What if I Was a Worm? - Chapter 2 (Cyrus)

Waking the next morning came with it two realizations. The first being that Lia had said yes.

A smile stole across his lips before he’d even opened his eyes. It was all he’d wanted for three years—to put a ring on her finger. To make sure she knew how much she meant to him. How he wanted to be at her side for the rest of his life.

But the smile faded when his body recognized Lia’s absence from the bed. He could still hear her snoring, but his unbearable little furnace was no longer pressed against to his side. It was odd to think his body had adapted to her snuggles—for he shivered in her absence, flinging out an arm to search the space for her warmth.

Stop jumping, she mumbled, though her voice sounded distant, almost muffled. His eyes opened, finding only rumbled sheets and a dented pillow where she’d fallen asleep.

Was she at the end of the bed?

He jolted up into a sitting position, his eyes flaring wide when she screamed in response.

Hoooooly shiiiiiiiiiit! She yelled, her voice rising and fading with each word, as if she’d driven past his ear in a race car. But there was no race track in their bedroom as he searched the space, scanning the floor around the bed.

“Where the hell are you?” He asked, rubbing at his eyes before looking again. He climbed off the bed and dropped to his knees, searching under the frame.

I was in bed, she huffed. But given how you just launched me into fucking space, I think I’m orbiting Saturn right now.

“Lia, I’m not joking.” He glanced once at the empty bed before moving to throw open the closet doors. “Where are you hiding?”

I’m. In. The. Bed. She answered. It’s warm and dark and so very cozy, why don’t you join me?

Cyrus stomped forward, throwing back the covers to prove to them both that she wasn’t in the bed, and then staring down in wide-eyed horror when his eyes landed on the wriggling worm, resting in the divot left by Lia’s body.

The worm was no longer than the length of his finger. A pale, dusty shade of pink-brown with countless rings running down its body in minuscule segments. It rolled, one end tapping the surrounding sheet, as if searching for the comforter.

“Say something,” he whispered.

Like why did you just steal my dang covers? If this is what married life is going . . . Cyrus, her tone softened into something cautious, almost fearful, something is wrong with my eyes.

“There’s a lot more wrong than just your eyes, Lia. You’re a— a—“ He froze, blinking quickly. Of course.

“This is a dream,” he said aloud, his tone relieved. “I just need to pinch myself, wake up, and everything will be back to normal again.”

Wait . . . I can’t! Why can’t I pinch myself? What’s happening? What kind of twisted nightmare won’t even let me pinch myself? Is this sleep paralysis?

Panic unfurled in his gut as his fingernails dug into his arm, long and hard, beyond what would leave a mark, and Lia’s voice only grew more frenzied in his mind.

CYRUS!

The word snapped him back into the moment like a splash of cold water, and he lurched forward, lifting her from the bed in his palm and shushing when she began to scream anew.

“It’s okay. I just picked you up.”

Picked me up!?

“Yes, well, you are— uh . . . quite small.”

She twisted in his palm, searching for something. This feels wrong. It’s too bright to see anything. I need, I need— I need dark.

“Here,” he mumbled, closing his other palm over the first, peeking at her between the gap in his thumbs. “Is that better?”

Yes, she sighed. But I still can’t see. And I can’t feel my arms, or my legs. She whimpered. What’s wrong with me?

Her voice was returning to edge of hysterical when Cyrus turned and sat on the edge of the bed, feeling a bit hysterical himself at the reality he found himself within. “You’re a worm,” he blurted out in a rush.

Silence fell between them, though it wasn’t without noise. However they were linked, it didn’t just make it so he could hear the words she vocalized. He was catching snippets of her thoughts as they raced, weighing the truth of his words as she tested and explored her new body. He heard the way her mind hitched on the sound of a cry and his first instinct was to comfort. But how?

“Lia, baby,” he began, inspiration striking as he remembered their discussion the night prior. “You were right, honey. You’re a very cute worm.”

The sound of her laugh was watery, but it was a laugh nonetheless. Liar, she said, and he only smiled in response. It wasn’t entirely a lie. He wasn’t very keen on the idea of touching a worm, but knowing Lia was inside the tiny creature made it precious, in its own way.

“What do you need right now?” He asked, hoping that a change in subject would snap her out of her panic.

