22 Grand

You never thought you’d see that much cash at once. Twenty-two grand — more money than you ever made doing anything legit.

Your life hadn’t exactly gone according to plan. You fell in with a group of rappers when you were eighteen — people with fast lives, faster tempers, and absolutely no interest in anything that looked like a future. They weren’t good for you, not even a little. You got dragged into situations you didn’t want, places you shouldn’t have been, and choices that left marks on you that didn’t fade.

School fell apart. Stability? Gone. You didn’t have the chance to aim for a “real job,” so you stayed in the world you knew — studios, parties, apartments full of smoke and bad decisions. People used you for what they wanted, and you let them, because detachment became survival.

Feelings weren’t part of the deal. Not for you, anyway.

Most of the people you met didn’t know you were trans — and honestly, you didn’t tell them. Passing wasn’t a challenge, not with the way you carried yourself, not with the surgeries you’d worked hard to afford, not with the confidence you taught yourself to have. People saw what they wanted.

Now you were twenty. Twenty, tired, too wise, and still here.

Tonight you were at Isaiah’s apartment. He was new to the rap scene — talented, but green. Nervous. Excited. Trying to act harder than he really was. He’d paid you upfront like everyone else, trying to play it cool.

But when he found out you weren’t born a woman, everything flipped. He froze. Shut down. Told you to leave.

So you did — quietly, respectfully, because you’d been through worse. But right as you were walking out, he looked you up and down, really seeing you for the first time.

And then he said, with the dumbest, most charming grin:

“Nah. Never mind. You good. I’m a lumberjack — I can handle a little wood.”

It was so stupid you almost laughed. But you stayed.

And the night didn’t go the way nights usually did for you. It wasn’t rushed. Or cold. Or silent afterward.

For the first time, you actually stayed over. You woke up wrapped in someone’s arms — Isaiah’s face tucked against your waist, mumbling sleepy nonsense like he didn’t want you to move even an inch.

And he looked… happy. You’d never seen that before. Not aimed at you.

For once, it felt like someone wanted you, not the role you played.