by Witt, L. A.
“I didn’t say that. I’m just . . .” He avoided my eyes.
“What?”
“I don’t know what to think about all of this, okay? Up until this point, my primary concern has been whether or not your life was in danger. Unless you wanted me to wait to take you to the ER until I’d decided how I felt about you being a man?”
I started to speak, but Damon put up his hand. “You know what? I should go.”
“Damon, let’s—”
“We’ll discuss this later. I think we both need some time to cool off first.”
He didn’t give me a chance to protest before he turned and walked out of the kitchen.
I gritted my teeth. Fine. Go. Last thing I need is someone else in my life who can’t see past what I am.
The front door closed. My heart dropped. His footsteps faded down the walk. When his car door shut and the engine turned over, I released a breath.
Great.
I knew full well this was a lot for him. It was quite possibly as difficult for him to accept that I was a shifter as it was for me to accept that I was now static. Guilt churned in my stomach. He’d taken this better than I ever could have expected him to, and what had I done? Kept him at arm’s length. Of course he left. I’d all but shoved him out the door.
Good one, Alex. Alienate him before he alienates you. That method has served you so well in the past.
I sighed, then finished my coffee and put both our cups in the sink. We’d discuss this later, once we’d both had a chance to calm down. For now, there was the more immediate concern of my two jobs, particularly my day job.
Drumming my fingers on the kitchen counter, I debated whether I should call in sick or try to fake it as a female. If I could pull it off, maybe I could keep from outing myself. It was worth a try, anyway. And it was something to think about besides Damon and the conversation we still needed to have, which was a hell of a bonus.
I went into the bathroom and flicked on the light so I could scrutinize my appearance. Within seconds, my resolve had diminished. This was going to take some work.
Women could have short hair, of course, but the way mine was cut screamed “male” to me. Other people might not have noticed, but I would. That was why I’d had it cut like this in the first place, and why my female form had hair almost down to my waist.
I narrowed my eyes at my own reflection. Guess that’s what I get for giving in to society’s conditioning when it comes to gender.
I sighed. Masquerading as a biological female, I could condition myself to accept my appearance, to believe I was really passing myself off as a woman, but it would take time. It would certainly be a while before I was comfortable going out in public appearing as anything other than male.
Then my heart sank a little deeper. No matter what I did to my appearance, there was no masking my voice. I could adopt a female voice in male form, but it was noticeably different from my true female voice. Significantly lower, a little gravelly. Of course, I could always feign a severe cold. Laryngitis, even. No one would be the wiser if I could fake my appearance, too. It was only a temporary situation, after all. Once the implant was out, I’d go female again, and no one would ever know the difference.
Worth a try. I needed some hope that I could keep my secret between now and whenever the implant came out.
I dug around in a drawer for a new razor. The closer I could shave, the better. I was tempted to go over my face twice, but having my skin break out or bleed from every possible angle wouldn’t help matters, so once would have to do.
When I was done, I raised my chin and inspected every last inch of my jaw. It was as smooth as it was going to get. I scowled. Hopefully I could hide the rest under some concealer.
From another drawer, I retrieved some eye makeup. A little eyeliner and some eye shadow would help draw attention away from the harder, more masculine lines that, to me, may as well have said “male” in red neon lights. Maybe some mascara would help, too, as much as I hated the shit.
I uncapped the eyeliner and leaned closer to the mirror.
It was a damned good thing I’d never done a lot of eyebrow-plucking as a woman. I was blessed with fairly thin eyebrows anyway, in both forms, and gaining that perfect skinny arch was just not worth the pain of yanking hairs out by the roots. I had my limits where vanity was concerned. That, and it would be one more gender-specific grooming ritual to remind me whenever I was in the wrong body. Shaving my legs when I felt male or my face when I felt female was bad enough. Feeling male while ripping out hairs to look female? No, thanks.
I smoothed the eyeliner with my finger so the line wouldn’t be quite so sharp. The shifters in ancient Egypt had it easy in this department. All sexes had worn enough kohl to negate any leaning toward the feminine or masculine. Then again, shifters had also been drowned in the Nile with some regularity, so maybe the kohl wasn’t such a hot trade-off after all.
While I tinkered with makeup, I did a quick run-through of every detail I’d have to gloss over. I had a few friends who could hook me up with a wig at a moment’s notice. A turtleneck, much as I hated them, would mask my Adam’s apple and keep any leering coworkers from noticing a stuffed bra. If I didn’t wear any jewelry on my hands, there’d be nothing to draw attention to them. I had several pairs of plain dress shoes that could be worn with a pair of slacks and pass for something acceptably feminine.
Resting my hands on the counter, I stared at myself, and the sinking feeling in my gut made my teeth grind. Concealer and foundation gave my face a smoother appearance. When I leaned closer to the mirror, though, the hint of coarseness was there. Also, I was still freshly shaved. I’d be screwed when my five-o’clock shadow showed up well before quitting time unless I wanted to chance shaving again in the ladies’ room. Wouldn’t that be an awkward moment if someone walked in at the wrong time?
