TW: lewd text messages
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Chapter Five / Grown up
"You're both being impossible. This is about what's best for Alphie, not you."
Slouching over my knees, I inspect my toes. I painted them teal last week and shortly after, stubbed my left big toe, which resulted in a bruise beneath the nail. My feet are ugly, no matter what, because they're narrow and knobby. I curl my toes into the carpeted stair below my feet, straining to listen from my hiding space in the stairwell.
"Alphie is doing excellent," my mother's voice raises slightly, sounding hurt. "He is performing well academically and socially."
"He's been seeing the Kumar boy," my father pipes up. "If he wasn't doing well, he wouldn't be pursuing a relationship. The Kumars are wonderful people. Did you know that Mr. Kumar owns a start-up tech company that has become extremely successful? Regardless, we're happy that Alphie is blossoming into the person he's meant to be."
In the shadows, I inspect my calves; there's another bruise on my pale skin. I think that I need to start taking iron tablets again, because I've been bruising like a peach. My ass has two painful handprints that have risen to the surface of my skin within twenty-four hours. I took a picture and thought, slut, then hid it in my secret album on my phone.
"He's done school online before, the last time he was having issues." James's voice is teetering on rage. "The school would be understanding if changed to online for a few weeks if his mental health is on the line. Let him come to Boston with me, please."
"You're being melodramatic," my mother says. This is her favorite word to use whenever I have problems, melodramatic, a single word that can undermine how I feel within seconds. "You know how Alphie is. Nathaniel, tell James how Alphie is."
My father sighs deeply; I can picture the way he's probably adjusting himself from where he sinks into the sofa. He's a very hefty person and he spends a lot of time sighing, catching his breath, and rubbing his hand over his stomach while he digests dinner. "Alphie is overly sensitive. Frankly, I think he needs more attention, which I am partially at fault for not giving him as we're approaching election season and my work hours have become more demanding."
"I can give him attention!" James explodes. "Laura and I love Alphie."
"Quiet down," my father says crossly. "What I am trying to explain to you is that Alphie has been fine until this weekend when he had that...?"
"Panic attack," James mutters. "Grandma called him Christopher."
"Right." My father grunts an affirmation. "Panic attack. I'm sure it's because you're here now, and he hasn't seen you in a while. It's a cry for attention, from you."
"You're wrong."
"James," my mother chides. "I think we'd know."
"This is about local politics, isn't it?" James's voice becomes sharp with accusation. "You don't want anyone to find out if Alphie leaves town with me. Do you really care so much about the family reputation that you won't consider letting me help him?"
"This is not about that at all!" My father insists. "I do not like these unfounded accusations, James. It would be detrimental socially and academically to take Alphie out of school his senior year, even for a short period of time."
"Jesus!" James bursts. "What kind of parents are you?"
"Language!" My mother sounds shocked. "We were all having such a lovely evening together."
"Jesus isn't a bad word, so fuck you."
I've heard enough; I stand and silently walk back up the steps and to my bedroom.
Distraction, I need a distraction. I drop my clothing into my hamper, shrug on an oversized t-shirt, and change from boxers to lace panties. Boxers always ride up my thighs throughout the day and I find this to be especially uncomfortable. It's not like I need to wear them to keep my cock contained, I just wear them because I'm supposed to.
On my windowsill rests two candles, which I light with the lighter I keep in my dresser for this very purpose. Willing myself to breathe deeply and slowly, I sink onto my bed and fight the frustrated tears that threaten to spill down my cheeks. The candlelight flickers across my ceiling and dimly lights my room, making me feel like I'm finally in my own safe bubble. I take a shaky breath and pick up my phone, opening a string of messages that will provide me with something else to think about besides my family talking about me like an object.
Kingof69: i wish you wuld let me see ur pretty face
ThatgrlAnna: I don't send pictures with my face.
Kingof69: what r u wearing tonight? Send me a pic, pls. I've been thinking about ur body all day
I worry my lower lip with my teeth. For the past month, I've been talking to this guy on Grindr, mostly because he's polite and we seem to have more in common than other men I've interacted with on this app, such as our age. He also seems smitten by me; he messages me every morning to wish me a good morning, calls me beautiful, and regularly asks how I am. The sweet messages are sandwiched between the sexual ones, where we exchange pictures.
