As expected, Neil’s room had changed. It wasn’t completely different: the bed and desk were where they had always been, the sheets looked the same, the pillow looked the same, and so on. But there was no mistaking the fact that it was also different: he still had a few favorite action figures on one shelf, but the were mixed in with various bodybuilding trophies, and crowded out by several huge tubs of protein powder and smaller tubs of pre-workout drink mix, bottles of vitamins and minerals, and so on. A full-length mirror had appeared on one of his walls; it reflected his new reality: that he had become utterly jacked, beyond merely fit or muscular—a full-on bodybuilder.
Neil shook his head. Where had all this stuff come from? Sure, he’d experienced incredible—no, unbelievable progress in the gym. But that had been without all this… stuff. Yet as he looked over in the new mirror, he realized that all the weird bodybuilder stuff on his shelf was precisely the sorts of things that should be in the room of someone who looked like him.
Neil lay back on his bed, pondering the situation. He thought back to the first of his three theories: that changes were induced via either attendance at the gym, or via sexual contact with himself, specifically. But which was more likely? The more he tried to fit the facts that he knew into one of them, the more it didn’t work. But when he tried it the other way, the same thing happened. Clearly, people had been changing without any sexual contact with him or anyone else. And clearly, sometimes dramatic changes happened far away from the gym, which was always related to sex. How could the facts support both theories, yet contradict them at the same time? How could…
Neil sat up in bed. What it wasn’t one or the other? What if both were happening? What if the gym was the initial source of the changes, but then sexual contact catalyzed further changes? That could be it… it all fit…
Except it didn’t explain the trophies on the shelf. Or the photos in his phone. Or the card in his wallet. But did it need to?
He lay back on his bed, his broad back spread out on the mattress. For the moment, he would assume that the changes were a) started by the gym, somehow, and b) could be furthered by either additional gym attendance or sexual contact with himself or, quite possibly, other gymgoers as well. He nodded to himself, his chin brushing against the tops of his thick upper pecs. It made sense. Sort of.
He sat up again, ready to go out and discuss his theory with Max when he heard a feminine cry of pleasure. Neil’s eyes went wide for a moment, until he remembered that Max had the company of the fairer sex for the evening. A grin spread on his face and he lay back down, listening to the sounds of passion that came under his bedroom door. He felt proud of his buddy, listening to their grunts and moans as Max and Clara engaged in energetic fucking in the next room.
Half an hour later, Neil was ready to tear his ears off. He knew his own stamina was pretty damn good, but the fact that Max and Clara were still at it was blowing his mind. And it wasn’t just sweet, gentle, relatively quite lovemaking. No, they were fucking. Intensely. And they didn’t care who knew it.
Neil stood up. He paced back and forth for a moment, then reached up for one of the canisters of pre-workout drink mix. He studied the label, trying to distract himself from Clara shrieking Max’ name. But as he read it, something strange happened. The canister began to seem… familiar. Almost as if he’d read the ingredients before. As if he had regularly put a scoop in his water before a workout since… since he switched over from his last brand of pre-workout drink mix.
The canister tumbled to the floor from Neil’s hand; thankfully, the lid was screwed on tight. The big bodybuilder bent over to pick it up and carefully set it back on the shelf. He looked over at the trophies. Most were for collegiate bodybuilding competitions. Some were regional ones. He picked one up, at random.
The memory was hazy at first. The sound of Max and Clara grunting away in the next room faded into memories of clapping and a few cheers as he waved to the crowd, walking up to accept his first-place trophy. The same trophy that was in his hand, picked up off his shelf. The trophy that hadn’t been there, yesterday. Yet three months ago he’d won it, at a regional collegiate competition. The date was carved right into it, along with his name.
Neil put the trophy down. He lay back in bed, his mind spinning. He didn’t even notice the noise from the other room. Instead, he focused on the more pressing problem: he had two conflicting memories in his mind at the same time. He knew the trophies and powders had not been on his shelf yesterday, yet he remembered them there as well. He knew where he’d been on that particular weekend three months back—an astronomy night up in the mountains—but he also remembered being at that bodybuilding competition, nowhere near the night sky celebration that he remembered so well.
He would discuss the problem with Max in the morning. Until then, Neil would fight to hold on to his real memories. It was important to do that. He didn’t know why, precisely, except he didn’t want to lose himself somehow. More investigation was needed. He had to understand what was going on.