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When it happened, Jimmy’s first thought was that he'd injured himself.
He thought back, trying to recall whether he could have scratched himself by accident. He didn't shave, couldn't have nicked himself with a razor. But the blood was fresh. Sensitive skin tore easily, he reasoned — there must be something he had come into contact with without realising.
A small cut, imperceptible on its own, but left undetected. That explained the stain of red left between his thighs.
The more obvious answer didn't occur to him until he had been utterly unsuccessful in locating the cut.
Jimmy has been on testosterone for four years. At the beginning, he still had periods. They got lighter and lighter, and less and less frequent, until they disappeared entirely.
He hadn't had to think about this since he was seventeen.
A surge of panic rose in his chest, and so he doubled down. So the cut was internal. That happened sometimes during sex. The last guy Jimmy had hooked up with hadn't been careful enough with the lube. Jimmy had seen him…when, two weeks ago?
Two weeks. One little tear, not making itself known until now.
Jimmy knew it was impossible. Still, he felt around for any chance of it, any out-of-the-ordinary sensitivity.
Nothing.
Jimmy stared at the blood now sitting under his nails. He could have screamed.
Numbly, he took some toilet paper from his ensuite and shoved it between his legs. He just needed to wash and change his clothes, then he could go back to pretending this wasn't happening.
He put his hands under the tap. The blood resisted. He scratched feverishly at his palms to work the stain out of his nails and fingertips.
Something swelled in him. He began to cry. It was a few tears, a few stifled whimpers. Then he leant his elbows against the sink and let out a sob.
It wouldn't stop, then. He cried into his soap-damp hands, hoping the running water would cover the sound.
He kept thinking, It isn't over. It will never be over. He'll never stop having to fight to be a man, fight his own body for it.
He wondered, not for the first time, if he should take the risk of surgery just to stop it. Since getting top surgery, his dysphoria had mellowed so much that it didn't feel as necessary anymore. He didn't always feel horrible seeing himself naked, or when he touched himself, or when he had sex. It wasn't ideal, but it was leagues ahead of where he had been before.
But maybe he needed to reconsider, if this was happening, this far into hormone replacement therapy.
That soothed him for a while. This was a problem with a potential solution. He washed off his hands, dried them and dried his face. He blew his nose and remembered the entire world knew he was transgender. Hoards of his fans wrote about him having sex with his best friends. Hoards of people thought about and wrote about what was between his legs.
It couldn't be undone. There was no solving that with money or surgery. It happened. It couldn't be fixed.
Jimmy shut the door to the bathroom and sank to the floor, the weight in his chest crushing him. He curled up and sobbed into his arms. Time seemed to stop existing; for a while there was only the deep sense of dread wracking through him.
The feeling plateaued, and began to fade. He sat still for a while longer.
He changed into a fresh pair of underwear and climbed into bed.
hey haven't seen u all day, u ok?
The text broke Jimmy out of his haze. He glanced at the time. 18:12. The day had disappeared.
He felt like shit. Physically, mentally. He needed to eat and take some painkillers. He had needed to for hours now. He needed to find some proper sanitary products. Did they have any left over from when Bliss would stay with them? Would anybody notice if they suddenly disappeared?
The last thing he wanted was for anyone to know.
He didn't reply to Rowan. Instead, he pulled up Bliss's contact in his phone. He typed out, can i come over and get drunk pls pls pls, and pressed send.
They didn't keep alcohol in the apartment anymore. Even if it was just one can of cider Rowan or Jimmy had bought for themselves — they made it a rule to never be in Lister's vicinity when they drank anymore.
Bliss got back to him almost immediately.
yeah sure!! what happened?? :o
idk i don't wanna talk about it
i just wanna destress
?is that okay
yeah it's alr, when are u gonna come over?
Jimmy mentally calculated how long it would take for him to shower and Uber to Bliss's student accommodation.
in an hour
if ur cool with that
yeah that's cool, see u then!
