Changing Costumes--
Rating: PG-13 for homoerotic undertones... kind of. It's just weird, all right? Read only if you are over thirteen and of an open mind. There is also a bit of harsh language.
Disclaimer: Dude... I haven't done one of these things in forever. But, um, anyway. I don't own Lizzie McGuire or the song "Magic's in the Make-up" by No Doubt. (Not that that matters, since I had to remove the songfic part of this story.)
A/N: I officially dub this my most random fic ever. I also wanna give love to Lane for the title. Bow to the goddess o' titles.
It's unspeakable. It's twisted and taboo and all different shades of wrong. If people ever found out... I can't even imagine. It's my secret. It's my horrible, delicious secret. Not a moment goes by that I don't feel that echoing paranoia in the back of my head: What if they find out? What if they already know? My reputation would be ruined. Image is everything to me; without it, I am nothing. If my secret ever got out, I might as well relocate to another continent.
But I won't ever stop. I love the fear. The hiding, the lying, the pretending. It's all fucking wonderful. I'm not ashamed to be two different people. My double life is my escape. It doesn't matter how fucked up things get, because I can always put on a mask and be somebody else. That's what my life has literally become: a masquerade. I'm living the ultimate costume dance.
Sometimes I forget. Sometimes I get so lost in fooling everyone, and changing costumes, that I forget which person I'm supposed to be. And then I start forgetting which one I want to be. The two faces never meet, but one without the other feels incomplete to me. I can't live either life all by itself. I wouldn't be able to handle that. I can't just squeeze myself into one ego and make everything make sense. There are two people inside me. And no one, especially not my family or my friends at school, could ever learn to accept them both. I don't even think I could learn to accept them both.
Maybe I should have been an actor. I could have been, like, the drama star of Hillridge. That Ryan Adams wouldn't know what hit him. I know how to be someone I'm not. I do it every day of my life. Just give me the part, and I'll play it. You want be to be the ladies man? Fine. I'm there. It's too easy. Class clown? Sure. No problem. Bad ass? Consider it done. I can be the center of attention or slink into obscurity for a few months; whatever is most convenient.
And the funny thing is that I don't give a damn. I never cared about any of it. The girls and the popularity and the everything... they were never important to me. I was only in it for the thrill of the charade. How many people could I fool? It was a game. A game meant to distract me from having to face what was really inside. I realize that now. I understand that all these years I've been playing this part so well simply because I'm too afraid of who I really am. I guess I figured if lived enough lies, the truth would cease to matter.
Then somehow, I got sucked into this whole other world. How did it start? I mean, that's the thing most people wonder. How do you get started in something like that? I don't even remember the details any more. It's hard to put it all together, but I guess the one thing I do know is that is started with Chris. I met Chris at a rave in L.A.; it had been Kate's idea to go. It's amazing the people you get to know when you're tripping on ecstacy.
Chris painted for me a picture of the life he led. I was shocked, but intrigued. Freaked out, but curious. How could I not be enchanted by something so risque and deviant. Something that reminded me so much of everything I was. I agreed to come see him sometime. All I had to do was see it to know I wanted it. I was drunk on the colors, the lights, the glam, the acting. It was a show. It was a place people went to forget themselves and be someone else.
I became a part of it. My life suddenly became a web of lies and fiction. I had to come with excuses for my friends on why I couldn't go to parties on the weekends, or why I hadn't been home all night. I lost hours of sleep when I would sneak out and take the long commute to L.A. I had to lie to my new L.A. friends, too. No one there could know that I was only seventeen, a typical high school student from Suburbia. I was fooling them at all, and it was fun. I was so busy having fun I even managed to fool myself some of the time.
Last week, I was almost caught. It's insane how close I was to being found out. I left the club around midnight with some of the other guys. We were strolling down the street, looking for some after-work excitement. What were the odds? Who else should I see, slightly drunk, cruising through L.A. in a Jeep? Why, my dear friends Ethan, Claire, Kate and the other assorted populars of Hillridge? They drove right past me. All they would have had to do was glance at the group of crossdressers for a moment longer, and they would have seen one of them was their own Danny Kessler.
