The tears wouldn’t stop. To say that I am not prepared for the crying would be an insult to this whole everything that I wasn’t prepared for. Yet, here I am crying in a way that I haven’t since I was very young. The water from the river of emotion this last day is overflowing the banks like a torrent past any mental block I held for so long in the past. 

Before, when I became overwhelmed from sadness I would retreat back to my room and cry a few tears before the pain solidified and wouldn’t flow. I have no bedroom to run to here. I look up at the sanitary white walls around me. Each croaked out sob brings the walls closer towards me, like a clasping talon sinking into prey. I tear my eyes away from the claustrophobic walls, down to my hospital gowned self. A body I don’t recognize. The motion is followed by a tickling around my ears and motion at the top of my vision. Whose blonde…?

Mine. A shuddering whine sounds out from my throat between a ragged breath. A hand that may have had in it enough curiosity to inspect this new blonde discovery is overwrote by more sobs. I cup my face with both hands as I rock back and forth. 

I’m a foreigner to myself. I’m alone and scared. I’m scared. I’m, I’m-

-being held? Any hesitation that may be there was blown away by the pain I am exuding. My arms pull around whoever this was. Something to ground me from the searing feelings burning through my mind. I squeeze and ball the fabric of their clothing into my fists. I didn’t dare to open my eyes. I only keep crying. It feels like forever, but the tears slowly stop flowing. One gentle hand wrapped my head and brought it to their shoulder. The other softly rubbed my back. 

A few hiccuped breaths signal to me that my crying is abating and I finally find the courage to look up at who was holding me. Of all the strangers' faces, it is the nurse from before. There is a deep-set sympathy in her cold-blue eyes and a gentle smile as she somewhat cradles me. 

Without thinking I shield my eyes into the nook of her shoulder as the tears dry in the reddened circles of my eyes. The silence haunts the air above like phantoms stirred by my sudden sorrow. Without my sobbing the room feels uncomfortably quiet, the buzzing of the ceiling lights and our breathing making me feel like I might float away. I tighten my hug around her. She was the only anchor keeping me grounded.

I needed to say something to her but only one thing kept coming to me.

"I'm sorry that I scared you when I woke up," I quietly chuckle, or I guess giggle, curtailing a soft sniffle.

"Oh honey, you still do."

I pull away and look right at her, I can feel the broken expression of confused betrayal on my face. 

"But I couldn't just do nothing. You were lost, scared, and alone. So... fragile. You needed someone to hold you together." A tepid rub can be felt through the thin fabric of my hospital gown on my shoulder. "And as a nurse, you were moments from practically going unconscious from hyperventilating."

I look down at my right palm, the almost imperceptible green tint that rose through the thinner skin of the slightly curved scar. It was the only visible hint of the apparently incredibly rare superpower rock hiding beneath. I run my fingers along the scar, thinking of the moment I grabbed that spear in the...dream? This scar definitely told me it was something more, but what?

With a sigh, I dismiss the thought for the time being and look back at the Nurse, whose name I still have yet to hear or ask for. Because yes, I am totally a great conversationalist. Like right now, just staring at her again without any words coming out.

My mouth was opening and closing during that whole moment, I realise. So I guess she is waiting for me to say something.

“Well, I guess I’m not hyperventilating now, so thanks for that,” I fail to suppress a small smile that fades quickly as I continue my thought. “Why are you afraid of me? Is it what this ‘Trinitite’ makes me? I don’t feel scary; just scared.”

There was no response. Just silence. I look back into her eyes for an answer but they are already steeled. She breaks off the physical contact and shoots curtly up from the gurney bed.

“Look, I’m sorry. You seem like a very sweet girl, you’ll see why the longer you are here. I need to do what I was sent here to do.”

With that, she starts removing some medical things from me that I had until this point not noticed or forgotten. I wince as she removes two IVs from my arm, swabbing the inside of my elbow clean before taping a small wad of gauze to it. Everything cleaned up and placed away, she taps me on the shoulder. I instinctively flinch away but notice her pointing at a neatly folded set of clothes at the end of the bed.

Unfurling myself, I crawl across the bed to the clothes. A draft up my back reminds me of how little hospital gowns cover and a surprised yelp squeaks from me as I stumble back onto my butt for the sake of my own dignity. I got close enough to reach the clothes though.

They unfold with heavy flops from the aid of gravity as I lift them to reveal a coarse and thick jumpsuit. It’s colored a gross beige-grey with these strange symbols on the front, the back, the arms, and the legs that look like two wishbones stuck together in some strange diamondesque oval with two circles on the inside at the bottom. I can’t make any sense of it, but it is a bright-as-hell green. It even looks reflective. Maybe it’s some kind of identifier? 

