Tour De Heart - Chapter 4 [TG Lesbian Romance]

Anonymously Commissioned

Chapter 4

Ken’s mouth tasted of ash. With a groan, he rolled off his stomach and groaned as light filtered through his long, sticky eyelashes. His head was pounding, and he only wanted to curl up and fall asleep again for a thousand years. He was just about to drift off into peaceful darkness when light suddenly filled the room, and Ken cried out in pain. 

“Louis.” He groaned, knowing who must be responsible. “Are you trying to murder me?”

“I should say the same thing.” He sighed. “What were you thinking, Amelie?”

Ken forced himself to sit up in bed, moaning as the room swayed. He was half dressed, wearing nothing but his singlet and panties, and his bra was half hanging out the bottom of his shirt; apparently, he’d been too drunk last night when he got home to finish undressing. 

“Did I oversleep?” He asked groggily.

“Yes, but that’s the least of our problems.” 

Louis threw down a magazine onto the bed covers. It was one of those cheap tabloids covered in bright red letters and yellow stars designed to catch the eye at a supermarket checkout. Articles like ‘Ten things you won’t believe about the Queen’ were splashed all over the cover, but that wasn’t what made Ken instantly sober. It was the picture taking up the centre. 

A wild-looking woman with blonde hair was mid-flip. Her shirt was half off, barely covering her dignity as she lifted a glass of brightly coloured alcohol in the air. Another woman hung off her side, her face obscured by her dark hair, but Ken knew it was Jean. 

“Second-rate Cyclist Sloppy drunk?” Ken read, “Is the reason for Amelie Blanchet’s collection of silver medals because of her secret partying? Read more on page three?!”

“It's a piece of hack journalism, but these rags are good at sensationalism.” Louis grimaced. “There are more photos of you dancing on bar tops and singing with a broken karaoke mic. They say the reason you’ve never won gold is because you spend more time partying than training. And that you’re probably an alcoholic. They don't say that last part in so many words, but the implication is clear.”

Ken felt his blood boil; he’d been doing nothing but train since he woke up in this life! Last night was the first time he’d had fun in forever, as Ken or Amelie! It wasn't fair. He couldn’t help but feel dejected; he’d been given a second chance, a whole new life, and he’d ruined it in less than a month. 

“What were you thinking, Amelie? Why didn't you leave when you saw the paparazzi?”

“I… didn't notice them.” 

Louis ran his hand over his face.

“How drunk did you get?”

“Hey! You’re the one who told me to go out and get fucked!”

“Not like that!” Louis pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a sharp breath.

“What does it matter anyway?” Ken shrugged. “Everybody gets sloppy drunk once in a while.”

“Not everybody is relying on brand deals and sponsorship to afford the best of the best gear and get to the Tour de France!” Louis cried. 

Oh, Ken hadn’t considered that. In fact, he had just used Amelie’s credit card whenever he needed to buy something; it hadn't been declined yet, so he hadn’t had a reason to think about money. She was a professional athlete, and they didn’t exactly earn salaries…so how did he earn money now? 

“My job is just as much about your image as it is about those thighs of yours,” Louis said. “If I had known that’s how you were drunk, I would never have let you near a bar.”

Ken flopped back into the bed with a groan.

“Can you lecture me after my head stops pounding?”

“I’m going to go make you a hangover cure. And I am going to make it taste disgusting.”

“You’re the worst.”

“You’ll thank me next time you consider getting drunk and remember the taste instead.”

Ken gave Louis the finger as he left and listened as the man laughed all the way to the kitchen. At least he knew Louis wasn’t that mad, but still, this wasn’t exactly a great wake-up. The sound of the blender whirring in the kitchen made his skull feel like it was about to split open. 

What had he been thinking? Ken didn;t think he’d been thinking at all really; thanks to the alcohol he had actually forgotten himself and become Amelie fully. And it turned out Amelie was so wound up she didn;t know how to handle her drink. Panic welled in his chest; he had really lost himself for a time there. Stopped being Ken with a hint of a new personality and become her entirely! Ken bit his lip; he had to swear of alcohol, he couldn’t risk that happening again!

Thanks to the panic there was no way he could go back to sleep. Instead, Ken reached for his phone and nervously googled his own name again, this time organising the articles by date. There were three, all published today by various low-brow news outlets. Basically, tabloids for the internet, all showing the same few pictures of him sloppy drunk in the club. He knew it was a mistake, but he read them each in turn, guilt mounting with every word. The first two were more or less the same as the tabloid article, but the third had an extra edge. 

