A Word for my Readers
Yep, we've been here before, again and again, but I'm typing this at 9 in the morning, I've ingested more weed than any human should be allowed to, and the room is spinning so Imma make this quick. Dear Rylee was/is a good story but one of the things I emphasized is that I swayed quite a bit from the truth in it. So I got to thinking...what if I didn't? What if I told the honest to goodness story of what happened? My best friend asked me to provide a raw, unsanitized account of what happened to me back in 2004, and I was hesitant, as I hadn't even had lunch yet. But, a true story is still a good story, so let's explore the truth of Dear Rylee, the events that surrounded it, and the type of people we were.
The biggest change you will notice is the perspective - I've chosen to go with first person, present tense as I feel, personally, that it does a better job of conveying emotion. The second change is the lack of Ariel. Ariel was always a fictional character that I used to balance the tone but since then, I've become far more skilled as a writer, and I can really overcome that issue. Okay, let's do it!
“Put it down, and take a step back.”
Her words cut through me like a knife; my hands are gripping the worn canvas straps of a road-weary green knapsack, knuckles white and mouth agape as my eyes go wide with fear. I don’t know her name – I know she owns this house and I know she’s caught me here dead to rights, evidenced by the silver revolver she’s leveled at me. She repeats her command and this time I comply, allowing my fingers to release the strap, and the bag falls to the floor with a light thud. Her eyes flick down to it briefly before returning to me and I cower beneath her gaze. She’s older than me for sure, maybe twenty-six or twenty-seven, and her red hair is resplendent in the evening half-light; it shimmers beneath the rays of dying sunlight as her green eyes evaluate me. Finally, she orders me to sit on the couch, which I do, dropping to the middle cushion and immediately scurrying back, as far away from her as I can until I’m practically cowering in the far corner, legs against my chest, arms wrapped around my legs. Satisfied that I’m not going anywhere, she turns her attention to the bag; I watch her hook the strap with her foot and slide it across the floor to herself. In a moment she’s dumping the contents onto the floor and I can see her expression growing increasingly incredulous as the floor fills with odds and ends that tell a pretty damning story.
“You raided my pantry,” She says – her tone of voice indicates that she does not require a response. “You were hungry?”
It’s all I can do to manage a response and the response is a quick nod that sees me returning to my original position, head pressed against my knees, the woman barely visible from my vantage point as she continues to rifle through my belongings. The next time I look up, she’s holding a can of Campbell’s chicken noodle soup. She looks in my direction and gives the can a shake.
“What were you going to open this with?” she asks me. I can’t tell if it’s sarcasm or not. I shrug. “You don’t have a can opener.” She sorts through the rest of the belongings, finding a dead cell phone, a cracked flashlight, and other odds and ends that I’ve been carrying around with me. Finally, I watch her turn her attention from the bag and back to me; I’m still cowering at the far end of the couch, my legs are tucked and I’m peering at her over my knees, as if they’re a low wall that will protect me from her wrath.
She’s going to kill me, or call the police, or both. I can’t decide which is worse and my mind is racing at both thoughts.
“If I put this down,” she jerks her head toward the revolver. “Do you promise not to run away?”
I nod.
“I need you to say it out loud, girl,” the woman snaps. “Come on, promise me right now that you’re not going to try anything.”
“I promise,” my voice is raspy, like someone who's spent the last decade smoking cigarettes, a voice that matches the soreness of my throat. It takes her a second more to set the gun down on the surface of the glass coffee table and let go so she can use both hands to repack my bag, minus the food I’d stolen from her kitchen – those she stacks on the coffee table before returning her attention to me.
“Put your legs down,” she orders. “I want to see who I’m talking to.”
My head is still tucked into my knees and I’m peering at her like a child watching their parents from behind a doorway. She’s not holding the gun anymore, but I still feel the instinct to do as she says, which I do. Slowly, painfully, I lower my legs and lay them out in front of me; I keep my hands in my lap upon receiving an indication from her that I should do so, and then she begins to speak to me rather than at me.
“I’m Tori,” she tells me her name and I look at her in surprise. “What’s your name?”
“Rylee,” I say quickly, hoping to get this interaction over with as quickly as possible. Sure she’ll ask me a few questions, she’ll tell me to never come back, and then I’ll be off to…wherever. It’s too bad she took the food; I have no idea how I’m eating tonight.
“Okay, Rylee,” she says my name aloud as if she’s chewing over it in her mind. “You seem to be a woman of few words so let me fill in some blanks here. Alright? Okay, you’re using my kitchen as a grocery store and those are my clothes you’re wearing…they don’t fit, by the way. So with those two things in mind…I’d say you’re on the run. What is it? Police? Drug dealers? Ex boyfriend?”
I shrug. “Just…I just don’t have anywhere to go,” I confess. “I mean, after I leave here I’ll probably find someplace to sleep.”
“Right,” she dismisses my statement with a wave of her hand and steps around the coffee table, towering over me with her arms folded. “Well, Rylee, it goes without saying that you shouldn’t break into houses, and it goes double when you look like…well…you.”
I frown, looking down at myself, then back up to her, startled to see that she’s wearing a twisted grin.
“You’re tiny,” She tells me. “kind of lanky, actually. There are people out there who would eat you for breakfast. So, where did you come from?”
“Just…around,” I mutter; she raises an eyebrow. “I just…kind of move around, from place to place. I’ll be gone as soon as you-”
“Oh you’re not leaving,” she says, and I feel my heart sink. “I could call the police. I mean, that’s what you’re supposed to do when someone breaks into your house, but then they’re either going to turn you loose or put you in a cell and you’ll just disappear into the system. My mom’s a social worker so I know all about it. If I let you go, then you’ll break into someone else’s house. Might end up dead next time, which is bad, unless that’s what you’re going for. So, Rylee, this is what we’re going to do. I’m going to make us dinner, you’re helping, and then we’ll figure out what to do.”
My eyes widen at her statement, what did she mean ‘what to do’? This had all started this morning; I’d seen her leave for work and entered her house through a bathroom window. I guess I’d lost track of time between showering, raiding her closet, and then filling my backpack with odds and ends from her pantry. I’d felt clean for the first time in weeks, and if she hadn’t come home unexpectedly, or if I’d paid attention to the time, then I’d be on my way right now, off to the next place, wherever the hell that was.
I know what she sees when she looks at me; a girl, maybe nineteen, definitely not twenty to her. Sunken eyes, bruised face, brown shoulder-length hair, and thin features that stem from months of malnutrition. It’s a hot mess sitting before her, on her couch, stuffed into her ill-fitting clothes, quivering and shaking. She’s crouching down in front of me now, staring into my eyes; I look away as quickly as I’m able and now she’s reaching for my face. I know what she’s doing; her soft fingertips touch the surface of the black and blue skin – a bruise that runs from the corner of my right eye to the bone of my cheek; the eye itself has a nearly matching bruise. Her hands move down to my arms which are in a similar condition and finally, she looks at my feet.
“You stole my clothes but not my shoes?” She asks, amused. “Of all things Rylee you’d think- wait, did you shower with your shoes on? They’re damp.”
“Um…” I bite my lower lip, trying to come up with a reasonable response to her question but it turns out to be a moot point as she looks up at me, raising an eyebrow.
“Why wouldn’t you take your shoes off to shower?” she asks me. “What’s going on with your feet?”
“C…can I go?” I ask her. No, more like beg her. “Please? I promise not to come back.”
“Let’s get these shoes off,” She says instead. I cringe and then brace myself, pulling my feet up against my body and shaking my head. “Rylee, no,” she says. “Put your legs down, let’s take your shoes off.”
“Mmm!” I murmur, shaking my head and retreating further into the couch. Tori looks at me softly and her expression hardens with resolve as she lays a hand on my knee; I recoil at her touch but there’s nowhere to go – I’m pressed as hard as I can be against the couch, my only hope now is if I can somehow travel through solid objects and to be honest, I think I’m close. Before I can protest, she’s got ahold of my leg and the laces on my left shoe are untied; there’s nothing to do now but sit still and let her finish. As she unties the show, I feel the pressure loosen, and I suck air through gritted teeth; she notices and gives me a quizzical look that quickly shifts to an expression of concern.
“Rylee?” she inquires. I look away.
As she loosens the laces and carefully pulls up the tongue of my sneakers, I can’t help but whimper; there’s a pain now, and a throbbing that I’d mostly been able to mute with bandages and whatever antibiotic creams I could get my hands on. There’s a big of pressure, and then another wave of pain as she pulls the sneaker off to reveal a dirty, putrid sock.
“What is happening here?” I hear her say to no one in particular as tears begin to roll down my cheeks. She peels the sock off, carefully, and then gasps. “Rylee! What the hell?!”
Without even looking, I know what she sees. My foot is wrapped in gauze, or at least as much gauze as I could find, slathered with antibiotic cream, and around that, I’ve wrapped a few layers of cling wrap around the bandages, just to keep them dry and they’d stayed that way for the last few days. I can hear her gasping as she touches the cling wrap, occasionally looking up at me, wide eyed.
“Rylee,” she says intently. “I’m going to take this off, okay? It’s probably going to hurt but I really need to see what you’ve got going on down here.”
I feel like my input is not required, so I say nothing. Instead, I close my eyes and grit my teeth as she begins to peel the layers of saran wrap free. The pain is as expected and I begin to breathe in short, heavy gasps. She stops a few times, checking to see if I’m okay, and then resumes until she’s cleared the cling wrap from my foot, and then lets out a low whistle as she peels away the bandages.
“This…is disgusting,” she says incredulously. “Rylee…what…what happened?”
“I just walk a lot,” I manage to say through the pain; I can feel a pulse in my foot, and I nearly scream as she peels the gauze away from the sores. But, she’s not done yet; now she’s clearing off the other bandages and setting them aside with a look of disgust on her face. She’s dropping them one by one into my right shoe which sits on the floor beside her now, and it seems to take an eternity. Finally, my foot is exposed to the open air and she takes a deep breath while I tremble on the couch. Almost immediately she starts on the other shoe, and a few minutes later, both the shoe, the cling wrap, and the bandages are on the floor, the wound dressing packed into the right shoe. Tori rolls back on her haunches, her brow furrowed and her eyes filling with concern as she takes in the sight of my cut and blistered feet. I feel embarrassed, like she’s seen something she shouldn’t, but there are worse things for her to be seeing than my shitty bandaging job. She looks at me, then tells me not to move as she makes a beeline for the kitchen. I almost laugh – almost, because with my feet unwrapped there’s no way I’m getting off this couch unless I can somehow drag myself across the room. Instead, I sit there with my feet out, careful not to move, careful not to set them down; I don’t want to touch the floor, I don’t want anything touching them. I wince through the pain which comes in waves now; it’s a stinging sensation and I can feel a faint pulse coming from my sole. I know what it looks like down there, the bruises, the open sores, the cuts; I’ve spent time cleaning it, but there’s only so much I can do and I’m sure it’s still pretty dirty.
