Eve.

  She is me, and I am her. Through her, I choose to live my wildest fantasies. And the truth of who I am. Sure, in reality, I could’ve lived my truth as a trans person, but being Eve felt more real. Natural. Right.

  I'd be her if I had never had my soul stuffed in the wrong body. All day. Every day. For the rest of my life.

  Unfortunately, as fate would have it, I was assigned male at birth and given the unfortunate name of Benard James Nova. It’s the embodiment of a hyper-masculine name that doesn’t allow for freedom or fluidity as the names Domonique, Chris, or Stacy do. So, I go by Jamie; it’s unisex enough but not as sexy as the name Eve.

  Until Eve and I become one, I’ll stick with Jamie for now.

  ***

  Midnight in Emerald City is the perfect hour for gaming, partying, and delivering dime bags of Neb to college students who need to take the edge off. Gaming will have to wait until I can find whoever the hell T-Dawg is. They ordered half a pound of Neb for their birthday party, and my boss, known by his moniker “Knuckles,” requested that I make this delivery. Being that I am twenty-two and able to blend in with partying teens, I was the proper fit for this job.

  Ping! Ping!

  My celly buzzes with a notification from T-Dawg.

  “My little sis is outside King Poseidon’s Lobster Shack.”

  Confused, I gawk about the downtown scene of drunkards fumbling about, partygoers belting out a song at a karaoke bar across the road, and lovebirds being whisked away by a horse-drawn carriage. Further down the way, the red, flashing neon sign of the lobster shack catches my eye.

  Something feels off…

  “This was not the proposed pickup location.” I furiously type back.

  “Change of plans. Sorry.” Is T-Dawg’s response.

  Tapping the screen of my celly, I swipe on the contact I have saved under a heart emoji—Knuckles.

  “Yo! Everything good, Jay?” Knuckles answers, erring on the side of caution by using my nickname instead of the cutesy name he’s picked out for me. He’s still in the closet, unwilling to be true to himself. But let’s be honest here: how many self-identified gay, kingpin drug dealers are true to themselves?

  “Nope,” I say, striding over to a chair outside Gattito Café, where one can drink their Frappuccino and play with the adoptable cats. “I think T-Dawg is working with the Feds.”

  There’s some clattering on Knuckles’s end, a fork scraping a plate, pronounced laughter around him. “Why do you think that is?”

  “Are you having dinner without me?”

  “Not the time to ask stupid questions.”

  Chewing the inside of my cheek, I roll my eyes. “Your client wanted me to deliver our supply to his sister—”

  “Welcome to Gattito Café.” A server in a black apron approaches me. “What can I get for you today?”

  I hesitate, shoot the server a smile, and then answer, “Just an ice water, please. Light on the ice. Thank you.”

  “Who was that?” Knuckles asks, a hint of jealousy in his voice.

  “A very hot guy who was quite curious about my fees—”

  “Funny,” he grumbles. “I’ll have someone deal with T-Dawg, okay?”

  “Copy that.”

  Knuckles lowers his voice to a dangerously sexy hiss, “Can I see you tonight?”

  “Give me a few hours to get ready.”

  “A few hours…” It hits him then that he’ll probably have to play solo tonight. “I hate when you choose that game over me.”

  Click!

  For a guy in his forties, Knuckles is still a child when it comes to dealing with his emotions. Why did I fall for a guy like him?

  Ping! Ping!

  A new message from T-Dawg: “Where are you?”

  It’s time to one-up this fool. “I’m waiting outside… where’s your sister?”

  From my vantage point, I observe a commotion outside the lobster shack. A not-so-inconspicuous white van pulls up in front, and, as the side door slides open, a bevy of Narc agents unload onto the scene. Garbed in all-black armor with ray-guns in their hands, these agents didn’t come to play.

  I chuckle, tilt back in the chair, and cross my feet at the ankles. “You’ve got to be smarter than that,” I say aloud.

