Fighting 3.14
Persephone
Infinite Screms
- Pronouns
- her/hers
- Partners
-
Fighting 3.14: Conversion
Genesis
There’s a small relief in knowing what you were doing wrong.
But now you know how you’re broken and you want it fixed now but you don’t know how to do that so it’s just an itch beneath your skin and a feeling of disgust in your stomach.
You sit on the floor of the shower for ages and stare blankly into the darkness. Then being naked feels wrong so you get out and find loose clothes to put on. All of it a chore in the dark. Worth it when you can sit down on the toilet fully dressed and stare into the void. Much better. Much less sexual.
Were you always like this? Were you infected? When? By whom? Is that why you were drawn to Lyra in the first place. The memory of her proposing to you in middle school surfaces and you suddenly want to puke. No. No. You turned her down. You weren’t like that then. When did it change?
You felt something when Lyra kissed you. Then you just latched on to the next cute girl—not cute, she’s not cute—and. You don’t know how any of this works. Mother does. Mother’s known what to do longer than you have. What was she talking about? A school, like Exodus’s. Away from here. In the light.
It’s all too much. Your body or mind gives out abruptly and the next thing you know you wake up fully clothed on a toilet seat.
The door opens and Mother walks in, the starmie trailing behind her. Your skin crawls with people in your space, but you shove the feeling down. You deserve it. Need it, maybe. You can’t be left unsupervised.
“You were right,” you croak. “You were right.”
You stare down at your feet. You don’t know what comes next. What you deserve. Dread and acceptance war within you as Mother advances with soft steps before sliding down onto the bed beside you. You feel her warm arms wrap around you as she leans closer. “It’s going to be okay,” she whispers. “We’ll get through this.”
You cry. It’s not dignified but you do. She just holds you tighter and starts rubbing your back while softly humming a hymn. It’s peaceful. Purifying. By the time your tears dry the clouds of anxiety have parted and a ray of hope shines through.
Mother leans away and clears her throat. “Are you committed to doing better?”
“Yes. Absolutely.”
“The Creator is stronger than the wicked one. What’s broken can be fixed by His grace.”
She slips her hand into yours and stands up. “Come. I want to show you something.”
You follow her and the starmie trails after. The shadows seem larger, the halls emptier and colder. All cast in the red light with which the pokémon exposed your lies. Wait. If the starmie could know, why wouldn’t Cuicatl? She would have also been in your head. Would have known. Or maybe… she wanted to take advantage of it. You shudder, glad that you dodged that bullet. She is altogether too much like Lyra for your own good. The light shifts to green. Oh. You were thinking about her. You must not do that from here on out. Banish her from your thoughts. Exile Allana as well. Nothing good could come from either of them.
Mother guides you down two flights of stairs before she begins walking again, this time to a room with glass doors. Light shines through them and you can feel the warmth as you approach. “Your father bought the castform a sunny day TM. It’s made itself useful since.”
“He.”
Mother stops and stares at you, an eyebrow raised.
“He. His name is Count Cloudy.”
“Like one of your books.” Her gaze turns sterner. “I did not know you still thought about such childish things.”
“I…” Suddenly you’re back on the defensive with no idea what to say. Things were going so well, too.
“I will have them reviewed. See if they might have played a part in your corruption. In the meantime, you are strictly forbidden from reading them.”
Not like you even could in the dark.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good.” She steps forward and opens the door for you. “Your pokémon await.”
You walk through the doors and are surprised by the heat inside. Is Count Cloudy making all of that? He’s come so far in just… however long it’s been. You lost track a long time ago. He twirls around when you enter the room and lowers himself to your height. Then he rushes forward and presses into your shirt. A residue of warm water marks his arrival. The sound of moving wind fills his body. Usually a happy sound. Oh. You didn’t know that he was so attached. You love him, sure, but Cuicatl’s pokémon—banished. She is banished.
Ferny is curled up in a basket with one paw pressed over the edge. He glares at you and then goes back to sleep. Oh no, did he think you had abandoned him? You didn’t mean to. You become very aware of Mother standing behind you and aren’t sure how to explain that without saying something wrong that she could dig into.
