WARNING:
This may or may not begin to sound like smut in the middle. IT IS NOT. Don't freak out and slam your laptop shut. This is a VERY important chapter. Just bear with me, and make it to the end. You'll understand, I promise. <3
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Since their kiss in the street, Bethany and Trenton had been acting like a couple. Holding hands, kissing, going on dates, spending a lot of down time together: none of which made her the least bit uncomfortable. For all her reassurances to herself that she was just acting for the benefit of her mission, she was no longer sure if that was the case. In fact, she had not even attempted to bring up Trenton's supposed misdoings in the two weeks since he had returned to New York.
She felt uneasy about her relationship with Trent, especially when she would return to her hotel room and remember the engagement ring nestled in her dresser. She hardly ever thought about Hunter anymore, except when she would see him on the cover of some magazine with Amanda. She knew it was silly, but she still felt betrayed that he was spending so much time with her. They did have a history together, after all.
She knew that she was going to have a lot to regret by the time she returned home to him, and she tried desperately to blame that certainty for her unwillingness to sew things up here. Of course, it did not really matter whether or not she unmasked Trent: she would still have to remain in New York until her job was terminated with Broadway. So what was the harm in taking her time?
She remembered Jeremy Willakers saying something of the sort when she had gone for her weekly meeting three days ago.
"Bethany, it is far better to slow yourself down than to rush into things. If Trenton McDermott is the murderer we believe him to be, he will not be very keen on trusting you, so you'll need to ease him into it. That's bound to take some time. You're doing well. Give it time."
Bethany had her head on Trenton's shoulder, her hand laying on the shelf of his stomach. One of his favorite movies was playing, and was probably half over by this point. She had been so caught up in her own thoughts that she had not even been paying attention to the film. Trenton was running his fingers idly through her hair.
She looked up at him. His ridiculous comb over, his gold-tinted glasses that made him look like a reject from a 50's film, his over-large features: none of them made him very good to look at. So what could she possibly see in him?
She turned in his arms so she could press her forehead to the space between his jaw and shoulder.
"Trenton?"
"Mm?" His reply was just a rumble in the back of his throat, and she smiled.
"Tell me a secret," she whispered.
He laughed. "What do you mean? What kind of secrets do you think I have?"
She kissed his neck playfully, knowing it was his weakness.
"I don't know," she replied. "Just tell me anything. Show me something you've never showed anybody before."
He grew still, and she backed away, hoping she had not offended him.
He just stared into her eyes, searching for something she could not identify.
After a few moments of silent, telepathic interrogation, Bethany got nervous.
"Trent, did I -"
"Will you promise not to make a big deal out of it?"
She blinked. "What?"
He took a deep breath. "If I do what you ask, if I show you something no one else has seen, will you promise to let me explain before you react?"
She shrank back a little, her heartbeat like a tiny pulse in her chest. What was he saying? What was he going to show her?
She did some searching of her own, and found a child in Trenton's eyes: scared of her reaction, yearning for her approval and attention.
She nodded slowly. "I - I promise."
Yet another silent moment passed between them, and then Trenton rose from his seat. He took her hand in his and led her through the familiar twists and turns of his home. Every footstep raised her curiosity, and strengthened her dread. She had the distinct feeling that this would change everything, whether for the good or for the bad.
He paused inside outside one of his doors, which had been closed every time she had been here. In fact, she had never seen the inside of any of his rooms, save his bathroom and kitchen. She wondered if the room were what he intended to reveal to her, and, if so, what would she find past the threshold?
The door led into his bedroom, which was as immaculately organized as each of his offices. She glanced around, and perched on the edge of his bed when he gestured that she do so. His plain taste extended even here, in the white walls and nondescript furnishings that were obviously intended only for function, not frivolity.
Trenton's heavy sigh was what brought her eyes back to his face. His upper lip was sweating, and his hands were shaking as he began to unbutton his shirt.
Her mouth opened involuntarily.
"Trent...what are you - "
He shook his head, silencing her question. His hands continued down, separating the vertical stripes bit by bit. Her nerves stood on end when he dropped the garment onto the bed next to her, and she could feel her knuckles going white under her thighs, where her hands were gripping the sheets.
He had removed his shirt, and the bulge of his stomach was much more evident with just a pristine white tank top to hide it from the world. He took in another labored breath and lifted the scrap of clothing over his head, tossing it on top of the other piece. She watched the white cloth longer than was necessary, terrified to look at Trenton's bare chest. Was this what he had decided to show her?
Before she had gathered the courage to look, he had removed her hand from the sheets and flattened her palm against his skin. A gasp escaped her lips, and her eyes flew to the place where his fingers gently gripped her wrist. He just held her there for a moment, waiting for her to relax. Eventually, she looked up and caught his eyes, and he smiled shyly. She felt his hand move, and her gaze flashed to it.
He guided her fingers down a bit, to sit just below his nipples, where his large belly began. He curled her fingers, and she felt the tips slip into a pocket of warm flesh. She tried to jerk her hand away, but he held her fast. Her fingers had disappeared into the warmth she felt, nearly to the knuckles. She tested the depth, curiously moving her hand further into the pocket and meeting no resistance. Trenton just watched her, and when she removed her hand in wonder, he reached for something on his back.
She watched in horror as the swollen lump that was Trenton's stomach slowly began to grow. It protruded further and further until, just where her hand had been earlier, a seam appeared. She gasped, then stopped breathing, sure that if she suffocated in this nightmare she would wake up to reality.
She did not wake up, and the chunk of false flesh fell away, revealing Trenton's true body, which was decidedly less flabby. In fact, it was smooth, and hard with muscle, like someone had exchanged his face with the body of Superman. She replaced her hand on his chest, awed and desperately trying to understand what was happening.
Trenton let her run her hand over his skin, but he had not completed his transformation, as was evidenced when he reached up to find a seam on his hairline as well. As she gawked up at him, his horrible comb over slid away, a full, closely-shaven head of hair left behind.
Who was this man? Why was he dressed as Trenton McDermott? Clearly, it could not be the man she had always known. As his facial hair, his glasses, and his nose joined the pile on the bed beside her, her eyes began to go dry. What was she seeing?
This man was nothing like the person she had kissed on a busy street. That man had been ugly; this man was the kind of beautiful that was reserved for the movie screens. Where there used to be a soft, plush belly, now there was a hard, flat plane; where once existed a head begging for the hair of its youth, now grew a mane that was healthy and thick. Where was Trenton's pudgy face? She could not find it in the chiseled jaw line or the pointy nose. What had become of the lips that adored a fat, Cuban cigar, and kissed with the expertise of a man trained in passion? Even those, which had remained physically unaltered during his conversion to beauty, seemed entirely unusual when settled amongst such unfamiliar features.
She stared. Her eyes ran the gamut from his head to his feet, and marveled at the phenomenon before her.
She knew what he meant now. A hundred questions swarmed her mind, even after he moved away from her shaking palm and threw his tank back over his head. He crossed his arms - how had she never noticed the definition of muscle there? - and leaned against the door. Her hand seemed unable to move, and remained suspended where it had been when his skin had been there for it to rest upon.
"I can explain."
Before and after pictures above! Any thoughts on this chapter? :D <3