Vial of T

Glenn faces his worst fear: Lisette.

 Red lights beam down with startling intensity on my worn-out figure. I’m sitting, a sick feeling rising in the pit of my stomach. Ropes bind my wrists to the wood arms of the chair. I couldn't get up even if I tried; She wouldn’t let me anyway. She seems determined to keep me in this small room, circling like a viper.

           “What’s your name sweetie?”

            “Glenn.”

            “Glenn, hmm. How quaint.”

            She reaches down and cups my chin, turning it this way and that. I resist the urge to bite. Her hair falls in soft waves, creating a curtain around us as she inspects my face. Dark freckles line the bridge of her nose and cheeks. She looks disturbingly familiar. She looks like me.

            I jerk my chin out of her hand, “And you are?”

            “Lisette, dear. But you should know that,” peals of laughter shake her shoulders. “Who else?”

            I grit my teeth, “I don’t know you.”  

            “Oh, but you do! You really do!”

            With a theatrical wave of the hand, the spotlight fluctuates between red and blue. It highlights a large screen on the wall across from where I sit. Credits start to roll across the screen. I try to look away. I don't want to see this. Lisette grips short tufts of hair in her hand and wrenches my head back, forcing me to watch.

            I press my lips together helplessly as the little film child runs across the foreground, neck wet with sweat. They’re smiling wide. A dog follows close behind. It nips at their feet without biting. They laugh and scratch behind its' ears. Everything is serene.

            The hair on the back of my neck stands on end as I notice a beige house in the background. It has only one-story; it’s a rather ordinary abode. I know this house, but no. There's just no way.

            The screen pans to a man looking out through the house's window. He glances at the child and frowns, disappearing from the glass.

            I feel Lisette’s hand on my thigh as I hold my breath. She’s watching intently, nails digging into my skin. Did Father notice?   

            The air rushes out of my lungs as the man reappears, clothes in hand.

            He waves the child down. They try to run off, but he grabs them by the wrist and forces them to stand before him. They sway back and forth on their bare feet listlessly. He manages to get the shirt on, tugging it over their head.  

            “What are you doing Lis? You know you can’t run around like that,” Father chides. “It’s indecent.”

            “But daddy,” tears bubble in little Lis’ eyes. Accusation taints their innocent depths.

            Glancing over, I see Lisette’s tears mimic the little girl’s cries. Her lower lip quivers, mouthing the words: “Danny gets to.”    

            “Danny is a boy. You’re not,” the man clicks his tongue. “You know that.”

            Nose enflamed, adult Lisette waves her hand again. The screen goes black.

            A strange sensation runs down my spine, sweat trailing a slow path. I feel like I’m suffocating. The spotlights are too hot. They beam down on me, no longer distracted by the screen. Something about that little girl felt off. In fact, they didn’t seem like a little girl at all.

            “Why did you show me that?”

            “You know who that is, don’t you?” Lisette’s voice runs cold. She wipes her eyes violently. Turning away from the screen, she places her hands on either side of me. I shiver. With a smile, she brings her lips to my ear, “That’s you.”

            “No!” I lunge at her only to fall back into the chair. Blood beads where the ropes bite into my skin. 

            She giggles.

            “It is. That’s you as a child. Don’t you remember? You were such a cute little girl.”

            A growl emits from my throat, “I’m not a girl.”

            “Are you so sure?”

            Her fingers play across the top of my jeans. A small strip of skin peaks out from beneath my work shirt. I can’t stop her from taking it apart button by button.

            “Look at you!” her eyes shine in the now-white light. “You’re positively blushing!”  

            Breath coming in shallow gasps, my eyes wander to the top of my collar. I can’t look down any farther. Biles makes its way up my throat.

            “I’m not. I’m a man.”

            “You’re too soft to be a man,” Lisette kisses the skin of my neck as she straddles my lap.

            I want to strike her. Rage makes my head spin. She doesn't know me, doesn't know what she's talking about. She has no clue what I've been through.

            Twisting feebly in my seat, I attempt to buck her off. Her thighs squeeze tight in response. She stays firmly planted.

            Repeating herself over and over, her voice moves from a soft whisper to a yell.

            I scream back, “I’m a man d****t! Doesn't matter if I'm soft! That's just my body!!”

            Falling silent, she pulls back to look at me. Sympathy rolls in waves off her tongue, but I can no longer hear her. I'm drowning in my own thoughts. I hate being exposed. For all the strength I had to tell her my body didn't matter, doubt climbs its' dirty way up through my gut. Maybe she was right. Maybe I'll never be a man. 

            Looking around frantically, a small vial catches my eye. It’s hanging from her belt loop, the only thing gracing her hip.

            “Do you want this?” her voice penetrates the bubble around my ears.

            I nod, struck by the clear contents.

            “Is that�"?”

            “Testosterone? Yes, it is.”

            “And you’re just going to give it to me?”

            “It’s already yours, Glenn,” she touches my cheek gently.

            Pulling the vial from its loop, Lisette pops off the top. I take deep breaths, trying hard not to pant. I want to snatch it and run as far away as possible before she can take it back. Her hands shake as she pulls a needle from her pocket, fingering it before returning my gaze.

            “Are you sure you want this? The moment you take it, I’ll disappear. You'll only be able to get back fragments if you quit, shallow ones at that.”

            “I’m sorry, Lisette,” I stretch to brush my lips against her forehead. My voice is steady. I'm ready now. “But this is what I want.”

            Bobbing her head up and down in acquiescence, she transfers the needle to the palm of my hand.

            “Goodbye Lisette.”

            “Goodbye dear.”