“Hi, Cloudy,” you whisper while you pull him into a hug. It only gets more of your clothes wet, but he seems to like it. Eventually you step to the side and walk over to Fern’s basket. You kneel down and start scratching one of his long ears. He opens his eyes again to stare at you. After another minute of scratching he puts a paw on top of your hand and presses down. He sniffs you for a second and then curls back up. Fine. No scratches.
There’s an inflatable pool in the corner of the room. Something splashes inside as you come closer. Sir Bubbles sticks his head over, pushing himself out of the water with quick movements of his tail. Then he dives right back in.
“It’s alright, Bubbles. I just want to take a look.” He does not come back to the surface. “Brave, brave, Sir Bubbles…”
“Where’d you learn that?”
Mother’s voice is sharp and commanding again, all warmth gone.
“What you just said, where’d you hear it?”
“A friend at school? I think?” It was from a knight movie or something.
She practically growls. “Never should have sent you there. You were fine, better than fine, and then they desecrated my precious daughter. Expose her to drug addicted, atheist, homosexual filth.”
You had no idea that line was tied to any of that.
“I didn’t know—”
She sighs and smiles again. “I’m mad at them, sweety, not you. I want to help you do better.” Her gaze lowers to your clothes and she frowns again. “You’re wet.”
“Coun—Cloudy is made of water.”
Her nose scrunches up. “And you hugged it?”
“Yes—”
“You’ll need more work than I’d thought to get you back to being a proper lady. Come on, let’s get you changed.” You hesitate. You want to stay here and keep hugging Cloudy and try to get Fern and Bubbles to like you again. Something bordering on rage flashes in your mother’s eyes. “You will be able to see them again in good time, dearest. Come with me. Now.”
You follow without a conscious decision.
“Genesis!”
Your head snaps up at the sound. Levi is calling for you.
“I know you’re in there, Genesis!”
“Run along now, master Leviticus.” The voice is gruff. Something you’d expect from one of the security staff. Your room is guarded in addition to being locked. You should have expected that, really. Not sure how it makes you feel.
“My sister is in there. I just want to talk to her!”
A radio comes to life in a burst of static. “Mrs. Gage, we have a situation at your daughter’s room.”
“I told you, I just—” His voice rises to a near shout. “You can hear me, right Gen?”
You want to tell him that you can. That you love him. That you want to talk about everything and hear how he’s doing but. If Mother doesn’t trust you to talk to him yet, you probably shouldn’t. She knew about your sin before you did. There’s probably more that she knows but you don’t. And she deserves to have one pure child.
“Please, I want to talk.”
You raise your legs to your chest and hug them, wincing in pain as your feet chafe against the edge of your too-tight heels. You are supposed to wear them at all times unless you are showering, at least until you can relearn your manners. You haven’t worn them in months and they hurt more than usual, but that’s only further proof that you need it. This pain, hearing Levi’s voice but not being able to respond—you also need that. Even if you don’t know why.
You can hear the harsh clacks of Mother’s shoes on the floor. “Leviticus Elisha Gage, what are you doing?”
“Talking to my sister.”
Is he sassing her? You knew he was bold, but you’ve never known him to do this. Children do not defy their parents.
“I told you, she’s sick. Stay away.”
“Then I can call her. Just set up a phone and—”
“Go back to your room, Leviticus. I will not ask again.”
“Why can’t I—”
“One,” Mother says. You can imagine her with an eyebrow raised, glaring down at her son.
Leviticus just huffs indignantly.
“Two.”
“Fine. I’ll go.”
He stomps off, clearly not happy about it. You half expect Mother to come in, to try to help you through things, but she walks off shortly after. You’re left alone with just the darkness and your aching feet for company.
What you wouldn’t give to have Cloudy with you now. Or to be able to read something. You flop back down on your bed and your mind wanders to a castle under deep fog before you sigh and pull yourself back to reality. Mother hasn’t reviewed the books yet. You can’t get too deep into that world until you’re sure it isn’t part of the problem.
That leaves you with nothing to do. Again. Too soon to shower and after your last one and after that experience... You don’t want to again. Not until it would be unladylike to go any longer without one. Sleep, maybe? You aren’t tired. At all.
