Tatters

Your bag.

That's the solution. You need to get into your bag. Your old life, your old identity, it's all in there. It is a hard thing to be surrounded by your aunt's things, all of which felt as familiar to you as if they were your own. Reconnecting with your past is the way forward.

Alone in your aunt's room, you sit cross-legged on the floor before the destroyed suitcase. You aren't sure what to expect. The zipper is no more, so you take a knife that you had grabbed from the kitchen and cut the duct tape holding it together, then swing it open.

There, lain out before you, are the tatters of your old life. Hoodies, jeans, t-shirts, each one you pull out has been torn, sometimes dramatically. Your favourite pair of jeans has been ripped completely in two. Nothing at all is salvageable. You know that you should feel something, anger, frustration, but you don't.

"Everything okay in there?" Emily shouts from the kitchen.

"Everything's fine," you shout back, even though you know it really isn't. What you feel is conflicted. The loss of your clothes is a setback. Financially, until you get a payout from the accident, there's no way you can afford to go out and buy new clothes. On top of that, having your old clothes, your male clothes, was your only hope toward avoiding becoming more and more like your aunt.

Still, as you hold up a familiar t-shirt, there was no way you'd feel comfortable wearing your old clothes. Something inside of you has changed. Maybe you won't end up like Katy, but you were damned sure you won't end up like the old you either. You close your eyes and, in your mind's eye, picture yourself. An image appears, but it isn't wearing jeans and a hoodie. It's wearing a skirt and crop top. You try again. Capris and a blouse. Again. Daisy Dukes and a bikini top.

You should feel horrified. You don't.

Shoving the tattered clothes back into the suitcase and flipping it closed, you stand to your feet and cross to the closet. Maybe Em wouldn't mind if you wore just a few of her mother's clothes. It was only right, after all. You had none of your own. It didn't count as crossdressing if you had no other choice, right? You pull out a brightly coloured sundress and hold it up to your body, all the while smiling from ear to ear. No sir, not crossdressing. You're just being pragmatic. Em will probably compliment you on your problem solving, once she sees you, of course.

Right?