Genderfluid (A Cinderella Story)

19: The Adult Concept

The building was tall, gray, and labeled "Clinical Psychology". My father stood next to me, his eyes, dull now, staring blankly into the glass.

"Uh... Dad?" He blinked, plastered a smile onto his face and looked to me.

"Yeah?"

"I'm going in now..."

"Oh.. Already?"

"It's three fifty; the appointment starts at four."

"Oh.." He mumbled. "Do you want me to come with you?" He dragged the question out in a curious way, hoping, in the back of his mind, that I would say yes.

"No thanks." I said, "I'll meet you back here in an hour." He didn't respond for a few seconds; I stepped forward getting tugged back by the sleeve. "Huh..?"

"Can I have a hug... before you go?" I blinked in surprise. Over the last week, my father had aged nearly twenty years. There was a noticable new amount of gray hair in his head and barely-there beard, and his eyes lacked their usual happiness. I frowned.

"Sure." We hugged for god knows how long before I let go and walked inside. When I walked in, I signed my name on a check-in sheet at the reception desk then sat in the waiting room.

The chairs were hard, the walls gray with no posters, signs, or decoations of any kind. The muggy feeling, a mixture of depression and boredom, radiated from behind the two wide, automatic doors that led into the psychiatric care wing.

I sat in silence for a while, thinking of my friends. Leelah, Darian, Adrianna, Maya... Silver. Their faces as I detailed the... deed. His eyes staring at me from so far away, but still sending the same feelings through me. I could feel their pain, the pain they felt because of what happened to me.. I could feel their terror, their disgust, their immediate wish to protect me- what was left of me. I could feel that mix of feeling, and then on top of that, I could feel him and his longing to help me... To save me.

I could not be saved.

I would never be saved, by him.

By Leelah.

By Darian.

By my father.

Nobody could save me.

I looked up, a muffled noise coming forward and catching my attention. The doors slowly opened together, loud creaking erupting from them. A girl, about my age was sobbing hard into the sleeves of her sweat jacket. A stern looking, older man followed close behind her, stone faced.

"There we are, back to the front. Now Mr. Keplicka, if you would just sign your daughter out-"

"She's hardly my daughter," The man scoffed, cutting the sobbing noises off with a gurgle. The girl looked up from her sleeves. Her eyes were a deep sapphire color, black, heavy makeup dragged down her face with her tears. Her skin was pale, those beautiful eyes switching from sad to hateful in a mere moment's time.

"I'm hardly your daughter?" She asked. Her voice was bold, rebellious and strong sounding.

"You heard what I said, Angelica."

"Now sir, now really isn't the time to-"

"Fuck you." She said. Her father's eyes grew wide, the words hitting him like a slap in the face.

"What...?"

"Fuck. You."

"You... You can't speak to me like that! I'm your father, a respected adult!" He shouted at her. She didn't even flinch, the man coming straight up in her face.

"You aren't my father." The girl whispered. Those words were cold and echoed in the space around us. And with that, he slapped her, hard, across the face. The psychiatrist began to panic, calling security and all of these other people. The man was escorted out and the girl back into the psychiatric wing.

I dropped my head as the room cleared, tears bulging from my eyes as I stared down at my clenched fists on my lap.

I hate adults. Most of them anyway. Why? They're greedy, disgusting creatures. They are legally able to treat us like shit and nobody from the generation before this one understands. Why is that? Because their fucked up parents taught them hitting and violence and verbal abuse is OKAY. It's drilled into their heads that their children are just moldable pieces of clay that must obey their every whim, no matter how ridiculous. They're allowed to treat us like PROPERTY.

I hate it.

I hate them. Flickering images of my step mother flashed behind my closed lids. The echoes of my rapist's parents screams at me...I clenched my fists tighter, grinding my teeth as well. I could feel my fingernails digging into my palms...

"Elizabeth?" My head snapped up and my eyes fell on the same psychiatrist that was in here before, with that Angelica girl. "Hi!" He smiled, walking over to me in a brisque manner. "I'm Christian. Nice to meet you!" He stuck his hand out for a handshake.

At first I just looked at his outstretched hand. I blinked after a few moments, unfolding my right hand. I glanced down, crimson lining the tips of my nails. I frowned, his eyes falling to my hand.

"Oh my- I'll get some spray!" He jumped back and ran through the two giant doors, coming back a minute or so later with a white first aid box.

My first thought was 'What's wrong with this guy?'

"Here," he said lightly, placing his hand out. His other hand held a bottle of Bactine spray. "Come now.. It won't hurt you; it's just anti-bacterial spray." I swallowed hard, feeling my body begin to shake. I stretched my hand to his, placing mine face up in his palm. "There we are!" he smiled, spraying my palm. The crescent shaped wounds filled with a white fizzling foam. Then he took a gauze wrap and covered them. "Is it the other too?" I nodded and he smiled sadly down, holding his hand out again. When that was finished there was an awkward pause. He had started digging around in the box for something.

"Thank you..." I mumbled. With a bright smile, he handed me two alcohol pads. "You're welcome. You can clean the blood off your nails with those. Now, Elizabeth, will you follow me?"