T W E N T Y - T H R E E

Cross My Heart, Won’t Tell No Other

 

2024 March 19
Tuesday

In Summer’s judgment, Persephone was settling in pretty well at Dorley Hall. Their days were not terribly different from Littleport House; though they never left the building, there was plenty of space inside, and they could even get some fresh air on the roof when the weather allowed it. The company was better-matched, though—the women and enbies of the cis floors were a fairly studious and polite lot, much like Persephone, and even though they didn’t know her, nobody would ever assume that a resident of Dorley Hall was a man.

Their nights, on the other hand, were quite different. Between evening hangouts with Tabby and late-night explorations of Summer’s toy chest, there was plenty to keep them busy until deep into the night. Who knew Persephone would enjoy predicament bondage so much?

It also helped that they weren’t limited to the contents of Elle’s little cottage anymore; if Persephone needed something, Summer could raid a storeroom or ask a sponsor to pick it up. But Summer had come here for a reason: Dorley Hall had resources Persephone desperately needed. Resources that Elle and Aunt Bea were willing to let them use—if the senior sponsor agreed.

And so early one morning, Summer found herself doing something she thought she’d never have done back in August. She left a sleeping Persephone with a kiss on the forehead and a note telling her to hold off shaving for now, then descended to the ground floor and slipped into the kitchen. She made herself bacon, eggs, tomatoes, and toast, selected an appropriate novelty mug (she couldn’t resist the one with a “hot girl summer” joke someone had added while she was away), sat down at the kitchen table, and began her stake-out.

It was kind of amazing that she could just…exist in this kitchen. After all, this was where George had attacked her—where he’d nearly killed her. The first time she’d tried to set foot in here after that, she’d fled in a blind panic. But she and Tabby had spent weeks carefully detaching that emotional content from the location, so now it was just like any other room in Dorley Hall. Actually, in the early morning chill, the heat from the AGA made it pretty cozy.

An hour and a dozen conversations later (yes, Summer had told at least three different girls, she was excited that there was only a month to go until the new Taylor album came out), her quarry finally arrived. Indira was discussing some boy’s orchi recovery with Maria when they entered the kitchen and spotted her. After the requisite hugs, exclamations, catch-up conversations, and dispensing of hot drinks into novelty mugs, she asked them to sit down with her.

“I was wondering,” Indira said, “would you and Persephone like to come to Easter lunch?”

Easter was one of the fixtures of Dorley’s social calendar; like Aunt Bea’s birthday, they allowed undisclosed guests. “I’ll ask her,” Summer said.

“Lovely!” Indira said with a smile. “It’s been far too long since you’ve been back.”

Maria, who’d been watching Summer over the rim of her coffee mug, said warily, “That’s not what you were waiting to talk about, though, is it?”

“No,” Summer said, “it’s not.” She set down her tea. “Listen,” she said, “I was hoping you could do me a favor. Well, do Persephone a favor, really.”

Maria and Indira exchanged glances. “What do you need?” Indira said.

“I need to bring her into basement one,” Summer said, “so I can use your electro equipment.”

Persephone could have a little time in the basement, as a treat.

 

2024 March 20
Wednesday

“I’ve been talking to some of the staff here,” Summer had told her yesterday, “and we’ve come to an agreement on how to do your electro. But there are rules and conditions you need to agree to first.”

And then Persephone had learned Dorley Hall’s big secret. It turned out that, not content to merely give its trans girls room and board, scholarships, and medications, they also had installed hair removal equipment on-site. But there was a problem—it was in the basement.

“The basement is off-limits without staff escort,” Summer had explained, “for a lot of good reasons. There’s sensitive infrastructure and mechanical equipment down there. There’s the security room, which controls cameras and locks throughout the building, and there’s storage for records containing private information. There’s facilities for the security staff, including storage for live weapons. And there’s lots of old junk down there, some of it volatile. Dorley Hall has been many things over the years, including a hospital, and there are rooms full of old medical equipment and supplies whose safety and cleanliness are uncertain. So if we do this, I need you to promise that you’ll stay with me at all times, follow my instructions, and not poke your nose into anything that isn’t your business.” She took Persephone’s hand and looked her in the eye. “Say you understand and agree.”

There’d been something oddly solemn about Summer’s tone, something that had overrode the way her heart usually fluttered when she held her hand, so Persephone had paused for a moment before replying. It had seemed like a promise she could keep, though.

“I understand and agree,” Persephone had said.