Not like you can read scripture or anything. Just sit here and think. Think. About. Something. Boys, maybe? It’s ordinarily sinful to think too much about them. You used to be proud on how little you did. In hindsight, maybe you should have tried to think about them more.
You could always try now. Focus on what makes them hot. Like, their, um. Muscles? People like muscles, right? Not like you’ve worked with too many athletes. Bodybuilders always grossed you out since they look like they have some gross muscle cancer problem. Cuicatl’s are pretty. Small but visible, partially because she’s so small that there isn’t much fat masking them and—
You’re going to need more help than you’d realized.
“I’m to understand that you’re making progress.”
Father doesn’t hug you when you file into his office. He barely acknowledges you at all. Just sits behind his desk, reviewing the documents on it. His pyroar sits off to the side and watches you with a curious gaze.
“I have accepted my fault, yes.”
“Hmm.” He signs at the bottom of the page and shuffles the next document in front of him. All without looking at you. “Good, good. Now we can discuss the next steps.”
“A school? On the mainland?”
“We’d rather not. Your sister’s results have been less than satisfactory. We cannot bring her here, obviously, so she will stay until at least the age of majority. Then we can see if she is truly ready to be independent or if she will fall back on violence and criminality.” He scowls. “Have you heard from her as of late?”
“I called her on Thanksgiving.”
“And?” He pulls the paper closer to his face to read it. Must be hard in the faint pokémon-cast light.
“She said that I should keep doing the island challenge. Stay away from you.”
And she’d said there was something you didn’t know about yourself. Wait. Did she mean—how? You barely even see her? How had she figured that out? Or was she bluffing? That’s it. She was bluffing.
“Unsurprising,” Father murmurs. “She wouldn’t stop at trying to take one child from me. No, she must also go for the other. Never call her again.”
“I will not.” It’s an order you will happily follow.
“Good. What had we been talking about?”
“Schools. You didn’t want me to send you to one…?”
“Yes. That was it. We sent you to an excellent one. Run by a priest and with deep ties to the faith.” He scoffs. “I gave them quite a bit of money, and they gave me a lesbian daughter in return. No. I’m done trusting those fools. If you want something done right, you do it yourself.” He finally sits straighter in his chair and meets your gaze. “Your mother has a friend with some experience treating homosexuals. For now we would rather you be treated inside the home where we can keep a closer eye on the process.”
You aren’t sure if you have a choice here or not. Mother had suggested that you might have one, but after hearing Father’s reasoning you aren’t sure you do. You could disagree with him, yes, but you aren’t sure what you would disagree with…
“Okay,” you say, in case you were supposed to agree.
He glances back down at his paperwork. “Good. I will make the necessary arrangements.”
You know the dismissal for what it is.
Mother and her starmie lead you into a conference room with a smooth, oval table in the middle. It is not the round table, even if it is a round table. You should not think of it that way. Mother pulls up a seat and sits down. That was. Unexpected. You were sort of thinking you’d be left alone with her friend for this.
Said friend clears her throat and your attention to her. She’s older than your mother. Her features are sharp and her hair is long, blonde, and dull. Even in the faint light you can tell that she isn’t wearing makeup and her clothes have no color. ‘To avoid tempting you,’ a voice whispers in the back of your mind.
“Hello. My name is Mrs. Rivers. You will address me as such.”
She stops and stares at you. Was that a command? “Hello, Mrs. Rivers.”
Her eyes narrow. “A very informal greeting. You must do better in the future if you are to reenter society, but it will do for now.”
Another pause and stare. Oh. “My sincerest apologies, Mrs. Rivers.” You’d begun to stop talking like that when you went to school and people gave you weird looks for it. You entirely stopped once Allana started teasing you for it. Maybe she was an even worse influence than you had previously thought.
“Today will be an evaluation. I need to see what I have to work with, first. Only then can I make a plan for treatment.”
She flicks a button on her computer and the screen comes to life, prominently displaying—oh by the sacred tree. Your eyes reflexively dart towards your mother, still very much in the room and fixing you with a hard scowl.
