Lyrics to Born This Way by Lady Gaga (2011)
After dinner, Lucy Loud sat at the desk in hers and Lynn's bedroom, turned on the lamp, and went back to writing.
The killer slipped through the forest, moving silently and deliberately. Though he was bulky, he made little noise as he waded through the drifted leaves of autumns past.
At a tree, he stopped and rested even though he didn't feel winded. He reached out his hand and touched the bark, the sensation angering him. He hefted the scythe and struck it.
Birds cawed in the sky.
He hated birds.
After leaving the hospital, the killer took to the hills surrounding Pine Point. He didn't know why, exactly, but he had to stay out of sight. Several times on his trek through the night, he forgot where he was and why he was there, but the rage came back to him, and he knew, abstractly, that he was here to kill.
Toward dawn, he came across a cabin in the hills. He crouched behind a tree and watched, unwaveringly, for almost an hour. When a light snapped on, he made his move, crawling to the western wall and peeking in a window. An old man rambled around the kitchen, making coffee and listening to a transistor radio.
The killer tried the back door.
It was open.
When the man came back into the kitchen from wherever he'd gone, the killer grabbed him by the throat and choked the life out of him, holding him off the floor; the way his feet danced on air reminded the killer of another victim, long ago, a nurse whose neck broke under his hands.
When the man was dead, the killer dragged him to a broom closet off the hall and stuffed him inside.
In the man's room, he found a set of clothes. Gray pants. Plaid shirt. They were several sizes too small, but the killer pulled them on anyway, leaving his pale blue hospital gown lying on the floor by the bed.
On his way out the front door, something on the wall caught his eye. A white face. On closer inspection, it was a porcelain mask, its lips blood red and its cheeks brushed with pink. The killer took it down, holding it in his hands as though it were a magical talisman, then put it on.
It felt good.
It felt right.
She stopped to read over what she had and a thrill of excitement went through her. This was good...really good. Since that afternoon, she had written close to four thousand words, a personal best; she usually only got 1,500 words a day. When she needed a break, she submitted a few of her stories to magazines. Of the four or five that actually exposed their writers to a wide audience and paid, only two were open, so she hit them up along with a few others that offered small payments: Five in one case and fifteen in another.
After that, she went back to writing. The story was shaping up nicely: A man tracks his serial killer/escaped mental patient son in hopes of stopping him from hurting someone. It was filled with blood, sex, and gore; it was basically the literary equivalent of an 80s slasher movie, and she was having so much fun writing it that she didn't want it to end.
Finally, the man found his son trying to kill a girl in the woods and shot him, then, traumatized by being forced to murder his own son, he sank to his knees and shot himself in the head.
Lucy sat back, crossed her arms, and smiled to herself. "I'm a freaking genius."
Now, to edit and send this bad boy out.
The next few days were hard on Clyde. He dreamed of Lori and saw her everywhere he went. Each street, building, and place in town held the ghost of a memory...all of them centered around him following her at a distance like a stalker. He spent hours at a time scrolling through her pictures on social media and following her updates. She was doing well at college and still seeing Bobby, even though he was still stuck stocking shelves and selling third rate empanadas at his grandparents' convenience store. He secretly hoped that their attempt at a long distance relationship failed and they broke up. Why, he didn't know. Spite, maybe? Even if Lori and Bobby called it quits, Clyde wouldn't get a chance with her. She was older, too far away, and probably just not attracted to her. In her eyes, he would probably always be her kid brother's little friend, no matter how big, manly, and downright sexy he became.
Why couldn't he just get over her already? Why couldn't he stop crying into his pillow and aching for her? Why couldn't he just have a normal fucking life? He was sick of being stressed and strange and extra, he was sick of being damaged from dumb, trivial shit that happened in the past. He just wanted to be a regular kid and live a regular life. He wanted to have normal thoughts and emotions, to just...not be who he actually was. Regular Clyde was an emotional wreck who was obsessed with a girl who couldn't, and wouldn't, love him. That was pathetic. He was pathetic.
