Dear Simon,

Chapter Six

Forewarning: This chapter includes transphobic and homophobic settings which may upset some readers. If this bothers you immensely, I recommend that you find something else to read.

I've never had anyone be there for me during a panic attack before. I'm still shaking but I'm starting to feel the oxygen enter and exit my lungs. I swallow and look Aaron in the face. He doesn't look disgusted or bored or even annoyed.

"Thank you," my voice is trembling, "for everything. You should probably go find Alisa now though."

"Why would I leave you out here when you literally just went through your own version of hell?" He looks at me like I just killed his dog. I shrug and he continues, "besides, I know how you're feeling. I used to have panic attacks a lot. It's eased up, of course, but it still really sucks. It feels like it will never end and leaves you an exhausted mess when it does. I had panic attacks from planning my coming out to my parents. They used to be almost as terrifying as Westboro Baptist Church attenders. It took them a while to adjust but last year they attended my first pride parade with me."

"But you're with Alisa?"

He chuckles. "I'm pansexual."

"Does she know?"

"She was the first person I came out to."

My guts are still twisting and I'm hesitating. "Can I tell you something? To get it off of my chest?" He nods and his face is unreadable. "I'm bisexual." I need to finish it. "And - and my pronouns are he and him." I take in a sharp breath and wait for a response. Say something.

"Do you have a name?"

I nod, "it's Ethan."

Aaron puts his hand on my back, "alright Ethan, are you ready to go back to the party yet?" I smile and we stand up and file back into the house.

(0.0)

It's been three days. Today is Monday and Harry is supposed to come over for tutoring. Mom loves him. She thinks he's a perfect angel with manners of royalty. I think he's Mr. Angry. I get a shower and I wash my hair. It hits me. Why don't I just cut it? I finish my shower and I look for clippers, a comb, a hairbrush, and some scissors. I start clipping away, one part after another. It's uneven but it doesn't matter. It's just above my shoulder but I intend it shorter.

I look up some men's hair cut tutorials on YouTube and examine every move with nervous anticipation. I oil my hair clippers, put a guard on them, and brush through my cut hair with a comb. It's soft. I pull the top of my hair into a Pebbles Flinstone sort of look and start shaving the sides and the back. I use a mirror behind me and a hand mirror in my hand to see the back and the front. Seeing my hair fall from my shoulders is therapeutic in a strange way. I take the scissors and start trimming the top. Soon, it looks like a masculine pixie cut. My head feels lighter and so does something internally.

"Sierra, Harry's here!"

"Coming, Mom!"

My nerves are tingling. I didn't tell my mom that I was cutting my hair. If she'd have known she wouldn't have let me. I slowly travel down the stairs. Each step is calculated. Mom looks at me and it's exactly what I expected to happen.

"Sierra, what the Hell did you do to your hair?"

"I, uh, I cut it off."

"Why? It was so beautiful!"

I shrug. Harry's standing at the bottom of the staircase. His face is still.

"Are you coming upstairs?" I turn and run back to my room. I feel my foot slip for a second but I carry on, or at least I try to; Harry follows me. He's wearing his book bag as usual. I'm still covered in hair and so is my bedroom floor. Harry looks around my room as if he hasn't seen it a million times over the semester. He's wearing a jean jacket and foundation?

"Harry, are you wearing make-up?"

"It's none of your fucking business," he snaps his head down and immediately spills his bookbag's contents onto my bed.

I roll my eyes. "Whatever." I gather clothes from my drawers and turn back to him. "After my shower, we can start with tutoring."

"Well, that's really fucking professional."

"You're the one who arrived two damned hours early." I almost feel bad for snapping after I see the way his face contorts with surprise and hurt. It's like he didn't expect me to stand up for myself. I leave for the restroom and begin my shower. Cut strands of hair fell from my head and hit the shower floor. I run my hands through my shortened hair. It's the softest my hair has ever been. I feel my lips tug into a grin.

After my shower, I dress into a large navy blue T-Shirt and some baggy unisex gym shorts. I go downstairs and fix up some snacks for Harry and me. I make some bologna sandwiches. Harry likes mustard on his. I like ketchup on mine. I take the sandwiches up the stairs carefully as to not drop them. I open my bedroom door and Harry is reading a composition book. I drag my eyes over to my desk. My composition book is missing. Shit. Shit. Shit. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. No.

He looks at me and grins. He knows.

"Hey, Ethan, how was your shower?" He knows. Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck.

I slam the door. I feel my head shaking and my face is hot.

"Please. I'm begging you. Don't tell anyone. Especially not my family."

I feel him scanning me. He's calculating his next move. My vision is blurring and my guts are heavy.

"Let's see what happens," he closes my diary of a composition book and puts it in his bookbag. He then sits on his bookbag, he probably intends to anger me more. It's working.

"See what happens? You seriously can't be blackmailing me? That shit only happens in movies!" My insides are hot and I'm shaking. I've never been more scared and angry in my life. He's going to tell my family that I'm bisexual and that I'm trans. I can't let that happen. "What do I need to do?"

He rubs his hands together, "now we're talking. I need to pass my semester exam. You're still tutoring me, so if you tutor me well enough for me to pass then nobody will know your secrets. Even the one about Caitlyn Deans." I stare at him and he continues, "but," his index finger points to the ceiling as his eyebrows jump.

"If I fail the semester exams everyone will know that you're a bisexual transgender man." I jump at him and he flinches. I stop.

"What game are you playing at? Trying to make me guilty for being upset that you're an asshole?"

He doesn't say anything. He stands and starts packing his bookbag. It almost looks like he has tears in his eyes. "Fuck you."

"No, Fuck you." I point my middle finger at him as he leaves.