  I pull out a Kill-All chip from inside my hoodie pocket, a small, greenish device strewn with a labyrinth of copper lines on the face. Swiping the screen with the chip effectively resets my phone, wiping all memory from it and T-Dawg’s. However, I wouldn’t put it past someone working closely with the Feds to have a backup plan to trace my whereabouts. So, casually, like a thief in the night, I slink away into the dark, toss my phone in the nearest receptacle, then pull my hoodie snugly over my head of curls.

  I’ve lived this lifestyle for over five years and made some mistakes. To say I am the best at what I do would be the furthest thing from the truth. Yet, to say that I am a complete noob at this would be a lie.

  A strange feeling overcomes me, as if a set of eyes are watching my every move. After stealing a peek over my shoulder, I shake off that feeling, noting that no one is looking my way. I’m practically invisible.

  ***

  Welcome back to False Lyfe.

  I am her, and she is me. Eve.

  The gaming world has taken epic leaps into the future with the latest VR games at a player's whim and desire. Everything and anything someone wants or needs can be summoned by just a thought in the virtual world. Everything exists within the boundless realm of VR, from gourmet food and live shows to equestrian sports.

  One could even upload their consciousness into this beautiful world—if you have the money to do so. I am nowhere near the one hundred thousand protons needed to upload my soul out of this body and into Eve.

  Layla313: Come on, Girly! The guys are waiting!

  Through the eyes of my virtual self, I touch up my black lipstick in my vanity mirror. Everything about me—Eve—is breathtaking. From my light brown eyes, sensual brown skin tone, and provocative curves and swerves, I am a masterpiece. Truly a one-of-a-kind creation.

  “What happened to your voice modulator?” I glance at Layla, my virtual friend I’ve never met offline, as she taps her foot.

  Layla is a dwarf, a very sexy one at that. Her topknot of blonde hair pulls her dwarfish blue eyes into a catlike shape. Layla said her avatar was exported from the VR Game Cosmic Threads—a fantasy game I’ve never played.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Layla313: My headset is running some stupid update in the background that nixes my mic.

  “How long will the update take?” I stand to my full five-foot-five height, caressing my hands around my bare stomach. I adore how smooth my body is—

  Layla313: Could you put some clothes on, pretty please?

  “Jealous?” I wink at her as I summon an amethyst-hued screen with the snap of my fingers. On the screen, I can view my current location (Eve’s Skyloft), stat bars (Entertainment, Energy, Hunger, Intimacy, Social), skills that I’ve acquired (Charm, Cooking, Fashionista, Gardening, Imagination), and my wardrobe.

  My wardrobe is entirely customizable, from the color and style of the accessories down to how high I want my heels to be. Since today is a special day, I already have the perfect outfit in mind.

  Layla313: Too silver. Tone down the intensity just a touch.

  “How’s this?” I twirl in my mini silver top and bottom combo, adjusting the saturation.

  Laya313: Perfection. Let’s go.

  Layla, ever the eager beaver to get to the money, vanishes out of my loft in a frenzy of glittering blue sparkles.

  Message from: Knuckles

  “What does he want?” I fold my arms as I will the message open with my mind.

  “You comin’ to get this or nah?” Knuckles’s message is followed by a delicious nude pic showcasing his beefy body, fuzzy enough for my liking, and his mighty third leg. His tasteful tattoos reveal his cultural pride but divulge nothing about who he truly is. He keeps his secrets close to his heart, and he’s made enough room for me to snuggle inside it and nothing more.

  “Give me a few minutes,” I say as my reply and the messages disappear.

  “Wouldn’t you rather have the real thing?” His following message hits a little below the belt because everything about Eve is real to me.

  I don’t respond, choosing to leave my virtual loft and make my way—rather teleport—to the Omega Lounge. The lounge is a massive exotic dance club that caters to an all-male clientele. I theorize that many of these male clients are like me—living a double life—male—or female-presenting—in the real world while living their truth in the VR world.

