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Girlhood is the subject of damnation; its pupils cursed with the cycle of pain and scorn. Today, Mizi feels a flight of fancy for first degree murder, or a bout of grand arson. Today, Mizi is on her period. She may not bleed from between her legs, but the same hand grasps her insides and twists with a malice. Gender affirming! She must be a masochist, to inject herself with liquid violence every week without fail.
While she experiences the pinnacle of girlhood, her day goes as well as it possibly could. There's just no concentrating in her lectures. The words worm their merry way away from her. In gel pen, she copies down the steps covering excitation. Her scribbles are all nonsense. She only realises she's flicking her pen in annoyance as it flies out of her hand. Contraction. Helpfully, someone picks it up for her. Relaxation.
Involuntary control, as her stomach grumbles, and she hears a quiet laugh from behind her. Mizi hasn't had anything today but Vietnamese iced coffee from a tiny shop a few minutes from campus. The owner loves her, and always picks out the candy-pink straw to put in her drink. It's the average university student's diet. Fuck off.
In a hushed whisper, someone asks, "Who was that? That guy?"
Voluntary control, as she clenches her pen a little tighter. Never mind, then. Death by public execution it is.
Why the fuck should Mizi care if other women do not want to stand up for themselves, if they want to be included as one of the guys? Unlike them, Mizi has class, so she does not take the opportunity to flip her off, or perhaps, strangle her to death.
Really, whoever she is, she deserves to face self-reflection, learn a little, and feel uncomfortable in her own skin for once in her life. Mizi has given too many people too many chances. For god's sake — her hair is dyed an eye-burning pink. The assumption that she would prefer anything but feminine terms is, to be fair and honest, complete and utter delusion on the part of others.
But such is the nature of a girl. She embraces annihilation with grace, empathy, and kindness.
It takes 20 muscles to smile, and over 40 to frown! Don't forget to smile! What a great point, professor! Thanks for the fun fact! In the interest of taking it easy, Mizi uses all twenty to give her most charming smile to the sociable, cisgender wimp as they all exit the lecture hall.
On Thursdays, her chosen outlet is the closest thing to physical violence she can experience and express: table tennis. She's signed up for the membership, which allows her access to facilities such as the tables, unlimited balls, and most importantly, competition to crush.
Maybe she plays too aggressively during her warmup match. Maybe her hand cramps a little as she wins her first game. It doesn’t matter, because for the first time today, Mizi feels anything that's not utter fucking shit.
And just as soon as it comes, it's quickly torn away from her. From across the hall, Mizi spots a flash of platinum, or rather, the light chases and forces itself into her field of vision. Aren't blondes fucking terrifying? They catch your eye just like that, in an instant, drawing all the attention in the room to their status? How egocentric. How utterly unashamed.
This white baby is no ordinary one either. Luka, her legal name unchanged from birth by sheer stubbornness, is Mizi's self-proclaimed enemy. (Luka is only considered a feminine name in Japan. Is she transracial in addition to transgender?) Her pretty, fragile bone structure may lead you to think that she might enjoy table tennis because she couldn't possibly pick up a tennis racquet, but do not be fooled — underneath that clear, flawless skin, she's a monster on another level to even humanity itself. Mizi is certain Luka is the antichrist.
For example, as she makes her scheduled attention-seeking entrance, a couple girls falls into her trap, stopping their respective matches to turn their heads all the way to greet her, even walking up to her to do so. How large does your ego have to be to draw this much attention, to repeatedly disrupt the flow of ongoing matches, every single time you walk in late to practice? Mizi's been a member for longer than her. Mizi attends practice more regularly than her. What could possibly be so special about Luka?
Even the girl Mizi is currently playing, Jia, has looked over at this nauseating display. Mizi serves a ball straight into the edge of the table. What need is there for optics if no one even cares to look at her anymore? The ball hits the table with a sound akin to Mizi's thin patience smashing into pieces. The reactive flinch from Jia only gives her an iota of satisfaction. Mizi gives a quick apology, and takes the excuse to walk off to recover the ball. There's a dent in the flimsy thing.
Luka's nothing but a thin facade over hot air. As Mizi picks up the ball, she digs her thumb into the deformity.
She has this placid charm that's designed to bewitch and tame others to her own liking. She feigns weakness so she can win. Cheating fucking bitch. In their first match together, Mizi went easy on her. It was only her first day, and she was so pale, sweating so hard as Mizi won the first game. She allowed Luka to win the match out of the graciousness of her own heart, and just when she was about to congratulate her, Luka had the audacity to call her playing weak and uninspired. What a deceptive piece of shit without an ounce of sportsmanship.
