Mystery Lake

[38] Ross Above

But it wasn't real. Just a bout of hypoxia. Shadows and shapes. Rising to my feet didn't feel real either. The wood of the pier didn't feel steady, but at least I didn't fall back in.

Everything felt different on the other side. I was taller and bulkier, and my face felt weirdly fuzzy. Jesus, I had muscles everywhere. And I had the thingy, and everyone could see it. Fuck, how big was it?! So weird not to be able to put my legs together. An absolute mass.

And Duncan put her hand on it. Oh Jesus, oh Jesus... she didn't let up. Please be careful; I don't know how to use this thing. You might as well give me a loaded gun. I told her it was okay; she could... she could please please hold back, please stop. Oh Christ… I was just kind of joking when I said we could do it the other way for me. Holy fuck… I can I can I can see why this kind of thing gets positive senti... Oh no no no no no no...

I felt used but not upset about it. I just started, and I've already been blown… away. So many bad jokes to make. What kind of monster had been unleashed? I had oral; I've given oral. But this was like popping something—something greater than a tit to suck. Speaking of tits, she used those new ones too. I was briefly terrified that she wasn't gonna stop there, and she was trying to pop my cherry, my boy cherry, mere moments after I got it.

It's a miracle that I survived that onslaught—that beautiful onslaught. I couldn't believe that she got through it without barely flinching. She didn't feel like a first-timer. Was Duncan a secret girl, and this was just a special reveal? Whatever was going on with my body, it didn't allow enough blood flow to understand speculations and be with her at the same time.

Such an embarrassing mess afterward. Which was better? Do you prefer to be carried on a bobbing, crashing ocean wave, or do you prefer a shotgun blast of ocean? There had to be more foreplay. Maybe a little too much efficiency. But I wouldn't mind doing it again, just to get a deeper understanding. Although so many parts of my body wanted to slug crawl into the towel that Jake offered and not even think about touching anything on me ever again.

Jake. How did we get here? I can never apologize enough, even though I don't have the words for a single one. I know he heard it, and Roxanne made sure. Even with all this preparation, I wasn't prepared for something like this. It was just too much. It was just too crazy, and it was so gross what was right now sticking to the towel. Jesus, it was like pulling paste out of my pee hole. Not enough experience before, and not enough experience now. And these were not experiences I wanted to stack up. I mean… The whole thing was fun, but I feel so gross and crusty now. It's weird… Despite the chasm between, some things, some feelings, and some twinkles are similar.

Of course, now I have to be all for men, or I'm just a self-hater. I wish I knew what to say to Jake. There was just so much crap buzzing around my mind like wasps that wouldn't leave me alone. I liked the outfit that we put together for me. I thanked Jake, but I didn't know what to say to him. Of course, he seemed as cool as always; as before, nothing changed there.

Miranda… Still feeling that out... picked up some water in a big jug. Being around it kind of gave me a headache, though. Or I was just having a headache by happenstance. I knew that alkaline water did that, but you had to drink it rather than be around it. But considering what this water could do, who knew what it contained.

Roxanne actually talked to me a bit. And I tried to respond normally. It felt like the other inside me was guiding those words more than I could. But I was calming. It was nice. If they wanted to take the initiative in guiding my life, but I had no problems with that. I barely lived it anyway. Just let it be better.

My hands were starting to recover, but now it was more like they were on fire. Taking a dip in the water should've cooled them off. More problems, even when you fix them. I told him my name was going to be Ross Hanover. Through too many people I met in my early years, I could get a valid enough ID with what I had to make that a reality. I already refused to tell him the reason why I picked out the name Ross. I didn't need... Her judgment about what television shows I was a fan of as a little kid. It also made me think of comforting similar words in soft, calm notions.

It's a soft word and a soft name for the hopes of a softer life. That surname because I felt it was a little bit clever to hand over my life to someone else. What were her reasons for that name? What were everyone else's reasons?