ThatgrlAnna: I'm having a shitty night. I don't want to send any pictures.
Kingof69: i'm sorry to hear that. If u ever wanted to meet up, you know i'd treat u well, like a princess. people always tell me i'm a great listener
ThatgrlAnna: Really?
Kingof69: i would fuck you like the girl you are. Slow, gentle, and i'd make you cum first. i want to be deep in that ass, making you squirm and moan
ThatgrlAnna: I already told you I don't usually get there. One of my surgeries went badly and now I have a difficult time getting hard. I've never finished from anal.
Kingof69: ur perfect, Anna. i know you can't see it, but ur the most gorgeous girl i've ever seen. all u need is 4 someone to make u feel special and help u relax. I'm touching myself thinking about ur girl dick right now, it turns me on so much
He sends me a video of him masturbating, which I watch with the boredom of someone being forced to watch a training video for work. I've only ever seen his penis, never his face or any other body parts besides his toned lower abdomen. The thing that fascinates me the most is that he is uncircumcised, which we bonded over because he previously told me he's self-conscious about it and that he can somewhat relate to my debilitating dysmorphia surrounding my genitalia.
In response to the video, I take a picture from the neck down, parting my legs slightly so that he can see my underwear.
I don't feel sexy, I feel miserable. Since my meeting at the motel, I feel a faint burn whenever I pee, which I think means I have another bladder infection. The thought of going back to the urologist brings up memories of sitting in a beige room with one of my parents, who would only leave when I had to take my pants off. If I let this go for too long, I'm probably going to get a fever like the last time I chose to ignore the pain. I have decidedly not seen any doctors in two years; there is no reason to now that I've refused hormonal treatments.
Although, sometimes I wonder if there's more I can learn about myself. I've been tempted to go of my own volition and demand answers, throwing a full-blown tantrum in front of the doctor if need be.
Absently, my fingertips skim my crotch as if to come to terms with the knowledge that I might need to make an appointment. I'm used to being subject to unnecessary examinations and the curious stares that follow; the memory of clicking pens and keyboards tapping while doctors take notes makes me cringe as much as the memory of hands touching me. I'm a specimen, and I know it. I stop rubbing myself over my underwear and cross my legs tightly.
Kingof69: gorgeous, ur perfect. I want to taste u so badly
ThatgrlAnna: I've never let anyone do that. Give me oral, that is.
Kingof69: i want to be the person that does it to u for the first time. i'd have u lay on ur back and I'd sit between ur sexy thighs, playing with ur little, tight—
The phone drops from my hand before I can finish reading what Kingof69 wants to do to me, as I sit up in alarm when I hear the sound of someone knocking softly on my door. Hastily I grab my phone, close the app, then turn off the device and tuck it beneath my pillow for good measure. My panic only lasts a moment because my parents almost never knock, they simply waltz into my room, my privacy be damned. It has to be James.
Tugging down my t-shirt to cover my groin, I tentatively call out, "Come in!"
"Hey, kid." James is wearing his beat-up Adidas sneakers, leather bomber jacket, and his backpack is slung over one of his broad shoulders. "I'm about to head out; I want to be home by ten."
"Okay."
"Wow, it's cozy in here. Are these new candles?" He comes and sits by me on the bed, opening one arm for me to lean against his side.
"Yeah." I sink into his embrace and rest my head against his shoulder when he wraps an arm around me. "I bought them at TJ Maxx with Gemma."
"Ah, pumpkin spice scent. Very Gemma-y." He smiles down at me, all soft and sad. "Say, Alphie. How would you feel about coming back to Boston with me soon? Not for too long, maybe just a week or two."
I'm quiet, contemplating this. "I have school."
"I know, of course." His hand runs up and down my arm. "God, did you get skinnier? Never mind, sorry, that's beside the point. I shouldn't be nit-picky."
I wait for him to continue; it's warm resting in the crook of his arm. I want to burrow under his skin and sleep for the rest of my life, knowing I'm safe with him. James won't hurt me, not intentionally, and he'll protect me from life outside my bedroom door.