Tori gives me a stern look just before she goes into the kitchen and mouths ‘Don’t move’ just before she reaches for the cordless phone on the kitchen counter. She’s talking to someone; I crane to listen, but I don’t think she’s talking to the police, or 911, she’s talking about me, but to a friend maybe? A wave of nausea hits me and I suddenly feel profoundly light headed; I collapse onto my side and grip the couch cushion as I wait for it to pass – but it doesn’t. I feel like I’m going to throw up, and there’s no way I’m going to make it to the bathroom. Fortunately, it passes, and I lay there on my side, basically immobile as Tori talks hurriedly on the phone. I hear the click of the receiver and I instinctively force myself into an upright position.
“What are you doing?” Tori asks me. “Lay down if you’re feeling sick.”
“I’m okay,” I try unsuccessfully to reassure her. She folds her arms.
“We have different definitions,” she says icily. “I’m going to make you something to drink, do you want tea or cocoa?”
“What?” I ask her incredulously, nearly falling over again.
“Tea,” she says slowly. “Or cocoa?”
I hate tea with a burning passion, so I simply tell her cocoa, and then, breathlessly, I allow myself to fall sideways, back onto the couch, grabbing a loose throw pillow and pressing it to my chest as she rattles around the kitchen. It’s not long before she returns with a white ceramic ‘Snoopy’ mug, and she’s crouching in front of me again.
“Can you sit up?” she asks me. Without hesitation, I cast the pillow aside and push myself up, returning to the sitting position, my feet throbbing and aching as I do so. She sees the wince and pats me on the shoulder before handing me the mug. “I have a friend coming over in the morning. I told her about your feet, she said it doesn’t sound like they’re infected but…god Rylee, what happened? Is that all from walking?”
“Y…yeah,” I admit; the hand that holds the mug begins to shake. “I’m sorry.”
“W…what are you apologizing for?” she frowns. “Okay whatever, I’m going to bring you some food, and then you’re going straight to bed, young lady.”
My eyes widen. “Bed? What…do you mean? I need to-”
“You need to get some rest,” she snaps. “You need to let those feet heal. You left that gauze on for days and your feet weren’t even clean when you put it on. I don’t know how they’re not infected but you can’t be walking around like this. You’ll sleep in my bed tonight and tomorrow we’ll figure things out.”
“I…I don’t want to sleep here,” I say to an increasingly assertive Tori. The panic in my chest is rising and I find eyes darting around the living room. I glance at the sliding glass door that leads to the backyard, and then I weigh my chances of getting to the front door before she can catch me. “I…I need to leave…”
“Rylee,” she reaches out, her fingertips brushing my right arm for less than half a second before I screech and push myself back; the cocoa sloshes in the cup, nearly spilling as I stare at her, wide-eyed. She frowns. “Do you not like being touched?”
I shake my head and try to draw my legs in, only to whimper again as my feet come in contact with the rough fabric of the couch.
“Okay Rylee,” she concedes. Drink your cocoa, I’m going to heat you up a TV dinner, BUT, I have to touch you to get you into bed, understand?”
“No,” I shake my head fruitlessly, my voice little more than a whine. “Please just let me go.”
“Okay Rylee,” she says, standing up and heading back to the kitchen. “Where would you go, exactly? Do you have friends or family around here? Where are you going to sleep? Do you have money for a motel? How are you going to get anywhere with your feet like that?”
“Tori I…please just-”
“Drink your cocoa,” she snaps. “Drink it and enjoy it. You look like you’ve been through enough shit for a lifetime. She steps back into the kitchen, and I make a futile attempt to stand, but she calls out a warning from the kitchen and I sit back, sipping the cocoa.
I utterly hate this shit; even if I could stand, I’m not sure if I’d have the will to leave the house. Tori told me to sit still, and my history with disobeying authority figures is…flimsy at best. Is Tori an authority figure already? I’ve been here, in her presence for maybe less than two hours and I’m already feeling unable to argue. She’s immovable, and I…well…I’m me. My gut tells me she’s right – I shouldn’t be walking, not with my feet like this, but my brain is telling me to run. My flight or fight instinct is kicking in and I have no way to act on it. Overpower Tori? Not likely. Run from her? Escape from her? I would probably make it halfway to the door before she snatched me up.
My thoughts of escape are squelched as Tori delivers me a TV dinner, I think it’s a ‘Hungry Man’ fried chicken, which is good because, well, who doesn’t like fried chicken. As the scent of the chicken hits me, I realize just how hungry I am, and I begin shoving the food into my mouth. Within a matter of minutes, it’s gone, and Tori is taking the disposable platter, and telling me to finish my cocoa. I do, and as she takes the cup away, I’m screaming internally as this starts to become ‘normal’. Normal is in her telling me what to do, and me complying, and that’s bad. I don’t even know this woman! Oh god, it’s happening again isn’t it?
“Tori,” I try one more time, my voice small. “Please I…I can’t stay here.”
She doesn’t answer; she’s busy washing the mug in the sink, so I try again, calling out her name and I can feel the tears rushing down my cheeks. I have to get out, I have to. I call out to her again, this time my voice inundated with sobs as I choke on my own words. I see her glance up from the sink, peering at me through the gap between the countertop and the cabinet, and then she wordlessly returns to doing the dishes. I shift around on the couch, she tells me to stay still, and so I do. It’s not long before she’s coming back around, this time with a glass of water and two pills. I shake my head.
“I’m not taking that,” I tell her, still crying. “You can’t…you can’t make me take that.”
“It’ll help you relax,” she tells me. “and yes, you’re taking it. The other one is for pain. I’ll get your feet bandaged up and we’ll keep an eye out for infection. Now open your god damn mouth and take the pills.”
“I can’t,” I whine to her. “I need to go, I need-” before I can say anything else, she grabs my nose with one hand and shoves the pills into my open mouth with the other. Clamping my mouth shut, she waits until I involuntarily swallow, and then give her a look that’s half anger and half fear as she holds the water glass out to me. I snatch it from her and take a swallow of water before I can choke on the pills and then I throw myself onto the couch, rolling toward the cushions and burying my face in the material. I feel her hand on my arm and I scream, loudly into the fabric.
“Rylee,” Tori says. “I’m not going to indulge this. In about twenty minutes that pill is going to kick in and I’m going to bandage your feet. I’m going to suggest that you lay still. Do not turn me into the bad guy here. You’re the one who broke in, now deal with the consequences.”
I struggle a bit more, turning away from the cushions and making a concentrated effort to push myself off the couch but the pill is kicking in, both the pain pill and the…other thing she gave me. It doesn’t exactly knock me out but I feel somehow lighter, airy, like my brain is there but my body is sluggish and I don’t seem to have a care in the world. Except I do. Except I know I should, but my mind is calm, serene, and I’m laying here on the couch limp. Tori brings a first aid kit and bandages my feet, sans the saran wrap, and inspects her handiwork. While most of my concerns seem to be locked away, or compartmentalized, there is one thing I’m really worried about. Tori has me dead to rights, if she takes off my pants she’s going to see…no, I can’t let that happen. But she probably won’t let me sleep in my pants, right? Fuck, this is going to happen, isn’t it?
“Are you feeling any better?” she asks me softly, and I nod. “Okay, let’s get you back to the bed. We’ll get you changed into something more comfortable.”
“I can change myself,” I murmur through the fog that’s manifesting around my brain. “Please let me do that.”
“Okay, Rylee,” She tells me. “You can change in the bathroom.”
The trip down the hallway stings, but it’s manageable. Tori stands in front of me, my hands locked in hers to keep me from falling in and direction, and then we’re back in her bedroom. Of course I’ve seen it before – I came back here earlier to swipe these clothes, but I never expected to be back here. I should be on the road by now, making a beeline for a train car or an abandoned building to spend the night. Instead, this…Tori person is walking me into her bedroom, and I allow her to hand me a nightgown. It’s a silky one with sleeves that’ll cover most of me, and that’s going to have to do.
As soon as she lets me into the bathroom, I close the door behind me and walk groggily over to the mirror. I check my face again and again, yep, still feminine as fuck, she probably can’t tell. No, of course she can’t tell! If she could tell she would have called the police or actually shot me, no one wants a tranny in their house! Still, I’m here, I’m not leaving anytime soon, so what the fuck do I do? I pull the jeans and top off, dropping them onto the floor and then I inspect my gaff. Before I put it on, I’d tucked, and it looks like it’s still in place. Okay that’s good, if I’m sleeping in her bed the last thing I want to do is poke her with my dick. She is sleeping with me, right? Probably – after all, she doesn’t want me to leave for god knows what reason. I pull the nightgown on and its surprisingly soft – kind of feels like I’m not wearing anything. Then, after a quick glance at the door, I remove my gaff and sit down on the toilet. After I pee, I repack it and take a deep breath before walking back out into the bedroom where Tori is peeling back the blankets on the bed. Before I can protest, she walks over and guides me to the bed, pushing me to the far side where I settle quickly into the blankets and hold a loose stuffed dog to my chest.
The pills are really taking effect now; my body feels heavy, it’s getting harder to think, and most importantly, it’s hard to process any emotion. I’m exactly where she wants me, and I’m not getting out.
Where am I? Hello? It’s…dark.
-Calm down
How?!
-Slow down, think, don’t react. Where were you last?
Where was I last? My eyelids open a crack and the room is bathed in darkness; I’m in a bed, I think there’s someone here with me, and it’s warm, but…but…
The panic starts to rise within me; I don’t know where I am, but I have to get out. I have to get out. Have to get out. Have to get out. Have to. Have…ha-
“Rylee!” A voice pierces the darkness and I can feel hands pressing on my shoulders, holding me still even as I clammer up the bed and press myself against the low headboard. Fingers dig into my arms, the voice continues. “Calm down Rylee, it’s okay! Rylee, you’re safe!”
“S-safe?” I manage to repeat the words, barely believing it, but somehow able to calm down a little. I feel myself relax and the hands release their grip. I hear the thud of footsteps against the floor, and then a ‘click’. Light floods the room and I immediately cover my eyes, curling up on the bed, knees to my chest and hands over my eyes. It’s coming back now, the woman…Tori, right? Yes, Tori. Tori. To-ri. She’s here, sitting on the bed, her face staring intently into mine even as I hide it from her. I feel her fingers touch my shoulder and I instinctively pull away, a shriek escaping my lips as I retreat further up the bed. My head is pressed against the headboard now and my body is compressed as much as it can be. Tori. Yes, now I’m remembering. I broke into her house and she…kept me. My mind replays the events of the day, from the time I crawled through the bathroom window, to me showering, finding a set of clothes in the bedroom. It felt good to shed my filthy, sweaty clothes, and then her.
“Yes Rylee,” she says softly. “You’re safe here, no one’s going to hurt you.”