This was pointless. Even with makeup, even if I added a wig, there was no fooling anyone who knew me into believing I was my female form. A stranger might have bought that I was a woman, but anyone else would catch on in short order that something was amiss. I might have passed for a sister or some other relative. There were enough similar features: high cheekbones, blue eyes, more or less the same nose.
Too many differences, though. Differences that weren’t easily concealed. I couldn’t hide the fact that my shoulders were broader and my hips narrower now. As a female, my bone structure was finer. Not quite as angular. More feminine.
More. Fucking. Feminine.
I winced and looked away from the mirror.
I might be able to fool a few people, but it didn’t matter how convincing I was to anyone else. I could make myself up, fake my voice or a cold, step out as a female, and people might not notice.
But I would know. Every time I heard myself speak, saw myself in a reflective surface, or simply moved, I’d know. I’d know I was nothing more than a man wearing makeup.
I sighed and picked up the bottle of makeup remover. There was no playing a woman today, which meant I’d better find a way out of my day job. Tabitha, my boss at the bar, would understand what was going on. She was one of the few who knew I was a shifter.
Now, I needed to go back to the club. I wasn’t kidding when I’d told Damon it was one of the only places in this world where I could go as a male or a female and no one would care. It was the place where I could shake off that otherwise omnipresent certainty that someone would know what I was, that they’d judge me, that I’d repel and disgust and repulse them. It was an oasis from the steady stream of bullshit that had come my way since I first let it out that I could shift.
First things first, though.
Once every last trace of makeup was gone, I went into my office and turned on my laptop. I ignored the influx of emails in my inbox and opened a new message.
Paul,
Woke up this morning with a nasty migraine. Not going to make it in today. Probably out tomorrow too. Will let you know ASAP about Wednesday.
Alex
N.
I attached a return receipt so I’d know when he’d read the email, then hit “send” before I could overanalyze the message. I always worried too much about the wording of these things. Paul liked messages short, sweet, and to the point, so that’s what I gave him. With situations like this, I was glad to write them that way. Fewer words meant fewer lines to read between. Fewer red flags that might scream Alex Nichols is a man, for Christ’s sake. A goddamned man.
With the email sent, I went into the living room to find my paperwork from the hospital. Dr. Erickson had written down the number for the neurosurgeon, and I needed to see that neurosurgeon yesterday.
Before I could make the call, though, my cell phone rang. I looked at the caller ID and groaned.
Mom.
After I left Alex’s place, I had just enough time to go home, grab a shower, change clothes, and head off to work. I was still fuming all the way to the office, but I also felt like an ass. With everything Alex had on his mind, should I really expect much sympathy for having a hard time with this? I’d just discovered that my girlfriend was now stuck as a male, but Alex was the one who was stuck in that male body.
Time to get some advice, and fortunately, I worked with someone who was just the ticket.
My good friend Jordan managed the purchasing department, and it wasn’t unusual for us to meet in his office. As soon as I’d taken care of a mountain of invoices and phone messages, I slipped out of my office and went upstairs to his.
I knocked on the door.
“It’s open,” came the voice from inside. So she was in her female form today.
I pushed open the door.
She looked up from behind her screen. “Morning, D-man. What’s up?”
I shut the door. “Do you have a few minutes? For something that’s not work-related?”
A smirk tried to appear on her face, but she must have seen the lack of humor in my expression and responded accordingly. She sat back in her chair and gestured at the one on the other side of her desk.
“Sit down.” She folded her hands in her lap. “What’s on your mind?”
I took a seat, resting my elbow on the armrest and chewing my thumbnail. “It’s about Alex.”
Her eyebrows jumped. “She okay?”
“Sort of.” I exhaled. “No, actually. She’s not.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Well, I mean, she’s not sick or hurt or anything, but she’s—” I paused to collect my thoughts. “For starters, I just found out she’s a shifter.”
Jordan blinked. “Alex?”
I nodded.
“And she never told you?”
“No. I had no idea. And now . . .” I reached up to rub the back of my neck. God, when did my muscles get this stiff? “Her parents forced her to get some kind of implant, and now she’s—”
“They forced it on her?”
“Yeah. Drugged her.”
“Utter fucking jackasses,” she snarled with more fury than I’d ever heard come out of her mouth before. “Just who the fuck do they think they are?”
I shook my head. “No idea.”
“Is she all right? No side effects, complications, anything like that?”
“So far, so good. The spinal headache was pretty bad, but that’s taken care of.”
Jordan grimaced. “Ouch. Has she looked into getting it removed?”
“She’s calling a neurosurgeon about it today.” I winced. “I mean, he’s calling a neurosurgeon.”
Jordan raised an eyebrow. “He?”
“He.”
“So, he’s stuck in male form?”
I nodded.
“Oh.” She unfolded, then refolded her hands. “I can imagine that’s making things complicated.”
“Just a little.” I fidgeted in my chair. “How much do you know about these implants, anyway?”
“Next to nothing. Don’t want one, haven’t bothered to look into them.” She shuddered. “Even if I wanted to be static, I wouldn’t let them near me with one of those things.”