‘Kerrie McDonough, Tour de France Femme winner, has been racing in circuits similar to Blanchet for years now and has had this to say. “I always knew she had something holding her back. I’m just glad her problem is with alcohol and not something harder. It’s a slippery slope from drugs to performance enhancers. I’d hate for Amelie to return to the circuit with an unfair advantage next year. After coming in second behind me so many times, it wouldn’t be surprising, though. I just pray she can get the help she needs.”

Ken saw red. Kerrie. Of course, she had to talk about this. She probably woke up, saw one of the first articles and called every rag in France trying to get her spin on things. That utter bitch! It was bad enough that she acted all sweet in front of the camera and bitter when they were off, now she was stoking this alcoholic rumour? And implying that he might turn to performance-enhancing drugs in order to win? 

“Alright,” Louis said through gritted teeth. “I might have gone overboard with this one, get ready to hold your nose.”

“Give it here.”

Ken downed as quickly as he could, not even bothering with the taste. Louis just stared, jaw practically on the floor. 

“I put jalapenos in that…”

“Louis, get your stopwatch. We’re training.”

“Uh, I don’t think that’s such a great idea.”

“We’re. Training.” Ken forced himself out of bed and swayed a little on his feet. “I’ll meet you outside in ten minutes.”

Louis didn’t look convinced. 

“Sure you will.” He said, “Alright, I’ll hold you to it…”

He closed the door behind him, and Ken started to go through the arduous task of showering and dressing himself. He wasn’t about to let Kerrie get the last word on this. He’d ride all day, past every newspaper and tabloid office in the city and make sure that tomorrow morning, there was a story about how hard he worked. He didn’t spend the last few years working his sweet butt off to improve, only to have somebody lie and say he cheated. 

“Just you wait, Kerrie. " He hissed at his reflection, ignoring the bags under his eyes. “Next time we compete, I will…wait, what am I saying? I’ve never even met her!”

Ken took a step back. He’d been used to gaining new knowledge since starting this new life, but that was the first time it felt…personal. Ken realised for the first time that he had once again become Amelie in that moment. He felt her rage, her drive to win gold and prove herself as one of Frances’ best athletes, her humiliation at being such an idiot. He also felt that personal connection to Kerrie; as soon as her name appeared, he logically knew all about their history, the same way he knew everything else he ‘remembered’. But for the first time, it felt more…real. Before, all the information about his life had felt like something he’d read, not something he had experienced until then. 

“I…am I really becoming Amelie?” He asked his reflection, voice trembling. 

Ever since this strange change happened, he had fought it tooth and nail. But it was so hard to do.  Living Amelie’s life had felt as easy as breathing. For the first time in his life, he had purpose, drive and passion. It felt good; maybe that was why he had secretly been glad when Jean came along and gave him a reason not to keep searching for the red headed woman. 

“How do I fix this?” He asked his reflection. “I can’t just…live this life! Then again, what choice do I have?”

His head was spinning, not just from the alcohol now, and his stomach churned. Last night's slip he could blame on the alcohol but he was stone sober now. All those feelings about Kerrie happened regardless. Even now he felt an odd drive to get out there and train till he dropped just to prove her wrong. These urges, the compulsion to become Amelie were only getting stronger. His stomach churned again and Ken groaned. 

“Oh boy…maybe chugging that stuff Louis made wasn’t a good idea…”

“Amelie?” Louis called. “Are you in there?”

Ken, or maybe Amelie, he couldn’t be totally sure anymore, grit his teeth.

“Yeah, I’m here.”

~

Training while horrendously hungover turned out to be a terrible idea. Ken squinted at the road ahead, the narrow country lane dipping and weaving between the rolling hills. The cobblestones under his bike seemed to rise up, meeting his wheels like little jolts of punishment. His thighs burned from the first kilometre, and he wasn’t even halfway through his route. Every pedal stroke sent another wave of nausea through his stomach, and the water in his bottle tasted sour, unable to wash away the stale, acidic taste lingering in his mouth.  But he refused to give up. He was going to prove to the whole world that last night wasn’t who Amelie Blanchet was. She was…She was…

Well, he didn't know yet, but Ken was determined to find out. He felt her drive, his own drive, coming alive for the first time in years, and he refused to let it die. Even as his masculine pride begged him too. 

He glanced at the odometer. Five kilometres. How was it only five kilometres? He groaned, nearly losing control of the handlebars as he shifted his weight, his legs threatening to cramp. Maybe he could give up a little. Ken pulled over and flopped down on the soft, green grass, taking a deep breath, feeling his chest rise and fall as it filled with sweet mountain air. His phone buzzed at his thigh, it was a message from a number he didn't recognise.

