Chapter Text
It was a warm night. Warm enough for him to be sweating profusely, and the heavy jacket he is wearing as his last means of protection does not help, but he hardly notices as he runs through the woods. He finally stops, breathing heavily as he leans against a tree.
Tears fall from his eyes, sliding down to his chin and then dripping onto the grass. He wipes his eyes with his sleeve, but more tears keep coming.
“Fuck,” he says in between breaths.
He had desperately wished tonight had gone different, but he supposes he should’ve known better. How could he have been so naive?
He sits onto the ground, and clutches his jacket, pulling it tighter around him as his mind recounts the night’s misfortunes.
He knew they were going to be mad. But he couldn’t help but smile as he looked in the mirror. His shoulders were itchy, and clumps of hair surrounded him on the floor. It felt euphoric. His hair, once long and cumbersome, now rested just above his eyebrows. It’s shaggy, and messy around the ears, and the back sort of looks like a mullet. It was certainly the worst looking haircut he’s ever had. He couldn’t be happier.
He runs his hands through his hair and laughs.
“What’s so funny in there?” his father yells from the other room.
He swallows, “Nothing.”
He supposes it was now or never.
He grabs the pile of clothes he had been keeping hidden, and starts putting them on. First is a pair of trousers too long for his legs, so he cuffs the bottom of them. Next is a button up shirt that he has to tuck into his shirt lest it hit his thighs. Then he grabs his father’s coat, something he’s worn from time to time, his favorite item. Like the other items, it’s too big, leaving him with a boxy frame, but the worn brown coat smells like home. In the back of his mind he knows he looks ridiculous in these ill fitting clothes, but he has never felt more comfortable in his reflection.
He looks back in the mirror and takes a deep breath.
‘You can do this’ he tells himself.
He opens the door from your room and walks into the main room where his mother and father were residing. They both sat talking with one another, his father facing away from him, his mother facing towards him, head down, focusing on her sewing.
He can feel your hands shake. He can feel his heart pound. Nevertheless, he clears his throat and lets them know of his presence.
His mother looks up.
“Dear God, child, what did you do?” she cries.
He feels his resolve waiver, and fails to respond, the air sticking in his throat. You stare at the ground, refusing to look up.
His father stands and faces you.
“Well, answer her,” he bellows.
“I-I- I cut it. I think- I mean, I am- I- I’m a boy!” he nearly shouts. That was it. His biggest secret let out. Half of him feels like throwing up. The other half feels relieved. He finally looks up.
His mother looks horrified. His father looks angry.
“You must be out of your mind,” his mother shrieks, “This is insanity. You are my daughter.”
“No, no, I’m not. I’m a boy. On the inside, I’m a boy mum.”
“Nonsense! Come to your senses dear. We can grow this out, it’s okay, we can cover this up, this is just a momentary lapse-”
“No!” he shouts, “No it’s not mum! This is who I am!”
His father walks in front of you, his figure looming over you.
“Do NOT talk to your mother that way. Show some respect!”
“Come on, don’t you believe me?” he starts to cry. “This is who I’ve always been, haven’t you seen me? I know you have, come on, I know you have, I know-”
Your father jolts towards you, and SLAP. The sound echoes in the room along with his sobs.
“You are out of your fucking mind. A disgrace to this family.” his father mutters as he turns his back to you.
His cheek stings. It must be red. His hand instinctively goes up to touch it gently in disbelief. It feels warm.
This has gone wrong. So wrong.
His breathing finally evens. His eyes sting from all the crying.
He looks around, realizing he has no idea where he is. He just remembers running and running away from that god awful place, with no recollection of the path he took. He suddenly feels afraid. It’s pitch dark in the forest now, with only the moonlight outlining the edges of the trees and leaves.
He frantically checks the pockets of his father’s jacket. He finds a wadded up piece of paper, a couple coins, and a knife.
‘At least I have something to defend myself with’ he thinks. However, besides that small fortune, he finds himself rather out of luck. The couple coins might buy him bread, but other than that, unless he goes back home, he’ll surely starve, assuming he gets out of the forest in the first place.
His future looks bleak. There’s no denying it. He feels an emptiness enveloping him. He sees two choices: to fight it off and ground himself to the present, or to simply allow it to swallow him whole. He knows he should fight it, however,
he is tired and cannot seem to find hope. So instead he stares blankly ahead and lets himself feel numb.
Soon, underneath the moon and the trees, he finds himself drifting to sleep. The exhaustion of his experience finally sets in, and he lets it take him away.