“Good.” Summer had gently squeezed her fingers, then let go. Then she had explained the rest of the situation: they were going to do several sessions per week, going for as long as Persephone could stand, to make rapid progress. But they needed to schedule around other uses of the facilities. And Summer had agreed to work on some of the other residents too, so once that started, she’d have to spend some time during work days downstairs without her. Unfortunate, but if it meant they could finally start making a dent in the disgusting mess of hair that covered her chin, Persephone would just have to find ways to entertain herself.

“Our first window is tomorrow afternoon,” Summer had finished. “Don’t know exactly when, but the staff will message me when the facilities are free. I might have to hunt around for suitable hairs this close to your last shave, but it’s not like you’re paying by the hour.”

Which was why this afternoon, face firmly wrapped in plastic, Persephone was holding Summer’s hand as she thumbed the lock on the ground floor kitchen. With an electric buzz, the door unlatched and Summer pushed it open.

The first thing that hit Persephone was the smell of apples baking. A group of girls, including Riley, were clustered around the sink, washing and drying dishes and cookware. An older girl sat at the table in the center of the kitchen, reading something on her phone.

“That smells delicious, girls,” Summer said. “Apple puffs?”

“Right in one,” the woman at the table said. “Should be done by the time you come back up.”

Persephone had worried that someone would comment on the plastic covering her face, but apparently it didn’t even warrant a second glance. Maybe Riley’s friends had seen her do it.

“Save us some!” Summer said, and she tugged Persephone through an open doorway. As she left, she waved to Riley and—oh, the surgery date was tomorrow, right?—mouthed, Good luck!

The new room Summer brought her into was a much larger dining area. Tables of various sizes with chairs in various configurations dotted the room; a handful of women were scattered among them, reading books or scribbling on notepads or working on laptops or chatting with friends. But Summer steered her toward the one incongruous element in the room: a steel door labeled Maintenance in a concrete frame tucked between two bookcases. It looked like it’d been ripped out of a military bunker and installed in the ballroom of a genteel country estate.

“Ready?” Summer asked.

“Sure,” Persephone said.

Once again, Summer grabbed the handle and thumbed the sensor, and once again, the lock snapped open with a buzz. Summer pulled it open and together, they started down the stairs beyond.

What lay beyond was actually sort of anticlimactic. After Summer’s warnings, Persephone half-expected to find gaping cracks in the floor, debris cluttering the hallways, thick cobwebs to duck under, maybe even a bit of glowing green ooze dripping down the walls. But it was just a concrete stairway with another door at the bottom, with no dust or grime to be seen; there was even air conditioning. Once they unlocked and passed through the second door, she found herself on a concrete landing: another locked door in front of her, security room to the left, hallway on the right.

“What’s through there?” she asked Summer, pointing at the locked door in front of them.

“Subbasement,” Summer said. “No good reason to go down there, though, unless you need to get at the fuse box or the water main.”

Persephone nodded and glanced into the security room. Two women—one of them Tabby, who waved distractedly at them—sat in front of the usual set of screens, although they were all turned off at the moment. The rest of the room was unusually large, though, with a couple of couches and a ring of chairs around a large table of dark wood. Apparently it doubled as a meeting room, and perhaps tripled as a hangout space.

“This way,” Summer said, tugging on her hand, and they started down the hallway, passing a few doors before they stopped at a door labeled Hair Removal. “And here—” she opened the door opposite it, “—is my new parlor.”

It wasn’t so different from the studio in Edinburgh—the tile floor, the laminated counters, the carts and equipment, and the bed/chair with the light over it. There were a couple new items, though, like a bulky machine on a cart. “For laser,” Summer explained when she saw Persephone looking at it.

They were equipped for electrolysis and laser? Auntie Elle was a serious ally. “Do you know how to use that?” Persephone asked.

“I’ve trained on it,” Summer said, “but I haven’t used it in a few years. Not much call to do both in the commercial market, but in the ‘mutual aid for girls in your dormitory’ market, a Jill-of-all-trades is pretty handy.” Summer pulled on a pair of gloves, grunted, and quickly taped back the dangling index finger. “Hmm, better put in a glove order. Anyway…” She gestured toward the sink. “Wash up, sweetie, and we’ll get started.”

 

* * *

 

Stick, zap, pluck.

“So here’s the thing.”

Stick, zap, pluck.

“Cleopatra is famous for being attractive, right?”

Stick, zap, pluck.

“So attractive that she literally had the most powerful man in Rome doing politically inadvisable things that ultimately led to his death just to keep her—twice.”