Something chilled my veins. “Why not?”
“Think about it. Would you let someone stick something into your spine, that close to your damned spinal cord? Look, if I don’t want to shift, I’ll just . . . not shift. I don’t need to risk my ability to walk, for heaven’s sake.”
“Are they dangerous? After they’re in?”
“I’ve heard . . . stories.”
“Are you going to tell me any of them?”
“No, because I can’t be sure which ones are tall tales and which are true.” She waved a hand. “No sense worrying yourself over things that might be urban legends.”
“True,” I murmured. “Why would anyone get one of these things, anyway? Voluntarily, I mean.”
She shrugged. “They think it’ll make life easier. And for some, maybe it does.”
“Really?”
“Being a shifter in a static-friendly world sucks, Damon. We can’t even get decent medical coverage.”
“You can’t?”
“Heavens, no. Not full coverage, anyway. It’s all set up for statics.” She snorted. “You statics don’t know how good you’ve got it. You don’t have to decide at the beginning of every enrollment if you want to have coverage for mammograms or prostate exams.”
“I can only imagine.”
“You can’t even begin to imagine, sweetheart, and what Alex is going through now . . .” Jordan shook her head. “My God, it must be hell for him.”
“I guess that’s part of what I’m having trouble with. It’s hard for me to imagine what she’s going through. I only know what it’s like to be static. I don’t know what it’s like to be able to shift between male and female, never mind wanting to.”
“It’s not about wanting to, hon. It’s about needing to.”
I made a frustrated gesture. “Either way, it’s not something I understand.”
“No one expects you to get it.” She sat up and rested her forearms on the desk. “Most statics have no frame of reference. No way to understand what it’s like putting on high heels when your mind wants to be male, or getting a hard-on when you’re itching to be female. And don’t even get me started on the body having a period while the brain is male.” She tapped her thumb on the blotter a few times, then went on. “It’s hard to explain, but . . . well, you know that feeling when you’ve been wearing a pair of dress shoes half the day, and they start getting uncomfortable? And then they get to the point where they’re so fucking miserable, you can’t think of anything except taking them off?”
I nodded.
“Now imagine that pair of shoes is your whole damned body, and now there’s an implant that won’t let you take off those shoes. If I had to guess, that’s what this is like for Alex.”
I exhaled. “So what can I do? I feel so . . . useless.”
“Just be there. Let Alex know he still has you, even if things are complicated between the two of you.” She tilted her head a little. “How is this affecting the two of you?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. I don’t . . . that’s why I came to you, actually. I think I’m still in shock, to be honest. And I . . . I don’t know what to do.”
“Well, he is still the same person,” Jordan said.
“I know. But for the time being, he’s a man.” Heat rushed into my cheeks and shame twisted in my stomach. “The thing is, I don’t want to lose Alex. I love her. Him. But I . . . how do I put this?”
“You’re not gay.”
“I’m not gay.”
“Damon Bryce, don’t you dare leave him because you’re afraid people will think—”
“No, no, it’s not that. I couldn’t care less what anyone thinks.” I chewed my lip. “It’s how I feel. What I think.” Forcing myself to look her in the eye in spite of the heat in my face and the guilt in my stomach, I said, “Can I make myself be attracted to another man?”
“No, but you’re not talking about ‘another man’ here. You’re talkin
g about Alex.”
“Who is now a man. And has been a woman all along, I thought.”
“You know me as both a man and a woman.”
“Yeah,” I said with a shrug, “but we’ve never tried to have any kind of relationship.”
“Well, no. Think about it this way, though. It isn’t like you’ve just met him. You’ve been with Alex for a long time. He’s no stranger. You know him.”
“I know her.”
“Same person, different skin.”
“Except do I really know him? After he lied to me all this time?” I made another sharp, frustrated gesture. “What else don’t I know?”
She grinned. “Well, somehow I doubt he’s Jimmy Hoffa, and it’s a safe bet he wasn’t the second gunman on the grassy knoll.”
I laughed. “Okay, you know what I mean.”
“I do. And maybe what you two need to do right now is declare the physical relationship on hold until he can shift again.”
Wincing, I said, “I feel like a jerk asking him to do that.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m basically telling him I’m not attracted to him.”
“Are you attracted to him? Physically?”
I dropped my gaze. Cheeks burning, I whispered, “No, I’m not.”
“Well, it’s a cold truth, but it is the truth. And I’m sure Alex understands that more than anyone.” She regarded me silently for a moment. “Can you still be attracted to her as a female, knowing what you do now?”
I hesitated. “Would it make me a complete jerk to say I don’t know?”
She shook her head. “No. Attraction isn’t something that can be forced, and something like this is bound to throw you for a loop, at least for a little while.”
“Exactly. And the thing is, once he gets the implant out, this will still have happened. Alex will always be both male and female, even if he’s stuck in a static body. I just, I . . .” I threw up my hands. “I have no idea how to feel about that.”
“Well, don’t expect to figure everything out overnight. But D, listen to me. Even if you can’t deal with a romantic relationship or a physical one with a man, he needs you right now.”