Trigger Warnings: Dysphoria and a bit of self-harm in this chapter.

Fridays. The last day I had to suffer through classes until I got a chance to go home and be alone for two days before the whole thing started again. It was the only thing I was looking forward to, the weekend. I intended to skip the confrontation with Ganondorf, but luck was not in my favour. Because my schedule was a little wonky – much more so than the simple one I was used to from my old school – the last class on Thursday was the second class on Friday this week. It gave the hulking teen a chance to corner me before lunch.

He and his goons circled my desk like the day before as I tried to flee. Ganondorf pushed me back into my seat with a rough shove to my shoulder, and when I glanced at the teacher I only got a quick glance back. He wouldn't be any help.

"Look who showed up to school," sneered the taller, much more muscular boy. "It's a good thing, too, otherwise he wouldn't get a chance to hear what I have to say."

His friends chuckled, and this time I didn't bother trying to say anything. I just listened as my heart hammered away in my chest. It wasn't like there was anything I could do anyway, the teacher probably saw a lot of his bullying and chose to ignore most of it – much like he was doing when he chose to leave me alone in the classroom with Ganondorf.

"See, I saw you with that fairy yesterday," he spat. "It made me have a change of heart! Isn't that right, guys?" His buddies laughed and jostled one another briefly, and Ganondorf continued once they were quiet again. Leaning in with arms crossed, I could smell his rancid breath as he loudly whispered, "I decided that I'd kick the living shit out of you right now and spare you the wait."

The first pair of hands to grab me startled me into action. My chair fell away as I was dragged backwards, kicking out and catching someone in the shin – I wasn't sure who and I didn't care. One of my free hands reached up and clawed at a face as a second pair of Ganondorf's goon's hands grabbed for my wrists. Ganondorf himself reached for my sweater, the baggy one I defaulted to when I was feeling particularly dysphoric, snagging a handful of fabric as my feet finally found the floor.

Desks were shoved aside as I pushed with all my might backwards, toppling the guy holding me from behind. I heard fabric ripping as the three of us fell, leaving Ganondorf standing there above us with a handful of air.

Letting my body take over from years of roughhousing with the other boys at school, I rolled up and backwards, a rogue shoe catching the douche holding my wrists down square in the nose. He howled in pain and dropped my wrists, but the guy holding me under my arms was harder to detach. His fingers grasped in places I knew were dangerous, and I felt the binding I'd so carefully wrapped that morning loosen.

"Shit," I hissed, driving a knee downwards, narrowly missing the guy's face as he finally let me go. I turned to run but found myself faced with a wall with no exit. A heavy hand fell on my shoulder, gripping painfully tight, so I spun around, elbow out, and caught Ganondorf in the ribs.

All four of them were back on their feet and they looked murderous. Ganondorf barely flinched when I stomped on his foot as hard as I could – discovering quite painfully that whatever shoes he was wearing had steel toes.

As they grabbed again for me, I jabbed a hand upward, resorting to that damned training my mother had put me through when I was still living as a girl. I had aimed for his nose, but Ganondorf seemed to know better than that. He shoved me and I went sprawling. My head snapped forward as the back of it collided with a chair on the way down, breath knocked out of me from the shock.

I briefly registered that he was motioning something to his friends as I rolled onto my side, vision dark at the edges and mouth gasping for air it couldn't get. Then he was sitting on my stomach, pinning me at the shoulders. Something crossed his face as I raised my arms meekly, feeling the world spinning and grabbing his pressing hands, scrabbling to find something, anything, that would get him off of me. A finger I could pry at, even.

He waited until I started to cough and the world was back in focus. His eyes narrowed menacingly, his sheer weight holding me in place and bruising my flesh. I could hear the door click closed as the halls started to get noisy with people being let out early for lunch. That noise scared me more than anything. If it was locked, no one would be able to get to me in time if he really was going to kick the shit out of me. I was trapped.

I wanted to beg, scream, plead for him not to hit me, but something in the way he restrained himself made me hesitate. The way his mouth crooked just a little bit, how his nose wrinkled as if he smelled something bad. It wasn't the face of rage and hate I'd seen moments before. Sure, the anger and hate were still there, but there was amusement on top of it all.

"Looks like you get off with a warning," he said, and that's when I noticed that we were alone in the room. Where the hell had his backup gone? Raising a fist, he mock-punched me in the jaw, once. It wasn't even hard enough to sting. "Normally, I don't fight girls. But next time you piss me off, I won't hold back."

Then he was standing, looming over me. At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to cut that smug look off his face. That condescending way he was looking at me made me feel sick to my stomach. Why, of all people, did he have to find out! "I'm not a fucking girl," I snarled, refusing his hand up. My cheeks burned. Horror and dread filled my whole being, making my ears ring and the world feel ... Fuzzy.

