Chapter 13: 13 ~ Bottle Up and Explode!

Okay. 

In retrospect, I had probably not thought through things entirely before kind-of sort-of telling both of my roommates that I was trans.

Which, to be clear, I wasn’t.

But despite my fears of disaster, the consequences turned out to be… surprisingly acceptable? At least compared to my worst worries. I had expected… 

Well, I don’t know what I had expected. Definitely not them taking me at face value, and believing what I said. In fact, it wound up being kind of annoying that they both internalized that information extremely quickly, and didn’t quite believe me when I tried to explain that I was just trolling them. 

And trust me, I really tried. I spent a good fifteen minutes insisting that this was all an elaborate prank, but Avery and Jenn both seemed confused as to why it would actually be funny. Philistines.

And then they had some kind of whispered conversation that I couldn’t manage to overhear, and asked me in an uncomfortably direct and serious way if I was sure I was joking, and… 

Okay, by that point I could see that they obviously had made up their minds already and if they wanted to just be wrong then fine, whatever. The joke’s on them. Obviously. So I told them that they could think whatever they wanted and Avery got all bright and chipper and supportive again, and I had to flee to my room so I didn’t puke.

But despite being stuck with complicated and vaguely worrisome feelings about how they were treating me, being trans -- pretending to be trans, that is -- also came with unexpected benefits. 

Like… later that night, Jenn showed up with a literal gift basket??

It wasn’t anything super impressive or anything, just a small collection of fruit-scented beauty… things. Like shampoo and conditioner and a whole lot of moisturizer and skincare stuff that I didn’t quite understand and would need to look up online. 

Of course, I wasn’t going to accept it, but Jenn said that it was originally a birthday present from a friend that had been sitting in her closet and that she wasn’t ever going to use it. So I didn’t want to waste perfectly good toiletries. That’s just me being responsible and respectful. Also, Jenn said that taking better care of my hair would make it more nice and shiny, and who wouldn’t want that, regardless of gender?

After finally chasing her away, I barely had time to set the basket down before there was a knock at my door again. 

This time it was Avery, who awkwardly offered to take me clothes shopping. I wondered if it was some kind of obligation thing, or competitiveness with Jenn, but it wasn’t like I was going to say no to that either. If I stopped to think about it, most of my clothes were old and falling apart, since I just wore the same hoodies and things over and over. 

Once again, unexpected opportunity: maybe since they were convinced that I was trans, it was a chance for me to at least try out some different clothing styles and find something I liked better. 

Though if he was going to drive me all the way somewhere, I’d probably have to pick up, like, a skirt. Just to make him happy.

Jeez. If I had known that claiming to be trans would get me presents and special treatment, I would have done this years ago. Even if I did have to put up with them calling me ‘she’ sometimes now too. 

Like, so: the next day I was sitting on the couch, trying to pay attention to an episode of Pretty Guardian Love Force, right? And the two of them walk in and have a whole conversation in front of me where they debated whether to use ‘she’ or ‘they,’ since I steadfastly refused to provide any direction either way. 

Jenn wound up winning the argument for ‘she,’ even though I have no idea why Avery believed her when she claimed that I got all “blushing and smiley” when she called me ‘her.’ Clearly lies and defamation. I’m certain that however I may or may not have reacted to anything they were talking about certainly had more to do with the show I was watching. 

Even if I had to rewatch it again later that day because I couldn’t remember anything that had happened. It was their fault, for being too annoyingly distracting.

Basically, it just seemed like a lot was happening very fast. And by that point, they were so happy and pleased to be doing things for me that I would have kind of hated to let them down. I was trying to be a better friend, after all.

So, yeah. I could deal with this. In fact, after I started getting used to the new situation, I really wondered what I so worried about to begin with. I guess I thought that they’d treat me differently if they thought I was trans? I hadn’t considered, though, that maybe that was true, things would be different, but they’d treat me better, not worse. The two of them were being so nice. 

Even if I didn’t quite deserve friends like that.

Because I was pretending to be something that I wasn’t.

 

---

 

And it’s because of that, because of my guilt about how nice they were being, because of my sheer dedication to being a good friend and doing something nice for them in turn, that I wound up with a new project. If it made them happy to think I was trans and treat me in different ways, then I should lean into that a bit. Out of courtesy. I think?

I don’t know. Everything kept getting more twisted in my head if I thought about it too hard.

So that’s why I was currently holed up in my room, still-damp hair smelling faintly like tangerines. That’s why I was hunched over my computer, like someone might be watching me. 

I was trying to figure out what more feminine name I would want to go by.  You know, if I was actually trans. Which I wasn’t. 

I was really having to say that to myself a lot these days, so I didn’t forget.

