Chapter 2

We walked in silence across the noisy courtyard, avoiding the main paths until we reached the rooftop of the abandoned old science building.

No one ever came up here. The wind was howling, making the weeds growing through the concrete rustle loudly.

The air was chilly, but Asher’s body felt like a furnace, blood pumping hot through my veins.

Asher leaned against the rusty iron railing. Using my hands, he habitually patted his pockets.

Realizing there were no cigarettes, he clicked his tongue in annoyance and violently kicked an old wooden desk nearby.

It was surreal. My face—usually looking down, quiet, timid, and plain—was now painted with arrogance, rage, and impatience.

The raw intensity in his eyes made my gentle features look strikingly fierce, almost beautiful in a dangerous way.

"Hey," he spoke. The voice was high and feminine—my voice—but the tone was incredibly sharp and dominant, like he owned the world.

"Are you always this much of a spineless coward? You just let people walk all over you?"

I looked down. Using his large, calloused hands, I unconsciously scratched at the peeling paint of the railing.

"I... I'm used to it."

"Used to it?" He let out a harsh laugh, as if he’d just heard the funniest joke in the world. His eyes pierced through me. "Is your spine made of jelly? Someone steps on you, and you ask them if their foot hurts? Are you a masochist?"

His blunt words stung. A wave of intense frustration and hurt washed over me. My eyes burned, and my vision blurred.

"What else was I supposed to do?!" I snapped, my voice cracking as tears threatened to spill from his eyes. "Chloe’s dad is a major donor and sits on the school board! Tyler always protects her!"

"I'm just a scholarship kid. I can't even afford a hospital bill if I get sick. How am I supposed to fight them?"

"I just wanted to keep my head down, graduate, and get into college!"

The floodgates opened, and memories of every humiliation I had endured rushed back.

It started shortly after Tyler and I began dating. That was the first time Chloe targeted me.

She had cornered me in the girls' restroom stall and poured a bucket of ice-cold water over my head.

Then she laughed as she threw my backpack and the study guides I had stayed up all night writing straight into the trash can.

"Hailey, let me tell you a secret," she had said, looking down at my shivering, soaked self. "Tyler told us that dating you is just a little charity project."

"A country bumpkin like you doesn't even deserve to wipe my shoes."

"You think he actually loves you? Keep dreaming."

My face had flushed red back then. Shaking with anger, I had yelled, "You're lying! Tyler isn't like that! He loves me!"

Chloe’s laughter had grown louder, sharp and mocking. "Oh, really? Hear it for yourself."

She pulled out her phone and played an audio clip.

It was Tyler’s voice, surrounded by the loud music and chatter of a bar. His voice was incredibly clear.

"Tyler, are you really dating that Hailey girl?"

"She’s so plain. She probably doesn't even know what Chanel is. Isn't it embarrassing to be seen with her?"

"Come on, guys, don't roast me too hard," Tyler’s voice laughed. "She's naive. Easy to play. Think of it as charity—giving her a taste of what it’s like to be wanted."

"I'll dump her when I get bored. Besides, Chloe’s been giving me attitude lately. I'm just using Hailey to make her jealous."

Those words had felt like a rusty blade, carving away my self-respect piece by piece, leaving me bleeding.

Later, Tyler had found me. He held me close, his eyes dripping with sweet, fake tenderness.

"Hailey, don't listen to Chloe. She’s just jealous of us."

"I was just drunk and talking big in front of the guys. You know how guys are—we have egos."

"You're the only one I care about. Please believe me."

And I had believed him.

Like a pathetic, desperate fool, I had brainwashed myself over and over, choosing to trust him.

Until today, when he pointed at my face and called me crazy, all to protect Chloe.

Only then did I finally wake up. I was nothing but a toy to relieve his boredom.

"What are you thinking about? Who are you crying for?" Asher’s rough voice snapped me out of my memories.

I looked up at him, tears finally spilling over Asher’s sharp cheekbones.

"Asher, why did this happen to us? How did we even swap?"

He walked over to me. Using my short body, he had to look up to meet my gaze in his six-foot-one frame.

"How the hell should I know? I crashed my bike into a guardrail last night. When I woke up, I was you."

He ran a hand through my long hair in frustration. Halfway through, he paused, as if worried about pulling the roots, and gently patted it down instead with a clumsy tenderness.

"Alright, suck those tears back in. I hate crying girls." He paused, looking at his own face on me with deep disgust. "And even though you're wearing my face, seeing a guy cry is still repulsive."

Silence fell over the rooftop. The distant hum of the city drifted up to us.

After a long moment, he zipped open my worn-out canvas bag, pulled out a battered notebook and a pen, and slapped them against my broad chest.

"From now on, we write notes. Don't talk to yourself in public unless you want people to think we're schizophrenic and throw us in an asylum."

He tore a page out, pressed it against the brick wall, and scribbled furiously.

When he finished, he slapped the paper onto my chest.

The handwriting was sharp and chaotic, radiating pure arrogance:

`[Starting tomorrow, you do exactly as I say.]`

`1. Do not speak a single word to that idiot Tyler. Even looking at him makes me sick.`

`2. If Chloe touches you again, beat her to a pulp. I’ll take the fall.`

`3. Most importantly: Don't embarrass my body. Stand up straight!`

Looking at the note, my heart swirled with fear, confusion, and a tiny, hidden spark of comfort.

I took the pen, my hand trembling as I wrote underneath his words:

`[I don't dare to.]`