with a quick glance down, in her lap, she sees one of Liz’s bare feet. The sight should very well have been perplexing; confusing, terrifying, gross, weird, or anything other than…


Arousing. 


Liz’s foot was slim and delicate; with soft, pampered soles and an immaculate pedicure - her nails done in a bright and flashy pink that drew the eye to them with the faintest motion. Such was how Heather described them, as she looked down at them - whereas, at any point prior, she would’ve just described them as… Feet. Her friend’s boring old feet. 


“So I pop off my heels. Not the right time or place, but - fuck it, y’know?” Liz continues, unfazed - she flashes a look over to Heather; a knowing look that Heather catches in the split second she’s able to look up from Liz’s foot in her lap - before her eyes are brought down again by a faint wiggling of her toes. “And Heather says: ‘Wow, that’s hot.’” 


No - Heather thinks. That’s not what she said at all! Her eyes are still locked on Liz’s… Waiting… Beckoning foot in her lap. With her hands on her thighs, Heather’s fingers dig into the fabric of her jeans in some vain attempt to keep calm. She can feel her face flushing, but more than that, she feels her tongue to numb. She doesn’t want to talk - or; no. She doesn’t want to refuse Liz’s claims. Perhaps it wasn’t what she said yesterday - but it’s what she was feeling now. A couple of the others chuckle nervously; unsure of where Liz is going… But Heather can tell. She can sense that the others can tell she can tell.


“And, that takes me off-guard. I’m like ‘You mean temperature?’, and she’s like ‘No - you’ve got sexy feet.’” A couple of the other girls balk - while a couple snickers start among them. “Given, I know every part of me is sexy, but still.”


Heather’s fingers slide across her thighs - across the now rather moist fabric of her jeans. It’s hardly in her control as her fingertips approach Liz’s sole - tentatively, she brushes a hand against it, and it feels… Good. She can’t tell how it feels for Liz, but for her, it’s… It’s heavenly. Sensual. Not as mundane as it should be. 


“Oooof course, she pulls it back.” Liz clears her throat, preparing an impression of Heather. “‘I mean, if you had a guy that was into that, or, y’know, a girl. You’ve still got time to experiment.’” 


Heather almost feels driven to stare at Liz’s foot. She can’t stand to bear the faces of the others. She doesn’t hear much laughter - some, yes, and that makes it a little worse - but knowing how many of them are quiet hurts even more. This… Wasn’t her, she thinks. This wasn’t what she wanted. It wasn’t what she was like. She argues this with herself - because she can’t argue it with her friends… And she needs something to argue. Left to its own devices, her body falls in-line with Liz’s story. Both hands wrap around her foot, gently massaging it; her fingers working their way through her toes, savoring every moment she was damn-near graced with contact.


Liz leans back casually, motioning toward Heather. “‘Sure I do.’ I told her. ‘But I think you’ve done a little too much experimenting.’” She looks back to the group, shrugging. “And this is comin’ off the tail of a discussion that Zelda Nightingale isn’t that bad.” The way her friends ‘Oooooh.’ in affirmation after that point almost brings Heather to tears. She could tell that they believed every word - that the evidence was there; and they were hearing it from someone they trusted greatly. That Heather trusted greatly… Until now. “I mean, listen, Heather,” Liz pulls her foot away - and Heather unconsciously follows, sitting up a little. The sudden motion makes her jump - and she looks positively lost now that she can’t keep her eyes on Liz’s foot. “we all love ya, girl, but c’mon. There’s a limit to our little no-judgement zone, and-” 


No-judgement zone? Liz Beckinridge was talking about a no-judgement zone? That was it - Heather was through. Striking through the terrifying fear and despair she felt was a hot flash of anger. Heather places her hand heavily down on the table - rattling glasses nearby - and standing up. She bites her lower lip, fighting to find the right words to counter her… But finding none. 


Interrupted - and seemingly a little intimidated, Liz scoots her chair away from Heather. “Hm? Did I say something wrong? I just thought it was a funny story, and…”


Heather doesn’t stick around long enough to hear her finish. Her world goes fuzzy as tears well in her eyes; as grief throws her head so far out of balance that she physically feels like the world is turning around her. 


