Selfie for boyfriend (Patreon)

I slouched on the edge of my bed, fumbling with my phone, attempting to snap a damn selfie for my douchebag boyfriend—I hate his guts. Blonde hair, that's not mine, kept falling over my shoulders, a constant reminder of the screwed-up situation I'm stuck in. The tight bra straps dug into my skin, and I swear, I hated the way my newfound breasts felt. This ain't me.

I'm "Bitch," as ridiculous as it sounds, and yeah, that's what my passport says. I can't even be bothered to spit out my last name; it's like rubbing salt in the wound. Two weeks ago, I was Tony "Big Muscle," running the damn show, feared by everyone. Life was good, until that damn gypsy cursed me, and now I'm stuck as this dumb blonde chick. Nobody believes my story. It's like a sick joke.

I used to love my life as a mobster, but the gypsy had to screw everything up. Now I'm dealing with this girly crap, and it's pissing me off. Can't even break up with the idiot boyfriend because he's too dense to listen. I feel weak, not just physically, but mentally. Now, every choice I make hinges on the approval of a boyfriend I can't stand.

"Bitch," they call me, and yeah, that's what I answer to now. Even my boyfriend thinks it's some cute nickname. I can't even bring myself to say my last name; it's like admitting defeat.

Trying to capture the perfect selfie, I curse the damn hair, the tight bra, and every damn curve that feels alien on my body. I used to command respect; now I'm stuck taking orders from a clueless boyfriend. The gypsy might've thought she cursed me, but I'm starting to see this as a twisted opportunity. Maybe there's a new kind of power in this cursed form, and I'll be damned if I let it go to waste.