“Keep your eyes on the screen, child.”
You reluctantly turn to look at it. She keeps flashing through more and more pictures and—and videos—of men. There’s something deeply wrong about all of it and you can feel pinpricks of pain shoot into the soles of your feet and rocket up the surface until your legs are numb and you want to tear into them and fold into yourself and forget all of this. You close your eyes and grit your teeth. “Eyes on the screen.”
You do your best to keep your breathing steady. When there are girls in the images you keep your eyes away from where they want to go. You are filled with shame when your gaze slips. Excitement, too, but that is only drowned out by more shame.
The screen goes black and the woman’s harsh eyes bore into yours. “I have seen homosexuals more set in their ways,” she says. “But only in late-stage homosexuals. The ones who had already fallen far down the path. Tell me, which of your whores did you enter into lesbianism with? The Asian? The transvestite? Or the demon-worshipper?” Sheer hatred seeps into all the descriptions.
“None of them! I promise…”
The light on the walls doesn’t change. “She isn’t lying,” Mother finally says. “I think she has another problem entirely. She was a good child who stumbled astray. Seeing the imagery for the first time and being confronted with her sin in a way she couldn’t hide from may have been stressful.” She reaches over the table and puts a hand on your shoulder. “Poor dear.”
The meeting ends. It’s all a blur. Mother’s touch is comforting but you—you want more. You want to hug people you shouldn’t. Hear them tell you that it’s fine and then talk it through with them. And you can’t feel like you can do that with Mother and it fills you with shame. Another sin. How many are you drowning under?
You finally—finally!—get back to your room and are left alone. You draw the sheets around you and hug your legs to your chest. Then you kick off the heels because no one will know and you have more than enough discomfort in your own skin.
Mother spoke up for you. Defended you. She doesn’t think you’re beyond hope. Your pokémon are still here. Your brother still cares about you. You can get through all of this and be better for it.
A weight of guilt settles on your shoulders. You can get through everything, but you must try. You must obey. You can’t just be straight when Mother is looking. You must be pure all the time.
You awkwardly slip your feet back into your shoes. If you wince at the pain, well, no one can see it in the dark.
Genesis
There’s a small relief in knowing what you were doing wrong.
But now you know how you’re broken and you want it fixed now but you don’t know how to do that so it’s just an itch beneath your skin and a feeling of disgust in your stomach.
You sit on the floor of the shower for ages and stare blankly into the darkness. Then being naked feels wrong so you get out and find loose clothes to put on. All of it a chore in the dark. Worth it when you can sit down on the toilet fully dressed and stare into the void. Much better. Much less sexual.
Were you always like this? Were you infected? When? By whom? Is that why you were drawn to Lyra in the first place. The memory of her proposing to you in middle school surfaces and you suddenly want to puke. No. No. You turned her down. You weren’t like that then. When did it change?
You felt something when Lyra kissed you. Then you just latched on to the next cute girl—not cute, she’s not cute—and. You don’t know how any of this works. Mother does. Mother’s known what to do longer than you have. What was she talking about? A school, like Exodus’s. Away from here. In the light.
It’s all too much. Your body or mind gives out abruptly and the next thing you know you wake up fully clothed on a toilet seat.
*
The door opens and Mother walks in, the starmie trailing behind her. Your skin crawls with people in your space, but you shove the feeling down. You deserve it. Need it, maybe. You can’t be left unsupervised.
“You were right,” you croak. “You were right.”
You stare down at your feet. You don’t know what comes next. What you deserve. Dread and acceptance war within you as Mother advances with soft steps before sliding down onto the bed beside you. You feel her warm arms wrap around you as she leans closer. “It’s going to be okay,” she whispers. “We’ll get through this.”
You cry. It’s not dignified but you do. She just holds you tighter and starts rubbing your back while softly humming a hymn. It’s peaceful. Purifying. By the time your tears dry the clouds of anxiety have parted and a ray of hope shines through.
Mother leans away and clears her throat. “Are you committed to doing better?”
“Yes. Absolutely.”
“The Creator is stronger than the wicked one. What’s broken can be fixed by His grace.”
She slips her hand into yours and stands up. “Come. I want to show you something.”
