by Elliot Wake
I’m here with my gracious caretaker, the world’s cutest redhead, the ridiculously smart, charming—look, she’s already blushing. Say hi, Ellis.
ELLIS: Hi, Ellis.
REN: What a nerd. You guys, Ellis is one of my favorite humans on the entire planet. And she agreed to vlog with me today, because—
[Video turns black-and-white. Maudlin violin plays.]
REN: Actually, there’s something I need to get off my chest. It’s . . . it’s my tits.
ELLIS: [Groans.]
[Music stops. Color returns.]
REN: You totally laughed this time.
ELLIS: I did not!
REN: You made a noise.
ELLIS: Of dismay.
REN: Still counts.
Anyway, bad puns aside, I’m psyched. Today is Top Surgery Eve. My last day with these stupid water balloons stuck to my chest.
ELLIS: This is a huge milestone. I’m really proud of you, Ren.
REN: Want to touch them one last time?
ELLIS: [Blushes.] What?
REN: Do you?
ELLIS: I’ve never—
REN: I’m just saying. This is your last chance.
ELLIS: No, but . . . thank you.
REN: She’s so cute when she squirms.
ELLIS: Shut up.
REN: God, Ellis. I’ve been waiting for this day since . . . well, when I was twelve and running through the park, thinking, “What are these things, and most importantly, why?”
ELLIS: Puberty is the worst.
REN: It is. It’s like, “Hey, we heard you refused to pick a binary gender, so we picked one for you. Do these boobies fit? No? Well, enjoy your future mastectomy.”
ELLIS: It’s so wrong that it happens that early. Puberty should happen in, like, your thirties.
REN: Oh god. Can you imagine that world? Raging hormones and acne when you’re supposed to have your shit together.
ELLIS: Some people transition in their thirties.
REN: Poor souls. We salute you.
[Jump cut.]
REN: So, Ellis here is driving me to the clinic tomorrow morning. They’re going to knock me out and when I wake up I’ll be flat-chested again. Like I always should’ve been. I’m getting a double incision, which means he’ll cut along here. [Draws a line beneath his pecs.] Recovery is brutal. I have to wear a compression vest with tubes hanging out to drain blood and pus and whatnot. Plus I won’t be able to raise my arms for a week.
I have never been so excited to feel like absolute shit.
ELLIS: This is seriously brave of you.
REN: No, it’s brave of you. You’re the one who’s gonna have to clean that shit up.
ELLIS: [Frowns.]
REN: This is a two-man ordeal, so Ellis is taking care of me during recovery. Because she’s the fucking best.
ELLIS: It’s the least I could do, since you wouldn’t let me pay for it.
REN: Oh, stop.
ELLIS: And someone has to be there for you.
REN: Right. Someone who cares.
ELLIS: Someone who understands this is a lifesaving operation. Not a cosmetic one.
REN: [Eyes Ellis for a moment.] I owe you, E. Big-time. This is going to be one of the defining moments of my life. I’m glad you’ll be here for it.
ELLIS: Me too.
REN: If you weren’t so gay, I’d kiss you.
ELLIS: [Blushes.] You can. Like, platonically. On the cheek.
REN: I’ll platonic the fuck out of you.
[Ren tackle-hugs Ellis.]
[Jump cut.]
[Their hair is mussed.]
REN: Once I’m in recovery, E’s in charge of filming. If I say wacky shit while I’m high on codeine, edit it out, okay?
ELLIS: You’re no fun.
REN: You want to fuck with me while my former boobs are bleeding? Monster.
Anyway, we’ve got a long day ahead tomorrow. Wish me luck, Internet.
I’ll see you guys on the flip side.
———
[Caption: Day One]
[Ren is lying in a hospital bed, his chest bound with bandages.]
REN: [Moans.] Fucking . . . fuck.
ELLIS: How do you feel?
REN: [Slurs.] Like they shot me. Twice. Then stabbed the bullets. Then . . . set me on fire.
ELLIS: You’re on enough codeine to knock out a unicorn.
REN: What? Wait . . . there’s a unicorn?
ELLIS: You are so high. [Laughs.] Are you okay?
