Mirror, Mirror
I couldn't do it. As hard as I tried I just couldn't summon up the courage to look at my reflection in the small bathroom mirror. I knew that if I did, I'd see something staring back at me that would have scared small children and lived under a bridge.
It shouldn't be so difficult, I argued with myself, you're the same woman you've always been. So a few things have changed. Big deal. It doesn't make you a different person. You're still Alex. You still popped out of your mother in a crying, screaming mess some thirty one years ago. What's the problem?
I scolded myself, pleaded with myself, got to the point where I practically begged myself. But my muscles would not obey. They were running on some automatic self-defence program; an inbuilt neurological block that had been hardwired into my mind, like electrified razor wire. No, don't let her look. The doctors said she looked good, but if you let her see then she's going to turn into a whimpering pool of tears on the floor.
Heaven knows how long I stayed like that. A minute? An hour? A day? Time seemed to fade away. There were things that had to be done. Things that required a glance at the gargoyle I knew would be staring back at me. I had to face my demon... but I could not do it.
Instead, I tried to busy myself with other things in the hope that I could bypass the lockdown, or at least catch it by surprise. Helen would be here soon and she wouldn't be impressed if she saw me still lounging around in a faded blue tracksuit with hair that looked as though I'd been dragged through a hedge backwards.
My left breast itched madly. Before I knew it I was fumbling around with the zip and trying to scratch it. Dr. Adamson had specifically told me not to because the scar would still be healing... but you know what it's like with itches, right? They drive you nuts until you nail the little critters. What I didn't realise was that my nails had grown longer than I thought and I yelped in pain when my fingertip scratched a little too hard, drawing blood.
"->-bleeped-<-!" I cursed under my breath. "Why the hell am I bothering? Why did I have the surgery? I should have left everything alone. Left myself to rot away." The familiar rush of emotion surged up from my soul and I felt the tears begin to build.
"No! NO!" I shouted at the empty apartment, balling my fists up and gritting my teeth. Where was something soft and plush to beat the crap out of when you needed it, huh? "Enough! Pull yourself together, woman!"
The anger seemed to work its fiery magic a little. I felt better. Not much, granted, but better. I stormed out of the bathroom with a flourish that would have landed me a part in a soap opera, and turned on the TV in the bedroom whilst I stomped about, pulling out every outfit I owned and laying them carefully on my bed for when Helen got here.
The place needed cleaning. It needed cleaning badly. The duvet on my bed had more lumps than a boxer's face and was starting to turn a very unpleasant shade of grey. Of course, I only knew it was my bed by the fact that I'd only got out of it half an hour earlier, after a fitful sleep that must've burned off a few thousand calories in tossing and turning alone. Any visitor would be thoroughly disgusted or run away screaming.
But medical costs aren't cheap, and the sacrifices I'd had to make just to get to this point would've made Jesus blush. Was it worth it? Eighty percent of the time I would have said yes. But this was one of the other twenty; one of the bitter, self-hatred times where I felt like it was all futile and pointless.
There was the pain for one thing. Physical I could bare, just, but the mental scars hurt like a sonofabitch and there was no painkiller I could take to get rid of it. Awful flashbacks; every little thing stored away in a mind akin to a demonic library, run by a sadistic librarian who delighted in showing me the most chilling tomes right when I was at my lowest.
Bitch. I hated her so much.
A knock at the door shook me out of my reverie. That was Helen, it had to be. She was the only person who really bothered with me now. She wanted me to go to a bar with her. Said it was "Time for me to get out more." Of course I argued vehemently with her but she was one of those people with a personality like a freight train that could simply power through any and all resistance.
Maybe I should get out more. Learn to be myself. God knows it would be hard, though. It was less than two months since the op and half the time I still felt like crap... although the other half I felt like the star attraction in a freak show, so I guess crap is better.
