Chapter seven.
17th June, 2005.
You guessed it; I am a fuck up, the most giant literal fuck up that has ever fucked up something so unfuckable that they're willing to give me an award and a place in the development of science. So much of a fuck up that they claim I'll be bigger than Dolly, the fucking clone sheep.
By 'they' I mainly mean Mephisto. Who has arrived at my household to deliver a message that the average slice of bread could had figured out if it told me what has happened to me.
I'm one of a kind. However Stew, here's the catch; they want to make more like me. More people want physical sex changes, not just eternal ones. Dr Mephisto claims that what has happened to me could change science history forever.
Well isn't that fucking fantastic.
Mephisto announced that after my exams he wants to do some more experiments on me and pretty much fuck me up a little bit more. He says that I could have male hormones within me, trying to repopulate and yeah, my insides could go to war and I'd probably die.
So I have to become his lab rat for a few weeks whilst I take some meds and become a fucking hippy.
High on these pissy drugs he created and subscribing to me.
This story is too good of an opportunity to not write about.
Part Six.
Waiting patiently for my mother and Mephisto to stop arguing about the whole situation, Craig and I sit in the lounge playing the new Fifa game on my PlayStation before we're once again called into the kitchen to discuss the 'dilemma'.
"Kyla, Bubby, this is for you, ok? I want you to get well – I don't want my little angel to die!" my mother starts with a quivering lip, looking at me with big green eyes and smiling sadly. Mephisto's own beady grey eyes stare down upon me also, taking in everything. Registering everything.
"Miss Broflovski – with these tests I can transform you into the perfect being. Alter your voice, your metabolism – even your natural breast size! I know that there will be some major cutbacks during this experiment, but please!" he is begging now, his voice pleading for me to accept "we can help you! Improve your well being, please accept this life changing offer!"
Even Craig is looking at me with sweat on his brow, breathing intensely as the severity of the 'major cutbacks'.
"What are the pills?" I question – how can I accept something I know so little about?
"I made them! They kill of the bad hormones, keep the right ones. They used to affect and damage the DNA but I figured how to change it, different proportions of ingredients alter different things. Cool right?" he's talking to me like I don't know a thing about chemistry, but I suppose compared to him I don't.
"Fine. I'm in – only if you alter everything I hate and make me sound really cool to the press."
"Seriously, you're worried about sounding alright to the press?" Craig chimes in, this is the first thing he's said since we've re-entered the room. I look at him slyly. Stew, of course I want to sound like a decent being towards the press.
Somehow the story hasn't hit the internet; most people believe I've had a sex change, which is both wrong and insulting.
I sigh, he wants me to develop a list of everything I want to change and give it to him by tomorrow. My mother looks terrified and excited at the same time. "Please don't get rid of your red hair, baby." She mentions, as I turn to leave.
Craig and I decide doing this around my mother will result in what she wants and not what I want. Therefore we venture towards his house. He lives a few streets away, but with the idea of creating a new me, I feel a bubble of excitement. Every part of me shakes with adrenaline as we trek towards Craig's home.
When we get there, both his dad and Ruby are waiting for us. They're sitting down playing a video game together, it's a child game and its obvious Mr Tucker is dying for an excuse to stop playing it.
He gets up immediately to shake my hand and greet me. His orange tuffs bouncing upon his head and he smiles warming at me.
"Ah, you must be the marvellous Miss Broflovski I've heard so much about!"
"Dad" Craig chimes in groaning. To be honest with you Stewart, it was more of a 'daaaaaaaaad' sort of sound, but I hope you get what I am on about.
His dad nods at him and let's go of my hand, letting us pass through the lounge and head upstairs towards his bedroom; we immediately grab supplies and begin brainstorming.
"Uh… Hm" Craig muses out loud, tapping a pen to his chin. "Bigger tits" he states out loud in a monotone fashion.
"Write it down then" I fuss, feeling flush and embarrassed. "Oh, and write down slow metabolism as well, please!" I add quickly.
"Gotcha." He says absent mindedly, scribbling down onto a small notebook we had found. "What about smaller hands, you've got big meaty ones."
"I so do not" I say defensively. Examining my hand and grabbing his to place it on mine. To prove the point about how small my hands are I point out that he can curl the top of his fingers of mine. He does so, entwining our fingers and just holding them there together, our hands fall slumped onto his bed as they cling to each other.
"Smaller nose? Is that one possible?" I ask. Craig shrugs, unsure himself. He still adds it to the list.
"Can I write down bigger butt or is that prohibited."
"Prohibited" I respond, starring at him with raised eyebrows. "Big tits, big ass? I'll be a mess" I mention, laughing slightly as he tightens the grip on my hand.
"I lo-" he starts, but I push him off the bed, he lands with a thump that probably resonated around the house. His dad doesn't shout up though.
Stew, I've forgotten to tell you about our game.
"It's not romantic, asshole!" I mention, grabbing the paper and reading through what we've written.
For the last couple of weeks, Craig has been trying to confess to me, each time I will push him away or hit him – anything to cut off his words, and then mention that it's not romantic.
It first happened when we were walking to the local Chinese takeaway. We were seated, waiting for our order to be called out to be collected when he tried to blurt it out. I kicked his shin and lectured him about how he had to be romantic, and how he cannot just admit it to me in the middle of a takeaway. It's tacky, Stewart.
We take the short tacky list to Mephisto, and he tries to offer us in, which is terrifying and I try not to make a deal, but I declined. Look what happened the last time I went in there?
Craig walks me home and I still feel a little dumbstruck, he makes a deal of kissing my forehead tonight and I can still feel his lips resting upon my head. The gesture's sweet, sentimental, pure. I am loving every minute of it.