by Witt, L. A.
“How so?”
“Well, a fresh injury will carry over. Sometimes they even get worse. But scars? Check this out.” He set his coffee cup down and turned his forearm up, then pointed just below his elbow. “Ever seen this?”
I looked closer. It wasn’t like I had every inch of her body memorized, but I was sure I’d never seen that jagged scar.
“No, I don’t think I have.”
“You haven’t. I don’t have it as a female.” He turned his arm again, but not before I noticed more unfamiliar scars. Thin, straight, irregularly spaced lines scored the inside of his wrist and forearm. I didn’t ask. He didn’t say. Instead, he leaned out of the booth and reached down to roll up his pant leg. “What about this one?”
I looked where he indicated, and damn if the two-inch, crescent-shaped scar on the inside of his ankle wasn’t familiar. The sprinkle of dark hair around it and disappearing under his pant leg was new, but the scar, that I’d seen before.
I sat up. “Okay, that’s trippy.”
With a quiet laugh, he sat up, too. “Yeah, it’s kind of strange.”
“How the hell does that work, anyway?”
He shook his head. “Don’t know. I’ve heard all kinds of theories about it, but no one’s ever figured it out.” Reaching for his coffee, he added, “Probably because no one bothers to do research on us unless it’s to find out how to fix us.”
“Go figure. And you can get the implant removed, right?”
“As far as I know. I have an appointment with that neurosurgeon tomorrow afternoon. From what I hear, though, the surgery is extremely expensive.”
“You shouldn’t have to pay for it. Under these circumstances, anyway.”
“I shouldn’t have to, but let’s face it, I probably will. I highly doubt my insurance will cover something like that. Even if a judge orders my parents to pay, there’s nothing that says they have the money to do it. The reality is, one way or another, at least some of this is probably coming out of my pocket. With the number of people having removals because of unwanted implantations, no one’s exactly donating their services. Don’t want to set a precedent.”
“Money does make the world go round, doesn’t it?” I muttered, recalling Jordan’s comments about health care.
“Always has, always will.”
“So what about—” I cut myself off. Was I being intrusive? Making him focus on something he didn’t want to think about?
Alex traced the rim of his cup with his thumb. “Whatever it is, go ahead and ask. It’s okay. I promise.”
I hesitated, gnawing my lower lip. Then, “What about . . . kids?”
“What do you mean?”
“If you can shift from female to male, then . . .”
He watched me for a second. “Can I get pregnant?”
I nodded.
Alex focused on his coffee again. “No. We can get women pregnant, but can’t have babies ourselves. It’s . . . fuck if I know how or why, but there it is.” Rolling his eyes, he muttered, “Would be nice if that meant no periods too, but being a shifter isn’t exactly a genetic royal flush to begin with, so I shouldn’t be surprised.”
I wasn’t sure what to say to that.
Alex swallowed. “So if you want kids, they won’t be biologically mine.”
“Or at least not biologically yours and mine.” I drummed my fingers on the table. “One or the other.”
He studied me for a moment. We’d never gotten this far in our discussions about the future—if marriage was taboo, then kids weren’t on the table either. Quietly, he said, “Is that a deal breaker for you?”
“No,” I said without hesitation. “Not at all.”
Alex held my gaze, then lowered his. He picked up an empty sugar packet and absently started playing with it. Goose bumps prickled my skin as I watched his fingers roll the packet like a tiny cigarette.
Then he unrolled it.
Flipped it over.
Rolled it the other way.
Just like I’d seen her do countless times.
A subtle habit, something he probably didn’t even think about, but it was like I was noticing all the things I didn’t know I noticed about Alex.
His fingers stopped. I looked up and realized he was watching me.
“What?” he said.
“Oh, uh, nothing.” I gestured at the packet. “I guess I’ve seen you do that a few times.”
He looked down at his fingers, turning the half-rolled packet back and forth as if he didn’t even realize it was in his hand. Then he flicked it away. “Habit, I guess.”
“Yeah.” I picked up my coffee. “I noticed.”
“I’m still me, you know. All the little habits and mannerisms, they carry over.”
“So I’m gathering.” I chewed my lip. “Okay, I’ve been wracking my brain about this. How exactly do we deal with us? With our . . . physical relationship?”
“Depends,” he said softly. “Until the implant comes out, I’m a guy. If you want to rein it back until I can shift to female again, I’ll understand.”
“I feel like an ass for—”
“Damon.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice a little. “I understand. I really do. It would be like me forcing myself to be with a woman.”
“You’re not into women? As a male, I mean?”
“No. I’m not bisexual.”
“Huh. For some reason . . .” I shook my head and made a dismissive gesture. “Something else I hadn’t thought about.” I’m not a gay man, but my girlfriend is. Weirder by the day.
He sipped his coffee. “Most people don’t seem to realize that bisexuality is no more common among shifters than statics.”
“Really?”
“We shift genders, Damon. I’m the same person whether I’m male or female. Changing gender doesn’t change who I’m attracted to. Naturally, I don’t expect your attraction to change when my gender does.”
“Except you’re still the same person. I feel like I’m . . . rejecting you. And I feel like an ass for it.”