Zelda was right. Heather hated it, but she was right. Hell - she didn’t even know how she was right, but… Heather choked back a sob, wiping her tears on her hoodie’s sleeve. Her eyes were clear long enough for her to send out a text - and from there, she started walking. Though she distances herself from the restaurant, her mind remains in there - in the moment of Liz boasting; practically for the whole restaurant to hear, that she was some shamelessly foot-fixated freak. And, all the while, she’d been grappling with the fact that - somehow - she was. Her emotions ran red with passion and fury both when she thought of Liz’s foot, clutched gently between her hands. It was so perfect - but so disgusting. So soft and gentle, but so insidious and manipulative. It was like a dark mistress beckoning her into debauchery; but, instead of seducing her and whispering sweet nothings in her ear…


It was just a fucking foot. It existed; and that was enough to catch her - hook, line, and sinker. With Heather’s thoughts so immersed in the murky depths of despair, she hardly notices how much she walks - only as her eyes begin to dry does she begin to get a grasp on where she is. 


Heather returned to the isolated little plaza she’d retreated into, earlier in the day. Her trip here was every bit as deliberate as it was unconscious; while she thought and agonized, her body moved here practically on auto-pilot. She plops down on one of the benches, bracing her hands on her thighs. Her breath left her nose and lips in ragged, heavy pants - she wasn’t exactly the spitting image of company, she thinks… But she knew she had to expect some company, herself. 


Whenever she was feeling down, or homesick, or anything; she usually calls up one of her friends on the squad - not to totally bring down their mood, but to chat; maybe get a bit of advice on how to feel a little better. Her go-to, in that regard, had been… Liz, admittedly. The thought of that alone almost sends her into a frenzy. With her out of the question, and with everyone else practically reviling her at Liz’s behest… There was only one person she could even hope to talk to.


“Well, you look like shit.”


Even she wasn’t the best. Heather looks up; her eyes a little red, and she sees Zelda walking into the plaza. “Funny, I feel the same way.” she admits, her voice rather low; choked, in part, by grief. 


Zelda doesn’t bother sitting on the opposite bench - she plops down beside Heather, either unafraid or uncaring of the dishevelled, distraught-looking woman. “Wanna talk about it?” she asks. “That, uh, is what people wanna do when they get like…” Zelda vaguely waves a hand around Heather. “This… Right?”


Heather sighs. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe she should just go back to her room and sulk. Maybe she-


“Hey, sorry - I’m just… Not used to this. But, hey, I’m here, right?” Zelda reaches over and places a black-nailed hand on Heather’s shoulder - despite the moisture, and the scent, and… Everything about Heather, she thinks bitterly, Zelda doesn’t remove her hand or even flinch in disgust. Already, she’s taking it better than Liz ever would. “If it makes ya feel any better, I’ve felt like… This, sometimes, but I never exactly rung anyone up to talk about it.”


Heather smiles solemnly. “That just makes me feel worse,” she says, chuckling a little. “for you.”


Zelda furrows her brow, nudging Heather. “Hey, this ain’t my pity party; it’s yours. So, what’s on your mind?”


Heather feels less like she recounts her story, and more like she regurgitates it - letting it spill past her lips ineloquently. “First, my feet started looking weird...” She prattles on - and all the while, Zelda listens. Contrary to Liz, where even on the best days, if felt like she was talking to a brick wall that would occasionally nod in affirmation, Zelda… Listens. “My hair just poofed into its original color, my feet were even worse… Liz even tried to… Then it just got shorter… I couldn’t go out looking like that… And then she...” 


When Heather is done, she sighs, holding her head in her hands. Zelda keeps her hand on her back. “So, uh.” Zelda begins. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but… What’s the problem?”


Heather looks up, baffled. “I just-” she murmurs, only for Zelda to raise a finger to stop her.


