Life Imitates Art

Part 34 - A Building Blast Of Rage

Through teary, weary eyes, not helped at all by a lack of sleep last night, I squint to find the correct contact in my phone. She's the closest thing I have to a cry for help here.

There's no answer. As expected, she must be working. At best, this alone gives me the comfort that she likely wasn't attacked. That article can't be real. Mum's found something to use as a defence. But I know I'm the one in the wrong. I did this.

Not that I'm allowed to wallow to myself forever. She mentioned a therapist. What even is a therapist in this case? The only reason to have a therapist is because there is something difficult wrong with you. Mum thinks I am wrong. I am wrong with what? About what? Me? Are my feelings wrong?

My locked door prevents anyone entering. No one even knocks. They know the sort of mood I'll be in. That, or they are completely afraid of me. Perhaps even sickened by me. I'm such a disgusting excuse for a son. And I'm an incomplete daughter.

I drift off to sleep. Well, I must have. When I next see my phone, it's 4 hours later. My exhausted little brain must have needed it. There's a sole missed call. At least she tried to return it. Let's see if I'll reach her.

Six rings, or seven (I forget), and nobody answers. I know not to try again. Clearly, someone has remembered I exist. There's a knock. It's soft. If it were to be Mum, she wouldn't be so gentle. Dad must be at work, too. I know he's meant to be there by now.

"Sis? Do you want to open the door?"

I refuse to move. The next person to look me in the eyes could be the very person to crack my mind forever. One more sign that I'm the letdown they all - until this morning - refused to dub me as, and I don't think I'll come back. Tessa doesn't leave though. I hear her muffled words through the door.

"Can we talk? Please? I'm scared."

I still don't move. If she's scared, I'm petrified.

The next sound is a small piece of paper being slipped through the underside of the bedroom door. It lands a few inches beyond the threshold, softly and neatly dropping to the carpet. It prompts me to move.

My slow crawl of a walk to the door is deliberately so. I pick the sheet up, half-tempted to rip it to bits so she can hear. I don't care what plea it is. I know what she thinks of me. What they all think of me. I turn it around to see strange floral shapes. Roses on thorny bases but twisted in some way each time. They look wearable.

I unlock the door, and she squeezes me super tight. Her crying grows louder as she buries her face in my shoulder. Her other arm leaves my back for a moment as the door slams behind us and she fumbles for the lock. She only hugs me tighter when her hand returns following the locking sound of my bedroom door.

"I'm so sorry." Her hushed blubbering is basically incomprehensible, but I hear those words.

I pull her off.

"For what?" My own voice nasally and wet from sadness.

"I've ruined your life. I made you become this girl and now, Mum hates you. And she hates me, but she hates me because she hates you and I made you this way so it's really all my fault."

She doesn't pause where you would think natural. Now that words have escaped her mouth, she seemingly can't stop. I don't get in her way. I just let her finish.

"But... it's me. I'm the one she's mad at. And hey, the therapy will fix it all."

She shakes her head furiously.

"That therapy isn't the kind you want. Max, they want to convert you back to being a guy. They're going to use fear to convince you. It doesn't matter how you feel."

She picks up the piece of paper from my desk.

"And this is all we'll have to remember who you really are. My sister's only remains will be pictures and drawings and one or two photos. I won't have you anymore. We'll be back to how we were, and I'll lose my best friend."

She pauses to bring her face uncomfortably closer to mine.

"And I can't let her take you from me."

"Sis..."

She realises she is too close. She backs away a little, but doesn't yet leave my room either.

"Max. Maxine. Whoever, whatever. It's not just for me. It's for you. You need to fix your brain and see that. You can't just go on living your life in a way you don't like just because it keeps a balance and it doesn't upset people. I need you to resist whatever this therapy is. I need you to hold on to that girl you have inside you. That you that you are hiding."

"Tess... how can I? All it has done is hurt everyone."

She walks away, not even closing the door behind her. She ends the talk with a text, which is her usual way of ending arguments before they become real fights.

'You'll always be my sister. You can't run from it. Mum and Dad can't either. I can't make you do this. You need to speak up. You need to take control.'

She sends the photo through. It's the same one that's burned into my retinas at this point. Myself, Courtney, Molly and Tess hanging out in Edinburgh. It's the same photo I've been recreating in drawing form.

'Remember that you want this. This is you at your happiest. Don't throw it away, little sis xxx'

And...my brows descend and my lips twist in anger and frustration. I leave her on read. The next person to try and talk to me is going to get a piece of my mind, if the whole thing doesn't crumble first.

Aw, fantastic. My phone is ringing now. Whoever this is is going to regret calling me right now. I swipe the phone from the desk without taking even a moment to read who it is. I don't care what cold call this is, some worker better be recording for training and monitoring purposes!

"What the hell do you want now?"

"Um... Max? You called... I was just returning it. I can go if it's - "

"No, please! It's been a long few days. I need help."