Safe. What does that mean? I can’t think, my brain is fogging up, my limbs are heavy, I feel like I’m being pressed against the bed, like one of those spinning carnival rides that keeps you plastered to the wall.
“Who…who are you?” I ask weakly, my voice is mostly absorbed by my knees and I wonder if she can even hear me.
-You know who she is.
Tori
-Yes.
“Rylee,” she says my name again. Why does she know my name? “My name is Tori, you broke into my house, and you’re going to be staying here for a while. You’re hurt and you have nowhere to go. Do you remember?”
“No,” I lie, squeezing my eyes shut and rubbing them with my hands. I allow my eyelids to open a crack and I roll my vision to the right to see her hovering over me. Her fingertips brush my forearm and I let out an involuntary sob, jerking away and banging against the headboard. She withdraws her hand.
“Here’s the thermometer," A new voice says. I strain to see, but all I can make out is a faint shape near the bedroom door. Tori reaches her hand out and grabs something, slides it into my mouth. I whimper, and clutch the blanket, which is now a tangled mess wrapped about my legs and the lower half of my torso.
“Temperature’s fine,” Tori says. “I think it’s all trauma.”
“Let’s see the feet,” says the interloper.
“When I found her she had them wrapped up in saran wrap,” Tori explains to the person. “Bandages underneath. I cleaned them the best I could.”
“Is she still asleep?”
“Drugged, actually,” Tori’s voice feels distant again and I can feel myself spiraling in the grip of whatever drug she’s given me.
They continue talking; the drug isn’t letting up and I feel like I’m adrift, their voices only reaching me by chance, and only as faint, shattered echoes. They seem so far away. The room seems so far away. I can feel the bandages coming off, I can feel the sharp pain, but I’m having trouble reacting with anything other than tears.
“Do you want me to straighten her legs out?” Tori asks the person.
“No, fine as is,” The voice says. It’s a woman, that much I can tell, and that realization sets my mind a little more at ease. “Okay, not seeing any infection but…can you keep her off of these tomorrow? A day of no activity would work wonders.”
I feel a tissue dabbing at my face, clearing away freshly fallen tears and then snot. It’s the last thing I feel in the waking world; the drug takes hold again, sending me plummeting back into the sea of my own mind.
“You can’t keep her,” The other woman’s voice drifts across the sea, fragmented and distorted. Were they talking about me? “You can’t just keep people, Tori.”
“She needs help.”
“Take her to a hospital.”
“Please, Fi. Help me with this, I’m begging you. I need this.”
“You’re biting off more than you can chew.”
“Fi…come on…”
“I am trying to be reasonable with you, Tori,” The other girl. Fi? Her name was Fi? “But what if-”
It’s over now, my brain shuts down, my ears stop listening, and darkness envelops me as dreams begin to form at the edge of consciousness. I remember what happened, I remember her. I remember the gun, and Tori. Tori. I need to get away from her. I need-
My eyes fly open. Memories from last night flood into my consciousness as my hand flies to my face to shield my eyes from the morning sun. Tori’s bedroom has a window, and she hasn’t bothered to close the drapes.
Tori. Tori. Who the fuck is Tori and why is she so interested in keeping me here? There are only a few things I know, the first is that she won’t let me leave, the second is that she thinks I’m a cis girl, and the third…is that I need to get out of here before she finds out the truth. My eyes dart around the room, from a squat bookshelf near the door, to the open closet filled with dresses, tops, skirts, and a low dresser, back to the window. I can probably get out that way, jump into the backyard and make a run for it. Shit, where are my actual clothes? I sit up quickly, gasping as I still feel a bit drowsy from whatever the fuck she gave me, and I somehow manage to slip from the mattress, thudding against the floor. It doesn’t hurt, not a lot, but I grunt, and it’s enough to alert someone in the living room.
“Rylee!” I hear someone call. It’s not Tori; the voice is different. I find out soon enough when a blonde girl, a bit younger than Tori pokes her head through the open door in time to see me pulling myself off the floor, contemplating my next move. She’s thin, like Tori, but kind of muscular. Soft features, long blonde hair tied up into a ponytail that reaches down to her waist. She says, “Come on, Rylee, Tori went out to get us breakfast. It’s time for you to be up anyway.”
“Wh…who are you?” I ask her breathlessly as I try to regain my feet. She’s in front of me almost immediately, interlocking my arm with hers; I look mournfully at the window I’d hoped to escape though, but settle for letting her lead me to the dining room.
“You can call me Fiona,” she tells me. “My friends call me Fi. You’re not my friend, so don’t get any ideas about that, got it?”
“Okay,” I tell her in a scratchy voice. “I was thinking…actually that I should leave, I have to get to-”
I’m interrupted by what I could almost describe as hysterical laughter from Fiona as she pulls me toward the kitchen table. “You’re like a dog with a bone,” she snorts. “No, you can’t leave. Sit down at the table.”
Screw it. It’s now or never. As soon as she loosens her grip to let me sit down, I turn and bolt. It’s harder than I thought it would be; first I manage to twist out of her grip, and second, the first time I take a step, the pain is excruciating and it almost stops me. And yet, I push through it; I run past her and bolt for the front door. I don’t make it.
Two things happen, the first being that the pain catches up with me; my feet feel like they’re on fire and shortly after I take my first steps toward freedom, I stumble, reaching out to the counter for support. The second thing is Fiona grabbing me. She snatches my forearm and pulls me back toward the living room, leaving me utterly shocked at how strong she is and how weak I must be.
“You’re embarrassing yourself,” Fiona tells me, seemingly unbothered by my ‘escape attempt’. “Come on, sit at the table.”
Next thing I know I’m at the dining room table, situated in a chair and leaning against the flat, glass surface. I can see my feet through the table, they’re bandaged up again, but this time the outer bandage is some kind of a rubber strip that holds the rest of the gauze in place; I can see my toes sticking out the end. I wiggle them and wince as the pain returns in full force.
“Alright let’s see,” Fiona takes a seat at the side of the table nearest me and sets two objects in front of her. My soul leaves my body as I look at a nearly-empty pill bottle and my wallet, which I’d kept inside a hidden pocket in the knapsack. She’d found it, somehow. I watch in horror as she opens the wallet and takes a look at my driver’s license tucked behind that little plastic window just inside. I know what she’s looking at and I feel sick to my stomach – my driver’s license with my birth name, my real gender, and probably my blood type or something. She chews her lower lip, looking from the license, to me, and then back. “You know this is expired, right?”
That’s what she has to say about it? My look of astonishment makes her smirk. She closes the wallet and sets it on the table next to her, picking up the pill bottle and giving it a shake. I hear a single pill rattling around inside, and once it stops she holds it beside her head, angled slightly, and watches me intently for a reaction.
“Premarin, huh?” she asks me. I nod slowly. “Right. I’m in nursing school, so I’ve seen transexuals before, but you…yeah I don’t think I would have known if I hadn’t found this stuff. Ryan, huh? You don’t look like a Ryan.”
“D…does Tori know?” My heart is treading water, and if she answers in the affirmative it’ll sink. I might even start to spiral. Again. Fiona watches me intently, silent for a moment before finally answering.
“Is it that important that she doesn’t?” Fiona asks me quietly. I nod. “Why?”
“Because I…I just…I don’t want people to know.”
“The person taking care of you should know,” Fiona points out. I press my lips together and shake my head.
“She’s not taking care of me,” My words aren’t exactly convincing; I’m not even sure I believe them. Fiona definitely doesn’t believe it, I can see it in her face, in that ever-so-slight smile forming on the edge of her lips.
“Oh, really?” she asks me. “So when you broke into her house looking like a malnourished ‘Little Orphan Annie’, you expected…what, her to ignore that shit and call the police, or send you on your way?”
“You know I can’t be here,” I jab a finger at the wallet. “You know what I am.”
“Why does that make a difference?” she snorts. “so you’re a transexual, doesn’t mean you’re not in trouble. Doesn’t mean you don’t need help. What are you so worried about?”
“You know what I’m worried about,” I press, my voice becomes more urgent with every word. “I can’t…I…I don’t want her to find out!”
“You barely know her,” Fiona says. “Why are you so worried about her opinion? Oh, wait, is it because maybe you’re ashamed?”
“I’m not ashamed!” I hiss. “I just…I…please don’t tell her!”
“Calm your tits, kid,” Fiona laughs. “I’m not going to tell her. But, she’s not stupid, she’ll figure it out.”
“Not if I leave,” I do my best to provide a counter argument, but she laughs again.
“Okay Rylee,” She laughs again, but then her expression grows deadly serious. “Tori is my best friend, don’t forget that. Understand that I don’t like lying to her, but I feel like outing you to her would be kind of a bitch move. Oh no, don’t get me wrong, I’m all about bitch moves, but shit, this is different. You’ve taken this pretty far, and you wouldn’t have, if there wasn’t really something to this.”
“What…are you going to do?” I don’t think I’d normally be that worried but this isn’t normal. Normally I just pass through towns, or cities, or whatever, only talking to the people I have to talk to. Normally I’d be long gone, and normally I’m not being held fucking captive! Anything could happen if she finds out; it’s bad enough that this Fiona person knows! It’s bad enough that I was careless enough to slip up. Why did I make my wallet so easy to find?
Fiona takes my wallet and slides it into her purse, regards the pill bottle again, and then turns to me. “Let’s go to the bathroom.”
The main bathroom is different from the one in Tori’s bedroom. It’s a little bigger, a little more open, though it lacks the piles of cosmetics that I’d seen on the counter in the other one. Fiona has me sitting on the edge of the bathtub as she fiddles around on her phone. Finally, she orders me to stand, and I do it with some difficulty.
“Arms up,” she orders. I look at her questioningly. “Look, Rylee, your feet were kind of a shock to Tori, she’s not used to that kind of shit, so I’m going to make damn sure if you have other secrets, I’m going to find them before you ambush her with them. Come on, arms up.”
Reluctantly, I partially raise my arms, then drop them again. Fiona’s stare doesn’t falter, so I go ahead and raise my arms. Immediately, she’s grabbing the material of my nightgown and pulling it up, over my head, and drops it on the floor. I’m standing there naked except for my gaff, and I immediately wrap my arms around myself. She indicates for me to drop my arms – I do, and she begins to inspect me. She looks at my hands, then tells me to raise my arms again, moves down to my crotch. I leap backward as she touches the gaff, nearly tumbling into the tub. Fortunately, she catches me in time and gives me a stern look.
“Got a question for you,” she says. “Are you…autistic by any chance?”
For the tenth time since I got here, my world falls apart in an instant. First she guessed that I was trans, now she knows I’m autistic. Is there anything she doesn’t know about me? Numbly, I nod, and my mind wanders to the autism diagnosis I’d gotten as a young child. These days it doesn’t affect me all that much; I still have trouble being touched, and talking to people? It’s a serious chore, but for the most part I function as a normal human being.
