“Put the scissors down. Now.”
I threw the scissors into the sink.
“I hate you.” I whispered into the mirror, staring at my older sister in the glass.
“What do you think you’re doing?” She grabbed the scissors from the sink and hid them behind her back.
“I wasn’t doing anything, but I was about to. Until you stopped me.” I started walking out of the bathroom until she grabbed my arm and spun me round.
“Don’t you ever, ever, think about cutting your hair again. Okay?” Her blue eyes stared into mine, full of threat, yet also sadness.
“Is that a threat, Jane?” I said smiling.
“Yes. Yes it is, Rita.”
I pulled my arm out of her grasp and walked out of the bathroom and into my room. I slammed the door, and it took everything in me to try and not punch it. I grabbed my teddy bear on my bed and threw it at the door.
I hate this. I hate this.
One problem I’ve noticed over the years when you realise that you don’t feel comfortable being a girl is that when your family realises, they tend to think you’re going through a “phase”.
Hm, I’m sure you’ve heard that one before, right?
A “phase”. My mother would say: “Oh Rita, it’s your hormones running wild. Don’t be so silly. You’re a girl. It’s just a phase.”
But then I started buying men’s clothes and I went to the gym almost everyday. I started getting mistaken for being a male at department stores, as I’d tie my hair up instead of having it all loose and… girly.
My family started to worry as people at school started avoiding me, even my friends. So, now I’m homeschooled.
Then, I remembered that I had hidden the kitchen scissors under my nightstand. I lay down on the dusty grey bedroom carpet and stuck my hand underneath the table, until I felt the sharp metal.
I grabbed them and stood up, walking towards the mirror next to my window.
I placed a chunk of hair in between the sharp blades.