I let Helen in and she cast her usual disapproving eye over the state of my flat. I could tell by the number of tuts she came out with just how annoyed she was at any given time. This was a four tut day. Which was about average.
She did brighten up a bit when she saw I'd been proactive in getting all the outfits ready to pore over. That was something. But I chose not to tell her that the only reason I did it was to regain my sanity and not because I actually wanted to wear any of them. None of them made me feel like a woman. At this point, I wasn't sure anything could perform that miracle.
I went through the ritual of getting ready as though it were happening to someone else. Helen tried her best. One outfit after another was rejected out of hand. Low-cut was definitely out. No, that red dress would not look good, thank you very much. Was she kidding? Okay, the blouse might be slightly acceptable. Yeah, black trousers. No, I didn't want to look sexy. Why? Because that was about as likely as the Pope getting in the Lotus Position and levitating four feet in the air.
Then we had the Holy Ritual of the Wig. I knew my hair would grow long, she didn't have to keep telling me, but I hated all of them. In the end I settled for a mucky blonde colour, the closest to my own, but long enough that I might be able to feel at least a little bit feminine.
Makeup... I didn't bother with. I let her do it all. At this point I was tired of plastering over the cracks of my psyche with foundation and mascara. It worked for the first weeks, but when it came to a choice between leaving it off, or trying to put it on whilst looking at the spawn of Satan in the mirror, I didn't touch it again,
Nevertheless, with much cursing and theatrics from me, we were finally ready to go. Helen gave me a reassuring hug as we waited outside the flat for the taxi to turn up.
"It'll be okay, sweetie, you'll see." She said. "No one will even be able to tell."
"Yeah, and I'm the Queen of Sheba." I said bitterly. Even my voice sounded wrong. Horrible.
"Yes, your highness." Helen curtseyed. I had to smile. She was trying her best. It wasn't her fault I was being an insufferable oaf.
The taxi turned up and we clambered in. It was freezing. And I swear the driver looked at me in a really funny way. One of those "I know but I'm not going to say anything" looks. My nipples must have been like bullets at that point, and the scar was really starting to itch again. Maybe that was the funny look he gave me.
"Where to, ladies?" What was that tone of voice? Did he just sneer when he said 'ladies'? I could have sworn he did.
"Slug & Fiddle" Helen said. Checking her purse and getting out her compact.
The taxi set off and I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to get warm. It wasn't happening at all. Thankfully it was only a few minutes to get to the bar, where it would be nice and warm. Friendly, however, wasn't something I even considered.
Mercifully, it wasn't full. Probably because it was still early and all the hardcore drinkers didn't emerge from their semi-drunk stupors until around eleven. So I figured I was good for at least a couple of hours.
There was an old couple in the far corner, sipping twin glasses of something yellow and sparkling. A younger couple over by the TV making out, seemingly oblivious to the blaring music video behind them. A few assorted strangers who I neither knew nor cared about, and a tall brunette with a staff uniform on cleaning up glasses and junk from the various tables. I chose a spot in the darkest corner I could find and sat down heavily, looking around furtively.
Helen, however, didn't sit down. She put her arm on my shoulder and said "I need the ladies. Will you be okay, Alex?"
That set the butterflies loose in my stomach. It was her idea to come here; now she was just going to leave me to fend for myself? "Um..." Any pseudo-confidence I had suddenly drained away. "Should I come with you?"
She smiled warmly. "You'll be okay, sweetie, trust me." Her hand moved around the room in a sweeping motion. "See? No one's even looked up."
This was it. Crunch time. Do I act like a snivelling wretch for the rest of my life? Or try and be a woman?
It was a hard decision.
"Okay." I said with a forced smile. "You're right. But I'll wait until you get back so you can get the drinks, if you don't mind."
"Sure, I won't be long." She headed towards the brightly lit bathroom doorway, and that was it. I was on my own.