“Okay,” Fiona nods. “Are you taking any medication for that?”
“Not anymore.”
“What were you taking?”
“Um…” I strain, trying to remember the names of the medications that my parents had me put on. They seemed to change pretty regularly. “My parents…had me on Ritalin, then Concerta and they added Buspar and something called Tennex.”
“Tennex is for blood pressure,” Fiona notes. “Buspar is for generalized anxiety disorder, and Ritalin…well, you know what that is.”
“I do,” I nod. I’m starting to feel incredibly self conscious, being practically naked in front of her.
“Okay, take your underwear off,” she says, waving her hand and turning to the vanity.
“What? Why?” I ask her, eyes wide. She turns around again.
“Do it.”
As with Tori, it’s difficult for me to say no to Fiona; the compulsion to just obey is strong, which, I guess, paints a pretty good picture of my personality. Shaking, even crying a little, I comply and remove the gaff, allowing it to drop down to my ankles before stepping out of it. There’s a momentary pinch and then a brief pain flare up as my testicles drop from inside me. Of course I’d been tucked this entire time, it’s like the only way to hide the bulge, or so I’m pretty sure. Fiona watches the entire thing and then looks at me.
“You have a rash,” she says simply. “You need to change your underwear more often. This is why I had you undress; you’re so worried about hiding your penis that you don’t care what else happens down there. I’ll have you put some cream on that, and then I’ll get you a different pair of underwear.”
“O-…okay,” I manage to utter as she steps over with a white bottle of Desitin. she expertly applies the cream, and then excuses herself to Tori’s bedroom to find some underwear. When she returns, she’s holding a bundle of clothes and the first thing she hands me are a pair of pink spandex shorts.
“Biker shorts,” she explains. “They’ll hold your junk in and keep your legs from rubbing together. I’ll wash your other…thing. Whatever that is.”
“A gaff,” I tell her, she nods.
“A gaff. I’ll have to remember that.”
It’s only a few minutes before she has me dressed in the bike shorts and a blue dress that reaches down to my knees; I quickly lament the fact that my legs are so bare and I ask her if she can do anything about it. She shrugs and goes back to Tori’s room, returning with a pair of black leggings, which I gratefully pull on. Before I know it she’s brushing my hair and when I look at myself in the mirror, I thankfully see more girl than guy standing there.
“Do you want to do your makeup?” She asks me. I shake my head. “Why not?”
“Because Tori’s used to seeing me like this,” I explain. “If I add makeup it’ll confuse her.”
“Fucking pardon?”
“If I look more like a girl to her when I have makeup on, I’ll have to wear it all the time,” I explain. “And…I don’t have any.”
“Your paranoia is just downright amazing,” she says sarcastically. “Fine, no makeup right now, but otherwise, you need to do as you’re told.”
“As I’m told,” I say as I follow her from the bathroom. She’s got my other pair of panties in her hand, and she throws them into the washer along with my…no…Tori’s nightgown before taking me back to the kitchen where I collapse gratefully onto the couch and revel in the feeling of the pressure released from the soles of my feet.
“As you’re told,” Fiona confirms. “You broke into the house of someone who gives a shit and I’m sorry, that sucks for you, but you’re here now.”
“I don’t have to be,” I plead. “You could just-”
“Nope!” Fiona waves a hand in the air, shutting me up. “Tori likes you, she wants you, and I’m not telling the bitch no. Neither are you. Got it?”
“Fiona…” I want to say something, I want to protest. More likely I want to fucking run. I shouldn’t be here, I shouldn’t be stuck here with someone who sees right through me, who knows my secret. I’ve been living as a girl for over a year now and yeah, I pass a quick inspection but how well is it going to hold up if I’m living with someone? No scratch that, not living with, literally imprisoned with.
“Rylee,” she sighs. “Homeless teens are a dime a dozen. Do you know how many would kill to have the opportunity you have right now? Tori wants to give you a place to live, she wants to help you. You’re scared? Yeah, I get it, it’s a new situation, but this is happening.”
“I…I’ll run,” I offer one last weak protest. “She…she can’t watch me all the time!”
“Watch you?” Fiona bursts into laughter. “You even make it sound like you’re a damn child. Look, the more I watch you, the more things I see. You can barely hold eye contact, you’re skittish like a baby deer, and you, are, afraid. You’re afraid of being trapped here, you’re afraid of Tori finding out, afraid of your own god damn shadow! Now Rylee, look around you, really look. For the first time in who-knows-how-long, you don’t have to be afraid. You can be yourself and you don’t have to watch your back. You know where your next meal is coming from, and your medical needs are taken care of. Now, in about ten minutes, Tori’s going to be here and she’s bringing breakfast. So, you’re going to sit at the table, and you’re going to thank her when she gives you your food. The next thing I want to hear out of your mouth is ‘yes Fiona’.”
“Yes…Fiona.”
Don't forget to check out my Patreon! All chapters are published there first, and also, I need money.
“We should get her some clothes that fit,” Fiona takes a bite of her eggs and waves a finger at me. “That dress is hanging off of her.”
Tori, as promised, came home with food; Bob Evan’s, actually. I didn’t even know that Bob Evans made ‘to go’ food, but I guess they do because I’ve got a small container of eggs, bacon, and biscuits and gravy sitting in front of me. I’m staring at it, unsure of what to eat first or if I even want to eat. I know the deal though: they’ll want me to eat. People like to keep their prisoners alive.
“We can do a shopping trip,” Tori agrees with her mouth full. She chews, swallows, and then finishes her thought. “I may get my mom to help, she’s going to need a lot of clothes.”
“Don’t forget the guest room,” Fiona waggles her fork in the air as if using it to make a point. “I bet you have a ton of old clothes in there.”
“Yeah,” Tori nods. “The highlights from ten years ago.”
“You think she cares?”
They’re talking about me as if I’m not even here, which is fine – at least I don’t have to answer any direct questions. I idly pick at the eggs, slowly moving them around the to-go container until I suddenly look up, making eye contact with Tori who tells me to start eating. I’m not really hungry, but I also don’t want to piss her off, so I begin to slowly eat the eggs as my mind becomes lost in a sea of thoughts and worries. What exactly were they planning to do with me? I should be listening to them instead of retreating inside myself but it’s so damn hard.
“Yo, Rylee,” Fiona says. I snap to attention, eyes wide as she addresses me directly. “Finish your food, I have to take you back to bed.”
“I’m…not tired,” I weakly protest. That’s a lie.
“Finish,” she thrusts her fork toward my food and gives me a stern look which immediately sets me about shoveling the biscuits and gravy into my mouth.
“She really does just do what she’s told,” Tori murmurs to Fiona, who nods, still watching me. “Is that like…a problem?”
“Pimps love people like her,” Fiona’s completely serious. “In fact I can guarantee you it’s happened, I did a physical exam.”
Tori nearly chokes on her food but whatever caught her by surprise is lost on me. I look at Fiona blankly and she simply finishes her food and checks her phone. She comments about having work today and Tori mentions that she herself took the day off. This whole thing is…weird. They’re talking about me, but they’re also talking about stupid stuff like work, and friends, and TV shows…just…normal conversation as if all of this is normal. As if Tori didn’t literally abduct me, as if Fiona isn’t helping her. Who are these people? I finish half of the food and the fork falls from my hand; I find myself staring down at the table, at my toes again. They’re sticking out of the rubbery bandage that Fiona has affixed to my feet, and while I can’t feel the pain right now, I know I will the moment I stand up. See, when I’d been bandaging it myself (with saran wrap, obviously), I’d bound it so tight that I could barely feel anything when I walked. Fiona hasn’t been quite so kind and I can’t get around the house without her help. That sort of puts any notions I have of escaping on the back burner.
“On the subject of physical exams,” Fiona comes right back around to the beginning of the conversation. “Tori, you and me? We need to compartmentalize this shit. You can’t take care of everything for her.”
“I…I can take care of myself,” I interject. They both look at me, and Fiona sarcastically tells me to walk across the living room and back if that’s the case.
“Compartmentalize it how?” Tori frowns. “You mean you want to help?”
“Duh, bitch,” Fiona rolls her eyes. “Of course I want to help. This is important to you, isn’t it? Don’t answer that, I know it is. Look, since I’m the nurse-”
“Nursing student,” Tori corrects her.
“-I want to be the one to do her physical stuff. Like examinations or whatever. Meds, doctor’s appointments, you know? You can…socialize her or whatever you want to do.”
“Uh-uh,” Tori shakes her head as she chews her last bite of hashbrowns. “You’ve got work, and school, way too much on your plate already. Nah I’ve got this.”
“Sorry Tori,” Fiona tells her. “I’m gonna insist. You called me over here to help and I’m not letting you take this on on your own. She gave me a list of meds earlier, I’m going to look into them.”
“Wait,” Tori frowns, suddenly looking to me, then back to Fiona. “A list of meds? What are you talking about?”
“Stuff for anxiety, blood pressure, ADHD, stuff like that. Nothing to worry about, I mean who doesn’t have anxiety these days?”
“And you can get all that?” Tori asks her. I look up.
“Yeah no problem,” Fiona shrugs. “It’ll cost, and eventually we’ll have to get her to a doctor, but she’s not really in any immediate danger other than from herself and you’ve got that part under control, right?”
Tori reluctantly agrees and as I finish my food, Fiona’s standing beside me, ready to take me to the bathroom and then back to the bedroom. I comment again that I don’t want to go to bed, and she literally laughs at me as she pulls the blankets back and helps me in. Unfortunately, she’s right; the moment I’m in the bed, and the moment the blankets are over me, I begin to feel drowsy. Fiona leaves momentarily but then returns with a glass of water and a red pill that I recognize as the Premarin that I’d had in my bag. My eyes widen as she hands it to me.
“You’re letting me take this?” I ask her incredulously.
“Yes?” Fiona frowns. “Why wouldn’t I? It’s obviously not your prescription but I know why you’re taking it and you have a good reason. There’s only one left, though, so I’m going to work on getting you something tomorrow. Um…Buspar is going to be hard without a prescription, but I think we can get your medical records pulled so you can see a new psychiatrist and get a script. Now as for the Premarin, for right now I’m going to substitute it with birth control-”
“Birth control?” I sit up suddenly, the glass of water sloshing; Fiona grabs my hand to keep me from spilling. “I can’t get pregnant!”
“Rylee, don’t make me laugh,” Fiona has a smirk playing at the edge of her lips like she’s enjoying this. “Birth control is estrogen. Premarin is estrogen. See where I’m going with this? I should have some left over, and after that we’ll see about a more permanent solution.”
“Fiona I…I don’t like-”
“You going to take that pill, or stare at it?” Fiona nods her head toward the red pill in my hand. I look at it, pop it in my mouth, and take a sip from the cup. Fiona tells me to finish the glass, so I do. “You don’t like what, Rylee?”