Luka smiles whitely, perfect pearl visible even from this distance, and cheerfully shoos her flock away as she struts towards the changing rooms, without even a glance her way.
Mizi's blood pumps like she's run the length of campus, the moon pulling her to its wishfully violent tide. There is no way Mizi is going to let her win, not today.
With one last apology to Jia, Mizi puts her bat down, and goes to greet her opponent today.
"Why is it always you?"
Luka doesn't so much as bristle as Mizi stares her down. "Well, good afternoon to you too. I'm doing well, thanks."
"Don't fuck with me," Mizi snaps. "What do you think you're doing?"
"Changing," Luka replies nonchalantly, zipping her sports bag shut. "Oh wait, you mean, like.. preparing to take your place in nationals?"
"You don't have the strength or stamina for it. I do."
Luka gasps in an exaggerated manner. She would make a great actress, if she wasn't already treating reality like her own TV show. "Mizi! Underestimating the strength of a woman? How sexist of you! What would the organisers think when I report this transgression to them?"
Mizi easily brushes off the empty threat. "You only show up to practice once a fortnight. Nationals requires of you to attend weekly practice, bare minimum. You can’t make it."
"They'll choose whichever one of us wins more, won't they? And considering I have an ongoing streak of wins, while you crashed your last two games, I'm just objectively the better choice, don't you think? It's only fair." Her eyes crinkle as she sneers, the blonde of her eyelashes attracting the florescent lights of the locker room. It's almost like she gives off the light instead. It pisses Mizi off. "Oh, you wouldn't know about that, would you, you cheater?"
That's it. Mizi's had enough of entertaining her bullshit. She storms up to Luka, and slams the wall behind her with one hand, the sound cracking through the empty room. The flashing glint in Luka's eyes better be fear. "I don’t fucking cheat, I'm left handed," she spits out. "My serves are perfectly legal, just not to you."
Luka crosses her arms calmly and meets her eyes, yellow to yellow. "Rude, but I guess that’s fair. Because it would be really embarrassing if you were cheating and still losing matches."
"What did you just say?"
"I think you heard me perfectly fine." Luka leans in, and her breath is hot against Mizi's face. "Talentless little liar," she whispers, as if it’s a cute little secret between them.
Mizi tries to deck her across the face. Tries being the keyword, because Luka's dig about Mizi's honesty scrambles the already fried wires in her brain, and she ends up punching Luka's lips with her own.
Satisfaction washes over her all the same, putting out her burning resentment. Mizi's nails digs into Luka's scalp as she pulls the other girl forcibly down to her level, biting at the plushness of her lips, and taking the opportunity when Luka gasps to taste the sweetness of her mouth. She smiles as Luka’s control is completely crushed under her.
Mizi wishes she could disparage Luka for anything in this moment, like that she's dead fish, or her breath reeks, but she's nothing short of perfect. She's always been perfect. Her hair is soft, and the skin of her cheek is smooth underneath Mizi’s rough hands. It's annoying — Mizi starts to enjoy the feel of her lips stained with hot spit, how she can swallow down Luka's noises and breaths as she dips back in for more, god, she needs more. She pushes and takes until Luka leaves her breathless with want.
A single split second of surrender is all it takes for Luka's hand to drop to her waist in a strong grip, pushing her down onto the bench in one smooth action. Their lips stay locked together all the while, keeping Mizi's grunt between them as her back hits cold metal, and her whimper caught as one of Luka's legs takes its place between hers.
She's dizzy. Luka draws a shameful sound out of her as she reciprocates aggression, which Mizi gets her back for by pulling her high ponytail out. Mizi feels the soft waves fall over her face, and she dares not open her eyes, knowing what the sight of it would make her do. Instead, Mizi pulls Luka down flush against her, groaning at the warmth and at the weight of their tits pressed together.
Without warning, Luka's bites down on Mizi's tongue with a vengeance. Mizi swears loudly as Luka pulls off her suddenly, leaving her on the bench alone to clutch her own mouth in pain. She’s overwhelmed with the taste of iron.
When she looks up, Luka is running her hands through her hair, and Mizi definitely doesn’t ogle her ass in those tiny Nike shorts she wears when she picks her hair tie off the floor. Her hair draws an arc of gold through the air as she snaps back up. She's so effortlessly beautiful that Mizi can't find the words to ask for an explanation.
Ponytail back up, and shirt neatly arranged again, Luka finally turns back around to acknowledge her. Her smile is all teeth. "Let me let you in on a secret, Mizi. I'm ambidextrous," she says, before she walks out of the changing room, leaving Mizi without a chance to reply.
Mizi's heart burns anew. This fucking bitch. She was cheating too.