Disconnected ; Lashton

1. Broken Home

Before reading: trigger/content warnings in this chapter and story for self harm and negative thoughts regarding trans identity, if either of these things are something that can trigger you, please read with caution

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Ever since I was little, I've always been really shy. It was hard for me to talk to people, my communication skills were nonexistent. Because of that, I didn't have friends growing up. Sometimes it really sucked, but at the end of the day, I felt like everything would be okay since I had my dad. We were super close, he was always my best friend, and even though I could barely speak to anyone, I could talk to him for hours. I was happy if I was around him, and he loved me a whole lot. Of course he did, I was his daughter, after all.

But I really wasn't his daughter. I realized it when I was in junior high. I was in a girl's body, but... I wasn't a girl. It was confusing coming to terms with it, that I was trans. I didn't know anyone who was, or at least if I did, I wasn't aware of it. There were a lot of people online who talked about being trans, though. Reading their stories helped me a lot with figuring out what it was that made me feel the way I did. I wasn't ashamed of being trans, but I was only thirteen, and I didn't know how my parents would react, so I just kept it a secret.

It stayed a secret for way longer than I had even meant it to, I was in my third year of high school when I finally decided to talk about it. The memory of that day is painful, and I wish I could go back in time and undo it. If I could fix everything that followed, I would do it in a heartbeat.
My dad was the person I trusted the most, so naturally when I was itching to confess my big secret, I went to him first. I told him that there was something important I had to tell him, so he sat down with me and waited with a comforting smile for me to say it.

God, I wish I never did.

"Dad, I'm a boy."

Those four words are the words I regret more than anything I've ever said.

When the last word left my mouth, my dad's smile dropped completely. The look on his face that day still lives in my mind and haunts me. That was the moment my dad stopped loving me.

After that, he told me I didn't know what I was talking about. But, I did know. I'd known for four whole years at that point. If anyone knew what they were talking about, it was me. He didn't seem to think so. What he did think, though, was that I was messed up in the head, and I'd always be a girl no matter what I did.

He left me alone in my room. I just sat there in shock, staring at the back of the door that he had slammed behind him. Not even five minutes could have gone by when I heard his voice shouting downstairs. Looking back, I sort of wish that I had put some headphones on and blocked all of it out entirely, but at that moment I needed to hear what he was saying about me. I needed to hear what he thought, and I needed to hear what my mum would say back to him. I needed to know if both of my parents hated me and planned on disowning me.

He yelled at my mum about me, and to my surprise, eventually, she started yelling back. My mum never yelled. Hearing her voice rise above a certain level made my heart race because that meant that she was angry, so she was angry at me, right?

She wasn't, though. She was angry at my dad. She kept telling him to shut up.

"So damn what if our kid wants to be a boy, Andrew? You're just going to stop loving your own child, your own flesh and blood?"

"That is not my child if she thinks she's going to be a boy, I have a daughter, not a son!"

I couldn't stop myself from crying, hearing that from him. Why? Why was it so terrible? Why was it so terrible if I was a boy?