Jimmy switched off his phone. He lay in bed for another ten minutes before he managed to drag himself to the bathroom.
“This is…nice,” was the first thing Jimmy said when Bliss brought him into her university kitchen.
“It's a shithole,” she said cheerily. “It's okay, you can say it. I'm not gonna jump down your throat for being a posh Chelsea twat.”
She had managed to drag out of him that he hadn't eaten since the morning, and threatened violence if he tried to start on the beer he had brought unless he agreed to eat something.
“You're running me out of oven pizzas, actually,” Bliss continued, flattening the cardboard packaging. “Maybe you are a posh Chelsea twat.”
“We just live in Chelsea,” Jimmy complained. “It doesn't define us.”
Bliss tutted. “That's what they all say.”
Jimmy snorted. He didn't feel much of anything right now, but the least he could do was laugh at Bliss's jokes.
“Do you have a bottle-opener?” he asked.
“Uh…” She seemed to open every cabinet and drawer before finding it. “Ta-da!”
Jimmy took it from her.
“It's actually my flatmate's,” Bliss explained, “but she'll never know. It's not like they get dirty.”
“Mm.” Jimmy popped the cap off a beer. He took one swig, then another. Bliss busied herself with washing up. The silence made Jimmy think he should say something. “How often do you, um, talk to them? Your flatmates, I mean?”
“Uhh…” Bliss thought about it. “Not much. One of them I basically never see. We're all on different courses, so it's all different times of day when we're coming and going. Sometimes I eat with Mary, the bottle opener owner. But we're not close at all.”
Jimmy nodded. He took another drink and allowed himself to imagine himself anonymous. Living in some shoddy student accommodation, maybe in London, maybe somewhere else. Studying…who knows. Probably music. The choice of who to tell he was trans would be entirely his own.
Bliss sat with him once she was done with the washing up. She chattered away, happy to carry the conversation, and Jimmy offered nods and one-word answers where it felt appropriate.
He was on his second beer by the time the pizzas were ready.
“Thank you for this,” he said quietly when she brought them over. His cramps doubled as the smell made all ten hours of hunger hit him at once.
“No problem. So long as you buy me dinner.” She winked at him.
Jimmy took a bite. “Does anyone you know at uni know, or like, care, about us?” he asked, then ducked his head. “Sorry, that's such a douchey question.”
Bliss nodded her head to the side. She finished her mouthful of her own pizza. “Nobody knows about you lot. It's much easier to keep the secret when I don't have school every single day, everyone is much more spread out. Also, not dating Rowan anymore, so no tiptoeing around why I'm not single, ‘cuz I am.”
Jimmy nods. “I think I overestimate how many people actually recognise me on the street sometimes. ‘M just paranoid, y'know.”
“Yeah. I mean, that's understandable. But I don't think my flatmates are closeted Ark fans. You're safe here.”
Jimmy laughed. “Thanks.”
“Speaking of the boys, though, they're wondering where you are. Or, Rowan is. Lister doesn't text me, really.”
“Hm. Well, I told him I was coming here.”
“What should I tell him?”
“...The same.” Jimmy kept his eyes on his meal.
“Like, that you came here to drink?” Bliss prompted. Jimmy shook his head. “You get these privileges now. I'm no longer honour-bound to rat you out to my boyfriend.”
Jimmy took a drink. “Cheers.”
“You are so welcome. Okay, so we're just hanging out?”
“Yeah.” Jimmy felt his stomach churn uncomfortably. “I sort of— Yeah. Just wanted to be out of the apartment for a bit.”
Bliss was focused on her phone. “Mm. They pissing you off?”
Jimmy just shrugged. He ate slowly, trying to settle his stomach.
“You're being so sketchy right now. You're lucky I love you.”
Bliss finished her pizza before him. While she had her back turned to wash up her plate, Jimmy took two cocodamol. Anything weaker didn't work for his pain — not something he had needed to consider for years. Plus, he had heard somewhere that drinking on cocodamol can make you black out.
