『Tsuki』
Luckily I still have Keisha's car-key emulator, or else this trip would be a real drag. To be honest, I don't really know where I am, but it's a little dangerous. I'm in some upper-middle-class type city, filled with lofty skyscrapers and silver-lined roads. Well, if you're a normal-looking person, it's one of the safest places to be, but if you're me it's a whole different story. Luckily, there's some big military parade going on and everybody's out in the streets, so I have full reign of the underground. I just need to get through this part of town to get to the slums where I can find a place to stay so I can think of a plan. Somehow, I need to keep heading north, but also let Cromwell's goons catch up enough so that I can hopefully get back to her without getting captured and sent to jail again. I don't care how much she hurt me— she hurt my friends, and that means I'm not backing down. What happened to me has nothing to do with them. I should have told them what I was doing though. Maybe they'll hate me for it, but... I guess I'll just have to deal with that.
I really haven't had anyone that I'd consider my friend until I met Abel and Keisha. There was Lindy, but she was more like a mother figure than a friend. Actually, there was one kid who I was kind of close to back when I worked on the streets. For a short period of time when I was fourteen, right before I went to jail, I decided that rather than staying in the brothel and having to pay a percentage back to Cromwell, I went to the border between the low-class and the middle-class area and just solicited myself there. I just sent her a portion of that money saying it was the percentage I owed her, but in reality, it was a lot less. At the moment, it felt like I made the right decision, but it definitely wasn't worth the headache of her insisting that she should have that money I made. I guess getting evened out by those scumbag client's spouses wasn't really worth it either. Also, the harassment from random people on the street, because I was basically wearing what I'd normally wear to work on the side of the road, was less-than-ideal.
I did make a friend, though. He was my age and initially thought I was a girl, but surprisingly, didn't throw a fit when he found out the opposite was true. He just talked to me like I was just another kid. Although I didn't want to talk to him at first, he kept pestering me, and I finally caved and decided to talk to him too. We just talked about regular kid stuff— video games, sports, movies... It was nice to have someone my age to give me some frame of reference as to what a normal childhood was like. But I got a little selfish and began to think that I was a normal kid too.
There was one day that I found out this client of mine was married and had kids. Personally, I didn't feel right being with that kind of person, so I told him that I wasn't going to go with him. But, of course, him being a grown adult and me being a skinny kid, I didn't really have much choice in the matter. He dragged me over to his house and I serviced him, and he paid me extra. It became a whole issue, which resulted in me staying there much longer than I wanted to, arguing over this money. I ended up taking it, even though I didn't feel right about it. I was about to leave, and then his wife came home. I was right at the bottom of the driveway— if I was a few steps further this interaction probably never would have happened. She knew what I was, and was real pissed about it. Because I was scared, I denied everything she accused me of. But that was only an invitation for her to get violent. She yanked me into the garage and threatened to burn me with her cigarette if I didn't tell the truth. Surprise, she burnt me anyway. I still have the marks on my arm. The woman also beat me up on top of that. On a certain level, I understand why she was upset but damn, did she really have to do all that? The worst was when her husband, my client, went out to see me to tell me that he never wanted to see me again. Out of desperation, I cried out something along the lines of, 'I thought you loved me'. He told me plainly, 'I love my wife,' and that's when it dawned on me as to what exactly these people saw me as. Of course, they didn't love me, and could never love someone like me. You can't love an object like you love a person. I think the thing that made me continue to sell myself for all those years was the illusion that these people, on some level, needed me. They'd spend a whole bunch of cash just to be with me, and not any of the women at the brothel. The reason wasn't that they loved me, it was because they could do whatever they wanted to me and get away with it. Now that I'm older, I understand it more.
Although all sex workers are pretty much at the lowest social standing imaginable, women that look like women probably have the best chance out of all of us to be taken seriously if they report violence. Generally, no matter what walk of life you come from, people want to protect women. Again, there is a general disdain for sex workers, but out of all of us, pretty women have the best deal. Then there are the 'undesirable' women. Maybe they have a drug addiction or are just considered less attractive, or willingly conduct sex work. These kinds of people generally get very little sympathy from the general population, because, on some level, people believe they 'deserve' any violence that is levied against them. Also, people being trafficked generally get sympathy because, y'know, that's how it should be. Luckily, everyone tends to agree on that. But what about me? Well, to put it simply, nobody cared (except for Lindy, of course).
In my unique position of being a guy who looks like a girl, even without being a sex worker, I'd be in the bottom rungs of society. There's a certain undesirability that comes along with being or looking feminine, or possessing traits typically associated with femininity. It's not that difficult to come across— just look at the way the reaction to different people's appearances is treated. My sister, Naomi, had short hair and wore baggy clothes which, even though I personally don't think clothes should have gender, was more of a masculine appearance. As far as I know, she never got into any trouble because of it. Also, there are tons of women on TV wearing suits. Even though a woman can be masculine no problem, a man can't be feminine without getting shit for it. I mean, I have a library worth of stories as to how that shows up in the world. I guess what I'm trying to say is because typical 'masculine' traits are ideal, for a man to want to be 'feminine' there must be something wrong with him. What's so 'wrong' about it? I personally don't see a problem. So what if I wear makeup or jewelry or keep my hair long— it's nobody's business but my own. Compared to how I dressed in the past, I guess I look more 'masculine', which is probably why people treat me more with aversion than perversion.
