It looked tight at the top and flowed from the waist where diagonal silver stripes wrapped around.
“I like it.” Devyn took it off the hook.
“Try it.” She unzipped it. I hesitated.
“Fine.” I stripped down to my briefs and binding.
“Dayum!” I turned around.
“Yea, yea.” Unwrapped my binding. Put the dress on. I looked down at my female breasts and coughed to hide a sob. Disgusting.
“Wow,” Devyn turned me around.
“I hate it.” My voice, Cassidy’s voice. A person I was but didn’t want to be.]
It’s the Monday after Cote’s dad’s dinner. I have a bad feeling in my stomach.
[I didn’t see him at lunch.
“Can I go to the bathroom?” I interrupt the teacher’s lecture. He nods and I leave. In the hallway I text Cote.
Are you ok? I feel like something’s wrong. No reply. I walk down to the courtyard and pace. I just need to know that he’s ok. I hear a noise and run to the student parking lot.
“You don’t even deserve this good chica.” He pushes her against the wall.
“Me and my boys found out about your little charade. It’s disgusting.” He covers her mouth. His voice is kinda familiar.
“We don’t like being tricked, especially by a he-she. Wearing a dress on TV doesn’t make you a real girl.”
“Hey! Leave Cote alone!” I start towards them.
“It’s about to check out anyway.” I see a flash of metal and Cote falls to the ground. The guy runs by me, slamming me into the wall. When I get to Cote I call 911.]
That was a year ago today. On the news that night they announced that the mayor’s daughter had been murdered. They showed a picture of Cassidy, not Cote. I sobbed and moped for weeks.
“You and this Cote girl were together?” My dad is angry. We’re home from the hospital. The doctors let me go but have scheduled therapy. My mom is crying. Either from my story or what happened in this very house earlier, I’m not sure.
“Devyn, sweetie, w-why didn’t you tell us? We could’ve kept you from becoming this way. Depressed, I mean, not gay.” My mother hugs me tight. If I was normal I’d cry.
“I never really thought about it. I always imagined it going horribly. Dad’s only not screaming cause he doesn’t want to upset me and make me cut again.” That wouldn’t trigger it anyway.
[I wake up at 11:49am. It’s Saturday. I feel sick. Every morning I wake up wishing I hadn’t. February 13. It feels horrible to be alive. Tears flood my vision and I groan. One year. 365 days I’ve lived without Cote. I hate myself for living without him. Tomorrow would be his birthday again. I want to scream into my pillow. I miss him so much, the pain is squeezing every part of my body.
I’ve been thinking about it for a while. Why not? I have nothing to live for anyway. It will be like a tribute to him. It was exactly 12 o’clock 1 year ago that a knife pierced Cote’s stomach. Dragging him to a cold, gut wrenching death in a hospital without his girlfriend to hold him. They wouldn’t let me come because they knew he was Cassidy.
I take the knife out of my bedside table. Cote’s butterfly knife. In the bathroom I sink onto the cold tile and press it parallel to my vein.
11:59am.
I slice into my wrist. I watch the blood pour out and pool onto the floor. I don’t realize I just screamed.
10...9...8...7..
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