The only bright spot in all of this was hanging with Lincoln. Clyde was too down in the dumps to realize this during his hiatus from life following Lori leaving for college, but he really missed hanging with Lincoln. Lincoln was the one person on the face of the earth who understood him. Friendship, true honest to God friendship, was a beautiful thing, made all the more beautiful by its relative rarity. Clyde had known a million kids during his years in facilities and group homes; he liked and had fun with some but they were never truly his friends. Never. You couldn't rely on them, and the moment things went wrong, they were gone. Lincoln wasn't like that. Lincoln stood by him in the best of times and the worst of times. Lincoln laughed with him and cried with him. Lincoln wasn't just there when things were good, he was there when they were bad too. That was the hallmark of a good friend. Anybody can hang out with you when it's all sunshine and rainbows, but only someone who cares about you will be there on cold, rainy days.
And that someone was Lincoln.
Lincoln listened to all of his problems and offered the best advice he could. Clyde didn't want to overwhelm him with all of his problems but sometimes he couldn't help it; he held them inside as much as he could, then they just kind of came out. On the second day of middle school, he and Lincoln sat together on a bench in town square, the shade of a leafy oak tree protecting them from all but a few errant rays of the September sun. "I know it's dumb and weird," Clyde said, "and I hate it." He hung his head and drew a deep breath. "I just want to be normal but I can't get over her."
"You will," Lincoln said, "it'll just take some time."
"I don't know," Clyde said. "I don't think I'll ever get over Lori."
For a long time, Lincoln rubbed a comforting circle between his shoulder blades, and Clyde silently enjoyed his friend's affection. If it wasn't for Lincoln, he'd probably be entirely nutty by now. He tried to imagine what his life would be like if he had never met Lincoln but couldn't. He literally couldn't fathom where or what he would be without him...or without Lori, for that matter. Would he be obsessed over some other unattainable girl? Would he creep on Carol Pingrey? She was pretty and in the absence of Lori, he could totally picture himself having a crush on her. What if the McBrides never adopted him in the first place?
Now that was a scary thought, one that he had entertained a million times in the past and would probably entertain a million times more. He never allowed himself to get too in depth because it endlessly disturbed him, but he would probably have killed himself by now. Or he'd be a bully whose only joy in life was tormenting smaller and weaker boys. If it weren't for the McBrides, he'd likely be in a facility until he was eighteen, completely institutionalized, and then dropped off at a homeless shelter, He had seen it happen to other boys: They had nothing and no one and were cast out into a world they did not know and were not prepared for.
Thank God for the McBrides. No matter how screwed up he was right now, no matter how obsessive and weird and self-loathing, he was a million times better off than he would have been otherwise.
"I want to," he added. "But I just...I don't know." A thousand confused thoughts swirled through his head and he bit down on the insides of his cheeks so hard he tasted blood. The thoughts dimmed but didn't go fully away. They never went fully away; like voices haunting a schizophrenic brain, they were an inextricable part of who he was. He could never escape them; he would be damned to suffer under them for the rest of his sad natural born life with no respite or relief. "My Dr. Lopez was right. Maybe I latched onto Lori for all the wrong reasons and my need is so strong that I can't unlatch."
A somber frown tugged at the corners of Lincoln's lips and he darted his eyes to his lap. Clyde could see the helpless anguish in his friend's eyes and it cut him deeply. Lincoln truly cared about him and knowing he was in such dire straits must have made him feel awful. Lincoln was a kind and considerate guy who would do anything to help someone in need. When he couldn't, he took it as a personal failing and beat himself up over it. Clyde didn't want to hurt Lincoln any more than he already had. He was messed up and he couldn't change that, but he could prevent it from spilling over into Lincoln's life.