I never got a sense of Jake out of Jess. But Layla, being a Pokémon fan fit. And Barry, of course, would be into science fiction stuff. Miranda could just be like a space or literary reference. All I can do about it is rip apart the original Shakespeare as a colonial narrative. Miranda would be able to create where I destroy. I want to see whatever film she makes and never have to think about it.

Then the feds came after us. I tried to keep my head down, even though it was the least effective way to hide. Trying to put everything back away in the car was an aching, burning mess for my tired limbs. I can see in Roxanne's gaze that she was judging my weightlifting. Well, excuse me, I've only had big muscles for ten minutes; I don't know how to use them yet.

I wanted to be in the back, but I wanted Miranda to be there with me. She needed to be in the front because this was her expedition and her responsibility for it. I just hated the fact that we were literally as far away from one another as you could be. I didn't want that to be so for long. But, at the same time, I don't want her to rip me apart like a cat in heat. Maybe it would be a good death.

She wanted me to keep her stashed water safe, and I understood the implication: they were probably after this water. As strange as that sounded and as strange as this water was, it probably wasn't that weird. Weird was the way that these feds seemed like they were wearing their skin as suits of pretend as much as their awkward clothes that didn't fit them. Neither of the suits were tailored. You can tell what kind of outfits official people wear when they come from CPS or anywhere else. You get to recognize and anticipate it as much as anyone in my family did.

These were phonies, but that didn't necessarily mean they were without power. The big lady loomed like a wrestler, although her growl felt strangely put on, as though her voice was actually closer to mine and she was just trying to hide it. So strange. I told the guy exactly what he wanted to hear—what I knew from so many times rehearsing this kind of stuff. Everyone was on edge. I heard Barry thought that gardeners were part of the long arm of the law. Poor guy. Layla also seemed strangely tense but also relaxed, as though she were in a state between two, shifting between alert and settled. What was going on there, I had no idea.

The guy looked each of us over to an oddly meticulous degree, with his body language shifting throughout. Not entirely human, whatever that meant. But that was my inkling. His attention to Layla was alarming. I mean Brock. She was a tough boy now, but she still felt so gentle, like a dancing fairy, the good kind. I should be used to pronouns, but it's a different thing when they have to be updated so swiftly.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Usually, you have a normal transitional interval. I accept them, but they're just so difficult to keep straight because my head is bouncing around and trying to keep my own stuff in order. Maybe I could be more empathetic to those who have to deal with it outside of college, as frustrating as that prospect was.

I took charge of things, by which I mean my imaginary friend took care of them. But we were on the same page. When he looked at me, it felt like he could see inside me, like a penetrating x-ray, and catch this weird presence and voice that both confounded and reassured me. Where did it come from? Was I cursed or possessed? With my pasty, vampire boy look, plenty of assumptions were sure to be made. I don't dabble in that crap. No goth. I'm just lacking color.

And I let whoever was inside me be my voice. Even later, they were still there when talking about my new life. Would it even be my life if I wasn't in charge of it? That made them back off. They also seemed to have weird feelings about the antiquated, kitschy watch that the guy gave Brock. I know that Layla is into that kind of stuff. Little pieces of the past, so outdated now but special to her. I wasn't going to make her take it off… Him take it off… but I was going to keep an eye on it in case it did something weird. I could tell that Roxanne also had a keen awareness of that little artifact.

We were free, though, and I leaned back and listened to the white noise of Brock's rambling stories. The best ones came during the improv presentations on certain Fridays, where she had everyone rolling despite the outdated weirdness of her puppets, Larlie and Lace. She carried the same energy as those evenings. I don't know where she found it or how she managed to tirelessly sustain it.

I could easily look over Joel's shoulder and see what he was up to. Not that that was of much interest to me. We were each adapting in our own way. I wasn't actually a boy, and I wasn't sure if I really wanted to be a legitimate one, whatever that represented. Layla didn't seem to care either way. This was just a fun performance for her. She felt unchanged.

With Jess, it seemed like she was wearing one of those phony muscle suits you see sometimes. The demeanor of Jess was recognizable beneath that altered form. Same went for Barry, although the vast differences in the physical led to different feelings for me. My preferences didn't suddenly transform too, but then there was a lot of wiggle room in what they actually were. Like with Miranda.

