Can S-14 change your identity?

My fingers type the keys slowly. Fearfully, almost.

I’m really not sure I even want to know.

Because what would it change?

Knowing about it won’t give me time to run away and hide somewhere the virus won’t get me. I can’t run from my own mind.

Finally, I press enter.

The short answer is no.

The long answer is several extensive, psychological and medical studies on the subject. None of them could find any proof of a correlation between the progression of the virus and a developing fondness for the ongoing changes and the new body.

I take a deep breath. I should be relieved, shouldn’t I?

But there’s nothing.

The community meeting was yesterday and I still feel like shit. Could that be because of my changing body?

Yes, apparently. The absence of testosterone in the early stages of the transition can cause symptoms similar to depression.

Not my fault.

People can learn to live with the effects of S-14, but that’s like 15% of the people who're affected and not trans already.

That at least feels good. It’s normal to feel like this. I might not even be an extreme case.

Still, I hate it. I don’t want to feel like this. I don’t want to be like this.

I just want to be me, for fuck’s sake.

I get out my phone and text Henry.

Me: I need to get out

It’s kind of late in the evening but he replies almost immediately.

H.Boi: Want me to pick you up?

Me: No, I’ll leave now

H.Boi: Meet ya by the walls?

Me: Stairs

Each of the few spots around town has been named by us. Very creatively so, evidently.

As quickly as I can, I turn off the computer and put in my headphones. I put on something fast and loud.

Then I pack my backpack. I take a bottle of water, a spare jacket in case I get cold in just a hoodie, and my wallet. Not because of the money – none of the stores are still open at this point. But my insurance card is in there and it might be important in case I fall again.

As I put on my hoodie, my left hand briefly brushes against my chest. It stings a little.

I pull a face, pull the hoodie down and leave.

It’s gotten warmer again. Summer’s final stand against Autumn and winter. For the moment I’m comfortable enough in a hoody, even though it’s dark. I’ll probably have to take it off once I’m warmed up. I hate sweating. Another great reason to do parkour at night.

We meet not much later at the centre of town, by a large set of stairs in front of the local church. Because of course we have a church. It’s not far from where I fell off the gate the last time we were out.

Can’t believe I’ve gone that long without training. I did have a lot on my mind, though.

I see Henry coming from afar. He sees me too and begins walking in this over-exaggerated manner he probably thinks looks funny.

I’ve never told him that it’s not. I don’t see the point. If he enjoys walking like that….

He greets me with a fist bump.

“Hey, man, you good?”

I know he’s doing it on purpose. Calling me ‘man’. He usually calls me shitface or something along those lines. Feels weird to have him call me something else.

I just say “Hi” and leave it at that. He knows how I’m doing.

He too has brought a backpack and now he sets it down, starting his warm-up routine. We could’ve communicated that, that only one of us brings a backpack and we share water. Or bring two bottles.

Knowing him, he probably has two bottles in there. And a first aid kit.

He stifles a yawn as he rotates his arms at the elbows. For a moment I get annoyed that he’s out here if he’s tired. But then I decide to just be grateful. He’s here for me.

“Any particular goals for tonight?” he asks not much later, crouching on a low wall.

I shake my head. “I just wanna move.”

Fly. Get my head free.

Henry starts doing flow work with the railings around the wheelchair ramp. He’s always been a lot more technical than me. I’ve never really been interested in twisting artfully through tight spaces and moving generally in a way that looks like I’m as comfortable upside down as I am just standing normally.

My favourite part about parkour has always been the speed. The raw power. The risk.

Which doesn’t mean that I’m better at it than Henry, obviously.

I position myself at the top of the stairs. There’s a landing every six steps. I’ve done this easily a hundred times, jumping from the top step to the end of the next landing, all the way until I’m on the ground. It’s a good jumping distance, just barely close enough that I should still be able to do it consistently.