There were only two ways to do that, and over the next couple days, he thought about them both a lot, comparing and contrasting them, weighing them against one another. The options were these:
1. He could end his friendship with Lincoln.
2. He could just man up and keep his pain to himself and stop burdening those closest to him with it.
The former was far easier than the latter, but he didn't know if he could break it off with Lincoln. Lincoln was his closest friend in the world and without him, Clyde would probably neck himself. That wasn't even to mention what effect that would have on Lincoln. He couldn't sit Lincoln down and explain why he was doing it because Lincoln would insist that he not do it, meaning he'd have to just cut him off entirely, cold turkey. That would upset Lincoln just as bad, if not worse. He couldn't just suck it up, though; he'd been trying to do that for years and it hadn't worked yet.
Clyde hated being conflicted like this.
From then on, he did his best to keep all of his thoughts and feelings locked deep inside where no one could see them. Lincoln could read him like a book, though, and knew exactly what he was thinking and when. He never said anything, but there was a thick tension between them that Clyde couldn't avoid.
He'd get over this somehow.
God willing.
Lucy Loud sat at her desk with three notebooks fanned out before her; one on the left, one on the right, and the last one in the center. It was late Sunday night and she had spent the vast majority of the weekend writing. Tomorrow was a school day and she wouldn't have time to write as much as she wanted, so earlier she decided to write three stories at once.
The story on the left was about a neo-Nazi whacked out on meth and running around major city killing people...while in the nude.
The man knelt in a ketchup circle, naked save for a pair of black combat boots with red laces and a red and white Nazi armband. Whipped cream dripped from his nipples. A banana jutted from his anus: The peel had ruptured, and yellow mush oozed onto the floor every time he moved.
Singing a wordless song of praise, he leaned forward like a Muslim in Mecca, his forehead slapping the cold kitchen tiles. He reared his head back again and slammed it as hard as he could. Blissful pain exploded in the center of his skull, and he let out an obscene moan.
He was alone in the house. His girlfriend was in the living room, her body crammed behind the entertainment center. After cutting her head off, he fucked her mouth but couldn't cum, so he opened up the back door and punted it into the neighbor's yard like a football. He snapped off a crisp Nazi salute, then withdrew into the house, where the sudden urge to pray came upon him.
In the center notebook, she was halfway through a story where vampire aliens take over a small town in the West Virginia foothills. She had just written a spooky scene where a kid is walking home along a wooded path and gets eaten.
Up ahead, Tommy could see a light filtering through the underbrush. Porch lamp. Most of the people on Tommy's street kept them on at night to keep away the animals. Tommy was silently grateful for that distant light. It meant he was almost out of the woods, almost...
"Tommy."
Tommy skidded to a stop, his heart seizing in his chest. It came again, low and hissing, a whisper from the grave.
Tommy turned.
Gene VanderMeer stood on the path. In the muted light of the cloud-covered moon, his face was slack and white, and his eyes were two giant pools of black.
Tommy's stomach clenched.
"Tommy...come here."
Gene took a shaky step forward, and Tommy turned to run.
Someone grabbed him.
In the final moments of his short life, Tommy saw that it wasn't a someone.
It was a something.
In the right notebook, another unfortunate soul named Tommy - this one an adult - felt the strange compulsion to kidnap a cute little girl with pigtails from the park. She was creepy, enigmatic, and much more than met the eye.
In the room, two beds facing a TV on a dresser, he locked the door while she strutted to one of the beds and sat down. For a moment he stood there, looking at her. In the past fifteen hours, her face had changed. In the park her skin was clear and milky. Now it was rougher, darker, somehow older.
She kicked off her shoes then and laid back on the bed. "You don't have to use a condom."
This is sick.
But why was he going to her? Why was he sitting next to her and putting his hand on her bare leg? Why was he fumbling her panties down, pulling them as slowly as he could?
He closed his eyes and tried to regain control of his body, but couldn't. It was too late for that. She was naked. Sitting on his lap. Her chest was cold and crisscrossed with veins. The nipples were small and dark. He looked into her eyes, and they were yellow, reptilian. The tip of his penis was pushing against her warm passage. He shivered, not with delight but with horror.
Suddenly he was inside of her.
She hissed.
A woman is supposed to be warm, soft.
But she was cold and hard.
Tommy wept as he made love to the girl. She grunted, spat, and mewled, her head thrown back and her throat bulging.