“Yeah, you did - and I heard ya. Things’ve been happening you can’t explain. Your hair’s fucked, you said your feet were… Getting weird, and that you haven’t shaved,”


“I did shave. I left that out - I did, I’ve just been… Hairy, and...”


Zelda shrugs. “And again, what’s the problem? Chicks get hairy, same as guys, same as anyone else on the fuckin’ planet.” Zelda pats her on the back, trying to be reassuring. “I don’t shave my pussy - you think I’m agonizing about that?”


Heather furrows her brow. “Yeah, but nobody’s looking at your pussy twenty-four-seven.” she murmurs, sitting up. The image of Zelda’s unshaven crotch runs unbidden from her mind; she can’t tell if it helps her mood or not.


“And why do you care if somebody’s looking at your legs? People look, people judge.” Zelda stands from the bench, positioning herself in front of Heather. “So - you’ve got the answer here. What’s the problem?”


Heather furrows her brow, standing up to meet Zelda - almost nose-to-nose with her. “Liz is the problem. She… She did that in front of most of the fucking cheer squad, and…


“And the cheer squad is full of cunts like her.” Zelda says bluntly. “If they’re gonna eat out of the palm of her hand and not even bother sparing a second to listen to you,”


“But they wouldn’t!” Heather defends. “But… They did… But…” Heather stomps, and Zelda steps away - smiling a little. “Fuck, they did! God- goddamn it!” she shouts, stomping again.


Zelda watches Heather’s… Veritable tantrum. “then they’re just as bad as the queen bitch.” she explains. “Listen - I hope for your sake that I’m wrong. Maybe there are a couple good folks on the squad; I’m just guessin’, based on what you’ve told me… But, I think the problem is… Shit’s goin’ south for you, and you’ve got to worry more about your...” She air-quotes. “‘Friends’ judgin’ ya for what’s going wrong, when by all rights, a sweet thing like you should have friends that should make ya worry less.” Zelda pulls a cigarette from her hoodie’s pocket, lighting it up. “And it’s pissin’ ya off, ‘cuz you just saw it happen.”


“Goddamn right I’m pissed off!” she asserts, her voice cracking a little. The shout surprises both she and Zelda - neither of them knew she had that much fury in her. “I’m pissed because I… I thought she was my friend! I know how kiddy that sounds, but she… She was there… Kinda!” 


“Kinda?” Zelda muses speculatively.


Heather purses her lips, looking away. “She was friendly. She was nice to everyone on the squad, and I was nice to her, and she bought me stuff, and she even…” 


Zelda exhales smoke. “She bought you stuff. Does she buy everyone else stuff?”


“Yeah… Yeah she does. It’s most of what she does.”


“Friendly and rich doesn’t really entail friendship. An asshole can be friendly. A lot of them are, actually.” Zelda explains.


Heather’s look of anger begins to melt; despair returning. Liz… Really hadn’t been there for her, had she? She’d been nice, but that was… It. Even so, Heather had no idea that she would just… Humiliate her like that. It felt calculated - planned and deliberate, no matter what she said.


Zelda picks up on the change in demeanor, and she walks over to Heather. “Hey - don’t get like that. If you’re pissed, be pissed. You’ve got every right to be. Get angry, stay angry - don’t give a shit about how it makes anyone else feel.” She smirks a little. “If ya want my opinion, you should give that cunt Liz a piece of your mind. That’ll get her to stop fuckin’ with ya.”


Heather nods along - Zelda was right, but… “And then what - she keeps spreading rumors that I wanna fuck peoples’ feet or something?” 


“Yeah. Yeah, she probably will.” Zelda admits. “But, listen - the only people that’d buy into her lie are judgemental fucks. Think of it like a filter - if they believe it, then they ain’t the kinda person you need at your side.” 


The way Zelda puts it is… Sobering. It felt… True. Almost helpful. At the same time, she realized how much she’d be giving up - if she just… Tossed aside her friends on the squad - hell; if she just tossed aside the cheer squad itself, it’d be pretty damn drastic. Yet, at the same time… Them tossing her aside was as unceremonious as throwing away a piece of trash. If they held her in so little regard, then maybe it was right for her to do the same. Heather looks to Zelda, and she purses her lips. Zelda was helping her - earnestly; honestly. With that, Heather felt no need to hide from her - to lie; like… Liz had to her. “What if it’s true?”

