Bailey Was

This story contains sensitive and possibly triggering topics such as dysphoria, transphobia, self harm, and suicidal thoughts. Nothing is graphic, however please read with caution.

I sat down on the futon staring at the bunch of random little drawings. I had my sketch notebook in my lap, a pencil in my hand. References strewn about. Ideas swirling through my head: a couple surrounded by flowers, someone with all the face piercings in the world, someone giving you two peace signs and grinning wide.

But despite all these ideas, the things in front of me to do so, I couldn't seem to do anything. With a sigh, I set my pencil down. Nothing seemed appealing. Music droned on and on, seeming more like white noise than a soundtrack to my own movie. 

Drawing seemed like homework I couldn't figure out. Reading sounded like I was being made to read for an essay, and writing a song seemed like the essay. Going to tend to the garden even sounded like something I had to do.

And while, yes, that's technically true, it seemed, bad. 

Everything did.

I let out another sigh gathering the drawings and references, separating them. I made sure to use a finger to separate the two groups, while using my hand to help me get off the futon. I grunted, feeling my legs sore and numb from sitting criss cross for too long- 

"Shit!" The papers slipped from my hand, floating onto the ground. "Rrrah!" I smacked on the futon before gathering the drawings, angrily stuffing them into their folder. I didn't even bother to neatly put away the references inside their draw- I just shoved them in.

I grabbed the pencil and notebook, tossing them on my desk. I stared with angry eyes watching the pencil roll down and down the desk. It stopped mere inches from the edge. I let out a frustrated sigh. Why can't I do anything?

I stumbled out of bed, struggling with separating the blankets from my legs. I let out a small hiss as I nearly hit the floor. "Stupid blankets…." I mutter tossing the rest of the blankets onto the bed. I shook my head heading towards my dresser. I pulled out a drawer. I grabbed my bra, and six socks. I reached for one of my crop top before pausing, seeing my inner forearm. My face dropped.

I completely forgot about that.

Fuck. I let go of the crop top, grabbing a white long sleeved top and a fishnet top. I knew I couldn't wear a skirt with this outfit, as if I cut my arm, I surely cut my thigh. I grabbed my pink and black tripp pants. They were mostly black, but the stitches and outlining fabric for pockets and such were pink.

They were a nice soft pastel pink. I know colors being associated with gender is stupid, but that touch of feminity is wonderful. It's hopeful. One day, I'll be the girl I want to be.

One day.

I got dressed, making sure to look in the mirror, that nothing looked lumpy or weird. I clenched my jaw. Gods be damned it was sharp. I felt my teeth push against each other more and more as I tried not to cry. Come on, Brooke. You can do this. You.. You can do this. I stared at the mirror. My hair's long. I fluffed it, pulling some away from my ears, hiding my jaw. I looked at my arms. I pulled one of the sleeves up, reminding myself of how I shaved off the hair when I showered last night.

I quickly pulled the sleeve down feeling tears. I turned away from the mirror, grabbing my backpack. I took a deep breath, opening the door. The lights were off, meaning no one was up. I'm not sure if that was good or not. 

I shrugged it off, heading to the living room, making sure to turn off my bedroom lights. I glanced around the room, turning off a couple of the lamps we had, refilling the various water bowls for our cats. 

Pulling out my phone from my backpack, I sat down on at one of the stools at our island. I set my backpack down, turning on my phone. I felt my lip twitch, seeing my chest. It's still so freaking flat. I clenched my jaw, scrolling through Instagram as I waited for the it to be time to catch the bus. 

Dysphoria kept me company.

I avoided the gaze of my peers, remembering it was Friday, went to homeroom. I chanted my name in my head: Brooke, over and over as I climbed up the stairs. 

"Hey! Brooke!" A voice hollered. I stumbled to a stop. I blinked a few times before looking up, behind me, and finally, down in the commons. I scanned the crowd, confused. Until I saw them. I felt my breath leave my chest. 

'Bailey.' I mouthed. I turned around, weaving through the few people coming up the stairs. "Bailey." I say with a grin. I couldn't help but cringe hearing my voice, but I shoved that down.

"Hey Brooke." They grin back. "How've you been?" Bailey asks swingin' an arm around my waist. I smiled. Though felt, dirty.

"I'm alright, how about you? I thought you weren't coming back til the summer. Any cool sights?" 

"Ah that's good-" I felt my chest tighten. It hasn't been good. "I've been pretty darn good! We saw seals, otters and heck we even saw a whale!" They beamed. 

"A whale?" I asked surprised, the two of us walking to our little spot, a place outside beneath the trees.

"Well yeah silly. We were sailing, you know." I smiled sheepishly. 

"Yeah.. That's true." The voice dysphoria hit me in the stomach again.

The two of us sat down, setting our bags at our feet. "So.. How are you really doing?" Bailey asks. I pause, feeling them look at me. "You know I'm here for you, right?" I bit my tongue, sitting straight. "Brookie, my cookie~" They say leaning in. I rolled my eyes with a tiny smile, before looking at them. Their face bathed in concern. I felt a pang in my chest. "What's wrong?" 

I saw myself cutting in the shower last night, revising the note. The goodbye. "Brooke- what's wrong?" They ask, touching my face. Only then did I realize I was crying.

I felt myself fold inwards. I let it out. "Marlie broke up with me.."

"That bitch-"

"Demi-neogirls are nothing."

"They are something, you are something Brooke."

"My teachers keep forgetting and calling me Connor."

"Correct them, do you want me to come with you?-"

"I can't draw."

"Yes you can!"

"I don't have motivation."

"Brooke-"

"I keep failing Algebra."

"Okay.. I can help.."

"My mom says I'm too sensitive."

"Don't listen to her! She's a jerk-"

"Too in your face."

"Oh Christ. Brooke. You're just fine-"

"I can't do anything right- pleasing people or trying to die!" 

I felt tears rushing down. My fingers tugging tight through my hair.

"Br- Brooke-.." Bailey said, broke. I felt my chest tighten. I continued staring at the concrete edge we were sitting on. Why did I say that? I'm so stupid, why did-

I paused, feeling their arms around me. Their grip got tighter, and tighter. My eyes widened. I felt more tears. Their face on my shoulder. I felt their tears too. 

"You could've sent me a letter.. You know. I would've seen it." Bailey whispered. I buried my head into their shoulder. "You are something, Brooke. You're a being, here in the world. You're that stranger who smiles, you're that one who offers assistance to that one struggling kid in Algebra." I felt my eyes water more and more. 

Bailey lifted their head. "And.." They lifted my head, making me look at them. I clenched my jaw. I. Can't. Cry. "You're my friend." They whisper, grabbing my wrists. 

"I- I.. I.."

"Shshshsh.. It's okay." Bailey whispered. "It's okay." They said, pulling me into a hug. "It's okay.."

"Thank you.."