When he came, she cried out.
Tommy collapsed onto the bed, shaking with sobs, Soon, he slept.
When he woke, she was gone.
Spoiler alert: She was a demon/alien/somethingorother and she was using Tommy to fertilize her eggs so that she could give birth. Lucy didn't know exactly what the little girl was and didn't really care. The story ended with the reveal that she was something other than human; she didn't need to care.
With a sigh, she sat back from the desk and crossed her arms proudly over her chest and basked in the glory of her three simultaneous projects, one just beginning, one in the middle, and one nearing its end.
"And Lincoln said I was crazy," she said to herself.
She told Lincoln about her plan to write three stories at once (she wanted to write five but she couldn't comfortably fit five notebooks on her desk without moving them around) and he acted like she was insane. Don't overtax yourself, Luce, he said. Ha. Her? Overtax herself? She was young and hungry for success. She could write all night long like a woman possessed and still have enough gas in her tank for another 1000 words. Right now, her eyes were grainy and achy, but she could keep going.
"You are crazy," Lynn said.
The jock, clad in her sleep attire, which consisted of a long jersey that hung to her knees, socks, and God only knew what underneath, was stretched out on her bed and tossing a football into the air and catching it. She snatched the ball and sat up. "What you need is some football." She launched the ball at the back of Lucy's head and it hit like a bullet. Pain exploded in Lucy's skull and the world went white like someone had set off an atomic bomb. Her head whipped forward and her neck cracked, knocking a gasp of pain from her throat.
She started to call for Lori but remembered that Lori wasn't here anymore. Leni was completely useless, so she wouldn't even waste the air needed to call her. Leni wanted to be Lori so bad but she lacked the balls, guts, and spine that made Lori a good peacekeeper, and all of the others walked on top of her like she was a living, breathing doormat. Like totes welcome.
As if on cue, a loud crash rang out from the hall and a jarring vibration ran through the house. "Whoa, holy shit! What was that?" Lynn asked. She jumped up from the bed, the hem of her shirt fluttering and showing Lucy exactly what she wore underneath (hint, it was nothing). Lucy rubbed the back of her head and got to her feet. Remind me to pay her back later. She went to the open door, elbowed Lynn aside, and looked out.
Lana and Lola flashed by in their battery powered Jeep, Lola in the passenger seat and Lana hunched over the wheel, her tongue plastered determinedly to her upper lip. The Jeep slammed into Lincoln's door and bounced back, doing a half spin and nearly rolling down the stairs. Lola laughed like a maniac and Lana threw the Jeep into reverse. Leni, in a nightdress, hair up in curlers, ran down the hall. "Please stop!"
Ignoring her, Lana spun the Jeep around and punched the gas, aiming the front end at Leni like a guided missile. Lucy's heart leapt into her throat and for a terrible second she thought Lana was going to smash into Leni, but at the last possible second, Leni dove out of the way. The Jeep roared past, narrowly missing Leni, and clipped the end table, knocking it over. The vase shattered and ceramic littered the carpet. Leni waved her arms and screamed for Lana to stop, and she finally did, but only because the Jeep's battery died. Lana got out, tossed the keys to Leni, and said, "Park it somewhere shady."
Lynn, Luna, and Luan laughed, and Leni hung her head in shame. She walked over to the Jeep and crammed herself into the driver seat, her legs sticking out on either side. Lucy shook her head and went back to her desk. See what she meant by Leni being useless? Ever since Lori left, the second floor of the Loud house had been a Mad Maxian free for Leni just didn't have what it took to bring it to heel.
Now, to be fair, their sisters - Luna, Luan, and Lynn especially - really needled her. It was like a game to them. They couldn't get over on Lori and the moment she was gone, they declared open season. It wasn't right and Lucy thought it was dumb, but dumb things happen in life; you have to put on your big girl panties and deal with them as they come. Unfortunately, Leni couldn't do that, so she was doomed from the start. It was mean and cruel, but kids, and especially girls, can be cruel. Maybe families were all sunshine, hugs, and kisses in Nickelodeon shows, but in real life, they could be kill or be killed propositions.