Stick, zap, pluck.

“And, I mean, that’s little surprise for Mark Antony, a vapid, egotistical chav of antiquity who drunkenly vomited in the Senate, drove a chariot drawn by lions, and named his flagship and most of his kids after himself.”

Stick, zap, pluck.

“But Julius Caesar was this incredibly driven overachiever who just tripped over himself to please her.”

Stick, zap, pluck.

“In modern times, her attractiveness has often been interpreted as physical beauty.”

Stick, zap, pluck.

“So, like, when Hollywood’s casting her, they find some impossibly pretty actress to portray her.”

Stick, zap, pluck.

“But that’s not what the sources say about her. Plutarch said her beauty was ‘in itself not altogether incomparable’; it was her personality that made her attractive.”

Stick, zap, pluck.

“She was educated and charming and sophisticated; she could speak fluently and persuasively in nine different languages and knew Greco-Roman literature better than her boyfriends did.”

Stick, zap, pluck.

“And, like, both of these guys just found that completely irresistible.”

Stick, zap, pluck.

“Okay,” Summer said, “but what does that have to do with the song?”

“Well, when Taylor says that Emma is ‘Like Cleopatra grew up in a small town’, does she mean the beautiful fictional Cleopatra, or the charismatic historical Cleopatra?”

A pause.

“Persephone, you are such a dork.”

“Thank you!”

Stick, zaaap, pluck.

“Ow!”

Summer wasn’t complaining, though. She was beginning to think she’d never tire of this dork.

 

* * *

 

“And we’re all done,” Summer said a very long time later.

Persephone loosened her white-knuckle grip on the electrode and handed it to Summer, then sat up. “Thanks,” she said.

“Are you alright?” Summer asked, searching Persephone’s expression. “You’ve been really brave today; I know three hours is a lot, especially with only topical cream.”

“Fine,” Persephone said. She smiled, and tried not to wince at the pain from it. “I think I could use the toilet, though.”

“Of course!” Summer said. She snapped off her gloves and took her to the room across the hall, thumbing the door open. It looked like some sort of break room—couches and chairs, telly, mini fridge, a nice rug. “Loo’s through there,” Summer said, pointing to the first door Persephone had seen down here that didn’t have a biometric lock. Summer stuck a wedge in the exit door. “I’ll start cleaning up the equipment. Close the doors behind you, alright?”

“Sure,” Persephone said. She headed into the bathroom. It was a single-occupant space, with a small shower cubicle on one wall and a rack of books hanging next to the toilet.

Persephone waited until she heard Summer’s footsteps moving away. Then she sat heavily on the toilet and let the tears fall.

That had hurt, and she didn’t want to burden Summer with the aftermath. After all, she was just a fuck buddy, right?

 

* * *

 

When Persephone emerged from the toilet, she heard a posh woman’s voice saying, “—how did your other gel do?”

“Frightened,” another woman said, “but an absolute angel about it. She—”

The woman stopped talking as Persephone glanced at the group. Over on the couch sat three women in their thirties, all dressed casually, none wearing makeup, with the air of people unwinding after a long day. They had a bottle of whisky open on the table, and two of them held highball glasses with ice. The third had a novelty mug like those in Summer’s collection; Persephone could read the words I Take— on its side. And all three of them were suddenly scrutinizing her carefully.

“Hello,” Persephone said, nervous at the attention.

“Good evening,” the posh-voiced woman said. “I don’t believe I recognize you…?” She glanced to the woman with the mug, who shook her head minutely.

“Oh, right—my name is Persephone,” she said. “I’m here with Summer.” She pointed out the open door at the hair removal studio across the hall.

“Oh, the outside girl,” the one with the mug said, exchanging glances with the other two.. “I didn’t realize you were still down here.”

“Long session,” Persephone said, “lots of…y’know…”

“Hair to remove?” the woman with the mug asked. Persephone nodded, blushing. “I’m familiar. Summer’s very good.”

“Yeah,” Persephone said, “I’m lucky to have her.” She glanced at the door. “I should go,” she said, “she’s waiting for me.”

The two women didn’t say another word until she was out of the room, though as the door began to close behind her, she heard the posh-voiced woman start to say, “Gracious, I couldn’t have made better cheekbones mys—“

None of them had even introduced themselves. Passing strange, those three.

By the time Persephone returned to Summer, the autoclave was running and she was putting away the last few items. Or rather, rummaging in the drawer they were supposed to go into, muttering darkly to herself.

