Facing Her Demons (Lesbian, Transgender)

Chapter Two - Grudgingly Accepting the Invitation

I used to live in a house by a body of lava. My older brothers, Chaz and Scott, and I would sometimes dare each other to get near the lava and try to touch some hardened parts of it. One time Scott, since he was the oldest of the three of us and pretty much got away with most things, picked up a stick and cracked the hard parts open to reveal the glowing-orange liquid trapped inside. He pulled the stick out and tried to burn Chaz and me with the end. Chaz thought it tickled, but I was terrified, which resulted in Scott chasing me around, still holding the stick and managing to burn me more than a few times. Chaz watched while he was laughing.

     The one time was the nicest thing they've done to me, by the way. Chaz and Scott have gotten worse as we grew older, and they were unstoppable until I moved away, thinking that this would help end the cycle. Hopefully. 

     That pretty much sums up my relationship with my brothers. They're assholes, and I don't want to deal with them anymore. Especially since I transitioned from their runty little brother to an unnatural little sister. (Their words, not mine.)

     My parents, on the other hand, didn't seem to mind the change. Actually, let me rephrase what I just said: Mom and Dad were better at keeping their opinions to themselves than my brothers. They still have all said I've gone batshit crazy when I started. I think it has more to do with them not knowing how to handle treating a female demon than just being transphobes. (I'm using the word correctly, right?)

     I wake up with a jolt, still half-dreaming. It was the old memory of Chaz and Scott, back by the lava, with Scott holding the stick towards me. Somehow, my dream twisted it so not only was I chased by the still-burning stick, my brothers picked me up and dumped me in the lava. You can laugh at the absurdity, but honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if they did that.

     With that said, I had to look all over my body for any scorch marks I'd get if I went swimming in the hot liquid. Demons don't die easily, but any burns or injuries from extreme activities will still fucking hurt.

     Happy that I don't see any of the sort, I get up and search through my small pile of clothes for what I can wear. I find what I can only assume is a crumpled midriff tank top and wrinkly shorts that end mid thigh. I strip off my shirt and glance down, wincing at the sight of a very hot-pink bra I wore to sleep. I keep forgetting about the bras; by now they're my second skin, and I never remind myself to take them off when I need to.

     "Oh well," I mumble as I unclasp it. Picking up a purple one from the floor, I take all the clothes into the bathroom. A half-hour's worth of freezing my ass off later, I come back out in the outfit. I step aside, and boom! I'm in the kitchen. Another step, and I'm in front of the fridge. I open the fridge and take out a Monster can. I chug it down as I notice the needles I left on the counter.

     I throw the now empty can in the little recycling bin and pick up the bag. I take one out and look at it. The estrogen fills up half the space in the needle, I notice. What would happen if it took up ninety-five percent instead? Would I transition in a faster pace? Or would I die of natural causes, so to speak?

     I pick up a small purse laid on a small table by the door. Opening it, I take out a stretchy strip and tie it around my arm, just below the elbow. I uncap the needle, flick it a couple of times, and plunge it into my skin. I push the plunger, and pull the tool out when it's completely empty. I untie the strip after I throw the needle away, and throw it in as well.

     My phone chimes. I pick it up to see an alarm. "Damn," I say. I forgot I have an eight-hour shift today at the bookstore around the corner, ironically called Tear The Pages. I think whoever named it was trying to make some statement that the books it sells would be so good the readers would 'tear through the pages'. I just call it TTP, because it makes me sound like I'm working at a store with a normal but long name.