Sick of it.

Dark green curtains blew softly in the wind. Behind them stood burnt orange walls, paint peeling. The room range with dull static—an outline of a square bottle on an old wooden bedside table. A rustling noise came from dirty green and orange sheets, a sandy blond-haired boy poked to read the clock. The red numbers burned 3:00 AM into his retinas. Squeezing his eyes, he felt a sharp pain in his lower abdomen, "No." he moaned, pulling himself further into the covers' arms. The acute pain developed into a sensation of agony as if the two sides of his lower body were forcing themselves to touch. 

He coiled into a ball, holding his breath and letting it out in short bursts. Scanning around the room, trying to find anything to focus on to get his mind off the pain, the TV's static. He stared into the screen; it flourished like a hundred maggots. His head spun, another sharp kick in his gut. He crawled from the remains of his made bed; he tripped on his shoes, landing face-first into the grimy carpet. For a moment, he lay there, trying not to breathe in the dirt. He got the sensation of drowning from the way he had been hit in the nose. Lifting himself up to his feet, his abdomen's pain quince for a bit, then it returned full force. He doubled over, "Leave me alone!" He cried. His voice echoed around the small room. The window panes creaked softly in the wind.

Cursing under his breath, he walked to shut them- a sharp pain entered his foot, "Fuck!" he blurted out, falling again to the ground. He reached down to find the culprit, a white nametag attached haphazardly to green and orange polo. The name 'Jason' was sloppily written on it with a sharpie. He pulled it out of his foot, "I'm glad they let me go by that name here," thought Jason. He hobbled over to the window, slamming the old wood shut, and tied the string in between to keep it that way. The chilly night air blew on him, the pain his abdomen got worse.

"I need to shower." He said announced. 

The bare bulb flickered in the bathroom. Jason took off his shirt, the cold air whipped his exposed skin. He knelt in front of the grotty toilet and emptied his stomach's contents. The sweet taste of whiskey chuckled as it exited his mouth. Whipping his mouth, he vowed to never drink that much again. The TV stopped playing static and opened up with an early morning gospel preacher. The sound of music filled the small room, it eased the pain. He removed his pants and entered the mildewy shower. The water not sure if it should scold or freeze him. He stood in the artificial storm, dissociating from his body as the blood ran down his leg.

Grabbing the soap, he felt his breast come in contact with his bicep. standing there, arm outstretched, he clenched his eyes. "That's not me, it's just there. Don't worry." He felt his- that thing he wouldn't name-burn. One final punching sensation led him to double over, spilling a green acid into his feet. The substance bubbled as it mixed with the blood. "It could be worse," He thought, wiping his mouth, "I could be-" He stopped the thought is too terrible to bear at the moment. The water pounded against his reddened skin as tears flowed freely from his eyes. 

This would be the last time.

Over a year ago, they outlawed terminations. In truth, they just banned safe ones. Jason worked long enough in the Humbert Hotel to understand that there were many ways to remove such a thing from a body. Sometimes, you would find the room stained red; it was either a potential life or someone taking theirs. It seemed strange that no matter how many times he saw it, it never got more comfortable. He burped, the whiskey coming back. It was not normal for him to drink, but he found his only solace was alcohol as things progressed. Rubbing his tummy, he felt the small but of pudge forming across his abdomen. It certainly didn't bother him that it was there; it was always a dream to look like his father, a cheery blue-eyed man with a tight round belly. His hand traveled up, accidentally grazing his breasts cringing he turned his green eyes black mildew encrusted wall. A horrible thought of it somehow, the mold would move to the free puncture on his foot and overtake his body, that was enough to have him flee from the shower. 

This decision he immediately regretted it as it meant the reoccurrence of pain. He opened the medicine cabinet. The pills were bitter but promised at least a bit of pain relief. The oral contraceptive he took had been banned for three years now. Despite how feminine it made his appearance, it was nice not to deal with this pain. 

"Is it just this pain?" he thought. For years he had told himself if he would get better, he would be himself. He would stop at nothing to feel like the person he is inside. Fiver years later, he found himself here, in the same hotel room he promised that. He closed the cabinet and filled a disposable cup with water. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, "This isn't-" Jason focused on what he was doing, work would be in an hour, and episodes could last for days. Struggling to open the capsule, it flew from his has to land on a black bag that sat on the counter. Remembering he swiped it a month ago when a Dr. had stayed in the hotel. Something about the bag called to him. The bag was made of black leather and seemed to have a sliver handles zipper. Unzipping it, he saw the scalpel smile up to him in the soft yellow light. A broad smile spread across his face.

"I will stop at nothing."