A/N: Lizzie-centric, one-shot fic. Maybe not what you think. If you are easily offended, or just plain offended by the following subjects, then you probably shouldn't read this: deep thought, rain, short hair, walking, transexuality, hope, and angst. Thank you, and enjoy. And if you have any questions just e-mail me and put Running on Fumes Q as the subject line. R&R!!
Warning: deep thought, rain, short hair, walking, transexuality, hope, and angst.
Running on Fumes
by HoldenHitHollywood
She walks down the street on the way to school. She decided to forgo the bus today; walking is probably better for her anyway. It's raining, and she knows a lot of people wouldn't understand, but she gets it, and that's what really counts. The drops come down with great big plops onto the ground and onto her head, and she feels clean again, for as long as the rain is here.Sunny California days are the norm, and she finds herself wishing there would be more days like this; gray and perfect and cool. She can't stand the heat.
The sidewalk is hard beneath her feet, and she's only a few blocks away from the school. She'll be late, but that's okay. She silently muses on her life. Her family is slowly crumbling, and she's at the center of it all. Hardly talking can do that to the people around you. Silence makes people insane. She can't really help it though, who would hear her? And she thinks about her friends; Gordo, and the distance between them, growing all the time, slipping her up so she wants to just dive in and drown in it. He loves her, and she loves him, only not in the way he'd want her to. Miranda... doesn't even talk to her anymore. Though she supposes it's her fault, since she never wants to talk about problems anymore. Never wants to talk.
The thing is, the heart of it, is that she doesn't feel right in her own body. And somehow it was so easy to pretend for all those years that she was and is who she looks like... But now, it's getting harder, and she's falling deeper into herself. She feels like a complicated puzzle put together by a two year old; everything in the wrong place. The outsides don't match the insides. She looks in the mirror, and doesn't see herself. She knows what's wrong, and she's been fighting it for years. Because of what other people told her. Because of what she sees in the world around her.
Lizzie McGuire, you are a girl.
No, I'm not. I'm a boy.
That's the jist of it. She's trying not to pretend anymore, but it's hard coming out of her shell. She's started by not being so girly anymore. Overcompensation is not in the cards for her anymore. Not in the cards for him. He wants to cut his hair short. Not really short, 'cause he kinda likes having it around his face a little, but short. He wants a different name. And it's so hard for him. People talk, and don't know what they're talking about. They spread rumors. And he's never been good with confrontation. And then there's Gordo. There's always been Gordo. And what will he think of his new friend? He loves Gordo, no matter what his own body looks like, and that is what scares him most of all. He's a boy on the inside, in love with another boy. And this boy loves him, but as a girl. It's all very confusing, and she doesn't want to deal with it anymore.
He feels, for a moment, like he might as well just kill himself and get it over with. Then he remembers all the other times; sitting on the toilet, razor in hand, poised over his wrist. One too many Ibuprofen, but he had panicked and told his mom. He hadn't been able to do it then. For all the parts of him that are depressed and anxious, there are small pieces of him that are optimistic and hopeful. Sometimes he hates it, but now he's grateful. Those little pieces have gotten him this far, running on fumes right from the beginning. He sighs, and looks up as he approaches the school. It's time for him to go in now. He doesn't smile; it's too soon for that. But he does grin and bear it. For now. He knows what's coming soon, and he's hopeful.