Underneath the jumpsuit is a modest pair of underwear. And a bland grey sports bra below them. 

Right... I need to wear a bra. 

I regard it all with a sense of ambivalence.

“Well, get dressed missy.” The nurse urges me on with a mixed smile. “If you are worried about your old clothes, I’m sorry but I was told that they were unsalvageable. Resident issued jumpsuits are standard for intakes anyway, so you’d end up in this no matter what.”

I sigh with a sense of exasperation that I cannot say I was expecting to feel with the nurse. Civility and tenderness wrapped in a more methodically isolated sterility. Her concern for me before felt entirely genuine. Now I can't tell if I was just bad at reading her.

I look up at the camera. Being told to get dressed while being watched feels cold and wrong. I weigh my options but truthfully only find cooperation. 

I slide my legs around to the edge of the gurney and let them dangle in preparation for my first time standing in… what, was it three weeks they said?

A shift forward and a soft little thwap of my feet on the laminate floor. The cold shoots up through my legs into my core. It brings out an involuntary shiver that would have been more noticeable if I didn’t stumble forward at the same moment, my knees wholly unprepared to hold my weight due to a combination of disuse and unfamiliarity.

Thankfully, I catch myself before I actually crumple into an unceremonious heap on the floor. With my hand clenched around the edge of the bed, the realization that I may be shorter hits me like someone slapped me in the face with something soft. An oddly giddy dread. Within all fairness, I may actually be the same height and just lack some relative past experiences to compare to. I’m pretty sure things like door handles that I remember being normally lower look higher up now though. 

I shake the thoughts from my mind. A few steps forward; hand using the gurney to keep myself stable. I swallow whatever last bastions of reservations I may have about putting on panties and slip them on. Their soft cotton slides up my legs and hug me in ways I was not used to. It is less sacrilegious and more inconsequential than I’d imagine. It just is what it is and it seems I am okay with that. 

Next is the bra. I can’t put this on while wearing the medical gown I have on, and that means getting naked in view of the camera. Not a big deal, but an uneasy sensation deep in my chest paralyzes me. This body might be new but I can still have my modesty, god damn it. I look up at the camera in concern, and the nurse must have noticed because I see her make a spinning motion with her hand.

I realize she is telling me to turn away from the camera, so I do so. This is her chance to startle me as she suddenly starts to undo the ties holding the gown on while standing between me and the camera. I grab the neatly folded sports bra while the gown slips past my shoulders. It flutters onto the floor like thin light fabrics like to do; falling with tiny bits of grace. The cool air of the room raises goosebumps all along my arms and up to the back of my neck. 

I rub the texture of the bra between my fingers in thought for a moment before bringing it over my head. I correct the side it's on and soberly pull it over the girls and get everything, god that is a new sensation, situated and comfortable. Yes, I realize I am putting on a bra for the first time by myself and know what I’m doing. It is totally normal for a teenage boy to research how girls' clothes work. Or a teenage girl now, I guess. Hah nope, still getting used to this. 

I have wasted enough of their time going slowly getting dressed, my nervous tendencies still getting the best of me, even in a situation so alien. So I quickly regard the rough grey denim jumpsuit overalls. I unzip it down to the crotch and pass my legs through each foot, getting stuck on the elastic cuffs for just a second. Once on, the cinch at its middle hugs my waist, bringing my attention to how wide my hips are. I resist the urge to shake them experimentally, and pull the top half over my shoulders. After slipping my arms in, I spin towards the nurse and the camera again, completely zipping myself up at the same time.

“Well, what now fairy godmother.” Without the ability to shake the feeling of ridiculousness from myself, I try to own it instead with sarcasm. 

“If you giving me shit wasn’t an improvement on how you were before, I’d wipe that tone from your voice, girl.” I honestly can't tell if that is a scowl or a smile dancing along her face right now.

I guess the nurse lost her patience for me. Not sure I blame her, I took forever to get dressed in something undeniably simple to put on. Yet still, something about her comment brings a dopey smile to my face. The nurse’s exasperated sigh keeps me from dwelling. 

“Come, it is time for you to begin your intake and orientation proper.” She leans down near the door and tosses up to me two canvas step-in shoes I had not noticed before. Watching them sail towards me I feel a chill run down my neck into my right hand. It shoots to the first shoe that sails high and catches it seamlessly. Before my mind can catch up, my instincts twist the shoe in my hand around to create a cradle with my arm and maintain the motion to catch the other shoe into the crook of my arm. 

Well that was different. Should I put down improved reaction time as a change to my body? There was no way I would have been able to do that before. I shoot the nurse an incredulous look, then quickly put the shoes on. By the time I’m done, the nurse is leaning against the slightly open door. I guess that’s that. Time to start my new lame-ass prison life. I follow her out of the door.