I position myself at the top, take a deep breath. I swing my arms back as I crouch, then spring myself forward. My body rockets forward at a steep angle, I tuck my legs in, land in a crouch, swing my arms and jump again. Again. Again.

The lightness in my stomach is there but it feels different. I know I’m flying but at the same time it somehow feels like I’m not.

I roll at the bottom. I don’t plan on straining my knees tonight and I do want to keep going for some time. When I come up, there’s a dull pain where my shoulder blade and spine hit against the hard cobblestone but I barely feel it.

My throat is tight.

I look around. Where’s the next challenge? There, the bumpers that keep cars away from the shop windows, a perfect obstacle for strides. I jog over and don’t even bother taking a proper position before leaping off the first stone, bouncing on and on from one to the next. The stones are close enough together that the jumps are not really that hard. Close enough together that I can go fast.

The wind rushes in my hair. I feel the strain in my legs, the slight ache in my back, the air in my lungs.

But I’m not light with speed.

I make it to the end and I want to scream.

I go back to where Henry has started to practice precision jumps to railings and start balancing along one of them. It’s not high up, it’s not particularly narrow. Which is good because I can’t concentrate. I keep having to jump off.

I think Henry notices but he doesn’t say anything.

Quickly, I move on. Wall jumps, climb-ups, cat passes, dashes, lazies, dive rolls onto grass. None of them are particularly challenging, but I don’t dare to actually push myself. The trauma from my double-kong attempt in PE is still deep in my bones.

None of them bring that familiar sense of excitement.

I’m standing in the middle of the plaza, my breath going a little heavy.

I’ve long taken off my hoodie. I’m warm but when a breeze hits me, the hairs on my neck and on my arms stand. Feels like a gentle caress, the way it ghosts along my cheeks and moves my hair.

There’s nobody still out here aside from Henry and I. We’re alone.

And right now I can’t even see him.

One of my hands moves up and lightly presses against my cheek. I don’t feel a difference but I suspect that it’s there. I’ve asked Sadie but she said she couldn’t see any.

My intestines begin to boil. Why am I so angry? At what, even? My condition? The world at large? It’s been over a month now. I’m going to be returned to normal in a year anyway.

So why can’t I-

Why can’t I-

My legs push against the ground forcefully as I start running.

I can’t.

I race across the plaza and toward a chain that hangs at the height of my hip to keep cars from passing through. It comes closer and closer and then I jump, tuck my knees to my chest, spread my arms to balance my body in the air. I clear the obstacle with ease, don’t even have to slow on the other side.

So I don’t.

I don’t know where I’m going. I just know that I can’t stay. Not in this place, not in this town, not in this country-

Not in this body.

My feet hammer against the ground. I’m sprinting at full speed and I feel it. But it’s not effortless. It’s not flying.

Already, my breath is going heavy. I force the movements in my arms to be more powerful to take a little of the work away from my legs. They’re slowly growing numb.

My breathing is still regular but it’s way faster now. I breathe as deep as I can as fast as I can and still I can’t keep up.

My shoulders sting. Right where the collar bone connects to the shoulder, it feels like.

My vision fizzes.

I stop. One last step and I stand still but my lungs can’t keep up. Suddenly I feel my heart racing in my chest. Hammering way too fast. My knees want to give in and I let them, slump onto the sidewalk.

I don’t usually like to sit in these kinds of places. Where other people walk. I’m all too aware of just how dirty it is.

But right now I just can’t seem to care.

My hands stem into the ground and I lean forward because I don’t trust my sense of balance to keep me upright now.

Breathe.

In out in out in out. In, out. In, out. In, out. In… out. In… out.

The aching in my shoulders lifts away.

Finally, I get back to my feet and look around. I hadn’t paid any attention to where I was going.

And I haven’t gone far anyway. I’m still in the centre of town, where the stores are.

Henry and I don’t walk through here often. None of the good spots are in this direction.

