DRABBLES (frerard oneshots)

Frankie

a/n got this idea during french class yesterday and then i wrote it. not edited. weird writing style.

Frankie likes punk-rock music, ripped jeans and her favorite Misfits t-shirt. She likes her short, dyed hair and piercings. She likes this guy in her science class that starts with a 'G' and ends with 'ay', but she would never tell you who. Frankie's room is as messy as her head and it smells like sleep and sweat and teenage angst.

She wants big boobs and a frequently used vagina, but that is kind of hard when you're born with a dick.

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Frankie doesn't like wearing skirts or dresses. They make her uncomfortable. She hates applying make-up and the weight on her face after she's done. Having hair longer than shoulder-length is a bother and a pain in the ass and she hates finding old, gross, long hairs in the sink or in the shower, so she keeps it short. Frankie has never enjoyed cute cartoons and cute glittery stuff and disney princesses, she likes bats and skulls and dirty guitars and dirty mouths and dirty ashtrays. She is dirty and she doesn't mind. She showers like, once a month.

But Frankie doesn't like being called a boy when people know she identifies as a girl.

"But you don't look like a girl!" She just wants to pass.

And Frankie cries herself to sleep.

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Frankie arrives at school in a black high-waisted skirt and a white crop-top. She's got her regular beaten converse and her ripped jeans are switched out with ripped, black, transparent tights. Last night she shaved her legs for the first time. She missed a few spots like around her ankles and on the back of her calves. Her hair is curled, and it looks stupid because it is normally styled in a mohawk. She stole her mother's make-up after she had left from work.

Frankie doesn't feel confident at all when she walks in the school doors. She has read about many transgirls who feel empowered when they dress feminine. Frankie can't feel it. This is not how it's supposed to feel. It's not supposed to feel like she is hiding, she is not supposed to feel self-conscious and uncomfortable.

The whole day people call her Frankie. Her friends use her correct pronouns for the first time and everyone is telling her how pretty she looks.

By the end of school she is locked up in the mens' bathroom.

She has never felt more like a man before today.

A guy, a man, in a skirt.

That's what she is and that is what she always will be.

Trying to fool everyone.

Is she not who she thought she was?

Is she really a boy after all?

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Frankie doesn't come to school for the rest of the week. Her mother leaves for work before Frankie usually wakes up every day, so she just stays in bed all day, staring up at the ceiling. Sometimes she stares at the wall too, and sometimes she stares at the ground. Her mother wasn't suspicious at all.

It wasn't until Sunday night that she had her revelation.

Who the fuck were people to decide who she was? She was a fucking girl, and she knew it. She had always been a girl, a girl with a dick, but a girl nonetheless. A girl that looked like a boy, a dyke. But so what? That was who she was. That was how she looked, and that was how she liked to look. If people called her by her birth name or called her a him, she would correct them.

And she would continue to do that until she didn't have to anymore.

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On Monday, Frankie showed up again in skinny, ripped, black jeans, a Ramones sweater and a spiked choker for aesthetic reasons. She corrected her teachers, her classmates and friends. She has never been happier. She ignored people trying to tell her wrong. She doesn't need those kind of people in her life.

After her last class (she had yelled at this fuckboy for calling her a fag), she made her way to her locker. When she opened the door, a small, folded note fell out and down on to the ground. Fearing the worst, she bent down to pick it up;

"yo u care 2 meet me by the bleachers aftr skool???

xoxo gw"

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fini