The pain in my hand had disappeared, but now my heart was pounding. It felt like it was trying to match the beat of some up-tempo happy hardcore song. But I wasn’t happy; I was terrified.

“What are you wearing?” My mother sounded flat and tired.

I wanted to lie, to come up with an excuse. But my brain felt broken and exhausted. A million words were bouncing through my head. None of them able to help me right now.

She walked forward to look over my shoulder. “What are you using the med kit for? Are you hurt?” She flinched as she saw my bloody hand. “Oh, that looks bad. Let me see.”

I stayed silent and stretched out my hand.

My mother pulled out a stool from the kitchen table and motioned for me to sit. Over the next few minutes, she carefully pulled out any leftover shards from my hand, cleaned the wound, and bandaged it all up.

My heart rate had slowed down, but the throbbing pain in my hand returned. “I got mad and crushed a glass I was holding,” I said, trying to explain my injury.

“There, there, all good again,” Her sleepy tone had faded. “You’re one lucky man, Jason. It looks like none of the shards managed to do any major damage. You must have had some pretty quick reflexes to pull away in time.” She looked down at my body. “I’m curious, however, how did you end up angrily smashing a glass in your hand while dressed like a girl?”

Minutes, multiple minutes of silence it had taken for my mother to start asking questions. And I still didn’t have an excuse that could explain the state I showed up in. Because I didn’t need an excuse, I needed to tell the truth. I looked back up towards her scary eyes. “It’s quite the story.”

“Not a bad story, I assume.”

My lips were dry, my breathing slow. “Just keep an open mind, please.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’ve spent four days in a row at Riley’s; I’m prepared for the worst.”

“I’m serious.” I felt pressure build up in the back of my head. “It’s about something I’ve been struggling with for a while.”

“Jason?” My mother scowled. “What did you do?”

The pressure flowed from my head to my shoulders. “Nothing bad. Do you remember that tournament in Battingham I’m playing this weekend?”

She nodded.

“I lie--”

A grunt escaped from my mother’s mouth; she was about to interject, but I kept talking. The pressure was now pushing down on my entire body.

“--Lied about what kind of tournament it is. It’s a girls-only tournament.”

“What, that’s what this silly costume is for? To trick people? To cheat!” Her voice got louder, her frown deeper.

My heart picked up the pace again, pounding in my throat more than twice a second. I wanted to run. But I knew I needed to defend myself. “No, it’s not! Or… not anymore at least. It was a stupid ruse at first, but when I saw myself like this, when I tried to live like this, it felt good.”

She was shaking her head. “You know how much I hate lying, Jason; this is an awful thing to do.”

Was she even listening? For the third time tonight, tears formed. “I know! But it isn’t a lie anymore. I felt, I feel, like I am a girl. Like this is who I really am.”

“Spare me the tears, Jason; I’ve seen too many men in this family cover their lies with emotion.”

“I’m not lying, Mom; it’s real. I… I’m… I’m transgender.” I sunk my head into my mother’s side as the sobbing started for the third time tonight.

“Ugh” I heard my mother make a fake gagging noise. “Don’t you dare use transgenders to cover your own lies. This whole despicable act stops now.” She grabbed my shoulders and pushed me off. I could barely speak; she didn’t believe me. All I could do was sob; arguing with her was no use.

She seized me by the chin, forcing me to look at her. “Hey, stop crying, and man up. You made this mess; you are going to clean it up. Now I don’t want to hear any more of this transgender bullshit. You are going to tell everybody who you have been deceiving the truth and stop being an idiot.”

“But it is the truth.”

She released me from her grip, walked to the window, and sighed. While she looked out over the yard she said. “It’s not the truth. Just pull down your pants and look down if you want some confirmation.” She turned back to me. “What would your dad think if he found out about this?”

“He already does.”

“What? You involved your father in this scheme!?” She started straight up screaming at me. “Do you want him to relapse?!”

“I’m sorry.”

“You better be! Now get out of my sight before I start saying things I regret.” She pointed at the door. A slight tremble was visible in her finger.

I slumped in the direction of the door. Right before I turned the corner, I looked at my mother one final time. Her steel gaze showed no remorse, and experience told me that going against her would only make things worse. Trying to salvage what I could, I looked at her and repeated my words. “I’m sorry.”

I entered my room; I felt weak, like I had just come back from running a marathon. My limbs felt limp, and both mental and physical exhaustion had taken a toll on me. What even was the point of brushing my teeth, cleaning my face, or even undressing? With a life like mine, there was none, so I might as well collapse on my bed.