Heather expects a pause - a moment of hesitation; a recoil, disgust or revilement. What she receives is a nigh-instantaneous “Then that’s pretty sexy.”


Heather almost pales. “Uh,” she murmurs, taking a step back. “Really?”


Zelda tilts her head. “Well, is it, or isn’t it? True, I mean.”


“It is.” Heather admits, feeling a red blush come to her face. “Liz had to know about. It. I don’t know how, but… She was fucking with me yesterday, and today when… Everything was happening, she put her foot in my lap and I went after it like a fucking addict.” She feels anxiety rise in her as she admits it.


Her anxiety falls, when Zelda just takes a drag of her cigarette. “Like I said, pretty sexy.” Zelda says, slowly exhaling smoke. “Maybe not Liz’s feet - I dunno, ain’t like I’ve ever seen ‘em, but you bein’ into that… Yeah.”


Heather eases herself down onto the bench. She didn’t know whether to take Zelda’s words as a compliment or not. Or, if not a compliment, what to take them as. Even so, it stokes a bit of curiosity in her… Along with something else. “What,” she begins, tilting her head. “else is pretty sexy to you?”


Zelda’s lips curl into a wide smile. “I don’t wanna keep ya here all day,” she begins. “so I’ll just tell ya what I find pretty sexy about you.” She points her cigarette at Heather’s boots. “I know it ain’t your choice, per se, but I like your choice in shoes. That’s a thing you cheerleader types take as a compliment, right?” She puts the cigarette back in her mouth as she continues. “You smell like you’ve been workin’ out. I like that. Plus, I… Really don’t give a shit about you bein’ hairy or anythin’. Gals that go au natural are pretty fuckin’ hot in my book - looks a hell of a lot better than bitches like Liz, who think bein’ bottle blonde and havin’ enough makeup to look like a clown whore is sexy.”


Heather chuckles at the mental image. “What about your makeup, miss tall, dark, and spooky?”


“I don’t do it to look sexy. I do it ‘cuz I like it.” Zelda defends.


Heather leans back in her chair. “Well, it is pretty sexy.” she admits - something about Zelda… Maybe it was her makeup, or her piercings, or… Her… It looked nice. By now, Heather knew better than to lie about how things made her feel. 


Zelda is earnestly taken aback - but she smiles. “It looks nice on me. It’d look sexy on you.”


Heather distantly recognized that she was flirting with a woman she’d barely known two days ago - and even now, still barely knows. Somehow, she was okay with it.


Chapter 7
Heather>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>Liz Night 3>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>Liz


We need to talk. Now.
sry, out with the girls now
2morrow?
Fucking fine. 
We’re gonna talk alone. Private.
kk, your room?
don’t try anything weird while we’re alone, k? ;)
Fuck you.


Liz was laughing all the way home. She was practically red-faced when she thought back to Heather’s face in the restaurant - she was so fucking scared; so fucking horny, and she couldn’t do anything about it. Liz couldn’t deny that even she was getting a thrill, seeing Heather freak out like that.


Of course, her little setup wasn’t effortless. A couple girls in the group felt bad for poor Heather - they tried to run out and find her; but, if Liz could give the gal any credit, it was that she could fucking run, even if she was stomping around in clunky boots. When those bleeding hearts came back into the fold, Liz had to play the worrywart - agonizing about what Heather might be going through; how bad she was feeling. 


“She’s going through a tough time,” Liz enunciates with a liberal smearing of dramatic flair, as she walks into her room. “but I think she needs some time alone. She knows what’s best for herself - we just need to respect that.” Her words got the girls back on track - back and eating out of the palm of her hand. The only one that didn’t look sold was Jessica. Fucking Jessica - the first to run out, last to come back. It was gals like her that made Liz worry. When Liz worried, she risked getting grey hairs. She couldn’t fucking stand gals that made her worry.