Take Lynn, for instance. Lynn was a bully and had been picking on Lucy for years. Now, she wasn't psychotic about it or anything, she didn't beat Lucy up or ruin her life, but she did constantly pick, pick, pick. Sometimes Lucy wanted to hit her in her dumb jock face and then move into someone else's room. Lincoln would make a good roommate. He was generally quiet and respectful. His only vice was playing video games. There was nothing wrong with video games, mind you, but when you're trying to concentrate on a book or writing, the last thing you want to hear are explosions, gunfire, and IT'SA ME, MARIO!
Other than that, she thought she would enjoy bunking with Lincoln. Leni had her room all to herself and Lucy was hoping that either Luna or Luan would move in so that Lynn could move in with whoever remained. If that happened, Lucy would wind up alone, and that appealed to her even more than having Lincoln around.
Back at her desk, Lucy sat and went over her stories one last time before turning the lamp off and rolling her neck. Tomorrow, she thought, she would finish them
But now, bed.
Down the hall, Lincoln Loud sat on the edge of his bed with his shoulders slumped. He had been playing a game on his phone when something slammed into his door and startled him so badly that he jumped, and he got up to see what it was, grateful for the distraction. He opened the door just as Leni jumped out of the way of Lana's Jeep. He opened his mouth to scold her, but closed it again. He wasn't in the headspace to herd his sisters right now and that was a job you have to be fully dedicated to. He closed the door, crossed to the bed, and sat down. That was ten minutes ago, or maybe half an hour, he wasn't sure.
It was Clyde.
Of course it was.
As the cool kids might say, Clyde was living rent free in his head and it took incredible effort to think of anything else. Over the past few days, Lincoln had worked tirelessly to process his emotions, figuring that once he did he could take the next step, whatever that might be. Coming out to Clyde? Accepting his feelings and coming to terms with them? What even were his feelings?
That was the tricky part. He was almost 100 percent certain that he knew what they were but he just couldn't bring himself to say so out loud. Every time he followed his emotions to their root, he reached the same revelation, so there couldn't be any mistake.
But still, he just…
What?
He sighed and got to his feet. He began to pace from one side of the room to the other, his lips pursed and his eyes stormy with emotion. It was four steps from the door to the desk, not many at all. He was used to living in a cramped space and didn't usually notice how small his room was, but right now it seemed unfathomably tiny, like a cell. The walls loomed over him, ramparts of a prison he could not escape, and the air took on a heavy, sluggish quality, filling his lungs like water and choking him. He fought to take a deep breath but his lungs refused to expand.
Just admit it.
Stopping in front of the mirror on the back of his door, he put his hands on his hips and confronted his reflection. He met his own eyes and looked quickly away, not liking what he saw there. He raked his fingers through his sweaty hair and nervously chewed his lower lip. His face baked with heat and his skin was fevered to the touch. His head, and his heart, felt impacted and he was reminded of that full sensation you get right before a huge poop. That was a crude and stupid analogy, but it was the best he could come up with: There was something big inside of him and it needed to come out.
He wetted his lips with his tongue and pressed his lips closed. He already knew that he wouldn't be able to keep this inside but if he gave into it, he and his life would change forever. That was scary. Like Clyde, he didn't handle the concept of change very well but for different reasons. Clyde's life had changed too much, Lincoln's not enough. Things had always been the same, and he was comfortable with that. Looking ahead, he always imagined his life would stay roughly the same, developing organically along the way but keeping to a pretty standard and conventional track. Kids. a wife, a career, that sort of thing. If he let this out, everything he envisioned for himself would go up in smoke and the life he banked on living would be null and void.
His mind went back to Ronnie Anne in perhaps a last ditch effort to convince him that he was wrong about himself. Ronnie Anne moved long ago but when she lived here, he loved and cared for her and thought that his motions for her were romantic. Looking at them now, he saw them for what they were: Platonic love. He thought of the times they kissed. He didn't enjoy it then and he really didn't enjoy it now. He loved her, yes, but he wasn't in love with her.