Hours ticked by, darkness all around me, its only companion the unrelenting silence of the night. Sleep, however, was nowhere to be found. It all started out so well; the tournament was around the corner, and by rekindling my bond with Rachel, I had cleared the last obstacle. All the quest objectives had been handled, but I had forgotten about the hidden missions.

Rachel had given me confidence; I wasn’t going to let others decide for me any longer. I stood up to them, the people who almost completely controlled my life for the last few years. But the result was nothing but a bowl of blood and tears. I still knew I was right, but it hurt that neither of them could understand my plight.

How could I be strong enough to fight, but not strong enough to win? Why couldn’t they see my light? Why was I just lying here soaking in my own pool of poisonous despair? I sat upright. I looked at my locked phone screen. Once again seeing myself with my friends filled my eyes with tears. Because the people in that picture, that’s who my friends were.

While my hands were trembling, I unlocked the phone and found my way to a private chat with Rachel. The channel had been dormant for a week, and the clock said 00:54, but somewhere I still had hope.

NOBLIN: Are you awake?

The waiting, oh man, the waiting. Cutting my hand caused some pretty intense physical pain, but the mental pain of uncertainty was a thousand times worse. I counted the seconds. When I reached a hundred seconds, I felt like it wasn’t happening anymore, and wanted to put away my phone. But then my eyes spotted the white text on the bottom of the screen. ‘RAYRAY is typing…’

RAYRAY: Just about, what’s up?

A smile appeared on my face.

NOBLIN: I need your help.

***

I opened the door to the kitchen. Greeting me was the smell of roasted coffee and the sight of my mother’s careless expression. Her gaze was fixed on the newspaper, and my presence had done nothing to change that. I wanted to yell, to tell her how her words made me feel, but I couldn’t. That was not the plan. The hairs on the back of my neck indicated that I still feared her very presence.

Today was not about confrontation. I wasn’t going to try to help her see the errors in her ways. The only person I was helping today was myself, and that meant avoiding confrontation.

I tried to look as unassuming as possible while I walked into the room. My target was the cabinet on the far side.

“Good morning,” My mother straightened out her paper. “How is the hand?”

“Fine,” I murmured. I took one of the glasses out of the cabinet, opened the fridge, and filled the glass with milk.

“About tomorrow,” My mother’s words felt like someone was cutting into the back of my head with a rusty shiv. “We need to get you something nice to wear for your grandmother's birthday dinner, so we will be going to the mall at 10:00 AM tomorrow.”

I stood right behind her, holding the glass of milk in my bandaged hand. “Yes, Mom, I will make sure I’m ready,” I lied, my words as empty as empty as her heart.

My stomach felt like it was doing multiple somersaults as the nerves took control of my body. I took a deep breath in preparation for my Oscar-worthy performance and yelped. “Ouch!” I relaxed the muscles in my hand, and the glass of milk immediately got pulled down to the ground.

The sound of broken glass now filled the kitchen, and my mother swiftly got up from her stool and yelled. “Jason! What the? Have you developed some sudden blood feud with the concept of glasses or what?!”

Her eyes penetrated my soul, but I pretended to be unfazed. While raising my bandaged hand, I said, “Shit, I guess I shouldn’t be holding things with this hand yet.” I performatively looked up at the clock across the kitchen. “Argh, I don’t know if I’m going to catch my bus now.”

“Of course. "She rolled her eyes." Just get lost; I will clean it up,” She walked out of the room to get the cleaning supplies.

Taking advantage of this tiny window of time, I swiped her phone from the table, swiftly installed a new app on it before putting it back, and left the kitchen. I yelled out behind me. “Sorry, Mom, got to go!”

My backpack bounced up and down with the rhythm of my feet. Within a minute, I had left the cul-de-sac and found myself standing on the T-crossing connecting my street to the wider world. I crossed the street and ran into the tree line on the other side.

When I got far enough into the amalgamation of vegetation, I hunkered down and opened my backpack. Instead of books, it was filled with my wig and clothes. A black jumpsuit, a silver-coated pair of jeans, a pink billowing blouse, and a pair of brown leather ankle boots. And of course, the pièce de résistance stashed all the way on the bottom, that beautiful yellow dress.

I quickly got dressed in the silver jeans and pink blouse, stashing my old clothes as deep in my bag as I could. There was no mirror or makeup to make sure everything was perfect, but this was the best I could do right now. My body was still full of adrenaline as I made my way back to the road.

Just as I felt the asphalt touch my feet again, a familiar Mini Cooper came driving down the road. A tiny redhead with a beaming smile stuck her head out of the driver’s seat window.

“Emily! Over here! Let’s get you out of here!”

Gwenington

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