He grabbed my shoulder and leaned close, pressing our cheeks together. When I tried to pull away, his other hand grabbed my waist, holding me in place. "Oh, don't worry. This will be out little secret."

Then he was gone, that sickening warmth nothing but a phantom against my skin. He picked up his discarded bag and waved over his shoulder as he yanked open the door. Leaving me in the chaotic aftermath of our scuffle. My face burned with shame, stomach twisted so tight that I felt bile in my throat. A lump in my throat stuck in my throat that felt so big I couldn't suck in enough air. Picking up my own bag, hands shaking so badly I dropped it several times, I didn't see Link at the door until I had nearly run into him.

"Oh god," I groaned, not meaning to say it out loud. I crossed my arms self-consciously, hoping that the binding wasn't loose enough yet to see anything.

"What happened?" Link reached for my shoulder and I flinched away. The hurt that crossed his face was brief, covered quickly with worry. "It was Ganondorf, wasn't it?"

I tried to scoot past, but Link barred the way. "It's nothing." Lies, I thought bitterly, desperate. I need to get out of here, what lies can I tell him?

"Look, Ganondorf is a known bully. If you go to the principal, he can do something about it." Again, he reached for my shoulder, but, once more, I dodged it. "Come on. I'll go with you."

"No," I stuttered, tired of playing nice. Shoving my way through the doorway, I felt that dreaded hand on my shoulder. Luckily, I had worn ace bandages for binding instead of too-tight training bras, so there was nothing on my shoulder he shouldn't be feeling. It still felt like he could feel them there, though, and I shrugged off his hand as tears pricked at my eyes. "I have to go to the bathroom," I muttered, weaving into the crush of students.

Link followed me. Insisting I go to a teacher, the principal, someone. When I got the bathrooms ... I froze. People shoved me this way and that, but I couldn't make myself move. Whatever Link was saying fell on deaf ears. Blood rushed in my ears as I stared at the two signs.

Man or woman?

Wasn't that always the question? By habit, I wanted to go into the women's bathroom, where Link couldn't follow me. But I couldn't. I couldn't let myself do that.

I just didn't feel right about going into the men's, either.

Backing away from the two doors, the two signs, the choice of gendering myself, I turned and took the only option I knew was safe. It was a cop-out, and I felt like I'd somehow failed myself as I locked the door behind me. The handicapped bathroom smelled like it hadn't been used in a long time, but I didn't really pay attention. I slumped against the door as my legs gave out. The world felt like it was going to fast, leaving me behind. Disorientation claimed my senses, and I knew I was fainting even before I felt the ground under me.

I came back moments later, Link's voice still talking to me through the door. Insisting.

"I can't," I whispered, crawling towards the toilet to vomit. "I can't."

And it was the truth.

I winced, feeling the bump on my head. The skin was still super tender, but it was healing. The weekend had come fast, but not fast enough. And even the weekend couldn't make me feel better. Standing in front of the mirror, I stared at myself. Hating myself, scrutinizing every inch of skin. I wanted to avert my eyes, to keep from looking, but I couldn't. It was like looking at a wreck as it happened.

My fingers gripped the counter so tight I felt my bones creaking, but I pushed myself to grip tighter. Trying to distract myself. But it didn't seem to help.

Ganondorf's voice repeated itself over and over in my head. A girl. Was that what I was to him? A girl only pretending to be a boy? To Link, too? Saria? My parents?

Myself?

Without thinking, I balled my hands into fists at my side, raised one. Shattered the mirror in front of me. My knuckles burned as sharp shards of glass rained down on my arm, splitting the skin, cutting and slicing. The section I'd broken fell away as I pulled my hand back. Turned on the water, stuck my bleeding hand under the spray. That hurt, too, but I didn't care.

Anything to distract myself, right?

I pulled my shirt back on, smearing blood on the side. Studied the way I looked in the mirror, hating the way my breasts were so ... There. I hated the way my body looked, the way my waist curved. I hated my face, how feminine it was.

There was a knock on my door and it startled me. My mother's worried voice asked if I was alright, and I told her that I'd tripped and broken the mirror by accident. More lies. She tried to insist she come in and see, but I refused. If she really cared, she'd go get the key.

She didn't.

With a sigh, I let my bloody hand drain into the sink. The pain was awful, but it was something to anchor me. And I knew that I hadn't really hurt myself by doing this, it just stung. The cuts on my knuckles were superficial. The little nicks on my hand and wrist were just that, nicks. The slivers of glass still stuck in my skin, too tiny to shake off or brush away, would all come out in due time. The bigger slivers had washed down the drain.

After what felt like an hour, the bleeding slowed, then stopped. Wrapping my knuckles in a cloth, I re-did the binding on my chest and changed into pj's. At least I could sleep away the weekend, sleep away my problems. Sleep and return to a world where I was who I wanted to be, where everyone knew the real me. Where I didn't hate myself and I didn't lie.

I could sleep and be me, at last.