“You’re not. I understand.” He took another sip and set the cup down. “Besides, this is only temporary. Once the implant is out, then I’ll have my female form back.”
“How does it work, then? In a relationship? Especially if a couple is living together?”
Alex shrugged. “Whatever’s comfortable. Some couples sleep together without being intimate. Some have separate rooms. And, some have open relationships. That way, the shifter gets to satisfy the libido on both sides without making the static take one for the team.”
“Seems like being with a bisexual static or another shifter would be ideal.”
“In theory. But not all bisexuals are interested in shifters. Or attracted to both forms of one shifter.” He ran his finger around the rim of his mug. “That, and who’s to say he won’t be in the mood for a woman on a night when his significant other wants to be male? Ditto with another shifter.”
“Wow. Sounds complicated.”
“You have no idea.”
“I think I’m catching on.” I folded my arms on the edge of the table. “Have you been with anyone who knew from the get-go you were a shifter?”
“A few. In one case, it was a mistake with a static, bisexual boyfriend. The only thing more aggravating than being rejected for it is being treated like a novelty sex toy.”
I cocked my head. “A novelty sex toy?”
“Yeah. Some people are attracted to shifters in the same way they like bi women. They assume we’re perfect for threesomes because we can please everyone.” He rolled his eyes again. “My ex was like that. He was an ass anyway, which had nothing to do with being static, bisexual, or anything. He was just an ass.”
“And what about others? Who thought you were static?”
He pursed his lips. “There’ve been a few. I’ve been a boyfriend, I’ve been a girlfriend, I’ve been both.” He met my eyes and must have seen the question in them, because he added, “Yes, I’ve had sex as bo
th a man and a woman.”
“That was something else I was kind of curious about, actually.”
“In what way?”
“You said something about living arrangements that some couples have, but if . . . if you were in a relationship with a static who wasn’t bi, how would something like that work for you? Sexually?”
“You mean, can I be satisfied if my partner only wants to sleep with me in one form?” One eyebrow lifted slightly. We’re talking about you, aren’t we?
I cleared my throat. “Yeah. That.”
His hands closed around his coffee cup again, another soft echo of the woman I knew. “I can be happy that way, yes. The desire’s still there, but . . .” He shrugged with one shoulder. “I can manage.”
“But ideally, you’d want it both ways.”
His eyes locked on mine. “In a perfect world, yes.”
I took a breath. “Listen, I do want to make this work, but it’s a lot. Just give me some time to settle into it. Get it through my head.”
He nodded. “I understand. I’m sorry you had to find out the way you did. That was never my intention.”
I hesitated. “Answer me honestly. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Answer me honestly.” He locked eyes with me. “What would you have done if I had?”
Shaking my head, I dropped my gaze. “I don’t know.”
Alex sat up a little, and in spite of my nerves, I looked at him again.
“The thing is, I didn’t think this was going to go anywhere in the beginning. Neither of us did. So it didn’t matter.” He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “Then things started getting serious. The longer I went without telling you, the worse I felt about it, and the harder I thought you’d take it. I was scared of losing you, and I felt guilty for lying to you, and . . .” He made a frustrated gesture. “If I’d known this would happen, I’d have told you a long time ago.”
“Is this why you didn’t want me to touch you sometimes?”
Avoiding my eyes, Alex nodded. “It wasn’t you.” He chewed his lower lip. “Those were the times when I wanted to be in my male form so fucking badly, and the thought of having sex as a female . . .” He shuddered. “It wasn’t that I didn’t want you. I wanted you . . .” Drawing a deep breath, he looked at me. “I wanted you those nights, I swear it, but like this.” He gestured at himself. “I was afraid to tell you, and I couldn’t bring myself to pretend I felt anything close to female those nights.” He wrapped his hands around his coffee cup again, and when he spoke again, I could just hear him over the restaurant noise. “There are times when the sound of my own voice makes me sick to my stomach.”
“Which is why you always got quiet when you were depressed.”
“Yeah. I’m sure you thought I was shutting you out. I wasn’t.”
“I understand now.” More uncomfortable silence set in around and between us. Desperate for something to keep the conversation going, but in a different direction, I said, “I’ve noticed most shifters have fairly neutral names. Like yours. Was that just luck of the draw, or . . .?”
“Most of us choose our names. Something neutral so it doesn’t tell people our birth gender. Otherwise, we start catching hell for not behaving correctly.”
“What is your real name?”
Alex raised an eyebrow. “My real name, or the one my parents gave me?”
“Point taken. The one your parents gave you.”
“Jason.” His lips tightened like the word was sour on his tongue.
“So you were born a male?”
He nodded. “Yeah, and I haven’t dared set foot in my parents’ house as a female since I was a teenager, so I was male when I went over there to talk to them the other day.” He raised his coffee cup in a sarcastic mock salute. “And now I get to stay that way.”
“That must have been awful as a kid, having to hide half your identity from your parents.”
