But the idea passes quickly. The more you think about it, the more you realize you only have one option. You have to set time into motion once more, and hope nothing too bad happens. Maybe once Brooke is at least moving again, the two of you will be able to come up with an idea to both get back to the present. You take a deep breath and push the button on the watch. Time resumes.
Much to your relief, you and everything around you still exists. The clothing that the two of you discarded falls to the floor, once more subject to the pull of gravity. Brooke looks at you for a few seconds, a puzzled expression on her face. "Uh... hon? Where are we, and... um... why are we both naked?"
"You don't remember?" you ask. "We went back in time. It's 1995. We're in my parents' bedroom. We were going to have sex."
Brooke begins to shake. "I... don't remember that at all... I feel... weird..."
You realize now that something is very wrong. Brooke is changing before your very eyes.
Suddenly Brooke takes a look at you and screams. "Wh-wha-- what's going on? Who are you?! Why are you naked!? Why am I naked!?" Embarrassed, she tries to cover herself with her arms. "You pervert! Who the hell ARE you!?"
You try to calm her down. "Brooke, it's me, your boyfriend! Remember? We've seen each other naked lots of times. Don't be embarrassed." But you can see she really doesn't recognize you.
"What have you done with my clothes?!" she demands. You are about to tell her they're on the floor, when you notice-- they aren't, anymore. All of the clothing the two of you had been wearing previously is gone. Of course they are, you think to yourself. You both took them off, so they were no longer influenced by your watch-- just like the ring. And of course, none of the clothing either of you were wearing yet existed 20 years into the past. Looking back up at Brooke, the true severity of this problem is finally clear. Her changes have become more pronounced within seconds-- her breasts have shrunken, her voice is a higher pitch, and she is shorter.
Without the ring to protect her, she is returning to the way she was in 1995. She is getting younger.
By the time you fully figure out what is happening to her, Brooke is already a flat-chested prepubescent girl who looks no older than 11. Startled, she runs into the bathroom, trying to hide from you. You follow after her, calling out, "Wait! Brooke! Please, come back!" When you find her again, huddled in the bathtub, she's a little girl again-- probably 5 or 6, and crying. "Shhh," you say, softly. "Don't worry, Brooke, you're safe with me. I'm your friend. I'll find a way to turn you back, I promise."
"I want my mooooommy!" Brooke sobs. You can't believe your eyes as the final parts of Brook's transformation take hold-- 4 years, 3 years, 2 years... 8 months. Before you, lying on her little tummy and crying and flailing about in the bathtub in her birthday suit, is little infant Brooke.
"Oh my god," you say. "My girlfriend is a baby!"