I'm not sure how long I sat there. Time seemed to vanish, replaced only by the entrances and exits of the patrons. As I was looking around nervously for perhaps the hundredth time, I noticed the tall brunette staring at me. She looked familiar. And I mean really familiar. I had the same feeling you get when you see someone in a movie and you know for sure you've seen them elsewhere; you try in abject failure to remember where, for the rest of the movie, to the point where it drives you to distraction. I was sure I'd seen her somewhere before, but couldn't think where.
"Need some help, hon?"
The bar was getting more and more crowded; a group of perfectly-groomed young guys had swaggered in, most likely on the pull. The ringleader of which – at least he looked to be the ringleader, you know the kind; he reeked of aftershave that I could smell all the way over here, completely overpowering everything else; perfectly pressed lilac shirt unbuttoned just one step too far, showing off a thick gold chain draped around his bulging neck that looked as though King Midas had touched an earthworm; faded blue jeans that clung to his legs as though he'd painted them on instead of worn them; brushed suede shoes that wouldn't stop fidgeting around...
Hmm... I digress, sorry. This guy, I assumed to be the ringleader of the Alpha Male Band Of Brothers, shot a look my way. A sadistic, twisted smile lit up a face which really should have stayed in the dark, in my opinion.
"Hon?"
I started. My focus shifted to the mystery woman, who was now standing to my right, about two feet away. A slight smile played on her lips. They were nice lips, I mused absently; dark red lipstick, full, shining and sparkling in the dim light.
"Do you need some help? You look as though you're running away from a serial killer or something." Her smile didn't reach her eyes. That struck me as strange, but I let it pass.
"Um..." I muttered, blushing suddenly. "S-sorry. My friend is here, somewhere. She went to the bathroom and hasn't come back yet." I began praying in my mind that Helen would hurry up with whatever she was doing and get her ass back here immediately. I should have gone with her. It would have been a bit weird, sure, but at least I would feel a hundred times safer than I did now.
"Girls' night out, huh?" Mystery Woman winked. She actually winked. I didn't know where to look. "Won't your boyfriends or husbands mind?" She scanned the room quickly, her shoulder length brown hair, meticulously straightened, falling over one shoulder as she looked behind her. Then, turning back to me, she asked playfully, "Or are they here already?"
"N-no. I'm n-not..." I was sure my cheeks could have helped land small aircraft at that point.
"Really?" She raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. Her eyes stared straight into mine, searching for something, I think. They were warm, light brown, and framed by a small strip of eye-liner. Her eyelashes were... hell, they were voluptuous is what they were. Lovely, like her mouth. I found myself unable to look away; mesmerised by her stare.
What on earth was wrong with me?
"H-have I met you somewhere before?" I was struggling to get my words out. This stranger was intoxicating. Her perfume danced up my nose and pirouetted around my mind. Beautiful did not even come close to describing how she looked.
She was still smiling. "Surely you'd remember if you had, right?" Her voice was low and breathy; soft, like velvet.
She was right, I probably would remember. I mean it would be hard to forget someone like her. Her staff T-shirt was stretched over her torso, her breasts straining against the fabric. The passing look I gave them lasted probably longer than it should. I knew there was no way I would be able to control my blushing now. She'd think I had a disease. Or someone had ignited a volcano up my back end and it was erupting all over my insides.
I bet she had gorgeous legs, too, most likely. I couldn't really tell since she was wearing jeans that masked their shape. But I bet she did. Women like that generally do. It's so unfair.
I noticed she was waiting for an answer. And I also noticed that I had to force the synaptic pathways in my brain to open and re-acquire the ability to talk. "Uh... y-yes, you're probably right. S-sorry."
I was about to say something else when a loud, nasal, male voice shouted something that made my blood run cold and shards of ice-cold hate pierce my soul.
"Oi! I didn't know we was 'aving a drag act tonight! Look at the state of you, mate. You look like the Elephant Man's sister! Who you tryin' to kid?"
