One month later, Mark sat across from 2016 Mark at their favorite diner, one they’d both loved since college. It was late, the place mostly empty, and the fluorescent lights cast a harsh glow over their booth.
He watched 2016 Mark scribble in the margins of a script he was working on, too engrossed to notice Mark’s growing silence. The sex that night—and every night after—had been incredible. But now, he sat there as Cara, watching himself like some kind of alien creature, wondering when he was going to give him the attention he so craved.
2016 Mark had always been like this. And Cara… she’d hated it. She wanted to be pursued, admired, worshiped. She wasn’t used to anything less.
Mark understood her better now. I mean, Cara was gorgeous. Everything that had once been his type was now him. The way people looked at her when she walked into a room. The way 2016 Mark had looked at her, like she was the center of his universe.
Until he didn’t.
He felt a flash of resentment as 2016 Mark continued to scribble, never looking up.
A month ago, he would have just kept pretending like it didn’t bother him, cracking jokes or working harder to win Cara back. But now that he was her…
“Are you even listening?” Mark said, letting his voice drip with impatience that was pure Cara.
2016 Mark blinked up, startled.
“Oh shit, babe. Sorry.” He dropped the pen and leaned forward, giving her his full attention, “What were you saying?”
“Nothing. It’s fine.”
“Oh. Okay,” 2016 Mark obliviously turned his attention back to the script.
Mark felt the burn of irritation rise in his—her—chest. It was so much clearer now, why Cara had been the way she was. She had been right about him, and Mark had been too blind to see it until this moment.
Maybe this was why she’d never wanted to move in together. Why she’d always pulled away whenever he tried to get closer.
He chuckled at the irony.
All this time, he’d blamed her for leaving. He’d built up this story in his head about how it was all Cara’s fault, how she’d been the one to bail. But she’d been right about everything: about him not being ready, about him not giving her what she needed.
He’d assumed he knew himself so well—both selves—and now that he saw it from where Cara once had, he felt like a fool.
He tried to shake off the growing doubt by focusing on how good it felt to be her, the sex and attention and excitement of living in Cara’s skin. Maybe if he could keep 2016 Mark interested long enough, he could rewrite the past, change the way it ended.
But now that he was here, it felt harder than ever. And, after all, if Cara had still been in the picture, how would he ever had met Lindsay?
“Hey, can we talk about something?” Mark said, channeling the vulnerability he’d seen her use to get what she wanted.
2016 Mark met her eyes, puzzled by the seriousness in her voice, “Of course.”
“It’s about us.”
“Oh.”
“I’m not sure it’s working out,” Mark said, letting the words hang heavy over the table.
2016 Mark looked stunned, like the ground had fallen out from under him.
“Wait—are you breaking up with me?”
“I just don’t know if I can keep doing this,” Mark said.
He saw the panic flash in his younger self’s eyes.
“Cara,” 2016 Mark said, his voice cracking, “I don’t understand—”
“Exactly.” Mark felt a surge of power as he watched his old self squirm. “I need you to really hear me this time.”
“Babe, I can change. I’ll be better.”
“I know,” Mark said, “But not with me.”
“I’m sorry,” Mark said, leaving a few crumpled bills on the table.
He walked out into the night. It was cold, the air crisp and biting as he zipped up his jacket. He crossed the empty street, feeling the city’s indifference surround him like a familiar ghost.
He’d done it.
He’d actually done it.
All these years, he’d tortured himself over Cara, never seeing that she’d been right, that leaving had taken more strength than staying ever would have. He felt lighter somehow, his anger finally cooling after so long.
But… now what? He was still in Cara’s body. Her life. And no longer in a relationship with himself.
He slipped onto the subway, losing himself in the crowd, and felt the thrill of anonymity as he watched the people around him. How different they looked through Cara’s eyes.
He stroked his neck. Cara’s neck. A delicate brush of fingertips, like he was testing to see if he was still real, still here in this strange new skin. His touch lingered, tracing the curve of a throat that didn’t quite feel like his own. He supposed that, in a way, it was impossible to break up with her now, impossible to escape her entirely. He’d done it, freed himself from an old obsession, but he was trapped in her body, in her life, and the weight of it settled over him, a daze of confusion and unexpected melancholy. He had thought this would make everything better. The sex, the power, the chance to rewrite the past. But now, everything felt more broken than before.
He let himself into her apartment and sank onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. A month ago, it had been a fantasy. Now, it felt hollow.
He was Cara now, inescapably, and he began to wonder whether it would ever feel right. As he touched her skin, he felt the awful permanence of it, the strange, lonely entrapment of living inside what he thought he had once wanted more than anything else. The curves that had thrilled and excited him now only made him feel trapped. Made him wonder if he’d ever escape them. Made him wonder if he’d ever be Mark again. Or if this was who he would be. He was Cara now. He was her. He was stuck as her. Possibly forever.
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