Chapter 10

Hours later, as morning light filters through unfamiliar curtains, Giorgia stirs on Jackson's bed. Her head pounds mercilessly, mouth dry and tasting of stale alcohol. She blinks, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings. Jackson sleeps beside her, his naked form partially covered by a rumpled sheet. Giorgia's eyes widen as fragments of memory return – her body moving atop his, words spilling from her lips that she would never say, sensations she'd never experienced before.

"Oh my God," she whispers, horror dawning as she realizes what's happened. Her hand trembles as she lifts the sheet, confirming her nakedness. Between her thighs, a sticky residue tells the story her fragmented memory can't fully piece together. She slides from the bed, wincing at unfamiliar soreness, and frantically gathers her scattered clothing. The red crop top and miniskirt look alien to her now, like costume pieces from someone else's life.

As she dresses, Giorgia catches her reflection in a mirror mounted on the closet door. Her makeup is smeared, hair tangled, lips swollen from rough kisses. For a fleeting second, she doesn't recognize herself – and worse, a small part of her admires how sexy she looks in her disheveled state. She shakes her head, trying to dislodge the thought.

"Isabella," she suddenly remembers, panic rising. "I need to find Isabella."

Giorgia searches the fraternity house, stepping over passed-out partygoers and navigating the debris of red cups and empty bottles. Upstairs, she tries several doors before finding one that opens to reveal her sister. Isabella lies sprawled across an unfamiliar bed, the sheet barely covering her naked form. Her navy dress is crumpled on the floor alongside her underwear, though her bra dangles precariously from a bedpost. Tyler is nowhere to be seen.

"Izzy," Giorgia whispers urgently, shaking her sister's shoulder. "Izzy, wake up. We need to go."

Isabella's eyes flutter open, confusion clouding her features before recognition dawns. "Gia?" she murmurs, the nickname slipping out unconsciously. She blinks, correcting herself. "I mean, Giorgia. What... where are we?"

"At the Theta Chi house," Giorgia explains, helping her sister sit up. "Do you remember anything from last night?"

Isabella's hand goes to her head, wincing at the pain. "Not really. Just... fragments." Her eyes widen as she realizes her state of undress, clutching the sheet to her chest. "Oh God, did I...?"

"I think we both did," Giorgia admits, her voice breaking slightly. "I don't understand what happened. This isn't like us, Izzy."

As Isabella stands to dress, she moves with a subtle new awareness of her body, a slight sway to her hips that wasn't there before. Similarly, when Giorgia hands her sister the navy dress, she tosses her hair back with an unconscious flourish that belongs more to Gia than to her authentic self.

You spot the Valentini sisters and trail them at a discreet distance as they make their way from the fraternity house. The morning light is harsh and unforgiving, illuminating their disheveled appearance as they walk with heads bowed, occasionally supporting each other. Their appearance tells the story of their night - Isabella's navy dress wrinkled and askew, Giorgia's revealing outfit from the previous night now looking garish in the morning light.

Their body language screams discomfort and confusion, yet there's something different about the way they move – a subtle sway to Isabella's hips, an unconscious toss of Giorgia's hair that betrays the lingering influence of their alter egos.

As they pass a coffee shop, three young men from last night's party exit, carrying to-go cups. One nudges the others, pointing at the sisters. "Hey, look who it is! The Valentini sisters – or should I say, the party queens of Theta Chi!" His voice carries across the street, making both women flinch visibly.

"Gia!" calls another, a lanky redhead wearing a wrinkled button-down from the night before. "You were wild last night! Who knew you had it in you?"

Giorgia freezes, her tanned skin flushing with embarrassment. For a moment, her posture shifts – shoulders squaring, chin lifting, a flash of Gia's confidence surfacing before being submerged by shame. "I’m not... that wasn't..." she stammers, unable to find the words to deny what happened.

Isabella shrinks beside her, pale fingers clutching her sister's arm. "Let's just go," she whispers, but her eyes linger on the men with an unfamiliar curiosity. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips – a gesture entirely foreign to her usual reserved demeanor. "They're looking at us differently," she murmurs, sounding both disturbed and intrigued by this revelation.

"Did you really not know Jackson was recording parts of it?" the third man calls out, his smirk cruel and knowing. "It's already making the rounds. Volleyball star riding the quarterback like a pro!"

Giorgia's face drains of color. "He what?" Her voice cracks with horror. "No, no, no..." She grabs Isabella's hand and pulls her sister away, quickening their pace to escape the men's laughter and catcalls.

As they hurry down the street, you observe Isabella's free hand unconsciously rising to smooth her tangled hair, arranging it with a coquettishness that belongs to Bella, not her. Similarly, despite her distress, Giorgia's gait has changed – her hips swaying more prominently, attracting glances from passersby that she simultaneously shrinks from and, for fleeting seconds, seems to savor.

You quicken your pace, catching up to the Valentini sisters as they hurry away from the coffee shop.

"Giorgia? Isabella?" you call out, infusing your voice with practiced concern. "Is everything alright?"

Both women freeze, turning to face you with expressions of mortification. Giorgia's eyes widen in recognition, her hand instinctively rising to smooth her tangled black hair. The gesture is both Giorgia's embarrassment and Gia's vanity, a fascinating blend of both personalities.

"Dr. Stern," she manages, her voice cracking. "What are you... I mean, we were just..."

"I was on my way to get coffee before heading to campus," you lie smoothly. "You both look upset. Is something wrong?"

Isabella shrinks behind her sister, her pale face flushed with shame. Her brown eyes dart nervously, unable to meet your gaze. "We're fine," she whispers, but the tremor in her voice betrays her.

"Those boys," Giorgia blurts out, tears welling in her eyes. "They said Jackson recorded... recorded me. Us. Last night. I don't even remember most of it, but they said there's a video and..."

"Oh my," you respond, your expression perfectly calibrated to show appropriate concern. "That sounds serious. Look, my car is just around the corner. Let me give you both a ride home. You shouldn't be walking alone after what sounds like a difficult night."

Giorgia hesitates, then nods gratefully. "Thank you, Dr. Stern. I don't know what happened last night. We're not like that, we never do things like that. I feel like I wasn't even myself."

As you guide them toward your car, you notice Isabella's walk - a subtle sway to her hips that belongs more to Bella than to her usual rigid posture. When she thinks no one is looking, her tongue darts out to wet her lips, a gesture of unconscious sensuality entirely new to her.

"Sometimes stress can manifest in unexpected ways," you offer sympathetically as you open the car door for them. "Especially for high-achieving students like yourselves. Perhaps we should schedule another session to discuss what happened?"

Giorgia nods eagerly, desperate for an explanation that doesn't involve her own agency. "Yes, please. I need to understand what's happening to us. And that video... I need to make sure it doesn't get out. My scholarship..."

Isabella remains silent, but her eyes meet yours in the rearview mirror as you start the car. For a fleeting second, something knowing flashes in their depths - not quite Bella's flirtatiousness, but not Isabella's usual analytical gaze either. Something in between, watching you with new awareness.