I’m . . . hungry, she said, sudden horror weaving its way through her mind. Do worms eat poop? I’m not doing it. I’m telling you right fucking now, I will starve to death before I eat poop.

“What do you feel like eating?” Cyrus said, resisting the urge to laugh.

I don’t know, she wailed.

“Well, it’s good to know some things never change,” he deadpanned as he stood and made his way to the desk across the room. “I’ll google it.”

What are you going to google? What to do when my girlfriend turns into a WORM?

“I was going to google what a worm eats, smart-ass, but we could try that next.” He bent forward, using his elbow to nudge the mouse, powering on the desktop. “And you’re my fiancé, for the record.”

That is not the focus right now, she snapped. How are you not freaking out?

“I’m putting you in my pocket so I can type,” he said, lowering her to the breast pocket of his t-shirt. “And I am freaking out, I’m just freaking out on the inside. We’ll figure this out, we always do.” He scanned the screen before him. “You’ve got lot of options, poop isn’t even mentioned. Soil and leaves are the top results but old fruits and veggies work too, just nothing citrus. Oh!” He paused, a smirk steeling across his face. “You’re going to love this.”

What?

“Used coffee grounds are considered a nutritious additive to a worm’s diet,” he read aloud.

At least there’s one positive. She sighed.

“Alright then.” He stood, making sure to not move too suddenly as he walked into the kitchen. They didn’t have any vegetables on hand, but he pulled the ripest of the fruits from the pantry and yesterday’s grinds from the coffee maker, before stepping through the backdoor. But as he bent forward to lay out his offerings across a section of loose dirt, she screamed once more as she tumbled out of his pocket and into the grass below.

“Lia— LIA!” He shouted, dropping to his knees as he searched the dirt.

You . . . DROPPED ME?

“I’m sorry! I forgot how light you were.”

Because I’m normally a lot heavier? Great, Cyrus. That’s just great to hear.

“Will you stop overreacting and tell me where you are? There could be birds or lizards or who knows what else out here looking for a meal.”

I don’t know where I am. I don’t have any fucking eyes. Just . . . I don’t know. Follow my voice.

“I’m trying,” he grunted, tilting his head and listening. “Say something else.”

Marco.

He froze. Was she being serious?

You’re supposed to say Polo, she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

He shook his head as he finally noticed the wiggle of her body half-hidden beneath a leaf. “Polo,” he said as he scooped her up, moving her to his smorgasbord of decaying matter. To nobody’s surprise, she went straight to the coffee grounds.

“You should probably eat more than just caffeine,” he said after a while.

It sustained me as a human, it’ll sustain me as a worm.

“Right.” He rolled his eyes, before focusing back on the phone in his hand and the research he was conducting.

I can feel you concentrating. Have you figured out how to turn me back?

“How am I supposed to figure that out? No, I’m learning about how to keep you alive. Looks like you need water, and lots of it.”

Gross.

“Not debatable, but the good news is that you don’t have to drink it. You just, like . . . absorb it.”

That’s worse.

He sighed. “Are you done eating?”

I suppose I can be done if you’re in a rush.

“I can wait.”

No, no. We’re on your time.

He chuckled as he lifted her out of the pile of coffee and tucked her into his pocket once more. Grabbing a small clear bowl from the kitchen, he returned outside to squat and scoot soil into the container. He ran water over the soil, spreading it about with his fingers until it felt well-moistened, and walked it to their bedroom, flipping the lights off and taking a seat on Lia’s side of the bed.

What’s happening? she asked as he lifted her from his pocket.

“I need to make sure I can find you.” He reached a hand into her bedside table to pull out the non-toxic markers she used to relax with her color-by-number books. “How about pink?”

You plan to paint me?

“Of course not. Google says you breathe through your skin. I’m not trying to kill you.” He paused. “I’m just going to put a little mark on your ass so I know it’s you.”

You want to give me a wormy tramp stamp? Are you serious? You could just, I don’t know, not drop me again?

“I like to prepare for every contingency. You want purple? There’s a light green.”

She sighed. Pink will do.

“Alright.” He pulled the pink marker from the box, uncapped it, then paused—staring down at her body. “Uh . . .”

What now?

He grimaced, bracing himself against the inevitable eruption. “I can’t tell which end is your ass.”