I Take It Back: A Dark Fantasy

Prologue

Jackson stared at Trudy in disbelief. Shock paled his angular face. Did she really say that? His bestie since grade school sat across from him at their usual Friday night cocktails and tea at Flaming Bill's. Mother Mother's It's Alright roared through the lively bar, but didn't drown out the clash of voices.

The table next to them erupted in cheers. A group of young men cheered their friend, who downed a row of shots. The youthful looking shot drinker donned a tiara and blue muscle shirt that read, "I'm Here I'm Queer Now F**ck Me." A restaurant Birthday sticker on his shirt rounded out his couture.

"Don't fucking look at me like that, bro," Trudy said, making a face. "You know what I mean."

"I abso-fucking-lutely do not know what you mean," Jackson replied. His hand moved to his stomach, which churned with nausea. "How could you even say that?" He dropped the hot wing he'd been munching and pushed the odorous plate away.

"You act like I said some shit about you," Trudy said, crossing her arms indignantly.

The music switched to one of their favorite Scissor Sisters songs I Don't Feel Like Dancin'. The tension between them shadowed their usual joy at hearing the beat.

"As a trans man, how am I supposed to take what you said?" His voice rose over the music.

"No, no, no! Don't do that. Don't turn this into something about you when you know damn well it's not."

Jackson didn't hear her. A high-pitched ring collided with voices, music, and laughter to become a dull roar in his ear. Bile rioted in his stomach. He had to leave before he lost his cookies in front of the cute servers and God Herself. He gathered his things, standing up fast enough his chair tottered.

Several heads turned their way, including their waitperson Keegan, who frowned.

"Whoa!" Trudy exclaimed, "Jacks, where're you going?" She grabbed his sweaty hand, but he wrenched it away.

"I'm not sitting here after that. My best friend - you're supposed to support me!"

"I do!"

"Not when you invalidated me to my face! You know - I can't—."

"The fuck-?"

He avoided her eyes as he strode from the restaurant. The cool air blasted the perspiration coating his body, shocking his senses. The rumbles in his stomach became an insistent roar as food and alcohol spewed from his mouth. He got to a bush before spilling the evening's contents from his innards. The bright scent of lavender soothed his senses. A picture of his mother comforting him after he'd been bullied at school materialized in his mind. His nerves steadied.

"You okay?" the hostess asked.

Jackson wiped his mouth, briefly making eye contact with the cute brunette. Too sick to register embarrassment of throwing up in front of a girl who flirted with him, he waved her off.

"I'm good," he said, voice shaky

"Do you need water or an Uber? Should I get your friend?"

"No!" he screamed, lunging toward her.

She flinched back, her eyes wide.

"Sorry." He pulled up short. Trembling hands up he showed he was harmless, he continued, "I - I don't need anything. It's a stomach bug or something. Have a good night."

He walked to his car on unsteady feet. He sat behind the wheel for several minutes, attempting to gather himself. Something tickled his face. When he touched his face, it surprised him to find tears. He angrily swiped at them, refusing to cry, to let one more person crush his spirit because they were too fucking stupid to keep their goddamn mouths shut - even if that person was his best friend.