“The…permanent thing. You’re talking like…I’m not going to be leaving…like I’m being forced to stay here.”
“Apt assessment,” Fiona nods. “Tori’s not going to let you go, and I feel like it’s going to get a lot more…restrictive for you as you go. She doesn’t know you’re autistic yet but I’m thinking about telling her, and once she gets the full scope of what’s going on with you, you’ll be lucky if she lets you go outside by yourself.”
“Th- that’s not fair,” I feel the tears coming on again, and I shift beneath the blanket, wincing as pain ripples through my feet. “Fiona…I…yesterday I was some girl wandering around. I’m an adult, I can take care of myself. It’s…not fair that you’re suddenly treating me like a kid!”
Fiona laughs, hard. I look at her questioningly, and she waves her hand, motioning for me to wait a minute. Finally, her laughing fit passed, she speaks again. “Okay, you were taking care of yourself,” She snorts. “How was that going for you?”
“I was doing fine!” I protest. “I-”
“You’re malnourished, your feet were torn up and wrapped in plastic wrap, and you just got your ass handed to you by a chef. Now you’re here. Take a break, let us take care of you.”
There’s little more argument to be had; Fiona quickly shuts down my protests and then climbs off the bed. She rifles around a bookshelf for a few seconds and then brings me a worn-out paperback book. She hands it to me and I stare at the cover. Sweet Valley High: Secrets. By Francine Pascal. A girl book through and through. I look at up at Fiona who nods and excuses herself from the room, leaving me to lay in bed and question my entire life. The room is dark but not pitch black; if I want to I can click on the bedside lamp for reading, but right now, I’m just feeling completely despondent. The bedroom door is open and I can hear them talking out there. Are they talking about me? I crane my neck to hear but their voices seem muffled. I hear them thudding down the hall, Tori comes in first and she’s talking to Fiona about something at work, something about a kid named Marcus, and nepotism. She stops by the bed, tucks the blanket around me and pats my hand before leaving the room carrying a folder with Fiona in tow.
I feel useless, I want to get out of the bed, but with each microscopic movement I feel the pain of my enflamed feet threatening to topple me the moment I set them on the floor. Plus, Tori’s comforter is fucking heavy. I squirm a bit underneath it, and it holds me firmly in place. Sure, it would give if I pushed against it, but all in all, and I hate to admit it, but it feels good. So instead of wasting my energy trying to run, I switch on the lamp and open the book Fiona gave me.
Tori’s sitting at a desk near the door using her laptop. She doesn’t say much to me, probably notices I’m kind of lost in the ‘Sweet Valley High’ book which I’m about thirty pages into. But then, as it always happens, I find myself flipping back through the book, looking for references that I missed until I forget the plot completely. It’s so frustrating – I haven’t really been able to read in ages and I used to love books. Instead of forcing the issue, I set it off to the side and scoot myself up in the bed, laying my back against the headboard. I look at Tori; she’s typing away, an e-mail, I think, and she’s biting her lower lip like she always does. ‘Like she always does’? What kind of bullshit is that? It’s not like I know her. She stops typing, and then spins her chair around, placing her hands on her lap and leaning forward to look at me.
For a long moment we don’t speak, I do my best to keep eye contact but my eyes dart to the closet, to the bathroom door, to the window. Finally, and to my surprise, it’s me that speaks, and my voice sounds tiny.
“You’re going to take care of me?” It’s all I can manage to ask, and I see her shift in her chair, eyes sympathetic, demeanor calm. She nods.
“Yes, Rylee,” she says.
“I’m safe?”
“You are.”
The moment of silence that follows feels like it lasts for hours, even though I’m sure it was a few minutes at best. Slowly, I maneuver my eyes back to Tori; she hasn’t moved, she’s just sitting there, watching me, her laptop screen glowing behind her.
“I’m scared,” I tell her; my voice cracks, I clutch the comforter and push myself back against the headboard as my eyes threaten to fill with tears. I manage to keep it under control, but I sniff, hard, which she notices.
She nods. “I know you are, Rylee. I know. Nothing I say is going to make it easier, and nothing is going to make you believe that you’re truly safe, but you’re going to have to trust me.”
“Because I don’t have a choice,” I interject. She winces but quickly regains her composure.
“Yes, Rylee,” She nods. “Because you don’t have a choice.”
-If you dropped your voice a few octaves you’d have a choice.
Are you fucking kidding me?
My inner monologue is apparently feeling self destructive today.
“I have some questions for you,” She tells me. I watch her half-turn back to the writing desk and pick up a pad of paper and a pen. She turns back to me and sets the pad on her lap. “Do you have any family around here?”
“No,” I lie. Of course I do. My parents live in the city, Springfield, but I’ll be damned if they ever see me as a trans woman. It was hard enough to get away from them in the first place. Tori frowns. Does she know I lied?
“Okay, Rylee,” She shifts in her chair and taps the pen against the pad. “Honesty is going to be very important here. Let’s try again, okay? Do you have any family around here?”
“Y…yes,” I say, after a moment’s hesitation. Tori smiles.
“Good,” she says, writing something down on the notepad.
“Wait-” I interrupt, but she shushes me with a wave of her hand.
“I’m not going to make you go back to them,” she says quickly. “You’re not wandering around homeless and stealing canned food if you’re on good terms with them. I’m not going to delve into your trauma – that’s going to be my mom’s job, but, you seem like a pretty okay person, so I’m more inclined to blame them for whatever happened.”
I blink. For the first time in…well…years I feel validated. I’ve talked to so many people who simply say things like ‘Well you only get one set of parents, enjoy them while you have them!’ and ‘She’s your mother, you have to love her!’, but never had anyone taken my side. Not since Devin. Not since I’d stayed at his house the night before I left town, not since…ugh, I can’t remember. So many emotions swirling around inside me, so many thoughts. I’m still afraid of Tori, I’m still afraid of this situation. It’s not the first time I’ve been held captive and I can’t quell the rising storm inside me that suggests something bad is about to happen. But nothing’s happened. Not yet.
The only response I can muster for her is a simple ‘okay’, and she nods.
“Now, Rylee, I knew you lied a second ago because Fiona did a pretty extensive background check on you. She won’t give me all the details, but we know your parents live in Springfield, and we know you have no criminal background. You’re just…adrift, as far as we can tell. Now, since you left home, did you stay around Springfield?”
“Isn’t that in the background check?” I allow myself to spout a little bit of sarcasm, Tori laughs, but I recoil as I realize what I’ve done.
“It is not, in fact,” she smiles. “So why don’t you fill me in?”
I consider for a moment, and I feel at ease with her, for now, so I start talking, if only because I know she’s going to force if out of me if I don’t. I tell her a sanitized story about how I left home after meeting some people online. I don’t tell her that those people offered to help me with my transition. I tell her that I met up with them in real life, and I tell her that they seemed cool at first, but then things took a turn, and I found myself on the streets. I know Tori can sense that there’s more to the story but she doesn’t press. I know the questions are there on the tip of her tongue; she wants to know who I met up with and what happened to me while I was with them. She doesn’t ask. Not yet. Instead she asks:
“Where did you get those bruises?”
My left hand goes instinctively to my face; my fingertips dance lightly across the surface of the discolored skin, and then I drop it, closing my eyes and sucking in a breath as Tori watches me.
“I…just-”
“Don’t tell me you fell,” she says in a warning voice. “I’m going to ask you a very important question so listen closely. Those people that you went to stay with, the ones that you met on the internet. Did they hurt you?”
I part my lips a little, my breathing intensifies and then I close my mouth again, looking away from her, toward the window. After a few seconds of silence she speaks again.
“Rylee, I’m going to make you answer me every time,” she tells me. “Even if I have to pry. Just give me an answer.”
“Yes,” I nearly whisper. The moment the words leave my mouth, a torrent of tears assaults me vision. My eyes sting from salt and the moment I rub my eyes, I make it worse. Tori’s at my side in an instant gathering me up in a tight hug. At first I squirm, my ‘fight or flight’ in full effect, but then, after a few seconds, I melt into her hug, returning it and allowing my tears to flow freely. She’s rubbing my back; I squeeze tighter, suddenly aware of just how much I needed this, even if physical contact is at the bottom of my list of wants. We sit there like that for several minutes until finally I release the hug and she lets me pull away. She sits there, on the bed, watching me in silence before finally speaking to me.
“It’s okay,” she tells me. “It’s o-kay. Look, Rylee, you want to know what I think? I think you were raised in a shitty household, I think your parents let you down. I think you never really got a chance to grow up, and here you are, wandering the world, trying to figure things out and nothing’s really clicking. That’s not your fault, Rylee.”
“It’s not?”
“No,” she laughs, shaking her head and smiling. “It is most certainly not your fault.”
“I just…I just want to be normal,” I tell her. She smiles softly.
“We’ll get you there,” she tells me. “Or at least to whatever normal is to you. But, you’re going to need to do your part.”
No more internet. That’s her first rule. The internet is what got me into this situation, so why should I be using it? It makes sense on a fundamental level, but there was a time when the internet was my ‘safe space’, and it sucks having it so close but being unable to use it. The second rule is that I have to listen. Seems pretty simple. Third rule? I have to take care of myself. She’s having Fiona pick some stuff up on the way back after her shift. A toothbrush, toothpaste, dental floss, skin cleanser, a razor, whole mess of things. I hope to god that Fiona remembers there’s a dude under all this, and that she buys stuff accordingly.
I spend most of the day in bed with Tori frequently checking on me as she buzzes around the house cleaning, watching TV, or checking her e-mail. I get the feeling she’d rather be at work. Did she take the day off for me, or something? I’m afraid to ask. At one point she comes in to tell me that she plans to clean out the guest bedroom so that I have a place to sleep, but right now it’s full of boxes from her last move. I tell her not to worry about it. Despite our ‘connection’, I have zero intention of staying here. Then again I know that’s a lie. I don’t even know how I would get away from her, or Fiona. My feet will eventually heal, probably in a few days, but there’s no way I could overpower either of them, and they could both catch me pretty easily if I tried to run.
-You’re being stupid, my inner voice chides.
Say that to my face.
-Don’t you want someone to take care of you? Isn’t this the ideal scenario?
I’m scared.
-Aren’t you fucking always.
I push my thoughts aside as Tori returns and asks me if I’d like to go out to the couch. I nod and she takes the blanket off of me. It’s a long, painful walk down the hallway even with Tori supporting my weight with her shoulder, but she deposits me easily on the couch, giving me a blanket and a pillow, which I use to make myself more comfortable. She brings me another TV dinner which I accept gratefully, and then she sits down on the couch with me. We watch ‘The Price is Right’, and an episode of ‘General Hospital’ which I’m less than interested in. Then, we watch an episode of Jerry Springer featuring a trans woman who recently came out to her boyfriend. I watch Tori’s face, looking for any indication of how she might feel about that, but her expression is stoic, like she’s just watching an episode of daytime television. Well that makes sense, because she is.