As it turns out though, names... names are hard. I scrolled a bit further through a webpage listing baby names of all kinds. Why did girls get all the best ones? That didn’t seem right. Even for the ones that were gender neutral, I still sort of thought the girl version was way better. And don’t get me started on girls who had an unexpectedly masculine name... Like actually getting to be a girl and go by ‘Charlie’ or whatever? That was way too fucking cute. It was not fair for the rest of us.

I had long disliked my own given name, but purely for aesthetic reasons. Like how I always wanted a nickname, but never really had the opportunity. That wasn’t something you should just ask for, so I was stuck with what I had. I guess technically ‘Greg’ was short for ‘Gregory’, but it wasn’t even the least bit better. And I couldn’t exactly shorten ‘Greg’ any further. What would someone call me? ‘Egg?’ Psh.

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But as I scrolled through this list of universally wonderful and adorable and beautiful names, it was so hard to actually find something that felt exactly right. Every time I thought about myself, my body and my existence in connection with any of these names, I just felt sick to my stomach.

And that was yet again a reason why I felt like I had to be pretending about all this stuff, right? If I was trans, wouldn’t I just know what my name should be? Instead I’m stuck nervously evaluating names that all seemed good, but not... perfect. Not allowed. Not for me.  

And this was a big decision! What if I got that wrong? No one told me this part would be so much work.

As I thought through some of the options, and there were some names I particularly liked, but there was always something holding me back, too. Maybe that was fine. Maybe it was okay to pick something I liked rather than something I knew to be perfect. But then if I was going to do this, I should do this seriously. 

Be serious and responsible in my being fake. For a joke. Or something.

Like I said. Twisted up. Confusing.

My eyes skimmed across and then rested on something. I did like the sound of ‘Gwen.’ I could keep the same first initial too, which didn’t feel necessary but did have some minor appeal. 

But then wouldn’t that be kind of encroaching on Jenn? Gwen and Jenn, we’d sound like a comedy duo or something. And who knew what she’d think about me, then. She’d probably suspect I was just trying to copy her, but in a creepy way or something. 

God, ‘Gwendolyn’ was so pretty, though. But no. For me? That couldn’t fit me. I was, like, an ugly trash goblin. I didn’t deserve a pretty name. 

You know, my parents were going to name me Laura if I had been born a girl. I had asked them that once. I’m not sure why I still remembered. But see, that felt a little too normie. It didn’t quite fit right. Maybe if that had always been my name, maybe if I had the opportunity to grow up as a Laura and understand myself as a person with that name… 

But I wasn’t not certain it fit who I was now, or even who I wanted to be.

Though, like… I didn’t know who I wanted to be? Maybe that was the problem?

I shoved that thought down, hard, and pressed onward. 

On a whim, I looked up how popular my birth name was in the year that I was born, and then looked at what female name corresponded to the same position. Angelica? Ha! That was pretty amusing purely for the contrast, but I couldn’t see myself as an Angelica either. 

A name was supposed to represent you, right? Okay, then maybe something that embraced the chaos that I was feeling right now? In sort of a sick joke coming from spending too much time looking at mythology on wikipedia, ‘Eris’ came to mind. But that too seemed too weird, too far of a stretch. 

Plus, I don’t know that I could stand people making old video game references and people accidentally calling me ‘Eric.’ Ugh. I just wanted a name that was special and unique and also totally normal and reasonable. Was that too much to ask?

I let out a loud sigh. All of these names were good names for good girls. Unlike me. Maybe this was a mistake.

…What was I saying? Of course it was a mistake. What the fuck was I doing? 

I was stuck. I was fucking Greg. No matter how much I wanted not to be. No matter how much I wanted to actually be…

Fuck.

Fuck.

I forced myself to breathe, in and out, even as my mouth felt full of ashes. My eyes burned, but I felt too burnt out and dead on the inside to actually cry. I just sat there in my room, knees tightly pulled up against my chest.

Trying to gain control. Trying to stop from thinking.

I wasn’t trans. Obviously.

But I…

I was freaking myself out. I needed to talk to someone who might understand. 

…

No. 

I needed to talk to someone who’d tell me I was full of shit, that I needed to knock it off and stop appropriating other people’s lives and struggles for my own sick enjoyment. And I didn’t think I could trust Jenn to be the one to give it to me straight this time -- I had the sneaking suspicion that somehow she had actually started to think of me as a friend and would actually try to convince me that it was okay and I should just feel my feelings. I didn’t deserve that. I needed someone who I could share all this with and who would do the right thing and tell me to fuck off forever.

I knew who I needed to talk to. 

And I knew what I needed to do.

And as if the universe agreed, it turned out that Cerise was online, too.

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