“Hurry up, I’m ready to go.”

Why did I need to pee again? After all, I had nothing to be nervous about; I was just going to divulge a secret to my mother that could mean the end of all the things that I most enjoyed about last year: Cheerleading practice, Cailíní Canadh Ghleann Dhubh, dressing, being one of the girls. What could possibly go wrong?

The Volvo pulled out of the driveway; I waited until we were well on our way so my mother wouldn’t be tempted to turn back. Past Ballymore, now on the Ballyhowan Road.

“Mom, I have something to tell you.”

Every bump on the drive home lands in the same location. I park in the driveway and sit there for a moment with my hands on the wheel, the cramping still there.

The kitchen light is on when I come through the door. Emily is at the counter, laptop open, case files spread out, reading glasses on. She doesn't look up. I put my bag down quietly and go upstairs.

The bathroom. Stand under the fluorescent light for a moment.

I wake to the ache still there, low in the back, radiating forward. Emily's side of the bed is empty and cool - she's been getting up before me lately. I lie there for a moment with my hand on my lower abdomen before I've decided to be awake.

Then the intestines register - a liquid looseness, insistent, making its announcement before I'm ready for it. I get up. Bathroom. Now.

Then the routine. Sit, wipe, flush. Nothing unusual on the tissue. The dark boxer briefs feel slightly damper than normal when I pull them up, the baseline returning after the dry spell. I move on.

The locker room routine is practiced now. End stall, bag on the hook, change in under two minutes. Mark is already on the floor, because Mark is always already on the floor - changed in thirty seconds in the open bay, the way he always does, because Mark has never had a reason to think about changing in a locker room.

I find him at the dumbbell rack, mid-warm-up.

"You're late."

"Two minutes."

"Two minutes is late." He racks the weight. "Biceps first."

---

Shadowsblade a Whateley Tale: Written by Shadowsblade

Created for war and forged in pain, dealing with demons within and without.

I wake before the alarm. The room is grey. I lie there taking stock - the burn is still there, but noticeably less. The itch is mostly gone. But there's something in the boxer briefs again, the same thick dampness against the labia as when I woke in the night.

I get up carefully, not waking Emily.

I pull open the waistband and check the boxer briefs in the bathroom. A white discharge in the crotch - different from last night, no sour smell, something milder. I drop the underwear to the floor and turn on the shower.

Rainbow Cactus Company, Virginia Beach, VA, USA
Jessie belts out some of their new songs as Daisy kept the beat going and have it flow right into the next song in their lineup. Two figures sit in the back of the club listening to the band play and watching as each member danced and play solo parts during the songs. The manager of the club, stood nearby with a few drag queens working that night.

I wake to the same unfamiliar dampness, the boxers riding up. Emily's side of the bed is empty.

I ball the boxers in my fist and drop them in the hamper. Stand there a moment. Then go to the bathroom.

I flip the toilet seat up by reflex. Stand there looking at it. The medicine cabinet mirror gives me back my own face - same as always from the chin up - and below the waist the whole absurdity of what I'm about to attempt. I spread my feet, plant them shoulder-width apart, and try.

Outside the window the light is flat and grey, the kind of March morning that hasn't decided what it wants to do yet. I kick the sheets off. The air in the bedroom is cool but my thighs feel damp, sticky almost, the boxers bunching up between my legs like they're caught on something. I press my palms into the mattress and push myself up, legs swinging over the edge - except my balance is wrong. Not dizzy. Just off, like my center of gravity shifted an inch or two south while I was sleeping.