‘Just woke up, did you make it home OK? Oh God, my head feels like it's full of rocks.’

Ken chuckled. Jean.

‘I’m just at the start of my morning ride.’

It took a few minutes for the reply to come.

‘Holy shit, you’re outside? Where that bright hot thing is? How have your eyes not exploded in pain?’

Ken threw back his head in the grass and laughed, immediately regretting the action a moment later when his headache worsened. 

‘I feel like I’m gonna throw up.’ He text back.

‘Coffee?’

‘COFFEE.’

‘I’ll meet you at the cafe next door to my shop.’

Ken sighed; once more he felt torn. He wanted to see Jean, but he also wanted to keep training. He looked over at the bike, laying in the grass next to him. It was the source of all his problems. If he just gave it up, maybe things would go back to normal. He could kick it down the hill, make it too broken to ever use again. Then, no matter how tempted he was, no matter how strongly his Amelie side compelled him, he wouldn’t be able to keep going. 

He got to his feet and lifted the bike, ready to push it off the steep embankment near the side of the road. His handles trembled, the Amelie inside him screamed. This bike was perfect, his one source of happiness in this new life. He couldn’t do it. 

With a sigh he moved back to the road and though it was probably damning him with every push of the pedals, he got on and started to ride toward town. 

~

Louis gave him the smuggest ‘I told you so’ when he called, saying he was ditching the training for an hour to go get coffee. The smart move would have been to rest the entire day, but Ken couldn’t bring himself to do it. The bike still called to him. Now that he’d tasted Amelie’s true passion and drive for the sport, he found it impossible to let go. 

He flopped down into a plush seat and took a deep drink from the coffee mug. He moaned in pleasure as the rich, dark roast coated his tongue. How did people live before coffee? 

“Wow, you look like shit.” 

Jean giggled as she sat down. Bags were under her eyes, and her normally luscious dark hair looked like it had just been through a tornado.

“Right back at you.”

Jean took a sip of her coffee and leaned back with a satisfied sigh; Ken felt his heart flutter a little, watching her lips twitch into a soft, beautiful smile. She really was a typical French beauty, the kind who would probably never take a chance on the old him. 

“I can’t believe you were out training, you really are dedicated.” She said after a moment.

“Tell that to the tabloids.”

“What do you mean?”

Ken launched into a dramatic retelling of the morning, complete with his rage at Kerrie. Once again, he slipped into Amelie’s life and emotions like a well-worn shoe. 

“I knew you two were rivals since your first debut race together, but I never realised she was such a…well, a bitch.”

“She wants to win, no matter what.” Ken sighed before hardening his resolve. “But so do I. I’m sick of being ‘second-best Blanchet.’”

“And I know you can,” Jean said, reaching over and squeezing Ken’s hand. 

The touch was friendly, and yet it felt powerful. To have somebody believe in him so wholeheartedly made a lump form in the back of his throat, and heat flood his body. Ken opened his mouth, ready to ask Jean if she’d like to have dinner sometime, but he stopped before the words could form. It wasn't that he was nervous; no, Ken might have been, but this new life was making him more confident by the minute. No, what stopped him was…guilt. He had a big race to train for. He couldn’t be distracted by love and dating. Look how one night of fun had backfired. No. He couldn't risk it. Instead, Ken just smiled and returned the gesture before pulling back to cup his coffee mug. 

“So, I know this is probably a dumb question, but why cycling?” Jean asked. 

“Well…” Ken hesitated for a moment before deciding to go with the truth. “I wanted to get fitter, but nothing seemed to work. I just hated exercising, but then…I got on a bike. It felt like flying.”

He smiled.

“Every time I am on there, the world feels right. I can get a bit too stuck in my own head sometimes, but when I ride, all that goes away. And…”

There was something else, something new.

“I want to win.” He said with a grin. “I want to prove to the world and to myself that I am not just some footnote in history. I want to be the best at something, and I want the whole world to know it.”

Ken could feel his heart lightening as he spoke. He couldn't remember the last time he’d felt so passionate and driven to do anything, let alone be a champion. As a man, he’d just wanted to get through each day, but now he had something truly great to strive for. 

“Wow.” Jean breathed. “That’s really inspiring, Amelie, why don't you ever say any of that in interviews?”

“...I don’t know. I guess I don’t want to come off as arrogant or pitiable. I don’t want to give people like Kerrie any more ammunition.”

“Well…you have me in your corner,” Jean said shyly. “I never thought I’d be friends with a star cyclist, but if you ever want somebody to talk to or practise with, I am here.”

She spoke so tentatively as if she were secretly afraid Amelie was about to shut her down. It was cute, a gentle reminder that being a celebrity wasn't all tabloids and smear campaigns. 