REN: Is it me? Am I the unicorn? What the hell. Ellis. Why did you make me a unicorn?
ELLIS: I’m sorry.
REN: Ellis. Ellllissss. [Laughs.] Words are weird. Do I have a horn?
ELLIS: Don’t laugh, you dork. You’ll pull the stitches out.
SURGEON: Ah, he’s awake. How are you feeling, young man?
REN: You fucking sadist.
SURGEON: [Laughs.]
———
[Caption: Day Two]
[Ren and Ellis are in a hotel bathroom. She shaves his face while he stares at himself in the mirror. His eyes are wide, filled with wonder.]
———
[Caption: Day Three]
[McDonald’s drive-through. Ren leans across Ellis to order several different Happy Meals. Ellis stares through the windshield with a long-suffering look.]
———
[Caption: Day Four]
[Ren films Ellis frantically spritzing the hotel room with air freshener.]
REN: Stop being polite. Spray that shit directly on me, dude.
ELLIS: [Spritzes the camera.]
———
[Caption: Day Five]
[Examining room at the clinic. The surgeon unwraps the final bandage from Ren’s chest in front of a mirror.]
REN: Oh my god. [Touches his chest tentatively.] Oh my god.
ELLIS: How do you feel?
REN: I don’t even know how to describe it. I feel like . . . a kid. Like I used to before all of this happened, all of this . . . wrongness. This wrong life. That’s me, Ellis. In the mirror. That’s who I’ve seen in my head all these years. It’s—are you crying?
ELLIS: [Sniffs.] No.
———
[Caption: Day Six]
REN: Back home. Still sore as hell. Just a quick update about—
[Distantly, a door slams.]
About that.
That’s Best Friend, and she’s pissed. Can’t blame her—I can’t take care of myself right now, our apartment is a wreck, the chores aren’t done, and I’m late on bills because I put every penny into this surgery.
The surgery she calls “cosmetic.”
And “an exercise in internalized misogyny.”
And “trying to fit in with the people you hate.”
I can blame her for making me feel like shit, at least.
[Jump cut.]
It’s really hard to transition when the people you love are fighting it. When it feels like you’re nonstop dropping burdens on them: the burden of understanding, the burden of caring, the burden of being happy for you. My therapist told me the trans people who are happiest are the ones who have solid social support.
The ones who don’t? Well, someone has to fill up those post-transition suicide statistics.
I never expected her to be thrilled about this, but I did expect some recognition of how good it’s been for me. How energized and optimistic I am on T, how much more myself. How miserable and depressed I am when my hormones slip back into girl mode.
When you love somebody—selflessly, unconditionally love them—their happiness is more important than your own. Even if what makes them happy hurts you.
My mother made it clear that her love is conditional. She said, “If you butcher yourself, you are no longer my daughter.”
Funny thing is, she still doesn’t get that I never was her daughter.
But my dear Best Friend—she’s never said it in those terms. She’s always been here at my side, catching me when I stumble, cleaning my wou
nds. She makes me feel strong and weak at the same time. Because through it all I sense her disapproval, her judgment. How ecstatic she’d be if I turned around tomorrow and said, “I was wrong. I’m a girl after all.”
Sometimes I think she’s fucking toxic. That she’d rather destroy us both than let me be happy without her.
And sometimes, part of me wants to let it happen. To self-destruct with her.
What a couple of fuckups.
———
[Caption: Day Thirty]
[Ren stands in a friend’s apartment, shirtless. His surgery scars have faded to thin red lines. Vada sketches tattoo plans on his chest with a marker while Blythe and Ellis watch. Ellis scowls.]
REN: Is all of this touching necessary?
VADA: Oh, I’m sorry. Am I making you uncomfortable?
REN: I’m enjoying the hell out of it, actually. But I don’t think Ellis is.
ELLIS: It’s fine. Vada’s a professional artist. This is—
VADA: [Under her breath.] Part of her process.
ELLIS: —part of her process.
REN: [Laughs.]
ELLIS: What?
VADA: Nothing, nerd. Don’t be jealous. I only have eyes for you.
ELLIS: And Ren’s torso.