"You've done school online before. You can do it at my and Laura's apartment while we work. She asks about you all the time and I know you both get on well. During the weekend, I'll take you to the aquarium and we can get Pho again, right?"
He looks so hopeful that I feel too terrible to tell him that the last time I did school online my grades went down, I didn't keep up with my hygiene, and I ended up losing friends. It was during a major depressive episode, and though my high school was seemingly understanding about my inability to participate in person, my parents made sure to make me feel terrible about it every day. The thought of staying at his apartment sounds lovely, but I know that I'll be an unnecessary burden on him and Laura.
"There's amazing...specialists in Boston." He presses on, despite my lack of enthusiasm. "I know you have that endocrinologist and the doctor in Hartford, but I think you could get more comprehensive help in the city. They can help you sort things out better."
"I don't want hormones," I say roughly. "They make me crazy. I always felt angry, manic, and lethargic when I took them. Did Mom and Dad put you up to talk to me about this?"
"No, no!" He looks hurt when I pull out from under his arm. "I'm only trying to help, Alphie."
"Why?" My voice sounds thick with betrayal. "Am I not manly enough? What, am I embarrassing for you, too?"
"Alphie, calm down. I never said any of that." He pinches his temple. "I'm worried about you. I always worry about you here in this town, knowing that you've been taken advantage of before. You're too goddamn fragile..." He chokes up. "You were born too goddamn fragile."
"I was never taken advantage of," I say shortly. "I don't want to talk about this."
"Alright," he says softly, trying to get me to agree with him. "Let's pack you a bag, Alphie."
Here lies the issue with being the last born child, the medically challenged child, the problem child: no matter what, your family will always be all over you. Every move I make, word I say, and struggle I go through has been picked apart by someone in my family. They blame everything on my condition, my sexuality, and my attitude. It's why I've become secretive and my brother is the only one I feel like I can confide in, even though at times I feel that he infantilizes me. I'd rather talk to people I don't know in real life than subject myself to being scrutinized by the people who love me the most.
I wipe my eyes on my forearm, smearing angry tears across my face. "Go back to Boston, James. It's fine and I'm fine to stay in Connecticut."
"It's not," he says quietly. "It's not fine."
This is more than I can handle; I get up with jerky movements and pick up a pair of pajama pants lying on my floor from last night, turning my back to James to yank them on. Which in hindsight is stupid because I'm accidentally flashing him my ass in the sheer underwear I bought with the hope of appearing pretty to some old man.
"Jesus fuck, Alphie!"
I startle and whip around. "What?"
"Shit." His eyes are wide. "Did someone hit you?"
And then this is when I realize I'm screwed.
"No," I say defensively. Suddenly the walls seem to be closing in, my room collapsing in on itself. "It's nothing. Stop looking at me!"
"It doesn't look like nothing." He's starting to get the look on his face he gets before he becomes angry, which frightens me. A crease forms between his eyebrows, his mouth sets into a firm line, and his eyes narrow. "Alphie!"
For our entire life, James has had anger management issues, never directed at the ones he loves but still causing him to make rash decisions. When he snaps, he snaps hard, and anyone that dares cross him is in a dangerous line of fire. Once in Boston, I went out to a pub with him and Laura, where a drunk man grabbed her ass. Despite her plea to James to not do anything foolish, he ended up breaking the guy's nose over the corner of a table. The night was ruined after that. The only reason he didn't get sued was that Laura could have counteracted by saying the man sexually assaulted her.
"I'm eighteen!" I cross my arms and jut my chin out in a gesture of defiance. Of course, it trembles, my body betraying me as it always does. "Leave me alone."
"Oh, sure." His voice sounds menacing and I don't like this, that he saw the bruises, or that he knows what I did. It's embarrassing enough that the only people who will make me feel the way I want are men old enough to be my father. "Sure, Alphie, you just turned eighteen less than a month ago. You're such a big fucking man now, huh?"
"I'm not." I choke up. "I'm not that."
"You can just go wear a dress and get destroyed by some pervert and what? Everything is so fine that you're going to have panic attacks every day? Life is so great that you're going to call me crying because someone hurt you when you put yourself in a sketchy situation?"
"Shut up!" I stomp my foot against the ground. "I didn't call you this time!"