You follow her and the starmie trails after. The shadows seem larger, the halls emptier and colder. All cast in the red light with which the pokémon exposed your lies. Wait. If the starmie could know, why wouldn’t Cuicatl? She would have also been in your head. Would have known. Or maybe… she wanted to take advantage of it. You shudder, glad that you dodged that bullet. She is altogether too much like Lyra for your own good. The light shifts to green. Oh. You were thinking about her. You must not do that from here on out. Banish her from your thoughts. Exile Allana as well. Nothing good could come from either of them.
Mother guides you down two flights of stairs before she begins walking again, this time to a room with glass doors. Light shines through them and you can feel the warmth as you approach. “Your father bought the castform a sunny day TM. It’s made itself useful since.”
“He.”
Mother stops and stares at you, an eyebrow raised.
“He. His name is Count Cloudy.”
“Like one of your books.” Her gaze turns sterner. “I did not know you still thought about such childish things.”
“I…” Suddenly you’re back on the defensive with no idea what to say. Things were going so well, too.
“I will have them reviewed. See if they might have played a part in your corruption. In the meantime, you are strictly forbidden from reading them.”
Not like you even could in the dark.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good.” She steps forward and opens the door for you. “Your pokémon await.”
You walk through the doors and are surprised by the heat inside. Is Count Cloudy making all of that? He’s come so far in just… however long it’s been. You lost track a long time ago. He twirls around when you enter the room and lowers himself to your height. Then he rushes forward and presses into your shirt. A residue of warm water marks his arrival. The sound of moving wind fills his body. Usually a happy sound. Oh. You didn’t know that he was so attached. You love him, sure, but Cuicatl’s pokémon—banished. She is banished.
Ferny is curled up in a basket with one paw pressed over the edge. He glares at you and then goes back to sleep. Oh no, did he think you had abandoned him? You didn’t mean to. You become very aware of Mother standing behind you and aren’t sure how to explain that without saying something wrong that she could dig into.
“Hi, Cloudy,” you whisper while you pull him into a hug. It only gets more of your clothes wet, but he seems to like it. Eventually you step to the side and walk over to Fern’s basket. You kneel down and start scratching one of his long ears. He opens his eyes again to stare at you. After another minute of scratching he puts a paw on top of your hand and presses down. He sniffs you for a second and then curls back up. Fine. No scratches.
There’s an inflatable pool in the corner of the room. Something splashes inside as you come closer. Sir Bubbles sticks his head over, pushing himself out of the water with quick movements of his tail. Then he dives right back in.
“It’s alright, Bubbles. I just want to take a look.” He does not come back to the surface. “Brave, brave, Sir Bubbles…”
“Where’d you learn that?”
Mother’s voice is sharp and commanding again, all warmth gone.
“What you just said, where’d you hear it?”
“A friend at school? I think?” It was from a knight movie or something.
She practically growls. “Never should have sent you there. You were fine, better than fine, and then they desecrated my precious daughter. Expose her to drug addicted, atheist, homosexual filth.”
You had no idea that line was tied to any of that.
“I didn’t know—”
She sighs and smiles again. “I’m mad at them, sweety, not you. I want to help you do better.” Her gaze lowers to your clothes and she frowns again. “You’re wet.”
“Coun—Cloudy is made of water.”
Her nose scrunches up. “And you hugged it?”
“Yes—”
“You’ll need more work than I’d thought to get you back to being a proper lady. Come on, let’s get you changed.” You hesitate. You want to stay here and keep hugging Cloudy and try to get Fern and Bubbles to like you again. Something bordering on rage flashes in your mother’s eyes. “You will be able to see them again in good time, dearest. Come with me. Now.”
You follow without a conscious decision.
*
“Genesis!”
Your head snaps up at the sound. Levi is calling for you.
“I know you’re in there, Genesis!”
“Run along now, master Leviticus.” The voice is gruff. Something you’d expect from one of the security staff. Your room is guarded in addition to being locked. You should have expected that, really. Not sure how it makes you feel.
“My sister is in there. I just want to talk to her!”