“Fiona’s going to crash on the couch for a few days,” she says to me as the daytime trash television begins to wrap up. “I know I told her I didn’t need help, but…I’m glad she’s decided to anyway.”
“I’m sorry,” I mutter. “I know I’m-”
“No,” she says sharply. “You don’t apologize for that. Don’t apologize for anything unless I tell you to, understand?”
“Yes, Tori,” I say obediently. She frowns.
“A little formal there, Rylee,” she tells me. “Just say okay, like a normal person.”
“Sor- I mean, um, okay.”
Fiona comes back eventually. Her blonde hair is disheveled and her scrubs are filthy. She lets out a huge sigh and sits heavily on the couch beside me before passing me a plastic bag. It’s filled with the promised items, including a three-pack of gaffs. I mouth a ‘thank you’ to her and she nods.
“Also,” Fiona says. “I got you some pills. I can’t get you anxiety meds but I got something for your blood pressure, and some Vitamin C tablets.”
She hands me a multi-colored pill organizer. Sure enough, there’s the vitamin C tablets; they look like clear capsules full of dirt, if I’m being honest. The other pill is small and blue. I look at her questioningly and she nods. Yep, this isn’t blood pressure medication, it’s the birth control she talked about. Fiona’s given me hormone meds. At least now I can take them regularly. The pill organizer has enough for a week, and she tells me that she’ll be back to refill it when I run out. So, Tori thinks that these are for blood pressure. Fantastic.
Fiona finally stands up and joins Tori in the kitchen; they start to prepare dinner as the TV plays some old sitcom in the background. I listen to Fiona bitching about work, something about a code where no one ‘knew what to do’. Tori talks about going back to work tomorrow but glances warily at me, and I wonder if I’m some kind of obstacle. I don’t have a chance to ask and why the hell would I? They’re the ones keeping me here.
“Hey,” Fiona says to her as she’s chopping vegetables. “What about Penelope?”
“What about her?” Tori asks.
“She’s going back to work in a week I think, and she’s going to need a babysitter, maybe Rylee…”
“Is that even a good idea?” Tori asks her, wide-eyed.
“You wanted to socialize her,” Fiona points out. “Seems like a good start.”
“Um, I’ll ask Penelope about it,” Tori says. “But…I don’t want her to run off. I mean…”
“I truly don’t think you have to worry about that,” Fiona tells her.
I’m sorry, did Fiona just volunteer me for babysitting? This day is getting weirder by the second. I wish it would stop.
Dinner is a combination of Shake-N-Bake chicken, mashed potatoes, and vegetables. They both help me over to the table, and I’m beginning to resent being so helpless. Then I remember they made me this way, so why was I sorry? After they sit me down, Tori asks me if I’d prefer water or soda, and I choose soda. She brings me a can of Pepsi and I force myself to smile as I thank her.
“So uh, Rylee,” Tori says as we sit down to dinner. “A few more things I need to know…what are your hobbies?”
“My…my hobbies?” I furrow my brow. Why is she asking about this? “I um…I like to play video games, I guess. I used to like to read but I can’t remember the story sometimes. I mean like, while I’m reading it. I just forget, so I stopped reading a bunch. But I used to like to.”
Tori’s face bunches up with concern, Fiona just stares at me. I immediately lean back, cowering in my chair. Did I say something wrong?
“Okay, Rylee,” Tori says slowly, as if she’s chewing over the thought in her mind. “We’ll work on the reading, that sounds like it’s really difficult for you. Um, the other thing? I have a Super Nintendo in the guest bedroom, I’ll just have to dig it out.”
“Speaking of the guest bedroom,” Fiona says. “Are you going to clear that out for her? She can’t keep sleeping in your bed.”
Fiona’s right about that; it’s only a matter of time before I poke Tori with my dick and this is all over. Well, actually, that might be a good thing. I wanted to leave, right? Right?
“I’ll start on it tomorrow, after work,” Tori shrugs. “But I’ll be lucky to just find the Nintendo. I don’t have anywhere to put all that stuff.”
“Throw it away,” Fiona shrugs. “When was the last time you used any of it? Since you moved out of Max’s place?”
“Whose Max?” I ask suddenly. They both snap to me, giving me a sharp look.
“Never you mind who Max is,” Fiona says dryly. I let the matter drop. “Point is, Tori, you moved out of the big house, now you’ve gotta get rid of the ‘big house’ crap. You’ve got a whole ass flea market going on in there. And, also, it’s not fair for Rylee to not have her own space. She’s already having a hard time.”
I stare incredulously at Fiona – since when did she care about my wellbeing? But, the moment passes as quickly as it came as she and Tori continue talking about the room, and then ask me a few more questions about myself. My favorite food, favorite TV show(both of them are amused when I say ‘Star Trek’), and I make a passing mention of chess, to which Tori promises to get me a board.
When we wrap up dinner, I’m thoroughly exhausted, even though I haven’t really moved at all today. As I sit there at the table, I start to feel my eyelids drooping and my head occasionally falling forward. Each time it happens, I look up at Fiona and Tori wide-eyed, thinking one of them are going to say something, or yell something, but to my surprise, nothing of the sort happens. Fiona simply asks if I’m tired, and I nod. She rises from the table and helps me to the bathroom where I once again strip and change into a nightgown and one of the new gaffs Fiona bought me.
“Doesn’t it suck to wear that to sleep?” she asks me.
“Yeah, it does,” I say as I pull them up and begin to tuck. “But what do you want me to do?”
“Tell her.” Fiona shrugs.
“I can’t.”
“Why?” She asks me.
“Because if…ugh. If she knows she’s not going to see me as a girl anymore. I’ll just be…some tranny that broke into her house.”
Fiona studies me for a moment and then grabs a basket of supplies from under the sink. She removes the bandages from my feet using a pair of scissors; it doesn’t hurt as bad this time. She instructs me to put my feet in the tub, and I look away as she gently washes them, then pours hydrogen peroxide over the sores.
I hate this.
I hate that she’s doing it.
I hate that Tori is taking care of me.
I hate the way this makes me feel.
I hate that I need it.
Tori’s taken the day off of work again and I’m starting to feel bad about it. Then again, she kind of created this mess, didn’t she? I push the thoughts out of my mind as she chats on the phone with her mom. She’s made a pretty good point of staying in the room with me, occasionally reading, mostly on her laptop, but she’s spent a good amount of time talking to me. She wants to know everything. What my life was like as a kid, favorite color, favorite book, and so on. I’m hesitant to answer at first but she gets easier to talk to the longer I do it. Sometimes I forget that I’m trapped here but I’m always pulled back to reality, one way or another.
“So um…Tori,” I say to her as she's tapping away at her keyboard. The typing ceases and she turns her chair to face me. I take a deep breath and ask my question. “How…long are we going to do this? I mean…keep me here.”
“Hm,” Tori shrugs. “Well, my hope is to get you sorted out so you can either live on your own or with me. Eventually you’ll have more freedom, but for right now…”
“Why can’t I have freedom now?” I don’t know why I’m asking. I’m starting to get it but I guess I just want to hear her say it.
“Told you, Rylee,” She reiterates. “Your parents did a shitty job, you don’t know anything about the world or…at least not enough to survive in it.”
“And…how is that your problem?” I offer as a weak counterpoint. She smiles softly.
“Because I’m human,” she tells me. “And if we don’t take care of each other, who will?”
Utterly philanthropic but if it works for her, then it works, I guess. She explains to me that she’s been e-mailing back and forth with her mom, the social worker, and that she may be stopping by later today. I balk at the idea of bringing yet another person into this, but I’ve learned by now that my opinion holds little weight here. Instead of arguing I let her continue to talk until finally she announces that we should go to the living room for our trash TV session.
The trip down the hallway is still awful but now it stings rather than burns. Either I’m healing, or Fiona’s bandaging job is working miracles. She’d changed it this morning, before leaving for work. I’d laid in the bed and stared up at her as she put a towel under my feet, took the bandages off, and then quickly redid them. She looked like absolute shit – like someone who’d spent a high on a couch instead of in her own bed.
I stumble ever so slightly as Tori walks me down the hall, but she steadies me with her left hand while simultaneously steering me toward the couch.
“Here we go,” she tells me as she lowers me to the cushions. I bring my hands to my lap the moment she lets me go, making myself as small as possible against the corner of the couch. She grins and tells me I’m adorable and the confusion sets in almost immediately. No one’s ever called me that before and I have no idea why she’s doing it now. I look up at her slowly, trying to glean a clue from her expression and she gives me a warm smile in return. Am I allowed to be happy here? There’s a tension in my chest that’s been there for the last few days as I wait for the other shoe to drop and as soon as it does, the urge to run will be in full effect but it’s been lessening with each hour. Tori doesn’t seem to want to hurt me. Fiona is mean but…she got my pills, didn’t she? What was I freaking out about?
-Getting sloppy, Rylee
I know. I know.
“No TV dinner today,” she tells me, setting a wooden TV tray in front of me. “I made you a sandwich. Really hope you like salami.”
“Salami’s fine,” I tell her. She nods but then pauses, looking at me.
“But what’s your favorite?” She asks me. She elaborates when I give her a questioning look. “Like, lunch meat. Do you like turkey? Roast beef?…”
“Oh!” My eyes light up with recognition. “Um…this is going to sound dumb but I like olive loaf a lot.”
“No shit?” She laughs. “I’ll pick some up when we go out today.”
She’s in the kitchen in an instant, returning quickly with the sandwich on one of her clear glass plates and as she sets it down, she hesitates for a second.
“Um…” she says with a moment of uncertainty. “Do you want a soda now, or for dinner? If you have one now you can’t have it for dinner but you can have milk, or juice.”
I pause for what must have been a full ten seconds before looking up at her. She’s got a grin on her face and it’s accompanied by a slight chuckle as she shakes her head.
“Sorry,” she says, laughing. “Big sister mode in full effect I guess. Get used to it!”
My expression changes to one of confusion and she laughs again. I want soda but she’s saying I can’t have it for both lunch and dinner, so what do I do? I open my mouth to speak but the indecision is eating me from the inside out. Luckily, she saves me.
“Hey what if you have juice for lunch and then soda for dinner? Soda is better at night anyway, right?”
I nod, a weight suddenly lifted off of me as the decision is snatched from my shaking fingers. Tori brings me a glass of apple juice and tells me to drink it slow.
The sandwich is good – way better than anything I would have made. She’s toasted the bread on one side and added a slice of Kraft cheese to the salami. I watch from the couch as Tori begins to cook herself a TV dinner and partway through, she peeks over the counter and asks if I’m having fun watching her. I immediately turn away and she reassures me, after she laughs hysterically for a few seconds.
“I’ve gotta go back to work tomorrow,” she tells me as she takes a bite of her spaghetti dinner and looks at me.”