REN: Hey, male torsos need love, too.
BLYTHE: Bloody hell they do. They could put yours on a romance novel cover as the main character.
REN: That’s the dream.
ELLIS: How are you that buff?
REN: Girls give me a good workout.
BLYTHE: Sex is cardio, you manwhore.
REN: Not when you’re lifting them against a wall.
VADA: [Laughs.]
BLYTHE: Don’t encourage him, V. We’re trying to mold him into a decent bloke.
VADA: I thought you said there were no decent men.
BLYTHE: Yes, but he needs something to aspire to.
REN: Ladies, you realize I can hear you, right?
BLYTHE: Be quiet and flex.
REN: [Flexes his chest.]
VADA: Whoa.
BLYTHE: Be still my bloody heart.
ELLIS: I don’t get it. It’s just muscle. What’s the big deal?
BLYTHE: You’re a lesbian, love. It’s like giving a fish a bicycle.
ELLIS: [Narrows her eyes.]
VADA: What about here? [Taps the center of Ren’s chest.] This one should be special.
ELLIS: Aren’t all tattoos special? They’re permanent.
VADA: I mean extra-special, pajarito. Like the one I gave you.
ELLIS: [Blushes.]
BLYTHE: Oh, there’s a story there.
ELLIS: No there isn’t. And don’t you dare tell them, Vada.
VADA: [Grins.]
REN: Blythe doesn’t have a tat there yet.
VADA: Wait, has everyone seen Blythe with her shirt off?
BLYTHE: Yep.
REN: Yep.
ELLIS: [Bites her lip.]
BLYTHE: And yep. Anyway, I’m saving my heart.
REN: For what?
BLYTHE: For whom.
REN: Some poor girl who’ll never know what hit her?
BLYTHE: [Shrugs.] Or someone as fucked-up as me.
REN: Sounds like a really healthy relationship goal. So should I save mine for Future Wife?
VADA: I always say lovers’ tats are a bad idea. You don’t need to prove your love with ink.
REN: Then what would you get?
VADA: A memory. My most important ones are memories. Things I want to hold on to, no matter what else I lose.
[Vada and Ellis trade glances. Blythe lights a cigarette. Ren thinks for a while.]
REN: That painting you did for me, of the boy holding back the sea?
VADA: Yeah?
REN: That’s what I want here.
———
In the morning, I was calm.
“Black Iris betrayed me,” I said. “They’re the enemy.”
Frail light fell over the three of us, laid a delicate silver foil atop our skin. Tamsin’s hair shone darkly, and when she tipped her head against the window, snow spangled her reflection like stars.
“Speculation,” she said with a sigh.
“Laney made her loyalties clear. She’s working with Adam.”
“Conjecture.”
“He was sitting right there. Unharmed. In my world.”
“We’ve had this conversation a dozen times.” Tamsin stood. “All we know is he was there last night. Not why. Maybe she was working out some way to protect you.”
“She didn’t want me in that room. She was protecting him.”
“Going in bloody circles again.” Tam stalked toward the bathroom.
Ingrid watched her leave, only her eyes moving. Smoke spun a blue wreath around her temples. “Do you trust her?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Because she’s gentle with me, I thought. Because she sees the boy I am, not the girl I was. “Gut feeling.”
“You sure it’s not a few inches lower?”
I gave her a look.
“She’s one of them,” Inge said. “She’s with Laney. She knows more than she’s telling us. But you refuse to see it. You’re thinking with your dick.”
“I think about you with it, too, so . . .”
Ingrid stared at me, expressionless. Ever so slightly, the corner of her mouth curled.
When Tam returned, I said, “You’re right. We’re going in circles. It’s time to take action.” I stretched, cracked my neck. Felt the power of my body, this self-built pretty little hate machine. A man made to unmake other men. “I need to know what Black Iris knows. About Adam, Crito, Norah, all of it. Everything ties together, somehow, with me in the middle.” I moved toward Tamsin. “You need to pick a side.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
“I need to hear you say it. You’re either with me or against me.”
Her brow furrowed, eyes momentarily skittering toward Ingrid. But she said, in clear, chiming tones, “I’m with you, Renard. I’m with you.”