"Yeah, real mature," he snarls. "Go ahead, throw a tantrum like a child. You're so grown up that you can get fucked by men twice as old as you, then come crawling back to me, crying like a little kid after. You act surprised when they do what they're going to do as soon as they have their hands on you!"
"Shut the fuck up, James!" I burst into tears and hurl the closest object near me at him, a plastic barrette Gemma dropped last week and I never bothered to pick up off my floor. "You don't understand any of this! It's not my fault!"
He stands; grabs for my wrists when I start to bolt. Then I'm thrashing in his arms while he's telling me to calm down, stop yelling, but I don't even remember when I started raising my voice. All I know is that I am shouting because if I don't stop he will notice how much I am crying.
When we fight, we fight with bitter words instead of fists. I imagine sinking my teeth into James's arm hard enough to break the skin. I elbow him in the sternum and it doesn't hurt him, only shocks him for long enough to release his grip on me. Sometimes I wish James would stop being gentle with me. I'd feel less guilty if he was awful or less nice to me.
Of course, he could never harm me, he always picks me up every time I've been crushed. It's always going to be James, the savior, and Alphie, fucked in the head. We fill the roles with alarming ease, like our own rendition of Good-Cop Bad-Cop.
On the planet of our family, he is the one who always cares for me the most, his loyalty dogged to the point that at times he doesn't do anything for himself. I know it's because of Christopher that he's taken it upon himself to make sure I won't fully crack. James is always saving me from the proverbial bullets of life.
The first thing I do once I'm free is grab my phone and then run down the hallway, almost slipping on the hardwood floor on my way to the bathroom, which I lock myself in. The tears fall and I sink to the floor, my back pressed against the door while James stands on the other side of it, pleading with me to come out. He says the words I've heard before; that he is sorry for being cruel and he's worried about me.
"Please." I hear his forehead thud against the wood, resting there as all the fight leaves him. He is the type of person that deflates as quickly as he inflates. "Come to Boston with me, Alphie. I'll pack your bag for you now, alright? I'm sorry I was angry with you. All I want is for you to not be hurt, I know it's not your fault."
My hands shake and I squint in the sudden artificial light as I turn on my phone. My pupils feel like they're burning even after I rub them vigorously a few times.
ThatgrlAnna: Sometimes I feel like I'm completely alone. No one understands me or what I'm going through. The only people who know what I am are my family, and they never were happy with me until I was a boy.
Kingof69: i know what u are, and i think ur amazing
ThatgrlAnna: I can't tell anyone in reality. People wouldn't ever understand, because I've always passed as a boy. My family's reputation would be ruined and my social life would go to total shit. I'm just the pretty, trophy gay boy for my family and friends.
Kingof69: that's not true, ur a beautiful girl and it's not fair at all that u never got 2 make that decision for urself. i wish i was with u and i could show u how perfect u are
"I need to leave now," James says weakly. "I love you."
I take off my clothes and leave them in a heap on the checkered tile. Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I test how long until my vision blurs if I don't blink. Maybe if I stare for long enough, I will recognize this person to be myself. I try smiling at this strange person but my lips are chapped, the skin pulling away in flakes.
In the bathroom light my complexion looks blueish, my body alien, my ribs stacked tightly beneath the white sheet of my skin. Ugly, scarred, abnormal; I rest my hand against what would have potentially been my womb and know I've been robbed. I prickle with goosebumps when the cold porcelain brushes my skin as I lean over the sink and slip a finger inside of myself, even though it still hurts from the man in the motel room. I touch myself and I'm reminded that this is going to be what sex feels like for the rest of my life as a boy.
The flash goes off and the picture gets sent.
Stupid slut.
ThatgrlAnna: Here's the picture you asked for.
Kingof69: god, i want u so bad.
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Author's note: What do you think will happen with the boy Alphie is texting?
This will be the last we see or read about Alphie's family for a while. I wanted to give as much backstory as possible and set up their family origin to better understand them as a character. The next chapter will answer a lot more questions about Alphie, and then after that, we will be jumping right back into the Saartaj, Gemma, and Alphie story arch until the end.
Don't forget to vote to help me boost this story! Have a great rest of your weekend, everyone. xoxo