“What am I gonna do alone here all day?” I phrase the question as sarcasm, partially because it’s more of a question. Are you going to leave me alone here? If she does then it’s time for me to get moving. I’ll have to wait an hour or so just to make sure she’s not watching and then I can slip out the back door. My feet are going to be a problem but I think I saw a pair of work boots stuffed at the back of Tori’s closet that can hold me together while I make a run for it.
-You’re back to stealing her stuff again, heh
Shut up
-Never
Tori takes another bite and then shakes her head and says,
“You wish, Rylee. Nah, my mom’s going to keep you company. She already knows about you. Well most everything. I don’t think she has Fiona’s background check but she knows…what happened.”
My escape plans are quashed and I feel sort of…relieved? I’m careful to not let her see my disappointment OR my relief but I feel like she sees right through me anyway since she pats my hand, quickly and then withdraws her hand just as quickly, blessedly cutting off the physical contact as quickly as it started.
“Oh…” I say, and my statement is a reaction to two different things. Tori seems to catch this and answers immediately to quell my confusion.
“She knows about you breaking in. No, she’s not mad, she just wants to have a conversation with you.”
“To yell at me probably,” I murmur. I’m staring at the sandwich rather than eating it; my appetite is vanishing by the second.
“She doesn’t do that, Rylee. Remember how I said she’s a social worker? I told you that, right? Well, she is. She just wants to check up on you and see if you need anything. Like, I’m doing what I do, and Fiona’s good with medical stuff, but you’ve been through a lot and you could use someone to help with that.”
“Okay,” is all I can manage to say to that. My parents got ‘someone to help’ too, and that didn’t turn out well. For me. Still, what can I even say to her?
I nibble at my sandwich while she turns the TV on. She flips to the usual trash TV and we start with an episode of Ellen. I really hate these talk shows, mostly because I know they’re garbage but it’s so hard to turn them off once they get going. You know that one analogy about the trainwreck you can’t look away from? Yeah, it’s like that. At least the sandwich is good; Tori’s sprinkled potato chips on it, and the mayonnaise was a nice touch. I want to tell her I like it but she’s too absorbed in the TV show for me to interrupt. I manage to finish half the sandwich before she looks at me and asks if it’s okay.
“You’re eating kind of slow, you okay?” She asks me.
I want to point out that it’s a stupid question. Am I okay? Well, she’s kidnapped me and I’m trapped here in her house doing whatever she and her best friend want and now her mom’s going to get involved? That’s pretty fucking far from okay, but- “Yeah I’m okay, I’m just a slow eater. My parents didn’t like it either.”
She scrunches up her face and shakes her head at me. “Eat as slow as you want, Rylee. I’m just making sure you’re okay.”
At some point she feels we’ve had enough daytime TV(thank god) and she announces she wants to get started on the guest room. She doesn’t tell me to stay on the couch, but she hands me the remote and wanders off down the hall. I try to let the TV hold my attention as I hear her rummaging around back there but eventually my curiosity gets the better of me and I find myself heading down the dark hallway, my fingers trailing the drywall to keep myself steady as I come to the open door.
Fiona’s right: this does look like a flea market. I lightly grip the door frame and pull myself forward, taking a peek inside the room where Tori is sitting next to towering piles of boxes and carefully examining items that she’s tossing into one pile or another. I lean in a little further, trying to see what she’s holding and I almost smile at the pensive look on her face. It’s a stark contrast to the harsh, all-business attitude she’s had with me over the last few days. This makes her seem almost…human.
The jigs up when I start to pull away and she catches my eyes. My heart drops and panic rises in my chest as if the two are counterweights of each other and I immediately pull away from the door.
Shit, shit, SHIT
I know I’m not supposed to be here, I know she told me to wait on the couch. No, wait, did she? Yes, surely she did. I turn to my left and immediately begin to make my way back to the living room. My chest tightens but somehow my breathing is speeding up as my gear threatens to beat out of my chest.
She saw me
She saw me
She SAW me.
I barely register the pain in my feet and I’m halfway down the hall now. Maybe she didn’t see me after all. Maybe-
“Hey, Rylee,” she says. I slowly turn, shaking, eyes wide as I look at her. She’s sticking half out of the bedroom door, her hand on the wall for support as she looks at me. “Hey, I found a few things for you,” she says. “I think there’s enough of a path for you to make it through here.”
I blink and stand there in sheer confusion. She…isn’t mad at me? Why isn’t she mad? Numbly, apprehensively, I follow her into the guest room along a carefully cleared path between boxes, a loose chair, and other odds and ends until we come to the point she’d been sitting in.
She indicates a large cardboard box she’d been going through, full of her clothes from a few years ago. We go through them together and she’s careful to let me pick what I want rather than interjecting too much. All in all, we added about ten tops and six skirts to my wardrobe which is saying a lot, as I don’t have any, and I don’t even have a wardrobe. She also brings a winter coat out of the room’s closet for me; it’s a pink corduroy with brass buttons and a drawstring at the waist.
“We’ll put it in my closet,” she tells me. “You know, just in case this room isn’t cleared out by winter.”
“By winter?” My eyes widen. “I’m still going to-”
“Yup,” she says, cutting me off before my mind can even conceptualize the end of that sentence. “told you, you’re not leaving. Okay I’ve got a problem. I either need to rent a dumpster or a storage unit. Fiona’s right, this is a shit show.”
“It’s not that bad,” I say in a rather unconvincing tone that probably means ‘please don’t do all this for me’ and she shakes her head.
“Nah, you need a place to sleep, and I need to be less messy. It’s gotta suck sleeping in my bed, yeah?”
I don’t have an answer for that.
“How are your feet?” she asks me. I instinctively look down and shrug. “still hurt?”
“A little,” I tell her. Okay at least that was the truth. They have gotten better over the last two days.
“I’ll have Fiona look at them when-” she stops suddenly, and we’re both startled by the sound of the front door opening. She must have seen me tense up and immediately begin to start searching the room for exits.
Window?
-It’s blocked off. Use the door.
And go where?
-Uh
“Tori?” A woman’s voice calls and I see Tori visible relax. She mouths the word ‘mom’ to me and points toward the door.
Tori’s mom is a middle aged woman with roughly the same build as her daughter and jet-black hair – a compliment to Tori’s dark red and pulled up into a messy bun. She’s dressed in a silky black tracksuit with the hoodie zipped up partway and she looks…tired. I stand close to Tori, maybe a little too close but she doesn’t seem to mind as she lays an arm over my shoulder and pulls me in enough that I can rest my head against her shoulder.
“Hey mom,” Tori says. “You weren’t supposed to be here until-”
“Tomorrow, yeah,” Tori’s mom rolls her eyes. “You expected me to stay away after all those emails? Thought you were smarter than that, girl.” And then to me: “You must be Rylee.”
“Yes ma’am,” I say softly, earning a look of amusement from Tori.
“This one’s polite,” Anette remarks, stepping toward us. “Maybe too polite. Tori, give us a minute?”
“Sure thing, mom,” Tori raises her hands in mock annoyance and disappears back to the guest room, leaving me alone with her mother.
“Rylee,” she says with a reassuring smile. “My name is Anette, I’m Tori’s mom. I know what happened, that you broke in, and no one’s mad at you, okay?”
“Okay,” I say, not really believing it, but she seems to catch my skepticism and motions toward the couch where we both take a seat. She takes a deep breath and then lets out an exaggerated sigh as she claps her hands together, holding them out in a mock prayer before dropping them to her lap and continuing.
“Rylee,” she says. “Did my daughter kidnap you?”
I freeze, unsure of what to say, so she presses harder.
“She told me what happened and she told me you were going to be staying here for a while. Did she force you? Rylee she’s not here, she’s in the bedroom and can’t hear you. If you want to leave, tell me now and I’ll take you out of here. Police station, hospital, hell the fire station. Just say the word.”
I should tell her yes. I should have her get me the hell out of here. That’s what I want, right? It’s what I wanted a few days ago, it’s…
“No,” I hear myself say. “I’m okay. I mean here, I’m okay here.”
-What the fuck are you doing?
I…I don’t know.
Anette frowns, asks me if I’m sure and then probes a little further.
“I…I feel safe,” I manage to blurt out. “Here…with her. She’s a little scary sometimes but…”
“Okay, Rylee,” she nods. “Okay let’s talk through this, then. I talked to Fiona, and she says you’re on the autism spectrum, that true?”
I nod, immediately looking away, toward the kitchen. “I was…diagnosed when I was a kid. I guess…I mean…they tell me I didn’t talk a lot until I was…nine? I think?”
“Okay, yeah, okay Rylee,” Anette says. “And you…have trouble with touch? What does it feel like to you?”
“It’s like…being electrocuted,” I admit. “I just…don’t like it. But sometimes when Tori hugs me I like it a lot. I’m confused about that? I guess? Because I hate being touched and I never liked it when my mom hugged me but…”
“Well that makes sense,” she tells me. “Tori can be pretty affectionate. But, also, a hug is way more than a hug when you feel safe with the person. Maybe…you feel safe for the first time.”
I can’t help it: I break into a wide grin and wrap my arms around my chest, squeezing myself and rocking back and forth, which is kind of a weird reaction but Anette doesn’t seem surprised or bothered. She simply continues talking.
“She’s okay with you staying here,” Anette tells me. “And from what I see right now…I would be okay with it too. But Rylee, Fiona told me you tried to run yesterday, is that true?”
My face flushes; I drop my arms and immediately drop my head and nod. My hands are visible, folded now against my lap and I focus only on them, folding and cracking the knuckles and twisting until the world around me starts to-
“Rylee,” Anette snaps her fingers, and I snap back to reality, looking up at her wide-eyed. Every muscle in my body tenses and I pull back, squinting, ready for…something, but whatever it is, doesn’t happen. Anette watches me for a moment and then continues once I have myself under control. “Rylee, if this is where you want to be, then you need to stop trying to run. I know you’re scared, I know horrible things have happened to you but all of that? It’s over. My daughter…Tori has a good heart and while I think she’s taken on too much, she’s going to have help. There’s going to be Fiona, and me, and that means we’re involved. Do you understand?”
“I…I think so?” I try to process what she’s just said but I’m coming up empty.
“I mean,” she says “that you have to cooperate. Stop trying to run. Where are you going to go? Do you have a favorite bridge to sleep under?”
I watch her, utterly speechless as she tears me apart. She’s right, I mean, it’s obvious that Tori is trying to help me, and Fiona so what the fuck am I doing?
What the fuck are you doing?
“I…I’m just scared…sometimes,” I admit through labored breaths. “I don’t really know her and I didn’t expect to be here very long and…and…and…”
“Do you need to take a break, Rylee?” Anette suggests. She nods and pats my arm. “Let’s take a break.”
She stands up and walks to the kitchen, telling me to stay seated as I make a vain attempt to follow her. She opens the fridge and asks me if I want Pepsi or Mountain Dew.