He was in love with -
Some kill switch deep in Lincoln's brain flipped and that thought died where it stood.
Maybe that was supposed to make him feel better, but it didn't.
It made him feel worse. He remembered something he'd read somewhere that stated one could not achieve inner peace and stability without a solid sense of self, that in order to attain mental and emotional well-being, you must accept who you are, even if you do not like who you are. You can work improving yourself if you want, but you can't begin that process until you come to an understanding of yourself. You know how they say the first step is admitting you have a problem, right? They say that because you can't really gain an honest perspective of yourself if you're too busy ducking the truth.
And Lincoln had been ducking the truth for a long, long time.
That reminded him of another saying. The truth will set you free. That wasn't always 100 percent correct since the truth had put a lot of people in jail, but in this sort of situation,maybe it was.
A strange but not unfamiliar compulsion came over him as it often did in times of great stress. It was a comfort-seeking measure, he thought, a way to decompress and feel more...natural. Either way, he did not try to fight it as he sometimes did. Instead, he went to the steamer trunk at the foot of his bed, knelt, and unlocked it. He raised the lid and went through the clothes inside until he found what he was looking for. He stood and held it up before him: A short sleeve blue dress with a blush sash around the waist. Unlike most of the other clothes in the trunk, it did not belong to one of his sisters. He bought it from a second hand store downtown. He was browsing a bookshelf crammed with used games when he glimpsed it hanging on a rack near a table laid with housewares. At that precise moment, a ray of sunshine fell through the front window and bathed it in golden light, like a sign from Heaven. He had never seen anything so beautiful in his life and the irresistible urge to buy it came over him.
Laying the dress on the bed, he picked something else up. A tiny pair of white panties with a yellow sunflower print. He took off his pants and underwear and slipped them on, the fabric cool and silky against his skin. He dick and balls made an unsightly bulge in the front, and for a moment he debated whether to let it go or tuck it in before finally pinning his shaft against his stomach with the waistband. He yanked the dress on over his head, reached behind his back, and zipped it up. He took a blonde wig from the trunk and pulled it onto his head. It had a little purple bow in it that he had to situate.
He went over to his desk and sat down. He opened the second drawer down and moved a stack of comic books to reveal a stash of make up. He took it out and fanned it across the desk before him. He picked up his phone, went to his super secret shameful playlist, and hit the shuffle button. Lady Gaga began to play and for the first time in days, maybe even weeks, he felt right.
It doesn't matter if you love him, or capital H-I-M
Just put your paws up
'Cause you were Born This Way, Baby
Lincoln pursed his lips and lightly painted them with a tube of red lipstick. Done, he smacked his lips, picked up the mirror, and kissed it, leaving a heart-shaped red mark on the glass. He winked at his reflection.
My mama told me when I was young
We are all born superstars
She rolled my hair and put my lipstick on
In the glass of her boudoir
He opened his right eye as wide as he could and brushed the lashes until they were long, dark, and sexy, and then did the left eye. When he was finished, he batted them at the mirror. He imagined Clyde telling him he was pretty and blushed. "Thank you~"
"There's nothing wrong with loving who you are"
She said, "'Cause he made you perfect, babe"
"So hold your head up girl and you'll go far,
Listen to me when I say"
Turning his head slightly to the right, his good side, he bit his bottom lip and stared at himself. Was it strange that he was happy with what he saw? He didn't hate the way he looked, but he never caught a glimpse of himself in a reflective surface and thought I'm beautiful. What he saw now was beautiful. He powdered his cheeks with rogue and checked himself. Yes...he was beautiful.
I'm beautiful in my way
'Cause God makes no mistakes
I'm on the right track, baby
I was born this way
Don't hide yourself in regret
Just love yourself and you're set
I'm on the right track, baby
I was born this way
With lipstick, rouge, blue eyeshadow, and lucious eyelashes, Lincoln Loud was stunning. He put on red earrings, white bracelets, and a strand of pearls, got up, and went to the mirror on the back of the door. He put his hand on his hip and kicked one leg behind him, striking a pose and marveling at the almost feminine shape of his body.
