Sometimes he pretended that if he ran fast enough, he’d open up a portal into a universe where there was no such thing as cis or trans—that it was just a world where everyone was exactly who they were meant to be, in whatever body they wanted. He won races that way and hung ribbons on his wall and let his mom put trophies on the mantle.
It helped at times—but not always.
At nineteen, his mother got her insurance to cover most of his top surgery costs, and he jumped at the chance. Adam had never been great with pain, but he relished every second of his recovery, knowing it would help. In darker moments, he lay there, picking at the edge of the sticky tape near his keyhole scars that distorted his nipples and wondered if his dad would have cared. If his dad had lived long enough to hear Adam say, “I’m not a girl. Girls are gross,” would he have held him? Told him it was alright to be himself? Would he be sitting with him after surgery, holding his hand during the hardest parts of the day when the pain of lifting his arms just an inch made him want to go to sleep and not wake up?
He wouldn’t ever get the chance to know. He and Stella were two when he died—his memories of the tall, dark-eyed man vague and dream-like. His mother missed him, but she didn’t talk about him much, and he always wondered if maybe that was his answer. Not that it mattered, no amount of wondering, or missing him, or stinging regret would bring him back. The universe put him on the road that night, in the path of the man who had been drinking and then got behind the wheel.
And that was that.
Eventually, Adam’s surgery did heal, and the anguished thoughts of cutting dysphoria crept back into the shadows to wait for his even darker days—where in spite of his five o’clock shadow and flat chest, someone still said ma’am. Usually they were old and being deliberately cruel. And sometimes they heard him speak before they saw him, because his voice was his worst enemy and always would be.
Mostly, though, Adam was happy. He and Stella graduated high school, and Adam joined a band his freshman year at the community college. He’d always tinkered with the guitar, but he hadn’t realized he was any good until the guy leaning against the wall of the biology labs crossed the distance between them and just sat and listened until Adam was too self-conscious to go on.
“You ever play in public?” he’d asked as he slid to the ground next to where Adam was sitting.
Adam shook his head. “Uh. Nah.”
The guy laughed. He was attractive, sort of broad-shouldered and sharp-jawed. He had black curls and dark skin etched with tattoos that covered nearly every inch of his exposed arms. He extended his hand, fingers covered in tarnished steel rings, and his palms were calloused. “I’m Damien.”
Adam offered his own name, slipping his smaller, bony hand into the other man’s. “Nice to meet you.”
Damien nodded, then leaned back against the wall and crooked his knee up, resting his elbow over it. “Same. What year are you?”
“Oh uh.” Adam rubbed the back of his neck. “This is my first semester. My sister got accepted to the U, but I have no idea what the fuck I want to do.”
“Too many choices?” Damien asked.
Adam laughed. “Or not enough. Everything seems so…” He trailed off. He didn’t have the words for the uncomfortable, aching feeling under his skin when he thought about his future—his forever—how he was going to live past his childhood bedroom and his weekend Taco Bell job. Stella knew what she wanted and always had, but the thought of being stuck in some grind made Adam’s stomach twist.
“Man, I feel you.” Damien closed his eyes and let out a puff of air as he tilted his head up toward the sun. “My dad’s a doctor. He was real pissed when I signed up for classes here.” Damien chuckled and shook his head. “I got into Stanford, right? He knew I couldn’t do all that blood and guts and shit, so he figured lawyer’s second best. But that shit ain’t me.”
“What do you want to do?” Adam challenged.
Damen grinned, white teeth showing over a sliver of pink with his parted lips. “I want to fuck my girlfriend, and I want to get more ink, and I