Beginnings

The Lone Chapter

Dedicated to my cat, Missy, who wrote this very compelling sentence: yyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyydvbggggggg

y'all are not ready for this fever dream

"[nickname]! Time to go!" My dad calls out.

"COMING!" I shout back. My footsteps fall to the floor with soft grace. It's five in the morning, and my dad and I are going to fix a roof with some friends. I'm in it for the money, my dad's in it because he's a good person. Ah, to not be a broke s-year-old. It must be great. If I lived anywhere other than this small town, I could probably get a job as a cashier at some market.

***

"Hey, Scott, buddy! How's it goin'?" someone I assume is the homeowner asks my dad.

"It's going well. I brought [deadname]-" he points to me, "-to help us." I notice a split second of confusion in the man's face when the name hits. How predictable.

Let me explain.

I'm a guy, but I'm not out yet to anyone. I don't try to hide it, though. I have a half-shaved hairstyle, and the other half is combed over to the side. The hair itself is smurf blood blue on the shaved parts and unicorn blood purple everywhere else. It suits me. I usually wear baggy sweatshirts to hide my chest, and for the most part, they keep a bit of dysphoria away. Today is no different. I sport a light gray, semi-baggy sweatshirt, and plain black sweatpants.

To get to the point, I don't have any features that give off signs of femininity. Masculinity, though, I do have that, topped off by my amazing arsenal of androgynous clothing.

We work throughout the entire day. I've roofed houses before, and this is by far the steepest one I've been on. One wrong step and I could be tumbling down the displaced shingles, with their ragged edges devouring my sanity. As a result, I'm crawling around the roof, and, much to my surprise, the adults follow my lead.

"Why are you guys crawling?" I ask incredulously. My dad's friend, who's also the homeowner, merely smiles.

"I'd rather not fall off this roof, lassie," he says. I mentally cringe. Not only is it southern language in Illinois, but I'm not a lassie. Anyone with half a brain should be able to put two and two together.

***

I climb down from the roof after eight hours of grueling work. Even though it was only a quarter of a roof that had to be finished, it took for-fucking-ever.

"That took a while," I say blandly.. My dad and his friend laugh at me. I smile back, holding back a harrowing grimace. We're all done now, and I'm cold, so logically I make a beeline to my dad's car to steal the navy blue hoodie he stores in the passenger seat. His car keys are in the pocket, but I don't think anything of it. It's just the keys to his precious Volkswagen that he loves and cherishes. Okay, I probably should leave them in the car, but since when was I perfect?

We stay for dinner that night, and the homeowner's kids deem us guests of honor. Kaylee, the four-year-old, has got to be the sweetest person ever, and Carter, the eight-year-old, is a close second. Kaylee makes little necklaces out of paper, insisting that everyone wears one. I smile and play along with her. Normally I wouldn't be doing this, but I can't stop the flow of happiness radiating from the little girl. I'm affected by it greatly, and even if I wasn't, I'm not required to spread my depression to these innocent people. Okay, I can't confirm the "innocence" of the two adults sitting across from me, but the kids are in the clear.

It's dark outside by the time we're preparing to leave. The porch light is broken, so my dad and I descend into darkness. I have a bad feeling about the darkness, but step out anyway.

I'm immediately tackled to the ground by a person with a hoodie on. I open my mouth to scream, but the person clamps their hands over my lips. I flail my arms around desperately, but that only earns me a faceful of dirt. I lash out again, this time clocking my attacker in the head. I turn myself over, push them off of me, and kick them in the stomach, putting all my strength, fear, and confusion into the motion. The person seems to pass out, so I run across the yard towards my dad's car, sliding my fingers over the precious keys I oh-so-secretly stole.

Come on, come on! I slide my fingers onto the unlock button and the car lights flash once. Come on! My fingers graze the door handle, I'm almost in, I'm almost safe-

"You might not want to do that," I hear someone call out. I turn around immediately. I can't believe my eyes. The person I demobilized earlier seems to have recovered and is now helping an identical entity drag my dad into a sitting pose. Holy f*ck, these people don't play. How'd they get him unconscious? Dad doesn't get knocked out every day. They must have used a drug, there's no way they could take on a wrestling champion and win. Not fairly, at least. My mind cracks when I see a blade glint against my dad's skin.

"What do you sick f*ckers want?" I ask, one hand still on the car door handle. I don't doubt their ability to break into the car, nor do I doubt that they'll harm my dad. A third person emerges from some shadows, smiling at me from under a black hoodie. Out of pure instinct, I shuffle back a bit. The person snickers at me. I look to my right, but there are even more people there. I look on my left, and it's the same situation. Where did all these people come from? I think to myself. The only way to run would be past the person in front of me, but they look like they could easily catch me.

"What. do. you. want." I growl through gritted teeth. The person reveals their face. Treyton Becker. I have an unhealthy obsession with him.

*flashback*

I was twelve at the time.

I snuck into my dad's study. It was foolish, really, that I was swooning over a boy, and Treyton Becker of all people. The small part of me that liked men had screwed me over.

My school loaned all the student's computers, complete with software that detected any content that wasn't for school. I obviously couldn't use that to look up things about Treyton. It'd raise a f*ck ton of questions.

Treyton Becker, age 16, is the leader of the Blood Skulls, a gang notorious for its savage fighting and merciless murder. If you see this individual, run for your life, do not worry about contacting police until you are safe.

I thought that Treyton was just the coolest, and he looked so amazing. But I knew even then that I wasn't a girl, and I thought Treyton would hate me for it. So I hid.

*end of flashback*

There's one line from that article that's running through my head right now. If you see this individual, run for your life, do not worry about contacting police until you are safe. Run. Focus on survival. That's what I've always had to do. That's what was always advised. That's what I should be focusing on. But I never really did what I was supposed to.

"The fuck do you want, sadistic prick?" I ask in the deepest voice I can muster.