I really like this one??? I was feeling really dysphoric as I wrote it, though so maybe that's why. The first half happened to me (before Patricia puked). And I just really miss my s/o and a few of my other friends cause they always help me with this shit but I'm currently dataless.

"I remember, Patricia, do you remember when you were just a kid and you broke your foot jumping out of that tree one time?" My mom asks.

Patricia.

"Yeah," I reply with as much enthusiasm as I can muster.

"Gerard, she was just so little. We had to drive her to the hospital and everything. That's how she got that scar on her foot."

Her. She.

"Yeah," Gerard replies, "I've always wondered about that."

"So tell me about yourself," My dad says, "I've heard you've been treating my daughter well."

I clench my fingers, I feel my chest tightening. Daughter.

"Yeah," Gerard replies pressing his hand to my knee and jolting me back to the room. He knows. He's the only one that knows. And I'm feeling sick. I can't, "I've been treating you as well as I can, better than a lot of guys I've seen."

I relax a little under his touch and the fact he's avoiding pronouns but I can still feel those words crawling under my skin and clawing at me.

"I've seen how you've been with her, you're always so sweet," My mom smiles, "Isn't that right, Sweetie?"

"Y-Yeah," I force, smiling even though every muscle in my body tells me not to. I feel my stomach twisting and bile rising. I can't do this. Oh my god.

"Patricia, how's your work been? I've heard you got promoted!" Dad says.

"Yeah, I... I have. Is..." I feel it coming up fast, though and before I can stop myself, I'm in the bathroom, tugging up the toilet seat and releasing all my stomach acid into the water.

Patricia. She. Her. Daughter.

Patricia. She. Her. Daughter.

Tranny. Gay. Stupid. Round-chested.

"Well if you're really a guy then why is this here?" He teases, grasping my breast hard until I'm sobbing out.

I continue, dry heaving and I feel like screaming. I feel like I'm going to fucking explode.

"I think we outta go. I'm really sorry. I'll talk to you in a bit, though, I should probably get hi—her home."

I try to hold back tears as I flush it down, rinsing my mouth out and pressing a wet washcloth across my face to soak with the tears and the remains of the stomach acid.

Girl. She. Her. Tranny. Patricia. Daughter.

"You should grow your hair out again. It looked prettier that way."

"I need to go home," I whisper to Gerard, "I-I can't..."

"I know, Baby Boy," he whispers, pressing his lips to my forehead. The bathroom door is shut, they can't hear, "I know."

"Need my binder and I n-need my packer, I—"

"I know, let's go, it's okay. It's okay, shh, you're okay," he whispers, stroking my back as he pulls me from the bathroom.

"Are you gonna be okay, Patricia?" Mom asks.

"Fine," I reply shakily, "Sorry about that I'm just... I haven't been feeling well for most of the day and dinner must have pushed me over."

Gerard rubs his padded finger over my lower back, and after a quick goodbye, we leave the house, him cradling my choked sobs as soon as my parents are out of sight.

"I can't do this anymore, Gee, I can't fucking, I—" I choke, "What if I'm not a real boy? I'm just barely passing as it is and what if I just... I'm not supposed to... I'm not ever gonna have a... dick and these are gonna be there forever and what if—"

I'm cut off by him slamming my door shut then coming in the other side of his truck and taking my hand almost immediately.

"Patrick. You are a boy," he says.

"I-I'm n—"

"Say it, Patrick. You are a real boy."

I take a deep breath, looking up at him and watching him wipe the tears from my cheeks.

"I'm a real boy."

"Just because you wear binders doesn't make you any less of a boy."

"Just 'cause I wear binders doesn't make me any less a boy."

"It doesn't matter if you pass or not. You're still a fucking boy."

"It doesn't matter if I pass or not, I'm still a boy..."

Gerard presses his lips to my forehead, and I shut my eyes because in that moment, those words really sink in.

He. Him. Son. Patrick. Boyfriend. Boy.

"You look so handsome," Gerard smiles as I fuss over myself in the mirror, adjusting my binder as well as I can.

He. Him. Son. Patrick. Boyfriend. Boy.

"Baby Boy, you're so perfect," he whispers as I thrust into him, the strapon tight against my skin, "I don't want anyone else."

I smile into his neck, and I pull him closer.

"Thank you. So much," I whisper, "I love you so much."

"I love you, too, my handsome boyfriend."