I’m standing next to a clothing store. I don’t know enough about fashion to know whether the store is fancy. I’m at the side of the display that shows women’s clothes. Pyjamas, jeans, autumnal looks. Dresses.

There’s one not too far from me. It’s a dark, set kind of orange with little white flowers scattered across it. The skirt is long and falls lightly around the mannequin’s legs. The dress is combined with a light, olive-green jacket and brown leather boots.

My eyes follow the pattern of flowers. They’re not exactly connected, the scattering is supposed to look random. A flower with the bud to the left, on to the right, left, left, two with their stems crossing, one with a little leaf on the side. Two buds melting into one another where the skirt connects to the rest of the dress-

“Wells?”

My stomach flips and I flinch so hard it feels like I might just have jumped right out of my skin.

It’s Henry. He just came around a corner and now he stands there, looking at me with an expression I can’t quite place. He’s out of breath. He has his backpack on his back and mine in his hand.

I glance back at the display and take a step away from it. I hadn’t even realised I’d stepped closer to the glass.

My face is growing hot. My heart is hammering against my ribs. I feel it pulsing.

“You good?” Henry asks as he comes closer and hands me my backpack.

I give a vague nod. My mouth is dry.

I don’t even know how long I spent staring at the display.

Henry’s still eyeing me. Like he’s looking for something on my face, searching but unsure if he’s seeing it.

“I was looking for you for quite some time,” he says then. “I was about to go home and bring you your backpack tomorrow.”

I frown. “You could’ve just called me.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I did. Three times.”

“Oh.” I really hadn’t noticed.

My stomach won’t stop doing summersaults. Is he thinking what I think he’s thinking?

“I think we should go home now,” he says slowly. “It’s getting late.”

I nod. I don’t even know what time it is but he looks pretty tired.

We have school tomorrow. That’s going to be fun.

We walk away from the shop window and I feel a weight lift off my stomach. Is he not thinking it or just too polite to mention it?

I’m so fucking paranoid.

It wasn’t even-

“Do you remember…” he starts suddenly and I look over. He’s staring intently at the ground beneath his feet. “When we were seven and you asked me whether I thought wearing dresses would feel nice?”

A sling tightens around my stomach. I’d hoped he’d forgotten, especially once the teasing started.

It’d been a summer night and we’d been out, playing at the beach. We’d grown exhausted from playing football and just lay down and started talking. I don’t know how the topic had come up but I can still smell the salt in the air, feel the sand beneath my head.

He looks up and I quickly look away.

“That wasn’t-”

But it was.

“I didn’t-”

But I did.

My thoughts are stumbling over themselves, trying to go a hundred miles a minute.

My face is burning hot. My mouth feels papery.

“I know I’m not you and I know I can’t look into your head but… you know it wouldn’t be… bad… if you wanted to let the virus-” he breaks off. He sounds cautious, maybe even a little scared.

Finally a clear thought.

“You said nothing was going to change between us,” I press out. My chest is tight. “You promised.”

I glance over and see that he’s staring at me with a helpless look in his eyes.

“But isn’t that exactly what-” He swallows the words and gives a short nod. “Of course. Nothing’s going to change.” And then, in a quieter voice, almost like an afterthought. “I’ll always be your friend.”

We part not soon after. Until then I constantly feel his glances on my skin. Occasionally, his breathing stutters, like he was about to say something but then thought better of it.

He says, “Good night, Wells. See you tomorrow.”

And I say, “Yeah, good night.” and barely turn to wave at him.

Then I walk away without looking back. I’m still only wearing my T-shirt. I’m cold now but I don’t put on my hoodie. My jaw is tight. The cold makes it easier not to think.

SeptemberMorgan

Pretty sure this is one of my favourite chapters so far and that's not just because I love parkour!
Please tell me what you think, as always.
Also, quick reminder that I have a Patreon! It's ten chapters ahead, there's a lot of story progression :)