Different

Chapter 5

College life was hard. I had to work in the morning and then rush to school in the late afternoon until evening on weekdays. I took psychology because I had always wanted to understand people. But there were some days when I would wonder why I took it, days when I thought that maybe I was better off taking up something else, like political science or liberal arts. I also thought of signing up to literature class, but I realized I didn't like Shakespeare that much.

Before they disowned me, my parents had wanted me to be a lawyer. It was my mother who phoned Bishaw's office to take me in as an intern, because she thought maybe it would make me like the profession. I only had two subjects related to law. Bishaw took me in because he badly needed an assistant. Yeah, that kind of made me wonder about the qualifications of anyone else in his office, like Greta.

But there I was quietly hiding my boredom in the middle of my neuroscience professor's lecture. I had to take in huge breaths to keep myself from yawning. Everyone seemed to be paying attention. I could tell from the looks on their faces how uninterested they were. Maybe two or three of them were truly engrossed and taking down notes.

The class was in the middle of the struggle between nodding off and pretending the whole academic ordeal mattered when the noises in the corridor started making heads turn. Everyone's sudden movement in the room made swooshing noises. The curiosity made the students forget about courtesy. Two guys went out to check what the fuss was. One came back to tell us someone was found dead in the boy's restroom. Heads turned. Shoulders shot up in curious shrugs. But just as furrows in their foreheads expressed concern, students were on their feet. One by one, they left.

I met the professor's confused gaze, but I walked out before he could ask silly questions. The corridors were filled with students, all wondering what was happening. I followed some of those who ran to the huddle of nosy spectators. The guards elbowed their way through the huddle and stepped into the restroom. A few girls screamed. The growing whispers blended into a hiss.

My curiosity moved my feet. I found myself staring at a dead body of a queer guy. His mustache was growing, but it was barely discernible in the scarlet color that looked purposely scattered around his lips. He had a bruise beside his right eye. The other eye had false lashes. That was a guy who knew how to wear makeup. But all of that glamour was lost in the pallor and distortion. When the guards removed the rope that had strangled his neck, the awful red lines showed to give us an eerie sense of death.

My throat tightened as I clenched my fist. The thought that he took his own life after being beaten up for being queer made me furious.

"You know him?" one of the bystanders asked.

I shook my head while wiping my cheeks. For a brief moment I saw myself in that dead body. For a moment I felt like I saw a glimpse of my future, of death waiting to happen.

I needed to stay somewhere I could puff smoke. My nerves made my muscles twitch. My lips shivered. It was one of those nasty days when I felt like my heels would buckle under my weight.

"You're next, tranny!" a guy shouted behind me. He and his two buddies chuckled as they walked off. One of them turned his head to sneer at me.

"Assholes," I whispered. I wanted to cast a spell. My lips pursed. I was halfway to making an incantation. My knuckled had tightened before I brought them close to my chest. I closed my eyes and took in a huge breath. I wanted to hurt them. I wanted to make them feel the pain.

"Hi," a voice so familiar spoke.

"Jackie?" I squinted and fixed strands of my hair in the back of my ears.

"I figured you were still here." She pointed her thumb to the university entrance. "I..." Her gaze shifted from a casual glance to a scrutiny. "Are you all right?" She frowned, concern drawn all over her face.