It was the Alpha Male ringleader. He stood with his minions in a half-circle behind him, an evil grin distorting sharp, haggard features that looked as though they belonged to someone coughed up from the bowels of Hades. He had his hands cupped to his mouth, for extra volume, and his chest puffed out like a deranged peacock.
"Look at that wig! Where'd you get it? Looks like you nicked it from somethin' used to sweep floors." At that, he, and all his mates howled with laughter.
I was too stunned to move a muscle. It felt like I'd been hit with a sledgehammer right in the centre of my stomach. I should be used to it by now. A tiny part of my mind protested weakly that I was going to get that an awful lot, at least for a while, and I should just deal with it and move on. But the much larger, much more hateful, distraught part of my mind overwhelmed me with such shame and guilt that the tears fell before I even knew they were coming.
"I'll deal with this, hon." Mystery Woman said, her voice sounding like it came from a hundred miles away. "You just sit there." She was still smiling as she put a hand on my shoulder. I flinched, but said nothing.
"Oi! Are you listenin', mate?" Ringleader was off again. I couldn't take much more. It was so stupid of me to come here. I should have just stayed home like always; stayed away from civilisation and pulled the nasty duvet up over my head like the last hundred times.
The bar had gone deathly silent. All faces were staring either at me, or at my nemesis. The old couple in the corner had a look of such distaste, a look that said "Well, we certainly don't want her sort in our fine town."
I watched Mystery Woman approach Ringleader. She looked so confident, so unfazed by everything going on. I envied her more than anything. It must be so easy. Look at her; tall, graceful, feminine. Not like me. I did look like the Elephant Man's sister. All the operations in the world couldn't fix what was essentially wrong with me. I don't even know why I bothered.
She said something to him. I didn't catch what it was. He was about to say something back when a couple of the minions s->-bleeped-<-ed. That shut him up. He began looking around nervously, all bravado and machismo seeming to evaporate into thin air. I strained to hear what she said, but it was no good. Even reading her lips as they moved... I only managed to catch the words "ashamed", "girlfriend" and something that looked like "nose".
Ringleader went white. The minions s->-bleeped-<-ed louder, and there were even a couple of peels of laughter. I deeply wished I knew what she'd said to him. I could have used it myself.
He swore at her. I did hear that. A snarl contorted his face and he looked like he was about to raise his hand. I was expecting the worst but a couple of his mates grabbed him and prodded him forcefully towards the exit. I tried not to look as he, and they went by, but I did catch the venomous glance he gave me. I hated myself all over again.
"And don't come back!" Mystery Woman shouted after the trio. Turning to the rest of the minions she said, "Aren't you going with them? They'll get lonely all by themselves. And the orgy won't be nearly so much fun."
The rest of the minions fled out the bar as though their hair was on fire. I allowed myself a small smile. A very small one.
She caught my eye and smiled again. Then she walked back over and sat down next to me. "You okay?"
"Y-yeah..." I started, but the sudden rush of tears showed my lie for what it was. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come here."
She put one of her hands over mine, her long nails curling around under my fingers. Her skin was soft, warm, comforting even. "It's okay, hon, they won't bother you anymore. ->-bleeped-<-s like that wouldn't know how to treat a lady if the instructions were written in big, black letters on her chest."
"I... I..." My hands were trembling. She squeezed them with a fair bit more strength than I would have expected. "It must be easy for you." I said, my voice cracking, "You're gorgeous. You don't know what it's like to have this ->-bleeped-<- thrown at you all the time."
"No..." There was a strange look on her face. Her smile slipped a little.
"I can't help it." I sniffed. "It was an accident, a bloody awful accident. It's not my fault."
"What's your name?" The question caught me a little off guard. She was staring at me intently. The bar had pretty much gone back to normal; insignificant muttering and multiple conversations by people who seemed to have either already forgotten, or chosen to repress the little outburst that had gone on only minutes ago.
"What?"