Wouldn't that be nice? To forget this whole sorry thing.
“Can I?” Bliss reached out a hand as she sat back down. It took a moment for Jimmy to realise she wanted his beer.
He passed it to her. She took a drink. The face she made was so exaggerated that it startled a real laugh out of him.
“Why did you even try?” Jimmy shook his head.
“Ugh, I dunno. I thought my tastes might've changed or something.” She turned to the side and held the bottle up. “How do I look? Do I look butch?”
Jimmy stared at her. “...Uh. Sure.”
“Great, ‘cuz it's the last you'll ever see of it.” Bliss placed the bottle back on his side of the table. “Jesus fucking Christ.”
Another real laugh made its way past Jimmy's lips. “Mm, more for me.”
“Be my fucking guest, mate.”
Jimmy drank all six beers, and Bliss rode with him in the Uber home.
She had made him order it on his phone. She hadn't said so, but Jimmy knew it was because she was worried about him throwing up, and she didn't want to ruin her rating.
“Are you mad at me?” he asked quietly.
She looked over and shook her head. “No. It's okay.”
“I'm sorry.” He reached out and squeezed her wrist. “It's just— living in— it was too much today.”
She slid her hand into his. “I get it.”
At once, Jimmy remembered that Bliss's life had been tipped upside-down by the internet, just like his had. She wasn't normal or anonymous like most people were. She was like him.
They went the rest of the ride in silence, Jimmy staring sadly at their joined hands.
Ernest, the doorman, graciously did not comment on the state Jimmy was in as Bliss walked him inside. It wasn't until they got upstairs that Jimmy remembered Rowan and Lister were waiting for him on the other side of the door.
They entered quietly. “I don't wanna talk to them,” Jimmy whined.
“Shh, just take off your shoes.”
Jimmy did.
“Night, Bliss.” He hugged her. “Thanks.”
When they parted, Rowan was at the end of the hallway. Jimmy nodded in greeting and fled up the stairs as quickly as he deemed safe.
As he retreated, he could hear them talking about him in a hushed tone. He ignored it.
He went to the main bathroom on the second floor. It took some searching, but he managed to find a few pads tucked away at the back of the cabinet.
He stuffed them in his hoodie pocket and went to bed.
The morning after, Jimmy awoke in pain. A headache to pair with building cramps, and a deep sense of shame to top it off.
He sorted himself out. Changed his pad, drank some water, held off on taking any painkillers until he had stumbled down to the kitchen for some food.
Lister was already up, playing video games on the sofa. He looked over to Jimmy when he walked in and smiled. He didn't say anything.
Jimmy made himself the plainest bowl of cereal he could muster. He was munching on it unenthusiastically when Rowan shuffled in.
For a minute, he just made tea in silence. Then, “So, what was that last night?”
Jimmy thought about it. He weighed up some possible lies.
He swallowed his mouthful of cereal. “I got my period.”
Lister's head snapped over to him.
“Oh, shit,” said Rowan.
“And I don't want anything from either of you,” Jimmy continued, glancing between them. “I have painkillers and sanitary supplies. I don't need you two hovering around me. I'd just like to— get through it. But, yeah. That's what last night was.”
Rowan frowned. He worried over what to say in his very obvious, Rowan-like way. Jimmy left him at the kitchen island and joined Lister on the sofa.
Lister offered him a sad smile. Jimmy met his gaze for a moment then dropped it. He figured he'd probably eaten enough to justify taking some painkillers, so he focused on that.
Rowan joined them in the living room, sitting in the armchair adjacent to the sofa. “I'm sorry,” he said decidedly, and said no more.
Jimmy nodded in quiet acceptance. He retrieved his unremarkable bowl of cereal and curled up with it. The three of them zoned out watching Lister's game. Nobody mentioned Jimmy's body once.