No one really trusts anyone. No fully, anyway. There are things that people don't say to priests or parents, therapists and teachers. Not even to their closest friends. They don't say anything, because they don't want to be judged or because there is nothing they can do about it. They don't tell anyone because they're afraid of the consequences, or because they don't want to talk about what got them to do those things in the first place. They suffocate in silence.

Her list is long. It's been growing her whole life. When she was eight she read a book she wasn't supposed to read on accident. At the age of eleven, she stole cinnamon gum from a drug store. Last month she accidentally reset one of her older brother's favorite games and pretended not to know about it.

Sometimes these secrets don't ever come out. Sometimes people die before they tell anyone everything, even all the embarrassing stuff they did as an immature child. People lie in their graves, burying their secrets with them.

She sighed and looked at her computer. Her friends already knew her secret, and two of her friends were happy for her. The other was kinda awkward about it, avoiding the subject but accepting it. No one else knew, of course.

But she couldn't let this secret go untold. She had to tell him. He lived with her, for God sakes. She had to tell her older brother, even if he probably wouldn't care. The only other option was to sit in silence until he figured it out himself, but she wouldn't be comfortable with the teasing she would receive from him, nor would she be ready to tell him. She had to tell him.

She sat on her bed. She looked around. Multicolored wires ran across the floor, connecting her turntables to her speakers and to her computer. Her beloved turntables could be used against her if he took her secret the wrong way. He could take away her computer too, and then her phone. Maybe even her music editing software, although even that was a little too low for Bro.

Of course, that was just the tip of the iceberg. It was already bad enough that Bro never fed her, and that she had to keep her apple juice and Doritos in the closet. It was already bad enough that he constantly challenged her to a strife on the roof, or that he constantly terrified her by leaving his puppets and swords in odd places. If Child Protective Services ever came to their apartment, they would automatically remove her from his care and take her to a foster home.

She couldn't bear to think of the things he would do if he didn't accept her. He would probably kick her out. Sell her stuff. Ruin the rest of her life. She felt tears burning behind her Aviators at just the mere prospect of what he could do. Maybe he would force her to keep quiet. Maybe he would hire a correctional therapist. No, he didn't have the money. Maybe he would make her act like her old self around everyone else. She was beginning to shake, and she reached up to rub her eyes underneath her shades.

Then she heard a door slam. He must be home from the daily Dorito run. There was a ball in her throat. She mentally wished for the power of telepathy, so that she wouldn't have to tell him outright. If she hadn't been scared before, she was certainly scared now.

She slowly rose to a stand, and then looked at herself in the mirror. She still looked the same as always, her stoic face betraying her mixture of emotions inside. Come on, she thought to herself. You're a strong, independent woman. If he kicks you out, you can handle it.

She began to walk towards the door. As she put her hand on the handle, she regretted it. She didn't want to tell him. She was too afraid of what he would do. Maybe he would abuse her. She didn't think it was beneath him. She took a shaky breath, and then opened the door and stepped outside before she could run back to her bed and cry.

Good job. Now for the rest of it. She turned, and began to walk down the short hallway. Bro was in the living room, sitting on his futon, popping open a tasty bag of Nacho Cheese Doritos with one hand and loading up a game on his Xbox with the other. She sat down on his futon next to him, and he looked at her in surprise. She never sat on the futon unless she wanted to talk.

Bro set down the Xbox controller and reached inside the bag of Doritos. "What's up, little man?" He asked her, gazing at her face from behind his triangle shades.

She opened her mouth to speak, but the words wouldn't come out. They were stuck in her throat. She stared at the floor, blinking hard so that she wouldn't cry, and then tried again. "I wanted to talk to you about something," she said, although it all came out in a torrent.

Bro paused, his hand frozen he lifted up a Dorito to his open mouth. He shut his mouth, and then pulled the Dorito away. "What is it?" He asked cautiously.

She took deep breaths. Her heartbeat was going faster than a cheetah. She didn't know how to tell him. How did she tell him? How could she say it in a way that would make him accept her?

"Are you gay?" Bro asked. "Because, you know, that's cool little man. I'm fine with you being gay. Just tell me when you're having someone over and I'll hook you up." He was rambling.

She laughed breathlessly. "I'm not gay, Bro." She said, and then licked her lips. "But I wanted to tell you that I'm..." She couldn't say it. She wanted to say it so badly. It was there, right on the tip of her tongue, but the word wouldn't come out.

Bro shifted. He was restless with anxiety. She didn't think he cared that much to be anxious for her. They had a strict, no-parent-child-crap rule, which meant that they acted like they were just two siblings that had a deep lack of care for each other. She never thought that he could actually act like he wasn't a tool.

"Trans."

There. She said it. It was out. She was trans. She couldn't meet him in the eye, so she just stared at the TV, avoiding his gaze. She felt like she was holding her breath, waiting for his response. Waiting for him to growl at her and tell her to get out of his apartment. Or to calmly say that he was going to sell all of her stuff, or that she would never act like a woman in public.

Bro nodded slowly, adjusting. "Okay," he said, stretching it out to make two syllables. "That's cool, I guess."

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He was leaning back like he was on a rollercoaster. And he had a weird look on his face, like he was slightly unnerved but at the same time trying not to show it. "I mean, I accept it," he continued. "It's fine by me if you're a girl."

She knew what he was thinking. She knew that he thought it was a little weird to have always treated her was and called her a boy, and now his little bro was now his little sis. "What do you want me to call you?" He asked quietly, staring at the TV.

She looked at him. "Dove," she murmured, staring from behind her shades. Was he really going to accept her? The possibility made her heart jump with hope.

He nodded firmly. "Dove Strider it is." He nodded to himself, as if really confirming that yes, she was a girl.

Then she found herself smiling. He wasn't going to take away her stuff. He wasn't going to punish her. He was just going to accept her for who she truly was, no questions asked.

"Are we still going to strife?"

Bro grinned. "Definitely."