But what about the violence against me? Earlier I said that generally, people want to protect girls, especially those that are trafficked, and most people read me, socially speaking, as a girl. Based on this, I should be in the category of a 'person people want to protect', right? Wrong. In their eyes, the violence against me was justified because I was 'pretending' to be someone I wasn't, therefore making their actions somewhat 'moral', as they were correcting a perceived wrong. Sure, I made the decision to willingly endanger myself by being on the streets rather than the brothel, but surely that doesn't justify what that woman, and so many others, did to me. My heart goes out to the people that were born with the expectations of one gender identity but are more compelled to be viewed as another. For me, I was more or less just wearing a costume, and people expected me to be a guy under all of it. But for regular people who simply want to conform as something different, it must be incredibly dangerous to navigate this world we live in.
Anyways, I was telling a story, wasn't I? So after that altercation, I bumped into my friend, who excitedly ran up to me saying that he got a new video game and wanted to play it with me at his house. I accepted his offer since I just wanted to be out of the public after what happened to me. It went fine for a bit and we were having a lot of fun, but the thing is, I just didn't feel right. He picked up on it too and asked me what was the matter. I said that I got hurt pretty bad and just left it at that, as he had no idea what I was doing. I showed him the burn marks, to which he promptly tried his best to help me. I then asked him if he could just hug me for a bit. He thought it was because of the pain, but for me, it was because of how crushed I felt. I just wanted to have someone who cared about me comfort me. Unfortunately, at that moment, his parents came home. Admittedly, it was a bit of an odd sight. I was wearing a sleeveless crop top with a short skirt and thigh-high socks, so it was definitely a jarring image. It was so jarring that his mother ripped me out of my friend's arms, only to realize that I was actually a guy, and then the father stepped in. My friend was taken into another room by his mother, and I was being yelled at by his dad. He then yelled at me for a good long while, as I just sorta layed on the ground in a crumpled mess. I eventually yelled back, but it's not like he cared about what I had to say. And then I left. I refused to tell him my name at the time, but I kind of wish I did, since I can't quite remember his. Some things aren't meant to be, I guess.
I manage to get into one of the trains, in hopes that it'll eventually take me to a lower-class area. Thankfully, it's empty. I notice a TV screen mounted on the wall, broadcasting the military parade. Rows upon rows of people are stuffed behind metal barriers as the tanks and other vehicles go by. The army members wave to the crowd, as confetti cascades down into the streets. In the air, fighter jets soar above.
"So you didn't want to go?" a woman's voice comes from behind me. Ah, so there is someone here. Weird how I didn't notice her. She looks... tired and worn out. Her eyes are half-lidded with dark circles thinly veiled by foundation. Judging by her clothes, she's an office worker of some sort. She's wearing a navy blazer and a matching knee-length pencil skirt with a white blouse. I think she's in her forties, maybe. Her hair is cut short into an angled bob.
"I... don't really like crowds," I say, hoping not to agitate her. If I say anything negative about the state you never know what this kind of person could do. If she calls the police, I'm done for.
"Oh, I... thought you were a girl," she remarks at the sound of my voice.
"I'd be pretty ugly if that were true," I joke.
"Ah, I'm sorry!" she apologizes.
"Don't worry about it." Wow, someone from around here whose reaction to me isn't seething hate? I guess there's a first time for everything.
"People must give you a lot of trouble," she comments.
"Yeah, but I manage."
"Are you from around here?" she inquires.
"Uh, no. I'm just visiting family," I lie.
"I see," she then gazes at the screen. "You know, I really don't like all this stuff."
"No?" I question.
"It's ridiculous!" she exclaims. "Such a waste of money. I'm sure it could have gone to helping out needy families rather than this whole mess!"
"Woah, there. Keep talking like that and you'll have the police breathing down your neck," I warn her. Huh, maybe I should stop being so judgemental of upper-classers. I always whine about people misunderstanding me, and yet I can't even keep an open mind.
"Oh, I know, I know," she scoffs. "It's just troubling, that's all."
"I get it," I nod.
Just then, the cameras shift focus from the parade itself. The crowd is practically hysterical, as a young girl, no more than thirteen, stands in front of the procession, holding up a sign that reads 'NO MORE WAR!!!'
"Oh my..." the woman gasps.
The girl's head swivels around, and she darts away, leaving her sign behind. A few moments later, the police rush after her.
"Poor thing," my companion laments. "These poor, misguided children. She'll probably be never seen again."
It then dawns on me that this kid could suffer the same fate that I did. We were both around the same age, and there's no telling if the law enforcement here is righteous or not. But what can I do? I can't just get off of this train and somehow hope to find out where she is to save her. It hurts. It hurts to know I can't do anything to help, even though I know full well what will happen when she's caught.
"It's an awful world that my kids live in," the woman mourns.
"You have kids?" I ask generally.
"Two of them," she replies with a warm smile. "I just hope that they'll turn out alright, even though my husband and I are seemingly always at work."
"If you're there for them when they need it, and you show that you love them, I'm sure they'll be fine," I say, reflecting on what I wanted most growing up.
"I certainly hope so," she sighs.
The train slows to a halt and the doors open.
"Well, I better be going," she stands up, making her way towards the exit.
"Stay safe out there," I tell her.
"You too," she steps out of the train and begins to walk away. Suddenly, she freezes in place and heads back to me. "My name is Kathy! What's yours?" she calls out as she hurries back.
"Uh, it's Aiden." I still can't be too careful.
"Aiden," she repeats with a smile. "I won't forget it!"
The doors begin to close.
"...But my friends call me 'Tsuki'," I finish just as the doors shut.
All that's left is the humming of the train and the faint murmur of the TV.