  Being an exotic dancer wasn’t the path I had in mind for Eve. Unfortunately, this is the only way to make enough protons to upload all of myself into Eve. Once that happens, I’m kissing my life as Jamie goodbye. For now, though, I need the money in both VR and the real world. Thankfully, the virtual currency obtained in VR can be exchanged for real money. Yet, the exchange rate is abysmal.

  100 VR Bucks is equivalent to 1 Proton. Working as an exotic dancer while performing… extracurricular activities on the side has garnered me well over 200,000 VR bucks since I started playing False Lyfe two months ago. I’d already be one with Eve if I did not have to pay for rent, food, or anything else binding me to the real world.

  I have a plan in mind, though, to live my life as Eve. Hopefully, Knuckles will forgive me for what I’m going to do to his heart.

  ***

  Everything feels, tastes, and smells so real. My senses are tuned in—hypnotized—to believe just that. A warm sense of wholeness electrifies all of me as I straddle my client and give him the best lap dance of his life. Afterward, when my client’s body is humming and ablaze with lustful desires, we head to a private room…

  After the deed is done, and the client has paid for my time, I log off for the day right after blocking the client who was awarded the privilege of experiencing Eve.

  ***

  “Shit!”

  I scramble awake. The morning sun peers through the blinds and burns my eyes as I rip the sheets off me. I hadn’t meant to stay the night at Knuckles’s place or laugh the night away as we watched some stupid comedy movie about a killer rabbit in medieval times. Knuckles’s sense of humor is ridiculous.

  For my plan to work, I’ve got to play it cool with Knuckles. Rule one: never overstay your welcome after a hot session. Once the lovemaking was over, I should’ve collected my things and thanked him for a beautiful night. That would’ve made Knuckles want me more and feel a stronger desire to need me so much that he trusts me unequivocally.

  “You’re up.” Knuckles cracks his bedroom door open while I try not to appear too frazzled as I dress myself. “I’ve made breakfast.”

  Breakfast? Woah. Woah. Woah…

  This gorgeous man has never once made me anything special. The only thing we have is our discreet time alone. Nothing more. Still, this is a win because Knuckles and I are still surface dwellers regarding our relationship. I’ve yet to unearth who he is or what his real name is. I’ve only uncovered pebbles with fragments of his story that I still cannot piece together.

  Today, however, I think things will change for the better.

  “I hope you like French toast.” Knuckles wears blue boxers and an open button-up shirt, exposing his hairy chest. His wavy black hair hangs down to his mid-back. He’s set the table for two with orange juice to drink and fresh grapes at the center. “I added a hint of vanilla. Unfortunately, I ran out of whipped cream. Sorry about that.”

  Flames burn in my cheeks. “My fault. I wanted to try something new.” I’m in his white t-shirt, which is too oversized for my body but still very comfy. His cinnamon-musky smell wraps around me like a cozy blanket.

  “Eat up, Curly,” Knuckles says, placing a plate stacked with syrup-drenched French toast on the table.

  “Where’d you learn how to cook?” I ask, cutting off a corner piece of bread and popping it in my mouth. “Holy hell!” I shudder at the taste; the vanilla and buttery syrup are delicious.

  Knuckles watches me with a satisfied grin. The same grin I reveled in last night as we melded together. “Culinary school dropout,” he adds casually, yet there’s a sliver of pain behind those words.

  “You never told me that,” I say, sipping the OJ. “Why’d you drop out?”

  “There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, Babe.”

  “Do you care to share anything with me?”

  Knuckles hesitates and rubs his knuckles beneath his stubbled chin. “Family problems. Pops got sick, and Moms couldn’t manage the stress. So, I dropped out to help them. Now, it's your turn: tell me something I don’t know. I know you like that damn video game.”

  “It’s not just a video game,” I say defensively, wielding a butter knife in mock anger. No matter how much I explain False Lyfe to him, he just won’t get it. “I have the chance to live again. To be free of this life—”

  “What’s so wrong with your life?” He dabs at his mouth with a napkin. “You have everything you need.”