My mind easily reran that embarrassing, amazing moment from just a few minutes ago. It didn't feel possible that we'd done that, and Miranda was just there, thinking about the implications for her instructor's possible experience with that lake. For Miss Clifton, I figured that was her business or his business or whatever.

But Miranda had legitimately transformed. She reminded me of a girl that I knew in high school who would sit perfectly in those damn uncomfortable plastic chairs like a doll come to life. Miranda carried the same presence. If she was aware of it, well done. If she was doing it unconsciously, even more astonishment from me. Then that meant she was always destined to take that dip.

As for Joel, he was doing an interesting imitation of a girl, cautiously looking through a trashy romance novel Jess had been reading earlier. My ears rang after Layla screamed about breakfast. I knew her uncle was a competitive eater, and she could closely keep pace with him, despite how she looked.

This looked like the kind of place with a lot of patrons who hung onto dumb hats they should've chucked years ago and worried about personal medical autonomy without the same consideration accorded women. Making assumptions, sure, but I could read a place. My imaginary friend seemed on edge.

At least the other customers were subdued, and the waitresses were sweet. No television showing certain news tabloid-type channels. Not even any obvious patriotic paraphernalia. Maybe I judge too quickly.

Barry screamed, and her explanation seriously made no sense, but then I often make no sense as well. It was horribly presumptuous of me to claim that she was seeing things because of the stress and mania of the moment. But it was also a teachable moment for these new girls to understand how mental illness is grossly conflated with femininity. Joel allegedly knew about it already, but I had a sneaking suspicion it was only surface-level from peeking at Jess's psychology notes. He didn't really understand; he didn't really live the way women are treated because of their emotions, nor did he feel the reduction of protest and independence to a mental illness.

The 'girls' all went to the bathroom together, following that tired cliche, although it was good to be protected in an unfamiliar place. I couldn't really blame them, even though I still really wanted to blame Joel. A force of habit at this point.

I wanted something sweet, because screw bothering to count carbs anymore; it was all going to my muscles now. Although my ambitions for what I wanted to eat were beaten by the reality of what arrived on my plate, It certainly wasn't as much as Brock challenged for, but it felt huge, even against my bigger shape.

It was easy to whittle it down with an offering for poor Chiara while she waited on her allergen fix. My first sampling tasted strangely gritty, as if it had been sprinkled with brownie crumbs, but sugar and flavor hadn't been included. I didn't want to complain about it because it started to go down easier. My imaginary friend still had potent opinions.

Part of me should've expected it, but Brock returned to a state of Layla. Of course, she would be the one for something like that to happen, but what hit me right then was the feeling of resignation. Clearly, my hopes and ambitions would be dashed by something. I could never have it easy.

I had no idea what was going on, though. Layla shifted back and forth. Should I worry about this? And then the waitress, who seemed so nice before, latched onto a single thing that I said about us, as though I was insulting her, firmly putting this bitch back on my expectations shit list. It got worse from there, as the whole place revealed itself to be an illusion, and my imaginary friend made sounds and mental motions like she knew all along, but she was keeping it a secret. Fuck her. I really could do without her at this point.

Throwing up, especially in this ugly place, felt like the best thing to do. I appreciated having Miranda next to me, even though she left me in so many strange states that I didn't know how to unpack yet.

The worst thing is, it was clear Joel was gonna try to be the hero to save us. I don't know how or why he decided to fixate on being a pervert, but at least that strange idea was messing with these dark, toothy monsters more than it was offending me. If surviving meant playing along with his bullshit, well, then I've always done and will do what I need to survive in this world, no matter how strange and cruel it is.

Then came the other monster, the feds. Although, they're not actually the feds.

My imaginary friend had her own take.

I know who they work for. I hate them. Don't trust them. They want to get inside your head; they want to replace you.

Isn't that the same thing as what you want to do?

I'm just keeping you company.

Whatever… Trust no one.