“So, where the fuck are the…Christ, Holly—smallest to largest, it’s not brain surgery…”

Persephone leaned back against the door and crossed her arms (catching herself at the last second and resting them below her breasts). “Who’s Holly?”

“The other electrologist who uses this room,” Summer said, picking up a tray and putting it in the drawer. “She doesn’t arrange her supplies the same way I do, which of course is obviously wrong.” Summer stuffed the last few items in haphazardly, then typed something on her phone and nodded to herself at a reply. “Okay, let’s go.”

Although the girls in the security room had been replaced, the screens were off again when they passed. One of them—a middle-aged Asian woman—glanced at Persephone as she passed. Persephone met her eyes for a fraction of a second before the door to the stairway occluded her view, and suddenly her world swung to the left, stopping only when someone grabbed her arm.

“You okay?” Summer said.

Persephone shook her head. “I…yeah. Just a bit dizzy, I guess.”

“Long sessions can take a lot out of you,” Summer said sympathetically. “Come on—let’s get some fluids and calories into you.”

Summer helped her up the stairs and through a dining hall that was significantly busier than it had been when they’d descended. She brought her into the kitchen and sat her down, then busied herself brewing tea.

Persephone rested her forehead on the table, turning it only when a dish clinked next to her head. It was a plate with a pastry on it that smelled delicious.

“Here,” someone said, “you look like you could use it.”

“Thanks,” Persephone said, and picked up first herself, then the pastry. When she crunched through the outer puff pastry shell, apple and citrus exploded on her tongue. “Oh, wow,” she said.

“Great pick-me-up, isn’t it?” the woman said.

Persephone nodded. “Tastes like something my dad used to make,” she said.

The woman smiled. “I’m Bella,” she said.

“Bella…right, Riley mentioned you! I’m Persephone; I’m with Summer.”

“Damn straight you are,” Summer said, putting a mug on the table and a kiss on the top of her head.

“Damn gay I am,” Persephone giggled before she gulped down some tea.

“Definitely Summer’s girl,” Bella said with a smile. “I recognize those jokes! And goodness, you have a lovely name.”

“Thanks,” Persephone said with a smile. “I picked it myself!” Slightly revived by the food, Persephone looked around. The same group of younger girls were here again, but now instead of washing dishes, they were cooking some sort of casserole. In industrial quantities, too; it had to be for more than just them.

Meanwhile, Summer was rummaging through the refrigerator, looking at various containers of leftovers. “Is the lasagne any good?” she asked Bella.

“It was good,” Bella said, “but I think it’s been at Dorley Hall longer than you two. Try the lemon chicken cutlets; we made those for lunch.”

“It’s okay to just take stuff from the fridge?” Persephone asked. Stolen leftovers had sparked a few screaming rows between the boys in her dormitory.

“The rule is, if it’s not labeled, it’s up for grabs,” Bella said. “And the girls produce a lot of leftovers—more than they can eat by themselves.”

“If a resident needs to learn how to cook, the staff teaches her,” Summer explained, pulling out a couple containers and re-stacking what was left. “And while she’s learning, she generates leftovers for the staff to eat. It’s the circle of life!”

“Oh, no,” said a girl who was chopping carrots, “now that song’s gonna be stuck in my head all night...”

Summer set two containers of food on the table, then scooped a few helpings of chicken and veg onto the plate next to Persephone’s apple pastry. “What can I say except ’you’re welcome’?” she singsonged as she grabbed two dinner rolls out of a basket; a couple more girls groaned.

It was so pleasant here. Summer didn’t even seem to know these girls specifically, but she knew who they were to her and vice versa; they were still a sort of family, like cousins who only occasionally ran into each other.

Persephone was honestly a little envious, and she’d probably be even more so if she didn’t have her own little piece of this place in Summer.

Well, sort of.

 

* * *

 

Once they returned to their room, Summer put on a movie and reheated the food. The only thing that kept Persephone awake, though, was how delicious the dinner was; five minutes after she’d set her empty plate aside, she was asleep on Summer’s shoulder.

She dreamt once more of being six years old, of playing dress-up in an enormous closet full of women’s clothes. But there was one more difference tonight.

As they were about to set off to see her mother, Persephone stopped short when she noticed not a tattoo, but crisscrossing white scars on her grown-up companion’s arm. She looked up at the woman. “Did...did that hurt?” she asked.

The middle-aged woman from the security room grimaced. “It did, once,” she said, “but that was a long time ago. It’s all better now.”

Then she led Persephone to the kitchen of Dorley Hall and the scent of apple puffs.