But they didn't give us a second glance. I was a stranger to them. I guess it doesn't matter how well you know someone; they can still be someone completely different. Someone unrecognizeable. It's as simple as a wig and some make-up.
That leads me to wonder how anyone can really be what they claim to be. If it's really so easy for me to fit in a new skin, how am I supposed to know which are real and which are fake? I wake up every day and go to school as Danny Kessler. But at nights I escape to the eccentric L.A. club scene as Dana Kiss. Two separate people, nothing alike, with completely different lives. And yet, I'm just one person.
I don't have the answers. To any of it. I don't even have time to find the answers. I just play along. It's what I do best. The only person whoever even came close to the answers was Parker. Even though we had broken up long before my cross-dressing began, but I knew that she knew there was more going on with me than people realized.
Dating girls had grown to be a routine. A step-by-step process that was all thought and no emotion. Girls stick around with me for about three months; that's about the time I convince them they're no longer good enough for me, and that I have no choice but to break up with them. Parker was, in my mind, just another one of those girls. I took her for just another clueless popular girl. But she was different. She turned out to be frighteningly observant. She could tell when we kissed that my passion was staged. She could see how calculated my actions were. She just... knew. Parker was the first and only to recognize that all I am is pretend.
But that's old news now. It doesn't matter. Parker and I are through. It was getting too intimate. Not only did she recognize my lies, she understood them. She accept the truth behind them. She wanted to be my friend, and listen to my problems. She wanted to help me.
That's why I had to break up with her. She wanted me to be honest with my feelings. She was convinced she could help me find myself. I couldn't deal with shit like that. I couldn't search for myself; I was too afraid of what I might find. I was afraid I couldn't handle it. And I definitely couldn't be honest with my feelings. Facing the truth would void the lies I can come to rely on.
She wanted to help. And knowing the person she was, she probably could have helped. Everyone has someone that just gets them. Parker was that person for me. I know that now. But when we were dating... I wasn't ready to be helped. I wasn't ready to be "got." I didn't want anyone to understand, because I didn't want to understand. I just wanted cover my face in lies. Live in a world of pretend, to hide from reality.
I almost feel like I can face the truth now. Unfortunately, I've lived so long in lies that I don't know where I would begin. When I look in the mirror, I don't see myself anymore. I don't see Danny, or Dana, or anyone else. I see a mask. I see a ball of clay, molded to fit whatever surroundings you might throw me in. I'm a shell. I know so many lies, but truths are beyond my grasp.
I can't let go of the lies. I don't know what the truth is like, and that scares me. I have to be in control. Above all, I have to be the one who's manipulating the reality. I love being Danny. I love the way the girls get stupid when they get around me. I love the way people laugh even when I'm not funny. I love how my friends and I can be complete and utter bastards just because someone somewhere labelled us as cool. I love how I can hurt people, or make them feel better, just because I'm freaking Danny Kessler.
And I love being Dana. I love the glitter and the frills. I love the way hot pink fishnet stockings feel on my shaven legs. I love the way my eyes get dark and mysterious when covered in black make-up. I love the way the people howl my name, and the way the music pumps through the room and the lights fall only on me. I love it when they touch me, and want me, and wish they could be me. I love the way it feels dance, and the fact that I can dance, just because I'm freaking Dana Kiss.
I love being them. They are manifestations of what I don't have the strength to be on my own. I could never try to make them one in the same. That would require searching for something else... something in between. Something I'm supposed to be, but can't.
I still see Parker around sometimes. And she sees me. But we don't talk. Sometimes, when I'm brave, I try and think about what we could be together. Maybe we couldn't be a couple, but I feel like there could be something between us. Anything. I know that she could accept me. Me, really me. Me with my elitist bastard-tendencies and my hot pink stockings and everything in between.
Maybe someday I will shed my lies. And maybe Parker can love the real me. But not now. Not yet.