“Oh um…I’m not allowed until supper,” I call back. Anette freezes and turns around, walking back to the counter so she can see me. She leans forward and places her elbows on the counter. She’s smirking and raising an eyebrow at me.
“Who says you’re not allowed?” She asks, a hint of laughter clings to the edge of her words as she forces herself to hold back laughter. “Was it Tori?”
I freeze, wondering if I should answer that. Would Tori be mad? Unfortunately she reads my silence as an affirmative and chuckles.
“Rylee,” she says with a laugh. “As Tori’s mother I give you permission to have a soda now and at dinner. Okay?”
I freeze. What am I supposed to do here? Tori told me to wait until dinner…no..she let me choose juice or soda, and I chose juice, right?
“Mom!” Tori storms out of the guest room and thuds down the hall. She steps up to the kitchen counter and I immediately notice she’s holding the Super Nintendo, which she sets on the counter. “Stop confusing her!”
“I’m not trying to confuse her, Tori,” Anette says. “And Tori, bedroom let’s go. We need to talk.”
“Hook that up and play something,” Tori points to the Super Nintendo before turning and dashing down the hall after Anette.
They’re gone for about half an hour; I’m playing Super Mario World when Anette returns alone, briefly apologizing for Tori and taking a seat on the couch beside me.
“I had to give her a lecture,” Anette tells me. “I want everyone on the same page when I say that kidnapping is wrong. Anyway, let’s have a serious conversation, Rylee. Fiona won’t give me the background check but I trust her when she says there’s something in it I shouldn’t see, so let’s start with the basics. You had…a not-so-positive relationship with your parents and when you left home you…maybe we should gloss over that. For now. And now you’re here.”
“Y- yeah,” I say; my voice is small and cracking. “I just .. didn’t like my parents.”
“You don’t need to justify it to me,” Anette tells me, shaking her head and giving a dismissive gesture. “I’ve been doing this long enough to know the truth when I hear it. Rylee I hate to say it but you look awful. Tori’s feeding you, right?”
There’s not much to do other than answer her questions and as I do, I hate how at ease I start to feel. It’s like being in a swimming pool, when you’re a kid and you’re not sure if you want to let go of the side. To drift off into the waves. Oh you know it’s probably safe – it’s a pool and there are lifeguards but there’s always that one slim chance that you slip beneath the surface unnoticed. That’s what I feel like right now, like I’m letting go, like I’m trusting their ability to save me. I hate it. I’m terrified.
During the course of our conversation she fetches a dental mirror from Tori’s closet and checks my teeth, which she says are fine, and as time goes by I feel more comfortable talking to her. She’s much easier to talk to than Tori, after all. Her voice is soothing, she gives me opportunities to talk and before I know it I’m spilling all of my secrets. Well, most of them. Eventually, Tori make her way out of the bedroom, asking if we’re done.
“Just about,” she says in response to Tori. “Rylee I need to make sure we’re clear about everything.”
I frown, slightly confused. What did we just talk about? It was important, right? Fortunately, Anette saves me.
“No running away, you’re here now. Do you understand that, young lady?”
I perk up at being called ‘young lady’ and then I eagerly nod.
“I’m sorry,” I say to Tori, looking away sheepishly. “I mean…I didn’t…”
“It’s okay to be afraid, Rylee,” Tori sits on the couch and does a half-turn toward me; I shiver as she takes my hand and smiles. “But you don’t have to be afraid now. Not of me, or of Fiona, or Mom. Understand?”
“I…I think so?” I frown and press my fingertips into the couch cushion, allowing the material to stretch the skin until there just enough of a sting to satisfy me. Tori looks down at my hand, pinching her eyebrows together but says nothing. “I just…I don’t know why you want me here. Like, why you even care if I run away because…” there’s so much I want to say but I feel like I have no way to get it out. My emotions are bursting but as usual.my body isn’t showing it. A smile, a frown, laughter, something. Anything. There’s nothing I can do to express how I feel, so I find myself gripping my fingers, twisting; I roll my shoulder blades and twist harder when suddenly, Annette’s hand is on mine, pressing something into it. I stop and look at it; it’s…some kind of toy. Like a plastic chain with tight links that can be twisted every which way. I give it a try, wrapping it around my hand and then unwrapping. I twist it, squeeze it, straighten it out and then fold it up.
“Better?” Anette asks me softly. I nod, not looking at her. “It’s called ‘stimming’ or self stimulation. Your brain doesn’t really shut down and your hands need to be constantly busy so we try to give our autistic clients some kind of fidget toy, especially during sessions.”
“Mom, I…,” Tori begins to speak but trails off. I focus on the green and white ‘fidget toy’ that I’ve been given.
“Autistic kids don’t come with a manual,” Anette says. “Unless you count the DSM-IV, and even that can be touch and go. You sure you want to do this, kiddo?”
This is it. This is my out. Tori’s finally going to understand what it takes to deal with someone like me. She’ll have her mom take me somewhere, or maybe she’ll just let me walk out of here. Either way, this is over and I’m glad it ended while they still like me.
“Can you get more of those fidget toys?” Tori asks Anette, indicating the plastic chain wrapped about my hands. My jaw nearly hits the floor as she continues. “She was having a meltdown, you fixed it. She’ll be fine if we just help her.”
“Tori it’s not that sim-” Anette’s statement is cut short with a series of coughs and Tori telling her to ‘take it easy’.
“Rylee,” Tori says to me. “Can you go to the kitchen and get Mom a glass of water?”
“Hold your horses, I’m fine,” Anette scowls at her. “Now Rylee, tomorrow while Tori is at work, you and I are going to go on a very special trip-”
“It’s the mall, Mom,” Tori interrupts. Anette shoots her a particularly nasty side eye.
“We’ll get you a few outfits and then hop over to the food court,” Anette tells me. “When was the last time you had a hamburger?”
“I think Anette tried to get rid of me today,” I tell Fiona who takes a quick drag on her joint before pulling it from her mouth and shaking it at the grass in front of her.
We’re in the backyard, or more specifically on the bench pressed up against the side of the house. Fiona came out here to smoke and to my delight she asked if I wanted to come along. So we’d escaped the living room with Tori shouting ‘Don’t be giving her weed!’ as Fiona slid the door shut behind us.
“Why do you think that?” Fiona asks; I mentally brace myself but she doesn’t seem angry about the statement. Huh. Okay.
“She told Tori I’m more trouble than I’m worth,” it’s paraphrased but shit, it’s close enough.
“No she didn’t,” Fiona swats away my accusation with complete disinterest. “She probably just said you’d be hard to take care of and…you are.”
“Thanks,” I mumble.
“Let’s see. Autistic, transexual, penchant for breaking into houses…” Fiona counts off each item on her fingers and then turns to me, a smile playing at her lips. “You think that’s easy?”
“I didn’t make her do it,” I grumble. Fiona takes another drag and then lowers her hand, hanging the lit joint over her knee before she clicks her tongue and looks at me.
“You ever gonna let that go?” She asks me.
“She put a gun to my head,” I say, putting an upward inflection one each individual word. “It was scary okay?”
“Whatever, whatever,” Fiona snickers. “I brought you out here to talk about the other thing anyway. The uh…transexual stuff. How are you holding up?”
“She hasn’t figured it out, right?” I ask Fiona, practically willing it to be true with my words. Fiona chuckles.
“No, and not what I’m talking about,” she turns to look at me, tilting her head and leaning towards me just slightly. “How do you feel? Besides fucking terrified because we’ve already been over that. You’re in a house full of women being treated like one. Is it stressful?”
“Um, a little,” I admit. “Like…I’m worried she’s going to figure it out and…I mean, there’s so many things…I don’t know how to…”
“Your voice, for one,” Fiona points out. “I’ve noticed it cracking. Probably because you’ve never had to talk this much. It sucks, having someone actually care about you.”
There’s no sarcasm in that last statement, prompting me to look over at her, wondering exactly what she means, but the moment passes and she takes another drag. Around us the night is alive with the sound of crickets and the silent yellow flashes of fireflies. I’ve always liked this time of night, but even sitting out here with someone who knows my secret, I can’t enjoy it. There’s just…too much going on. Too much risk, too much uncertainty. Too much-
“I’ll tell you what’s happening,” Fiona says. “You care about Tori and that’s dangerous for you. You care about what she thinks and how she’s going to react, even if you know deep down that it’s not going to make that much of a difference.”
“That’s not true,” I argue as if I’m pushing back against an unmovable obstacle.
“It is,” Fiona nods. “That’s something I like about you. You know it’s not all about you, even if you don’t want to admit it. I know you didn’t want any of this, but it’s happening and you’re going to have to rough it out.”
“Rough it out…” I look across the backyard; we’re in a pretty rural area, I could probably just make a run for it and disappear into the tree line. Then again, they haven’t let me wear shoes and my feet are still pretty tender. Yeah. I’m not going anywhere. Plus I promised Anette…
“You wouldn’t make it far,” Fiona says, following my gaze. “Plus…don’t do that, Rylee. You’re just going to stress everyone out.”
“It’s not that easy,” I say, my jaw stiff. “I just…I know it’s safe here but my brain…it just wants me to run!”
“Except you won’t,” Fiona tells me. I look at her. “You promised Anette but that’s not nearly enough, is it? So let’s try this. Rylee, you’ll do whatever we tell you and you won’t try to run. Clear?”
I look at her, mouth agape at what she’s said. I’m not good at saying no and when it’s an absolute command like this, I don’t really stand a chance. Numbly, I nod and she smiles her approval.
“Good girl,” she squeezes my shoulder and I cringe, pulling away. “Now, I’ve got some rules of my own. Today I’m just going to give you one: Don’t ever go anywhere alone. Knowing how your parents are, you didn’t get to do this girl thing until you left home so I know you’re pretty new at it, and that means…you need help. And, Rylee, you didn’t learn girl shit hanging around in crack houses so let’s get that out of your head right now.”
“Well they treated me like a girl,” I mutter. Fiona raises an eyebrow and then violently shakes her head.
“Rylee, it’s your trauma and you’re allowed to joke about it but don’t ever believe those people taught you anything about being a woman. Being abused and coerced, that’s not being a woman. I don’t care what they told you. Listen to what we tell you.”
“Okay, okay,” I nod quickly. “Sorry for…no I mean…” As I speak and stumble over my attempts to apologize, she watches me intently, her expression unchanging. Finally, as soon as I’m done verbally storming, she speaks up again.
“So, never alone, Rylee,” she tells me “Girls always go to the bathroom together and it’s for a reason. Always be in a group and for you that means Tori, Anette or me. All three if possible but that doesn’t always work out.”
“But only to the bathroom,” I interject, bringing out a look of extreme annoyance from Fiona.
“No, Rylee,” her tone and expression are far more serious than I’m used to. “You’re in this for the long haul, don’t make it harder than it has to be. Never alone, got it?”
“Got it,” I whisper.