A radio comes to life in a burst of static. “Mrs. Gage, we have a situation at your daughter’s room.”
“I told you, I just—” His voice rises to a near shout. “You can hear me, right Gen?”
You want to tell him that you can. That you love him. That you want to talk about everything and hear how he’s doing but. If Mother doesn’t trust you to talk to him yet, you probably shouldn’t. She knew about your sin before you did. There’s probably more that she knows but you don’t. And she deserves to have one pure child.
“Please, I want to talk.”
You raise your legs to your chest and hug them, wincing in pain as your feet chafe against the edge of your too-tight heels. You are supposed to wear them at all times unless you are showering, at least until you can relearn your manners. You haven’t worn them in months and they hurt more than usual, but that’s only further proof that you need it. This pain, hearing Levi’s voice but not being able to respond—you also need that. Even if you don’t know why.
You can hear the harsh clacks of Mother’s shoes on the floor. “Leviticus Elisha Gage, what are you doing?”
“Talking to my sister.”
Is he sassing her? You knew he was bold, but you’ve never known him to do this. Children do not defy their parents.
“I told you, she’s sick. Stay away.”
“Then I can call her. Just set up a phone and—”
“Go back to your room, Leviticus. I will not ask again.”
“Why can’t I—”
“One,” Mother says. You can imagine her with an eyebrow raised, glaring down at her son.
Leviticus just huffs indignantly.
“Two.”
“Fine. I’ll go.”
He stomps off, clearly not happy about it. You half expect Mother to come in, to try to help you through things, but she walks off shortly after. You’re left alone with just the darkness and your aching feet for company.
What you wouldn’t give to have Cloudy with you now. Or to be able to read something. You flop back down on your bed and your mind wanders to a castle under deep fog before you sigh and pull yourself back to reality. Mother hasn’t reviewed the books yet. You can’t get too deep into that world until you’re sure it isn’t part of the problem.
That leaves you with nothing to do. Again. Too soon to shower and after your last one and after that experience... You don’t want to again. Not until it would be unladylike to go any longer without one. Sleep, maybe? You aren’t tired. At all.
Not like you can read scripture or anything. Just sit here and think. Think. About. Something. Boys, maybe? It’s ordinarily sinful to think too much about them. You used to be proud on how little you did. In hindsight, maybe you should have tried to think about them more.
You could always try now. Focus on what makes them hot. Like, their, um. Muscles? People like muscles, right? Not like you’ve worked with too many athletes. Bodybuilders always grossed you out since they look like they have some gross muscle cancer problem. Cuicatl’s are pretty. Small but visible, partially because she’s so small that there isn’t much fat masking them and—
You’re going to need more help than you’d realized.
*
“I’m to understand that you’re making progress.”
Father doesn’t hug you when you file into his office. He barely acknowledges you at all. Just sits behind his desk, reviewing the documents on it. His pyroar sits off to the side and watches you with a curious gaze.
“I have accepted my fault, yes.”
“Hmm.” He signs at the bottom of the page and shuffles the next document in front of him. All without looking at you. “Good, good. Now we can discuss the next steps.”
“A school? On the mainland?”
“We’d rather not. Your sister’s results have been less than satisfactory. We cannot bring her here, obviously, so she will stay until at least the age of majority. Then we can see if she is truly ready to be independent or if she will fall back on violence and criminality.” He scowls. “Have you heard from her as of late?”
“I called her on Thanksgiving.”
“And?” He pulls the paper closer to his face to read it. Must be hard in the faint pokémon-cast light.
“She said that I should keep doing the island challenge. Stay away from you.”
And she’d said there was something you didn’t know about yourself. Wait. Did she mean—how? You barely even see her? How had she figured that out? Or was she bluffing? That’s it. She was bluffing.
“Unsurprising,” Father murmurs. “She wouldn’t stop at trying to take one child from me. No, she must also go for the other. Never call her again.”
“I will not.” It’s an order you will happily follow.
“Good. What had we been talking about?”
“Schools. You didn’t want me to send you to one…?”