Delicately, she takes her precious doll out of its drawer. It looked just as imposing as she’d left it - it scowled up at her, its brows knit in frustration, cigarette stuck out of its frowning mouth. Liz picks it up and smiles at it, grumbling out “We need to talk. Now.” in a brutish imitation of Heather. She could just imagine her stomping around her room tearing her hair out in agony. Well - if Heather didn’t do it, then she certainly would! 


She sets her tools down - the sewing kit, the buttons; and now, a felt-tipped pen. Liz realized, in Jessica’s reaction, that Heather wasn’t yet the nobody she wanted her to be - even if most of the squad thought she was a freak. While Heather’s silence - and her reaction at the restaurant - spoke volumes, Liz couldn’t help but feel nagged by the worry that she may yet smooth things over. Heather was an optimist, a good speaker, a better listener, and even if she was weird, she wasn’t bad. 


Liz could change that. 


With a few quick snips, brown yarn began to fall onto her desk - by the time she was done, the doll was left with a short bob of ‘hair’ on its head - its bangs were easily the longest part of its cut, but that wasn’t saying much. She quickly turns it over - slapping five more pins into the little heart. By the time she was done, the entire top third of the heart was filled with pins - five feet, five skull and crossbones’, and five female symbols. Liz wondered if there’d be anything left in that spunky little head of hers that wasn’t eating pussy or sucking on toes. 


She cuts open the doll’s breasts again - leaving the poor thing with a doll’s equivalent of mosquito bites. Rather than overstuff her feet - which Liz was still rather fond of, in terms of their grossly-swollen size - she packs the excess stuffing into Heather’s hands, now. That was something she couldn’t hide so easily, she thought. She stitched two spare, small buttons to Heather’s nipples - even if her tits were getting smaller, Liz wanted something around there to be bigger.


She didn’t want to overdo the alterations - okay, well, she did - but she knew full well to give them time. There was a bit of a queue building up; she could tell. Heather’s changes were well behind the doll’s - but she still had plenty of time to even the discrepancies. Liz sets the doll down and uncaps the pen with her teeth, bringing it down onto the fabric and beginning to trace fine lines across it. After about ten minutes, she looked down on her developing masterpiece.


Black lines distantly appeared across the doll’s body - faint imitations of muscle. Heather was athletic; everyone on the squad was, but athletic was beautiful. Bulky wasn’t… And Heather, Liz thought, was going to be bulky as fuck. Her drawn-on abs, her arms, legs, and even ass were marked to be firmer, more muscular - and then, Liz looked at her face.


Liz had contemplated getting metal plates, or wood, or remaking the doll’s face to get the desired effect she was going for… But the pen sufficed. She’d drawn several details onto it - making her features less soft - less feminine. They were harder; more angular. In a word… “Brutal.” Brutish, more like - but combined with her unsavory attitude, she expected Heather to be as such. She moved to cap the pen, but she realized something she’d kept putting off - those nails of hers. With man-hands now accompanying her man-feet, it only felt fitting that she’d have shorter nails to compensate… And, as she drew them on in black marker, a little darker. “Maybe Zelda will get a kick out of that.” she chuckles.


Liz picked up the doll, and she prepared to put it away… But, she noticed something. Picking up the doll and bringing it close to her face, she sniffs at it - then recoils. “Oh - oh, gross.” It smelled like sweat; much like Heather had earlier. Liz had to take a shower when she got home; worried that the scent might’ve rubbed off on her. It bugged Liz that it stunk - but at the same time… Changes she hadn’t intended were filtering into the doll. That… Worked, Liz thought - and it gave her even more ideas.


She reaches under her desk and pulls out a trash bin - it was pretty full already; she emptied it rather infrequently, after all. Pulling the bag out of it, she drops the doll into the likely-malodorous bottom of the bin, then replaces the bag. “Welcome home, Heather.” she chuckles, kicking the bin back under her desk and delicately placing everything else away. “You’re here to stay.”


