The Drive: outside
He should have been freaking out.
Should have been, but wasn't. Oh, he was confused. Mildly alarmed, even, but there was no panic, no steady rhythm of what-the-fuck drumming in his head. Which wasn't his head. Because his head was his, not hers, and he was definitely 100% her right now. It made no sense at all. Five seconds ago he'd been him but five seconds ago he hadn't been in the snow, hadn't been in some funky-looking mall that didn't ring any chords of familiarity whatsoever.
Weird. This was unquestioningly weird. He should have been freaking out for sure.
His (her?) skin itched, beneath the t-shirt he (she? fuck this) was wearing. Jeans, too, and okay, at least it wasn't a dress. He scratched absently at scars he didn't know were there as he wandered inside, only stopping when he caught sight of himself in a store mirror. Holy shit, yeah, he was a girl. He blinked at himself. Short black hair-- was she going for the goth look? Maybe. Hell if he knew.
He didn't wonder, if he was her, who was him. But he did wonder about others, and that had him moving again. To find someone. Something. This couldn't just be happening to him, right? It wasn't like he had some secret desire to be a girl. No way. Scratch, scratch, at fabric, and he continued on.
The car accessory store made him pause, and he looked up at the sign with curiosity that became a frown. "What the fuck." No, no freaking out, but why was this his life? Why?