He could only stare at the fine etching on the fabric of what now constituted his body.
The words sank deep into Ryan's confused brain. Anyway, he hoped he still had some sort of brain, even if it was literally filled with cotton.
He didn't understand how the magic worked, but at least he wasn't 100 percent inanimate. He could still think and engage in a one-sided conversation with himself. The former jock had never been that introspective, but he began to contemplate the evidence reflected back at him by the mirror. The red threads spelling out his name stood out in sharp contrast to the white cotton.
Property? That meant he was owned, that he was merely a possession that could either be kept or discarded at will.
"No! I'm still Ryan!" He tried, and failed, to move.
His will had nothing to do with such decisions. He couldn't exert any influence, not as an item of cotton and rubberized straps that weighed no more than a few ounces.
Finished with the work, Vinnie's and Lou's grandmother dropped the jockstrap onto a basket of folded laundry that she would distribute when she finished the rest of her sewing.
Ryan felt like he had fallen facedown. He couldn't see anything, and he felt so lonely. Empty. As a jockstrap, he wanted to be worn. Needed to be worn.
"Please." He hoped Vinnie or even his brother would return soon...and wear him.