"What's your name, hon? I can have those retards barred for what they said. It was totally out of line. You seem like the fragile type, which I can understand. If you don't want to tell me, that's fine..."
"Alex." I said meekly. "Alexandra Weston." She squeezed my hands again, and I have to admit that I felt a bit more comfortable. "I'm sorry for causing trouble for you."
"Miss Weston, huh?" Mystery Woman looked thoughtful. "It's okay, hon, I'm used to dealing with those kinds of morons. They roam around in packs, fouling the place with their idiocy. No sweat. We get all sorts in here." She winked again.
"What did you say to that guy?" I wondered what had happened to Helen, and looked over Mystery Woman's shoulder to see if I could see any trace of her. Nothing.
She grinned. "I told him I'd seen eunuchs with more balls than him, and that if the only way he could feel like a man was to act big in front of his mates, then the only girlfriend he was ever likely to get would be the type that he'd have to inflate."
In spite of how I was feeling, I started laughing.
"His buddies seemed to find that funny." She continued, "And once these 'King of the Hill' types lose the respect of their underlings, they lose their manhood. And their confidence. There are a lot of people like that round here, and you either learn to not let it bother you, grow a thick skin, or go insane."
"I guess so." That was easier said than done. But she was right. Those did seem to be the only choices. Either those, or move away. And I couldn't afford to do that, not yet. "Are you from around here?" I asked.
She nodded. "Yeah. I've only just come back, though. I left when I was young. I had to..." A pause, "I had to find myself."
"This place corrupts you." I said with a sigh. "Believe it or not, I used to be like that in school. Like that guy. I was no better. Call it a way to overcompensate for insecurity or something. Especially one kid... God, I was so homophobic back then."
Mystery Woman tilted her head, those lovely brown eyes studying me. I couldn't meet her gaze. I still felt ugly and infectious. I wondered why she was sitting here talking to me. What did I matter? I was nobody.
"I'm Danni." She said after a while, seemingly having found whatever she was looking for. "Does that name mean anything?"
"Um... should it?" That was a horrible thing to say, I know. And I felt bad for saying it.
"Which school did you go to?" Those brown eyes were still staring at me. I realised my own were looking at her cleavage. I couldn't help it.
"Saint Mary's." I said, trying to flush out the memories of that place from so far down in my brain. "Other side of town."
Danni nodded. "Yeah, I used to go there, too." She sighed, a deep exhalation that seemed to release something long held inside. "I left though, spent the last year educated at home. I had a lot of mental issues back then. Image problems, you might say."
I lifted my gaze and stared at her. This gorgeous woman? What image problems could she possibly have had?
She carried on, oblivious to my look of incredulity. "I remember you, though. You were popular in school. You were like that guy; always surrounded by a bunch of friends and walking about like you owned the place." Now she blushed, "I even had a crush on you at one point. A long time before I knew I was gay, but that just confused me even more. You look different now, though, Alex. I read about the car accident in the paper. I felt so sorry for you. But you're coming through it great."
The comment didn't register at first. "I'm sorry, I do feel like I know you," I said, getting that 'which movie have you seen them in' mindset again, "But I think, like you said, I would remember someone as beautiful as you."
She got up slowly, her eyes never leaving mine. "I have to go now, hon. I have a lot of work to do. Besides, I think that's your friend over there." She pointed to where Helen had half-emerged from the bathroom door, only her torso visible, pointing frantically at her phone and a look of profound apology on her face. Danni turned back to me, "But can you answer me one question?"
"Sure." I said, something feeling definitely not right.
"What did you used to say to that kid you teased back in school?"
I thought back... the playground, I suddenly remembered clearly... the little red-head crying in the corner. Three small girls... Alison, Kara and me, standing around him. Chanting...
"Mirror, mirror, on the wall..." I began softly, filled with shame.
Danni blinked, and a single tear snaked its way down her cheek.
"Who's the queerest one of all?" She finished, her voice a whisper, before walking confidently back to the bar.