Each time she weighted the words differently. First they meant “I’m on your side,” and then “We’re together.” Slight but meaningful difference.
Our hands clasped. Conscious of Inge’s stare, I let go sooner than I wanted.
“So what’s the plan?” Ingrid said coolly.
“Crito.” I drummed my fingers against my leg. “Everything went wrong that night. Laney wanted you to handle him discreetly, Tam. Don’t think she ever wanted me to see him, period.”
“What’s her motive? Why would she hurt you?”
“For being a man. That’s all the reason she’s ever needed to hurt someone. And all I needed.”
“That’s absurd,” Tam said.
“It’s not. All those men she sent me after—I never once questioned their guilt. Why? Because they’re men.” My knuckles cracked. I didn’t remember making fists. “I saw them as inherently guilty, and so did she. Simply because of their gender. Laney’s known about Adam for years. She preyed on my history, my distrust of men. She knew I’d attack any male target she gave me like a trained dog. And she was fucking right.”
“But why not let you take vengeance on a man, then?”
“Because it’s not just about hurting men—it’s also refusing to help them. When I asked her, she balked. It didn’t fit her view of the world. Her radical feminist fairy tale where masculinity is the root of all evil.”
Ingrid’s eyes narrowed, but she said nothing.
“You’re attributing to malice what can be explained by other means,” Tamsin said.
“So explain it, Tam. Tell me why Laney would deny me my right. Why she’d shelter someone who hurt me.”
Her turn to fall silent.
“You don’t see it,” I went on. “You can’t. Because you’re a woman, Laney would never look at you the way she does at me. Only women are worthy to her, and only women are safe from her. It’s some twisted chivalry. I had the balls to test it
, so now I pay the price.”
Neither of them argued. Smoke painted watercolor shadows on the floor.
I said, “We need info. Blythe’s out—too close to Laney. Armin’s a sycophant. That leaves one option: Ellis.”
Inge’s eyebrow twitched at the name. That’s right, I thought. The girl who was there for me during one of the scariest, most exhilarating moments of my life.
The moment you should’ve been there for.
“We’re tight,” I continued, “and she has a strong conscience. I think she’s been hinting to me about Laney’s true motives. She’ll help.”
“Too risky,” Ingrid said.
“Why?”
“Ellis is weak. If Laney bends her, she’ll snap.”
“Gentleness isn’t weakness. Ellis is stronger than you think. You got a better idea?”
“Skip the foreplay. Put a bullet in the bastard who hurt you. In anyone who hurt you.”
Then, with sheer brazenness, Inge looked straight at Tam.
My phone pinged. Thank God. Time for my daily T.
I left the girls to glare-fuck each other and headed for the bathroom. Nearly out of testosterone gel—I was burning through it four times too fast. I needed cash, quick. Needed to see a doc, get my bloodwork done, figure out why the fuck my T level kept bouncing around. And with my YouTube channel suspended and no sponsors returning my messages, my current income totaled a big fat zero.
I needed that job Armin offered. And he was Laney’s lackey.
Always at her mercy, no matter what I did.
The door opened sans knock. “Ingrid,” I began irascibly.
But it was Tamsin. She shut the door as softly as she could. Her voice was hushed, intent.
“Listen to me closely. You need to hear this. Truly hear it, Ren.” She took my face in her hands. “An abuser separates you from your friends. Makes you believe they’re the only person you can trust.”
“Tam—”
“I know this intimately. I let a man do it to me for years. Let him isolate me, render me dependent upon him. Let him hurt me, because I believed it was love.”
I gripped her wrists. “That’s not what Ingrid’s doing.”
“I’m telling you what I see. I’m afraid for you, Renard.” She leaned closer and whispered fiercely, “You can’t trust her.”
“She said the same about you.”
“Believe your instincts. Something feels right, and something feels wrong. Trust those feelings.”
Such a cisgender way of thinking. When her body told her danger, she believed it. She wasn’t subject to the whims of hormones and dysphoria the way I was. Didn’t spend half her life battling her body’s distress signals, trying to figure out which were real threats and which self-loathing distortions.