“Thanks, I appreciate that…but I'll probably get back to training.” He said finally. “Thank you for this Jean, and for last night. It was wild.”

“Maybe we can do it again sometime.” She said hopefully, and Ken felt his gut twist.

He wanted that, he wanted that quite a lot actually. 

“Maybe.”

Ken stepped out of the cafe and felt a cold gust of wind bluster into him. It sent his blonde hair flying around his face and instantly formed gooseflesh across his skin. Even his new nipples perked up a bit at the sudden temperature change. Without thinking, he wrapped his arms around himself, feeling the curve of his breasts and flat stomach. He could still taste traces of lipstick from last night on his life. Everything really had changed. Even the way he held himself against the cold was different. 

He looked around the quaint little French suburb he found himself in. It was beautiful, far more beautiful than the smoggy street he was used to back in his old life. He wondered if somebody else was living in his apartment now. His heart panged, he felt oddly homesick and not at the same time. Then, he saw it. A flash of red. Not bright red, but darker, natural red with a curl to it. His jaw dropped as he watched the frizzy haired woman who had set this all in motion pedal past with a casual smile on her face. She had a new bike and didn;t even seem to notice him as she passed. Ken was in such a state of shock he didn;t even think to call out until she was halfway down the street. 

“Wait!” he cried, “Hey! You, with the red hair! Stop!”

Ken felt light, almost dizzy. This was it, this was his chance. He almost collapsed from relief when the woman turned and stopped so he could catch up. 

“Is everything okay?” She asked.

“Yes…I…No, sorry just let me catch my breath.” Ken panted and cleared his throat. “Do you know who I am?”

The woman’s eyes narrowed.

“You look a little familiar.” She shrugged. “Should I know you?”

“Yes! You gave me a bike a few weeks ago!”

The woman blinked, then her eyes went wide.

“Ah.”

“Don’t you ‘ah’ me!” Ken balled his hands into fists. “Look at me! I started using that bike and all of a sudden I’m a woman! And…and a professional cyclist!? I have a coach and I’m French and…and my whole life is gone!”

The woman dismounted and gave him a look that was somewhere between confused and sympathetic. She laid a warm hand on his shoulder and gripped it comfortingly. 

“I gave you the bike because you needed it, just like I did not too long ago.” She explained. “It gives you what you need, not what you want. What I needed was a quiet life, away from wall street, apparently, being a professional athlete is what you needed.”

“But why am I a woman!?” Ken cried.

“Do you feel right?”

“What sort of a question is that, of course not.” 

Even as he said it though, a little voice in the back of Ken’s head whispered that it was a lie. 

“I don’t know how it works.” The woman shrugged. “But I felt the same way when I first changed, that was years ago now and I am so much happier. You will too, trust me.”

Ken felt his mouth go dry. 

“So…there is no way to change me back?”

“If there is, I don’t know it.”

Ken swayed on his feet. There it was, confirmation that he’d never be a man again. That little voice in the back of his head cheered and he told it to shut up. 

“I’m sorry, I know it probably sucks to hear right now, but this has to be for the best. The bike gives you what you need, and I learned the hard way that need and want are two very different things.”

She gave his shoulder a squeeze again. 

“Good luck.”

She hopped back on her new bike and gave him a wave. Ken couldn’t bring himself to speak, he was still too shell shocked. The cold wind whipped his blonde hair around his face, but he didn’t move it away. 

“It gives me what I need?” He whispered. “What the hell does that mean?”

He thought back over his time as Amelie; comparing it to his old one. Amelie had hopes and dreams. Not only that, but she also had the drive to make them happen. Ken had lived a quiet, nothing life and failed at every attempt at self improvement. Secretly, he had always wanted to be the sort of person with dreams and determination. Was that why the bike had given him this? 

“I guess…if there is no way back, this life isn;t so bad.” He muttered, still not totally convinced. 

Ken had been in this body for a while now, but for some reason, this moment felt pivotal. He walked over to his beloved bike, running his hands over the metal. He’d fought hard and for what? What did he really have to go back to in his old life? It probably wasn’t possible anyway. Even if he did find that red headed woman, she might be as clueless as him. What was the point? It was stressful enough being an Olympic level athlete with a reputation on the line. He didn’t need anything more on his plate. 

“It’s time to be Amelie.” He whispered to convince himself more than anything. 

It would take some time, but he could make it work. With that goal firmly in mind, he hopped back on his bike and started pedalling. Amelie had a lot of training to do. 

~

There are only a few more chapters to go now; they will be uploaded on November 24th and 25th!