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Liv Chenka is six years old and bouncing on her little heels in the middle of the living room as she shows her mother the trading cards she’s collected on the school playground over the past couple of weeks that she’s been storing in a container she borrowed (stole) from one of the boys in her class. The cards are all about famous football players, but she’s more enticed by the fact that she can organise them by team and skillset than she is by the sport. Liv isn’t the best at reading people, but her mother is frowning and she prays silently that she hasn’t done anything too wrong that will end with her being punished.
“Do you like them?” she asks hesitantly. She’s learned, in her few years of life, that the only way to find out how someone really feels is to ask them outright.
“They’re football cards, Livvie,” her mother says disapprovingly. Liv winces; she’s never liked being called that.
“It’s not the football that’s important,” she tries to explain. “The teams are different colours! That’s what makes the cards cool!”
“Where did my little girl go, hm?” her mother ponders.
And it itches.
Liv Chenka is ten years old and tied to a tree at the far end of the playground. She didn’t exactly agree to being near suffocated by twenty feet of skipping rope wrapped too tightly around her chest, but she tends to let the popular kids do what they like. It saves time.
Her class learned last week about games that would be played by children on Earth centuries ago, and seemed to have fixated on this one. The general structure is that one of the more helpless, easily manipulated girls in the class gets to be the damsel in distress, guarded by one half of the boys who stroll around with sticks for weapons like sharks circling their prey, and the other half of the boys play the dashing knights and must rescue her. This is Liv’s first time as the damsel and she wants nothing more than to free herself and run for the hills, as she’s seen how handsy the rescuing team can be to the girls when they reach them, but whoever tied her up did a very good job and she can’t move at all.
Someone shouts for the game to begin and suddenly half a dozen boys are running at her, some being taken down by her defenders but some breaking through. Before she can even scream, as she’s been instructed to in order to help with the realism of the game, grubby hands are untying her and grabbing her into a hug, which she’s sure isn’t necessary for the game, but she doesn’t fight.
“You’re a pretty princess, aren’t you?” one of them says.
And it itches.
Liv Chenka is thirteen years old and lying on her bed, not moving for fear of the pain getting even worse, though she’s not sure how much worse it could possibly be. Her mother beams down at her, armed with a hot water bottle and some chocolate as though she can tame the fire ripping through Liv’s entire body.
“This is natural,” her mother reassures her, but to no avail. Bleeding through her favourite jeans didn’t feel natural, nor did the lessons she got at school where she was told that being hurt like this is a blessing. Liv hates it when she twists an ankle and can’t take part in the cross-country at school, but that happens once a year at most. This plague on her insides is doomed to happen to her every month for years on end. It’s like a death sentence.
Liv’s seen all the adverts for “feminine products” and all the skits about “women’s hygiene” and it makes her want to curl up into a ball and waste away.
She takes the hot water bottle and rests it near her hips, getting more annoyed by the second when she realises it is numbing some of the pain. She tries to speak to thank her mother, but she’s too weak to even force the words out. None of this is helped by Tula poking her head around the door in intrigue.
“Your sister’s becoming a woman,” her mother tells her.
And it itches.
Liv Chenka is seventeen years old and leaning back in her favourite chair in her headteacher’s office, a place she frequents more and more with each passing term. She’s not making any effort to appear like she isn’t confident she’ll win this fight. She isn’t even all that bothered about the school pantomime and only auditioned because her friend bet her that she’d chicken out, but she loves a cause. Too much, usually. The school’s eccentric drama teacher paces as the headteacher folds her arms pensively.
“Liv, how hard would it be for you to put on a dress and dance for a couple of hours?” Her drama teacher speaks first. “I don’t understand why you think this is a big thing.”
“People deserve equal opportunities,” she says. “Why aren’t you letting your students audition for the characters they want to audition for?” This whole row had started when Liv had been told she had to audition for one of the female characters, to which she caused a scene. It would be hard for her to wear a dress without lighting herself on fire for a couple of minutes, let alone hours, but she doesn’t say this. No one can know that but herself.
“Boys should play the male roles and girls should play the female roles,” her teacher said, clearly unaware to Liv’s turmoil. “It’s just what’s right.” She doesn’t even wait for an answer before saying, “You’re not a boy, Liv, are you?”
Liv simmers. No, she’s not a boy, but she’s not exactly a girl either and she’s definitely not a woman. She can’t pretend she doesn’t press down on her chest in the hopes that it’ll flatten some days or that she ties up her hair so she looks less feminine. “No, Miss,” she says flatly.
“Then you can cope with a dress or two,” her teacher smiles. “You’d look much better with one on than you do right now.”
And it itches.
Liv Chenka is twenty-eight years old and getting ready for her first tour as a fully qualified medtech. Her mother gives her a light hug and strokes her hair, still annoyed about the night a couple of weeks ago where Liv took scissors to her hair, making it much shorter than it was and much more manageable. Tula stands in the background, doing her best not to cry. Her father says his goodbyes last.
She’s a whole head shorter than him, so he can still bundle her up into a hug like he did when she was young. She can smell his mint-scented shampoo and she only wants to cry now at the prospect of leaving him. He’s not been feeling well recently, but she knows that the only way she’ll get away from her mother is to do something as drastic as this. All she can do is hope that her father will be in one piece by the time she gets back.
“You’ll always be my little girl,” he whispers and her face crumples into something she couldn’t place with a gun to her head. She loves him more than she’s ever loved anyone.
But it itches.
Liv Chenka doesn’t know how old she is anymore. Those days are long past. All she knows is that she is a traitor on both sides, a pacifist flung into a war no one has any chance of winning. She feels almost nothing, letting her training take over with each patient. She doesn’t have time to grieve those she loses, and she loses so many every day, because there’s always someone else needing mending.
The Daleks refer to her as “female”.
And it itches.
Liv Chenka still doesn’t know how old she is. She’d spent all that time under Dalek control thinking that, if she did ever get out, she’d start again with the whole age thing. The problem is, in a time machine, it’s difficult to know where to start. Still, she’s usually running for her life, which must be good for her health.
The Doctor made her wear this complicated dress with far too many layers. She can’t stand dresses, which is something she’s known about herself since she was seventeen, but she’d rather wear a dress and survive the trip than die in trousers. A man wolf-whistles and the Doctor has to grab her arm to stop her fighting back.
“Nice ankles, sweetheart,” he calls, grinning and laughing with his friends.
And it itches.
Liv Chenka has known Helen Sinclair for eight years, and it doesn’t matter how old she is because her life only really started when she met her. Liv breathes deeply as Helen looks right into her, the former having just confessed her love for her best friend.
Helen’s face breaks into a wide smile and Liv thanks her lucky stars that fate worked out as it did and let her meet the most incredible person she’ll ever know.
“I love you too, Liv,” she says, hardly able to contain her grin. “Will you be my girlfriend?”
Liv nods, because it’s all she’s ever wanted and it’s all she can do to stop herself from crying.
But still it itches.