Don't be a drag, just be a queen
Don't be a drag, just be a queen
The transformation was complete.
This...this is who he was.
Coyly looking away from his reflection, he gave voice to what he had long wanted, nay needed, to say. "I'm gay and I'm in love with Clyde."
Finally articulating that felt good, honest, liberating. Taking a deep breath, he met his reflection's gaze and held it. "I'm in love with Clyde," he repeated, firmer this time. "I love him and I want to be with him."
He wanted to be with Clyde more than he had ever wanted anything else in his entire life. He wanted to be everything Clyde could ever want or need.
Two things stood in his way.
1. He was not Lori.
Clyde wanted to get over her, but he couldn't. Lincoln would be so good to him and do whatever he wanted, but he couldn't snap his fingers and turn into his older sister.
2. He wasn't a girl.
Eleven years and eight months ago, Lincoln Loud was born a boy. He did not hate being male but what he saw in the mirror didn't always fit with how he felt. He was somewhat familiar with trans issues but didn't know very much about them. He couldn't say that he wished he were a girl and the thought of being turned into a girl kind of disturbed him. Right now, however, yearning for a boy who was straight, he did wish he was a girl. He wished that he had that one little thing straight boys want; if he did, he would give it to Clyde along with his heart. He would make him forget all about Lori and any other girl for that matter. He'd be his mistress, his wife, his whore. He would do things to him that no other girl would do and he'd do it better.
If only he were really a girl.
He sighed and hung his head, his mood soured. No matter how pretty he looked when he dolled himself up, he was still a boy. Even if he took hormones and had his weiner turned inside out, he'd still be a boy, albeit a mutilated one whose femininity came not from God or nature but from a bottle.
How can you get a boy to like you when you're a boy too? It would be easier if what he saw in the mirror was who he actually was on the outside. It would even be easier if he were straight and pining for a girl. Even dateless losers had something he did not: Certainty. The girl you approach might turn you down, she might even be a huge bitch about it, but you knew she was probably straight. Asking for a date wasn't taboo, asking for a date wasn't the crapshoot for straights that it was for gays. Gay people were comparativly rare and approaching a straight guy could poentially lead to all sorts of awkwardness.
There had to be a way. There just had to be. Clyde was so perfect and special, as though he were made for Lincoln and Lincoln alone. He couldn't admit defeat and let him get away. He had to do something.
But it seemed futile.
Thoroughly depressed now, he dragged the wig off and tossed it in the general direction of the trunk, not caring if it made it in or not. He reached behind his back, unzipped the dress, and slid it down his hips, letting it pool around his ankles. He hesitated, but left the panties on. He sat at his desk and did his best to wipe off as much of the make up as possible. His lips were still pinkish red and his eyelids a faded blue. He'd have to get up early and get in the shower before the others.
Getting up, he snapped the lamp off and climbed in between the covers. He set the alarm on his phone and then went to Facebook. He typed Clyde's name into the search bar and then clicked on PHOTOS. He scrolled through pictures of him and Clyde, Clyde and his dads, and just Clyde, smiling like the cute dork he was. When Lincoln came across a picture of Clyde and Lori from last year's Christmas party, his stomach lurched. Clyde had his arm around her and she favored the camera with an uncomfortable smile. Lincoln realized he was grinding his teeth and forced himself to stop.
Did she have any idea how lucky she was? Did she have any inkling that she was special because Clyde chose her?
No, she didn't. She took him for granted and didn't even cherish him the way he deserved to be.
What he wouldn't give to be her. He would do anything to have Clyde feel even a tenth for him what he felt for Lori. Lori had it...she had everything...and she squandered it away. It was hard to not be jealous of her.
Closing out of the phone, Lincoln sat it on the desk, grabbed Bun-Bun, and hugged him to his chest. How could he even the playing field? How could he make Clyde love and want him despite him not being a girl?
Lincoln was awake for a long time.