  “I do not have everything I need.” I bite my tongue, not wanting to spoil this beautiful breakfast with an argument.

  “You woke up today,” he begins. “You have breath in your lungs. Food right in front of you. Be grateful.”

  “Please don’t piss me off with your bullshit platitudes.” I shove my plate away, having lost my appetite, though I would like to finish my meal more than anything. “I made a mistake by staying over.”

  Knuckles grinds his teeth together. “This is why I don’t fuck with young dudes.” I cringe at the word “dudes” because I am far from a dude. “Y’all are always mad at the world for seemingly dealing you a shitty hand. You can change your life—” he snaps his fingers “—just like that.”

  “Says the drug dealer.” I hurry to grab my clothes, not wanting to meet Knuckles eye to eye. But I can feel his gaze burning my backside.

  Knuckles chuckles a bit derisively. “I’ve made my bed, and I’m lying in it. At the time of making this decision, I had lost everything. Both of my parents passed away—Pops from his bad heart and Mom from taking her life. I had to take care of two fucking funerals within the span of three weeks. I scraped whatever money my folks left behind, but it wasn’t enough, so I had to think quickly. This—dealing dope and shit—was not on my vision board. It’s not on anyone’s.”

  Crumpling my shirt in my hands, I curse myself for being so unsympathetic. I had no idea that he’s been through all of this. Slowly, I turn to him and offer an apology. “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re good.” Knuckles collects the plates of half-eaten food from the table. “I’ll see you later, then.”

  “Knuckles… I.”

  “You can go.”

  Inhaling, I head toward the kitchen, where Knuckles slams cabinets and draws. “I’m not gay,” I admit. He regards me with a curious look. “Something that you don’t know about me: I’m trans. I don’t relate to this body or my birth name—anything! You think that game is just a game to me, but it gives me the freedom to create a life for myself that I cannot have here.”

  “Yes, you can.” He steps close to me, the smell of his body intoxicating. “I can give you that. If you want it.”

  “How?”

  “I’m washing my hands of this life.” His hands come down on my shoulders, firm and strong. “I’ve saved up more than enough to start over. The life I want is out there, waiting for me to claim it. And… if I can have you there with me, that’d be perfect. You’d make a gorgeous woman, by the way.”

  Staring into his brown eyes, thick-lashed and ever-so-warm, I nuzzle into his chest. “I’d love to start over, too. To get away from this damn City and go somewhere with a beach right at my back door. But, I found my true self within False Lyfe. I’ve created the life I’ve always wanted… sort of.”

  “I-I can’t judge you for what you do in that game,” he starts, “but it sickens me that you hook up with virtual men.”

  “It’s not a game.”

  “If it’s not a game to you, then why live a life of promiscuity? Is that your idea of what it means to be a woman?”

  “I’m not doing it because it’s fun.” I peel my face away from his chest. “I need the money so that I can upload myself into my avatar—”

  “Upload?” He licks his lips, shaking his head. “You want to give up on living your best life as the woman you are to live in a video game?”

  Shrugging off his hands, I push him away from me. “It’s not a game to me.” I cannot stress this fact enough to him with his thick skull.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “What?”

  “If I told you I loved you and wanted you to run away with me, would that change your mind?”

  “You barely even know me.”

  “Answer the question.”

  “I... sure. Yes.” I rub my throbbing temples at the thought of our complicated relationship.

  “Well then, Jamie,” Knuckles says, dropping to one knee. I freeze in place, a held breath caught in my throat. “I love you! Come with me to San Diego so that we can start anew.” He extends a hand to me, his tribal tattoo curling around his arm like a poisonous snake that reels me in with the promise of a new life as I take his proffered hand. “I can give you that life as—” he gestures to me, wanting to know the name I’d like to be known as when I finally transform into the woman I am supposed to be.

  “Eve.” I smile.

  “Eve it is then.”