LGBTQ+ Stories And Suicide Stories (All Fiction)

Ruben

(Will contain graphic scenes of blood and triggering words. This is all a work of fiction)

My name is Rachel, and I'm 15. But I wish my name was Ruben.

I knew I never fit in with the other girls. While they were playing dress up and barbies, I was playing basket ball and digging up small creatures from the mud after a rainy day. I hated wearing dresses, skirts, or nay other feminine attire. I was more comfortable with myself in just jeans and a t-shirt.

My mom of course, had a different idea on my clothing and actions. She constantly bought me new dresses, all of which sit unused in my closet, never to be worn. She refuses to buy me boys halloween costumes, and always tried to make me go as a lady bug or faerie princess, instead of the bad ass skeleton ghost costume I wanted to wear. When I slouch, my mom tells me: 'Rachel sit like a lady' I just slouch further. I have tried telling her before that I felt comfortable as a boy, not a girl, but she never listened.

When my breasts started to develop, I started binding, the only thing I could bind with being an ACE bandage. I know. Not the smartest thing to do. But it got the job done, making me less feminine.

To my mother's horror, I cut my hair. Like, all of it. My amazing father helped me buzzcut it, the hair that once was at my waist now sat on the floor, a clump of brown keratin that would soon be off to the dump.

My parents argued well into the night, my father, against my protests, did his best to fight my battles, while my mother just berated him with all of her reasons why my choice was immoral, and 'against the word of God' Why the fuck is she bringing religion into this? She knows I hate church, and I don't believe in that kind of stuff, and neither does my dad.

A few weeks after my father cut my hair, my birthday came, and he bought me a chest binder. A real one, from a really good company. My mother scowled, her gift, which was a diamond necklace, laying on the table, unwanted, never to be worn. I cried in happiness, hugging my father tight.

Then came the call. My father had been enlisted in the army for years, and today had been the day he needed to leave to fight in Iraq. I cried forever, not wanting him to leave, too afraid I would lose the only one who cared about me. I watched with teary eyes as he pulled out of the driveway, waving goodbye well after he disappeared over the horizon.

After about 5 minutes, my mother forced me back inside, sitting me at the dinner table and sitting across from me.

"Rachel..."

I cut her off there.

"It's Ruben." I said through tears and gritted teeth.

"Rachel..." My mother repeated, making me clench my fists, looking at my lap. "You are living under my roof. And I expect you to follow my rules. Take off the binder now." My head shot up, glaring into my mother's green eyes.

"No." I said, fury in my eyes.

"Excuse me? Take it off now! I will not have a-a...freak in my home. You are a girl, and you will accept that." My mother spat.

I stormed from the table, seething in anger, up to my room, slamming my door and locking it, my mother's yells and stomping coming closer to my door. She knocked furiously.

"Rachel Abbigal McLaughlin you get your ass down stairs now and give me the binder!"  My mother yelled.

"ITS RUBEN!" I yelled back, my voice breaking due to tears.

I heard my mother stomp downstairs, cursing. I curled up under my covers, my 12 year old yorkie Gizmo cuddling up next to me as I cried my eyes out, hoping with all of my being my father would come home safe.

The next few months were absolute hell, worrying about my father. I kept to my room, only coming out to grab something from the fridge or go to school. The only contact I had with my mother was hateful stares and words of loathing. I spent my time looking at photos of me and my dad, tears dropping onto the album.

Then came that fateful day. "Rachel! Get down here!" My mother yelled. The only reason I complied was because something was wrong. Her voice sounded pained, and didn't have the force behind it like usual. I didn't care about her, I cared about what happened. Only one thing could make her sound like that.

When I went into the living room, my mother was standing at the front door, a man in a black suit handing her a small box. She opened it, and inside were dog tags. They were extremely dented and dirty, almost destroyed, but the name was still visible on the metal.

William H. McLaughlin. The name of my father.

I snatched the dog tags from my mother's hands, too shocked to cry yet.

"No..." I whispered, holding the silver chain in my fist, watching the tags sway shakily back and forth as my hand shook. My eyes were clouded with tears.

The man in the suit spoke up.
"Your husband was a brave man. He gave his life and saved our entire troop by throwing himself on a grenade as it went off." The man wiped a tear from his eye. He bowed his head. "I'm sorry for your loss." He said. He pulled a small, slightly burnt picture from his pocket and handed it to me. It was a picture me on my first birthday, a pout on my face as I refused to wear the tiara my mom gave me, trying to reach for my cousins racecar. I smiled, a tear running off my nose onto the photo.
"He kept this in his most protected pocket. It barely survived the blast." The man said. He left, driving off in a black car.

My mother closed the door. She tried to take the tags out of my hands. I kept a firm grip on them, holding close to my heart the two things that held my father's memory.

"Rachel, hand me the tags..." My mother said, a tear in her eye.

"It's Ruben." I said, running upstairs to my room, locking my door behind me and collapsing in front of it, sobbing my eyes out and clutching
the tags like a life source.

If you would like a part 2, please say so in the comments, so I can know whether this will be worth writing, and I won't just be another story to left untouched.

Be who you want to be, no matter what others say. LGBTQ+ PRIDE!!!