There was nothing more disgusting to Jack than the state of his body.

It felt like a mockery. He knew it wasn’t ugly, that if he were a girl, it’d suit him..But that’s the thing.

He wasn’t a girl.

The lumps of flesh on his chest weren’t for him. They were meant for someone else. The softness of his face, the dainty size of his hands, the curves of his waist and hips— None of it was for him. He wanted none of it. And yet, he was given it.

One night, after hours of being called something that wasn't his name, he finally arrived home and kneeled before his cold, uncomfortable bed. He prayed to God that night, begging for him to somehow transform him into a ‘real’ boy.

The day after, he had gotten his period.

The world hated him, so he hated his body. And that hatred eventually led to a meltdown gone wrong.

Here he was, his eyes glued onto the ceiling, sprawled out only in his boyshorts on the floor of his bathroom for the world to see, liquid dribbling from the scratches he left on his stomach. His eyes burned from the tears he shed, and the air stung the red, raw marks he had from the tape he bound his chest with. Everything hurt, and it was his fault.

Shaking, he raised his hand. It glided down his scarred, unwelcome torso, feeling the oh-so ‘pretty’ features his family loved and whined about him covering up. They felt horrible for a face like his. To be true, it wasn’t the fact he wasn’t born a man.

It was the fact everyone knew he wasn’t.

How could he be recognized as a real man if every teacher referred to him as ‘she’? How could he be happy if the only reason he was referred to by his name was because others were trained to do so, not because they saw him as a man? How could he be happy in a world unfit for him?

It all felt useless. Like his body. And to cope with that, he sulked.

He turned his head to look at the door, recognizing the faint sound of footsteps approaching. Dread and shame pooled in his gut, but he didn’t make a move to get up..It just wasn’t worth it. Nothing was.