“It sucked. Once my folks found out I was a shifter, it was pure hell.” He clicked his tongue and laughed bitterly. “But then, I think that’s par for the course for any shifter in this society. This world is designed for people whose brains match their bodies, and fuck anyone who not only can, but needs to change from day to day or hour to hour. I’m supposed to be whatever makes everyone else comfortable. When does someone give a damn what I need to be? Oh, yeah, we’re all cool with shifters as long as they do it quietly, never talk about it, and God forbid they ever fucking change genders. You ever tried to live up to the expectations of two separate genders?”
“Can’t say I have.”
“You’re lucky.” Alex shuddered. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to look in the mirror and see something that’s that mismatched with what you feel? It’s like seeing a stranger’s reflection.” He paused. “I mean, imagine if you woke up one morning, looked in the mirror, and saw a woman. Tell me that wouldn’t fuck with your head.”
Considering I’d shown up the other night, looked at my girlfriend, and seen a man, I was starting to understand better than he probably realized.
He went on, and I let him vent. “So now I’m what everyone thinks I should be, and that’s hell, too. The problem with being static is I can’t be comfortable in my own skin. Ever. Even when I actually feel like a male while I’m like this, it’s always in the back of my mind that there will be times when I need to be a female. It was bad enough before, when there were times I couldn’t shift, like at the office or—” His teeth snapped shut.
“Or around me.”
Alex nodded, cheeks darkening. “Yeah. But at least I always knew I’d be able to eventually. Now . . . now, fuck, look at me.” He gestured at himself again, more sharply this time. “I can’t . . . I’m . . .” He tapped his fingers on his coffee cup and sighed. His shoulders dropped. “I’m sorry, Damon, I didn’t mean to go off on a tirade like that. I’m just . . . frustrated.”
“I don’t blame you.” Today had certainly been an education. I’d never realized how difficult things really were for shifters, never mind what losing that ability would do to someone. I’d never realized a lot of things, and I still had no idea how to feel about it. About any of it. “I don’t blame you at all.”
My appointment with the neurosurgeon wasn’t until the afternoon, and I’d taken today off from my day job, so I drove down to the police station in the morning. Might as well get as much done as I could while I was off work.
When I walked in, a bored officer greeted me from behind a high desk.
“What can I do for you?” he asked.
“I need to report a case of . . . assault and battery, I guess.”
“You guess?” He furrowed his brow. “Who’s the victim?”
“I am.”
“What type of assault?”
“Um, well, I’m not sure. Is there a category for surgical?”
His eyebrows shot up. “Why don’t you come with me?”
He took down my name, and then led me back to what looked like a small conference room. There, he handed me a legal pad, a couple of forms, and a ball-point pen. “Go ahead and fill those in the best you can, and write out exactly what happened. I’ll send in another officer to speak with you as soon as someone’s available.”
He left, and I started on the form and statement. Rehashing everything that had happened that night was painful to say the least, and I supposed it was a blessing that I couldn’t remember the worst of it. Couldn’t remember most of it, anyway. The details were hazy, but the fear, the panic, the sense of being violated by people I was supposed to trust—that was all vivid and clear. I shuddered and kept writing.
There was something weird about writing my parents’ names and address under “assailant(s).” Part of me wanted to telepathically beg my mother’s forgiveness for doing this. The other part—the one that kept me filling everything out—just wanted to send her a telepathic “fuck you.”
My sister, though, didn’t deserve any of this. I’m sorry, Candy, I thought with every wor
d I wrote. I am so, so sorry.
The door opened. A uniformed officer stepped in and closed the door.
“Mr. Nichols?” He extended his hand. “Officer Daly.” After we’d shaken hands, he took a seat across the table from me. “So, what can I do for you?” Instead of waiting for an answer, he picked up the legal pad to read my statement. As he read, he didn’t bother hiding his reactions to any of it—raised eyebrows, twisted lips, cocked head—and something told me it wasn’t my parents’ actions that had him recoiling.
Then he set the statement down and took a breath. “Okay. Well. Um, do you have any ID on you so I can take down some information?”
“Yeah, sure.” I pulled both of my driver’s licenses out of my wallet and slid them across the table.
He picked them up, then handed my female license back. “Just need the one, thanks. Now, how is your life negatively impacted by having this implant?”
I fidgeted as I put my license back into my wallet. “Does that matter? I didn’t consent to it.”
“Just trying to gather all the facts, sir.”
Color me skeptical, but okay. “Fine. I can’t shift.”
His eyes flicked up from my driver’s license, and an invisible question mark hovered above his head.
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, you said negatively impacted, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Right.” I cleared my throat. “I can’t shift.”
“Mm-hmm . . .”
“There’s also the fact that it was, as far as I know, done under unsterile conditions outside of a medical facility.”
“As far as you know?”
“Yes.” I pointed at the report. “You did catch the part where I said I was drugged, right?”
“But you don’t know if it was done in a nonmedical facility.”
“No, because I didn’t consent to the procedure and I wasn’t fully conscious when it was performed.”
“I see.” Officer Daly handed me back my driver’s license. For a moment, he chewed his pen and looked over my statement again. “Maybe the question should be, why were you resisting the implant?”
I gritted my teeth. “I fail to see how that matters.”