I Hate You Too
A trans superhero finds acceptance in an unlikely place.
Despite being in the superhero genre, this is maybe the most realistic story I’ve ever written. Note: I wrote this a while ago while I was depressed, so maybe don’t read it you’re looking for happy stuff. I personally find it kind of hard to read.
She sat in the middle of the “support” group meeting, depressed as fuck. Why she even came to these fucking things was a mystery.
An irritatingly attractive and also just irritating woman was talking. “I may have had less trouble passing then a lot of people, but I've put a lot of work in. Powers don't just make everything magically easier.”
She mentally rolled her eyes. Yeah right, like your powers haven't made things easy for. Stupid fucking shapeshifters.
She had to be fucking “blessed” with super strength. And the body that came with it. You know the drill, upsidedown triangle, tiny legs. She didn't even exercise much but then again that wasn't how powers worked.
Honestly, no one would ever think she was female. It was pretty clear.
She raised her hand. “I don't mean to be hurtful, but haven't your powers made things easier? I mean, you have an advantage over a lot of people.”
The shapeshifter looked pissed off. “You know how my powers work? I have to put in constant effort to maintain something that isn't my natural shape. It's not easy.”
This wasn't even worth arguing about. She didn't even bother to respond.
It's not like putting in constant effort would make a difference in her case. If she really tried to present as female, makeup and everything, people would just see a freak. A stereotypical drag queen with red lips and a broad chest.
Even more of a freak than she already was.
She was in the middle of wrestling a doomsday remote away from her nemesis but she wasn't really feeling it. He managed to wrest the remote from her and held it up in the air, cackling evilly. She just stood there slouching.
They did this every week. It's not like there was a point to it. Fuck, he could just win this time. It's not like it mattered.
He seemed to notice something was wrong and lowered the remote. “Hey, are you okay? You seem...distracted. You're usually more into this.”
She hadn't come out to him yet. He'd probably just make fun of her, using it as part of his evil taunts. Besides, they had known each other for way too long. That just wasn't how he thought of her. As a her.
She mumbled something incoherent. His brow furrowed. It did this weird thing where the eyebrows actually met in the middle. It had always bothered her.
“I'm fine!” she said more loudly. Falsely. He didn't seem entirely reassured.
“Okay, just checking,” he said, then pressed the big red button. Something in the distance exploded.
For once she was actually trying. After all, she had decided, it was her own fault if people misgendered her. She wasn't giving them any kind of clues. Makeup or a skirt anything.
She was wearing women's clothing—in weird, ill-fiting sizes because nothing fit her stupid triangle body—and a little makeup. Too much and people would probably be able to tell how badly she applied it. Besides, the goal was to look “natural”, right? There was a little hair clip in her hair. It was too short to really do anything else. At the store the cashier called her “sir”.
Fuck, trying was pointless. Fuck trying. Just pointless.
She was so dumb.
At home she changed back into her normal clothes. Punched a wall just to get a little bit of the anger and anxiety that was filling her, stretching her further and further like a balloon and soon she was going to pop
—she punched through the wall. Fuck. So stupid. Now she was going to have to fix it and pay money. She didn't feel like dealing with it now. She could do it tomorrow.
Soon she was sprawled on her bed, sobbing.
She didn't do anything at all the next day. Well, except lie in bed and try to distract herself by watching dumb comedies on Netflix. There was a dull-sharp pain in the bottom of her stomach, like she had swallowed a knife wrapped in a napkin, knowing she was being way too fucking irresponsible. She turned off the news and the police scanner she usually had on. People could save themselves today. She was too busy saving herself.
Well, actually she wasn't really improving her situation at all, but still, that was a catchy line. Oneliner. She should write a screenplay.
Just kidding! Because that would actually require her to actually accomplish something beyond the staving off of everyday problems. Yeah right! She was a miserable heap of garbage.
Besides, she was too busy with hero work.
Really, though, calling her a hero was laughable. Shouldn't a hero at least be able to save—wait she already used that one basically. So she was a hack. Oh well.
After several hours her aching stomach—to be clear, hunger this time, though the anxiety was still there—the different pains layered together, until it was kind of hard to distinguish them—forced her to drag herself out of bed and into her condo's tiny kitchen. You'd think being a super hero would pay more.
Well, maybe it would if not for the secret identity. She was pretty stressed about that, actually. People—some people, anyway—would definitely shit all over a hero who transitioned publicly. And the other fucking half would say how brave. She was honestly considering to just continue to pretend to be a guy when in her hero alter ego. She was kind of worried that would hold her back from really making changes her body though—like, getting surgery, or even growing long hair.
She was eating a shitty sandwich—haha, not literally—maybe she shouldn't make jokes when she was depressed, it confused people—not that there was anyone there to be confused—JESUS she overthought everything—when the doorbell rang. After it rang five more times she dragged herself up like a drooping puppet with overly long strings, and to the door, and peered through the peephole. It was her nemesis.
What the fuck was he doing here?
She momentarily freaked out that he would be able to tell she was trans before remembering that she was just wearing a fairly gender-neutral t-shirt and pajama pants and no makeup or anything. Whenever she tried stuff like that it just looked like drag, honestly.
He looked nervous, grinning maniacally like usual but there was something off about the eyes. They actually looked WORRIED. Now that was out of character. And his fingers were interlocked and squeezed tight instead of steepled like usual.
With a sigh she opened the door. She was definitely going to regret this.
“So,” he started, perched on her bed/couch (a folding piece of shit from Ikea) “uh... there's something I wanted to talk about with you.”
Yeah, no kidding, she thought but didn't say.
“Um, so, the other day when we were fighting... I might have kind of used a mind reading ray on you? Just a little bit?”
“Goddamn it!” she burst out, “I don't fucking care what fucking ray you use on me. It's, like, your job anyway.”
Really she was pissed because she thought this was actually going to be something important when it was actually some really mundane shit.
“So... “ he said. “You're transgender?”
Why the fuck was she even thinking about gender when they were in the middle of a fight. That was, like, the whole point of fighting. To not think.
She realized that, through her tunnel vision and pounding heart, he was still talking.
“I want you to know that I'll hate you either way,” he smarmed. “I mean, I won't hate you for being transgender, that would be—you know. I just want you to know that I'll consider you my enemy no matter what.”
If you replaced a few of the words this would almost be nice. Without her realizing it, her heartbeat gradually slowed.
“Are you going to change your name?” he pestered. “I mean your hero name, I don't actually know your real one. Uh, your legal one, I mean. I can talk to the press for you. I can tell them I used a trangendering ray on you! MWAHA… ha…” he cleared his throat. “Sorry, it's been a while since I've laughed except evilly. Not since the breaku"— he suddenly cut off.
She glared at him, using her well-honed hero squint. It was probably too masculine, wasn't it? Yeah probably. Some Clint Eastwood shit. She'd have to change that—find some replacement. Anyway, she had something she needed to say.
“I hate you too.”
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