tw: body dysphoria, self harm (please stay safe and feel free to skip this chapter if you need to)

Landon hates his name. No offense to other Landons but come on guys. Really. You could do better. At least you probably could. Landon thinks his name is boring. Generic. It’s the most suburban teenage white boy name he can think of. And Landon certainly doesn’t fit that description. Landon is black. And also, he’s pretty sure he’s not a guy. Of course, he’s in the body of one, but he’s pretty sure God hates him anyway so it’d actually make sense if he purposely put him in the wrong body. 

Landon thinks a lot about how people’s gender is decided. Yes, he took biology and he does believe in science, but it’s been a long time, like AT LEAST three months and the gears in his head that turn for genetics have been rusty for awhile. Plus, it’s more fun to imagine it. In his head, every characteristic is just a roll of the dice. Or maybe it’s like an automated phone call. Like, the call goes “thank you for choosing LifeToday for your custom human. Press one for boy and two for- You’ve pressed one. Your order will be manufactured in 9 months” or something like that. If that was the case, then whoever chose his body must have been drunk, or an asshole, or maybe both. Landon shakes his head. This is a stupid train of thought. It doesn’t matter how he became this way because there’s nothing he can do about it anyway. 

“Landon! Breakfast is ready!” His mother calls from downstairs, effectively breaking the boy from his trance. He quickly throws on a simple crop top and a pink mini skirt and runs down because today is Saturday and Saturday means waffles. No sane human being can turn away from his mother’s homemade waffles and Landon is no exception. His mother chuckles as she sees her son rush to the table to eat. He shovels down the food within an ungodly amount of time, but just as he’s about to go back upstairs and get ready for the day, his mother stops him. 

“Landon, honey, what are your plans for today?” 

Landon pauses, puts his hand on his hip, and says, “You know me Mamma. I’m going to the mall.” His mother does know him, so she has to ask. She bites her lip, clearly uncomfortable. After a few tense seconds, she decides to rip off the band-aid and ask: “And are you going to wear what you’re wearing right now?”

Landon sighs, not ready to start up this argument again. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Landon, you know exactly what I mean. The last time you went out in a skirt like that you came back with a bloody nose. You know I love you honey. But I don’t want you getting hurt for who you are.” She pauses for a second, looking guilty. “I don’t want you dressing up outside of this house. It’s dangerous and I just- I don’t want you getting hurt. You know I can’t live without you and after your father I-“

Landon interrupts his frantic mother as she starts talking faster, “Mom! Stop! Please! Look I- I know that things have been hard with dad gone, and I don’t want to make you worried either so, so I won’t go ok? Just calm down alright? It’ll be ok. I promise. Take a deep breath.” His mother does as she’s told and relief seems to flood through her as Landon reassures her that he’ll stay safe. 

Landon starts to go upstairs before his mother calls to him. “I love you, son. You know that, don’t you.”

Landon smiles weakly. “Of course I do momma. I love you too.” But I’m not your son. I’m your daughter. 

——— 

Landon feels like a fucking mess. It’s been a few hours since breakfast, and the dysphoria is back in full force today. If (s)he? even looks at the mirror for too long, the static in her brain grows to an uncomfortable, dissonant roar. She stares at the flat surface of her chest until that heavy feeling gets to be so much that she just wants to rip it out. She rubs at her chest and tries to squish her sides together to make it less flat, so she can pretend for even a minute that she has the body parts that she wasn’t lucky enough to be born with. It doesn’t work. No matter what she does, it doesn’t change who she- who he is. Landon’s frustration multiplies, so he scratches his chest so that maybe if he scratches hard enough, he’ll scratch through his skin and blood and bones. Then at least the gaping hole in his body will match the way he feels. He scratches and scratches until he breaks skin. As soon as he sees the blood, something snaps in his head and he gasps. Oh shit. What have I done? What have I fucking done? What’s wrong with me? What kind of sick bastard am I? Why can’t I just be like everybody else? Why am I the only one who has to feel like this? Why can’t I just be a girl? Why can’t I just be me?

Landon’s thoughts continue to spiral till he sinks to the floor, sobbing. 

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