Sold to the Smiling Friends.

Prolouge

     I got into bed after a long day, wincing at the soreness of my back. So much had gone on, I was just exhausted. So exhausted, in fact, I barely had the strength to take off my binder and change into comfortable clothes. Yet as I lay on my bed, I had a strange feeling that something out of the ordinary would happen. Shoving such a bizarre thought out of my head, I drifted off. I woke in the middle of the night to a strange, masked figure putting duct tape over my mouth. The scream became lodged in my throat, but my body moved when my mouth could not. I began kicking the skinny figure, seemingly with the hope I could overpower them.

     Suddenly as I landed a blow right to their stomach, I heard my mother's voice come from the masked figure, "Eugh!"

     "...mom?"

     "You caught me, Y/N!"

     "What the freak are you doing?"

     "I'll explain in a minute, just let me put the tape over your mouth, okay?"

     "No, mom, I'm not-," I went to rub my eyes when I heard the clanking of chains.

     As my eyes widened from the realization of the true predicament I was in, my mom grabbed a cloth from her back pocket and began bringing it toward me. Without thinking, I reached to push her away, but, of course, the chains resisted my movement. As I frantically tried to free myself, the cloth she was holding reached my face, and the world began fading. The last thing I remembered was a small smile on her face, a similar one to that of pity.

     "Good morning sleepy head," my mother's cold hand stroked my hair as I came to. I went to speak, but she quickly shushed me, "No, no, baby. Don't ruin mommy's tape job, avoid talking and breathing through your mouth."

     Her demeanor was strange. I knew my mother was a difficult woman to get along with, or just to understand, but this was a different type of confusion. She and I could never see eye to eye, we typically would get into arguments and lash out, but deep down we both knew we had a strong sense of love for one another. Yet, something about her didn't radiate that caring aura a mother, even one as crazy as mine, should have. Suddenly it hit me, this new demeanor was one of loss. I had only ever seen this face one other time: when dad died. She was mourning me in her sick way like she had done to him. When my father passed away, my mom wasn't sad as a normal widow should be, but rather she took it as a minor inconvenience. It was something she was used to simply disappearing and now she had to adapt to the change. I never thought I would be getting the same look. There was always a mutual feeling of underlying love in our relationship, but maybe this was her way of moving on from my transition. Ever since I had come out as trans a few years ago, I could tell she was waiting for the "phase" to be over. Maybe she realized I wasn't her little girl anymore when I started taking testosterone almost a year back. Or perhaps, this entire time, she didn't have as much love for me as I thought she did.

     I was snapped from my thoughts as she wiped a tear, which I wasn't even aware had fallen, from my cheek, "No, no, don't do that, okay? You need to be looking perfect for them. Now, let me explain. Shhh, shhh, shhh, it'll be okay."

     My brows furrowed in disgust at her treatment of me. I had to be okay when I was the one chained up and chloroformed?! It was outrageous and unfair. My anger transformed into fear when I replayed her words in my mind. "You need to be looking perfect for them," She had said. For them?!

     "Sweetie, I know you and I haven't always been all buddy-buddy, but I hope you know I love what you've done for me, and, well, what you're going to do for me. I can tell you're confused, so let me explain, okay honey?" She continued to play with my hair, or at least that's what I thought until I realized she was instead fixing my bedhead, "So, you know how mommy has been needing money really badly, right?"

     I rolled my eyes at her speech. She very rarely spoke in the third person, but whenever she did, it caused a deep anger to burn inside of me. I am no longer the little girl she believes I am, but rather, I am a 20 year old saving up for college. Every day I am working 12 hour shifts, I rarely have days off, and my voice is completely that of a man's. Yet, no matter what I did or said to her, whenever she was breaking hard news to me, she continued to talk to me like I was still her three year old daughter.

     "So, you might not have known, but the other day I went out with my girls for a couple drinks!"

     I did know. I had to drive her home and she vomited in my car.

     "I had met a strange, but very handsome man there. He was telling me all about his work, and we flirted a little bit too. Let me tell you he–"

     I rolled my eyes; she didn't seem to take notice that I didn't want to hear about my mom flirting with random men. After she told me about her near sexual experience with this mystery man, she got back on topic.

     "Well, it turns out, he was looking for a new worker at his small company. Of course, I asked him what he did. He remained very vague; it was kind of sexy. He told me he...now how did he phrase it...Oh! He 'made people smile.' This guy, his name was Mr. Boss, I think, said he needed a younger member who understood what the youth liked nowadays, and I told him I had a... child... who was very, how do I say.... Hip?"

     My stomach sank. He made people smile but wouldn't explain how; didn't tell my mom his real name, instead chose a strange title; then said he needed a YOUNGER MEMBER?! What did my mom sign me up for?

     "He gasped when I kept describing you and told me you, my honey bun, were exactly what he needed for his company!! I tried to convince him that he would hate you and how annoying you were and– heh, I mean, I just tried to tell him he found the wrong person. But Mr. Boss just kept insisting he met you, and when he brought up the money," Shrugging, she let out a small chuckle, "Who was I to resist?"

     She grabbed my chin, and continued fixing my hair, rambling about how much I'd love him, and how sweet he was. I couldn't focus on anything but the tightness in my chest. What was going to happen to me? My own mother was selling me to a mystery man.

     "Now, I packed your bag while you were sleeping. I– Honey, don't look at me like that. I'm not a monster. This amount of money means I can finally get a new house, and car, and just," she sighed and smiled, "be happy." Reaching into her back pocket, I saw her pull out some dollar bills, upon further inspection, I noticed they were all hundreds. "I mean, you can't blame me for this. Nonetheless, my love, let me put some of these into your bag...actually, nevermind. It's not that I don't want to give you money, it's just I already spent your part of the pay on suitcases to pack all of your useless junk, so, that's your fault. Maybe if you had sold some of those figures like I had told you too, you would've had some money of your own. Shhh, shhh, baby, don't whine, it'll be okay."

     I wasn't whining, nor was I crying. I was angry, but also afraid; perhaps the better word would be that I felt betrayed. Why would she do this to me? Did she never actually care about me? Was money worth more than her own son? Apparently, it was.

     "Oh! I hear a car pulling up, that must be him!! Here let me put on your blindfold, shh, shh, it'll be okay," I saw a sick smile creep on her face before my vision was robbed from me. "Jeez, I feel like I ran out of time, I didn't get to finish everything I wanted to say. I guess since this is the last time I'll ever see you, I'll be blunt. You're going to belong to Mr. Boss and his company; don't ever try to contact me again; I packed all of your stuff, keeping what I wanted of course; lastly, thank you for finally being useful. I'll always think of my little lady for my newfound riches."

     Then I felt the feel of a familiar rag and slowly lost consciousness.

      She was right, you know, that was the last time I ever saw my mom. I'll never know if she truly meant to hurt me in our last moments like she did. She was never the greatest mother, no, she was far from, but I still loved her. I had always assumed she loved me too. I often find myself questioning, even all these years later, if she really ever did. The last time I saw her face haunts me. I still remember it vividly: that twisted smile. It was one of those where you feel true joy; you try your hardest to hide it, but you just can't. I would've forgotten what she sounded like if it weren't for the last words she said still ringing my ears: "Finally being useful, little lady, don't ever contact me." I never have and never will forget the pain I felt when my mother sold me to the Smiling Friends. I hate her for what she has done. Yet, it leads me to a dilemma. Should I still thank her for the best years of my life?