“Yes. That was it. We sent you to an excellent one. Run by a priest and with deep ties to the faith.” He scoffs. “I gave them quite a bit of money, and they gave me a lesbian daughter in return. No. I’m done trusting those fools. If you want something done right, you do it yourself.” He finally sits straighter in his chair and meets your gaze. “Your mother has a friend with some experience treating homosexuals. For now we would rather you be treated inside the home where we can keep a closer eye on the process.”
You aren’t sure if you have a choice here or not. Mother had suggested that you might have one, but after hearing Father’s reasoning you aren’t sure you do. You could disagree with him, yes, but you aren’t sure what you would disagree with…
“Okay,” you say, in case you were supposed to agree.
He glances back down at his paperwork. “Good. I will make the necessary arrangements.”
You know the dismissal for what it is.
*
Mother and her starmie lead you into a conference room with a smooth, oval table in the middle. It is not the round table, even if it is a round table. You should not think of it that way. Mother pulls up a seat and sits down. That was. Unexpected. You were sort of thinking you’d be left alone with her friend for this.
Said friend clears her throat and your attention to her. She’s older than your mother. Her features are sharp and her hair is long, blonde, and dull. Even in the faint light you can tell that she isn’t wearing makeup and her clothes have no color. ‘To avoid tempting you,’ a voice whispers in the back of your mind.
“Hello. My name is Mrs. Rivers. You will address me as such.”
She stops and stares at you. Was that a command? “Hello, Mrs. Rivers.”
Her eyes narrow. “A very informal greeting. You must do better in the future if you are to reenter society, but it will do for now.”
Another pause and stare. Oh. “My sincerest apologies, Mrs. Rivers.” You’d begun to stop talking like that when you went to school and people gave you weird looks for it. You entirely stopped once Allana started teasing you for it. Maybe she was an even worse influence than you had previously thought.
“Today will be an evaluation. I need to see what I have to work with, first. Only then can I make a plan for treatment.”
She flicks a button on her computer and the screen comes to life, prominently displaying—oh by the sacred tree. Your eyes reflexively dart towards your mother, still very much in the room and fixing you with a hard scowl.
“Keep your eyes on the screen, child.”
You reluctantly turn to look at it. She keeps flashing through more and more pictures and—and videos—of men. There’s something deeply wrong about all of it and you can feel pinpricks of pain shoot into the soles of your feet and rocket up the surface until your legs are numb and you want to tear into them and fold into yourself and forget all of this. You close your eyes and grit your teeth. “Eyes on the screen.”
You do your best to keep your breathing steady. When there are girls in the images you keep your eyes away from where they want to go. You are filled with shame when your gaze slips. Excitement, too, but that is only drowned out by more shame.
The screen goes black and the woman’s harsh eyes bore into yours. “I have seen homosexuals more set in their ways,” she says. “But only in late-stage homosexuals. The ones who had already fallen far down the path. Tell me, which of your whores did you enter into lesbianism with? The Asian? The transvestite? Or the demon-worshipper?” Sheer hatred seeps into all the descriptions.
“None of them! I promise…”
The light on the walls doesn’t change. “She isn’t lying,” Mother finally says. “I think she has another problem entirely. She was a good child who stumbled astray. Seeing the imagery for the first time and being confronted with her sin in a way she couldn’t hide from may have been stressful.” She reaches over the table and puts a hand on your shoulder. “Poor dear.”
The meeting ends. It’s all a blur. Mother’s touch is comforting but you—you want more. You want to hug people you shouldn’t. Hear them tell you that it’s fine and then talk it through with them. And you can’t feel like you can do that with Mother and it fills you with shame. Another sin. How many are you drowning under?
You finally—finally!—get back to your room and are left alone. You draw the sheets around you and hug your legs to your chest. Then you kick off the heels because no one will know and you have more than enough discomfort in your own skin.
Mother spoke up for you. Defended you. She doesn’t think you’re beyond hope. Your pokémon are still here. Your brother still cares about you. You can get through all of this and be better for it.
A weight of guilt settles on your shoulders. You can get through everything, but you must try. You must obey. You can’t just be straight when Mother is looking. You must be pure all the time.
You awkwardly slip your feet back into your shoes. If you wince at the pain, well, no one can see it in the dark.
Last edited: