#glossypara

[babellaby-blog]

What Happened to Natalie Lake?

    “Bella! Bella!” The shout caught the nanny off guard as she left the doors of the Lake estate in Bel-Air, freezing as three reporters blocked her path. She glanced to the security unit, and wondered how they had made it past the gates. Ah, bribes. Bella’s eyes landed on them again, a collected smile gracing her lips. 

   The calls to their home, the requests for a comment, the stalking had been endless since the news about Natalie taking a flight back home without a word. Robbie had failed to speak up, and in the fleeting conversation Bella had with the woman while packing tearfully, the nanny had been tasked with preserving the “family” image. 

   After considering leaving herself, and Robbie emphatically requiring she stay, the story was worked out. Instead of the much more scandalous truth, Bella jutted out her chin, addressing the curious reporters desperate to understand the newest Lake family drama. 

   “Listen. Mrs. Lake’s family had an emergency, and she had to take a flight suddenly to be with them in this time of their need. Nothing has changed, and she is very much fine,” Bella promised, smiling characteristically, feeling the camera on her. The questions flooded. 

  “What about Robbie?”    “Will she come back?”   “Are they divorcing?”       “Will you be staying here? What about the kids?” 

     “Is there something going on with you and Robbie Lake?”

  Resisting the urge to swallow hard, Bella kept her smile painted on in a beautiful picture of the caring employee. She shook her head, dismissing the questions, and refusing to address the last one that rang painfully in her ears. 

   “Mr. and Mrs. Lake are better than ever. This tragedy in her family has brought them closer in Mr. Lake’s support of her sudden departure, and you know what they say - distance makes the heart fonder,” Bella gushed, knowing how to make the audience the story would reach sympathize with the actress. “As for the kids, they’ll be staying with their father for a bit while Natalie gets settled in at home. We’re not sure the details yet, but I’m staying here to offer my support until we know more.”

   It felt good, the way they hung on her every word. Fortunately, Bella was a convincing liar, her smile selling the words, the compassion in her blue eyes giving everything an emotional edge. She did not respond the question and her and Robbie. 

  “Can we use your statements on the record?” 

   “Yes. Please, do. Natalie Lake isn’t going anywhere, and she’ll be back soon, and you can still hashtag goals for the couple,” Bella smiled with a giggle, pulling her shades pack down, flipping her platinum locks over her shoulder, and clacked Natalie’s heels on her feet down the steps.

[babellaby-blog]

    “-- Why do you care so much about the word Prada?” 

Bella’s eyes widened behind her, yes, Prada shades, something she was rarely without perched on her thin nose. They were large, borderline ridiculous, and cost $300. $300, Cynthia had whistled on the phone after Bella’s first purchase, one of many. “Not even worth it, kid.”

Now she was facing the stranger, eyes steely behind the tint of the glasses. What Bella wanted to answer, to sneer down her nose at the critisim, would never leave her lips.

   But, oh, did she think it. 

  Bella cared because for 20 years of her life, her face ached from scrunching up in the sun for hours on end. She probably would have wrinkles early from so much squinting. Bella cared because after countless of dollar store cheap glasses were either broken or stolen, she stopped spending the precious quarters on them, and instead suffered the brightness of the sun in her blue gaze. 

  Bella cared because for 23 years of her life, she wasn’t sure where her next meal would come from, and now she gets to let $300 sit on the bridge of her nose, eyes shielded in style.

   Bella cared because that word, that beautiful word Prada was what seperated her from the Stockton poverty-ridden girl she’d grown up being, in Goodwill hand-me-downs and sizes too baggy or too tight. Bella cared because when she stepped outside, Prada shades firmly in place, no one could glance her over as the charity case.

   Bella. Cared.

   “It’s always those with less that envy those with the most,” Bella finally answered from behind that gleeful tint of the rims, deflecting her gaze, and pulling her bag further up her shoulder.

   Bella would wear her Prada shades as a trademark. She would sport that $300 proudly, diligently.

   Because it isn’t about the word. It’s about the worth. When you’re decked out with Prada and Gucci and Dior... no one questions your eligibility. Your value. Your worth. 

  But Bella? She questions yours.

[lovelacedx]

When: October, 2017

Out of all of her appointments for the day, Fern was looking forward to this one the most. He was a new client, coming in to have his tarot cards read and she had already done her research. She had just blown out the lavender incense burning in the corner of the parlor when the door opened and in walked Jesse Andrews. 

Fern knew who he was, of course. People seemed to believe that she lived her life walking through graveyards and communicating with the spirits in the beyond, but she enjoyed a good party as much as the next. Especially if she could make a quick buck off some girl drunk enough to believe any bullshit she spewed out while waiting for her drink at the bar. Behind the lush drapes, she waited, pretending not to have heard him just to see what he’d do. It was usually a good way to get a read on someone. If they waited patiently on the old velvet loveseat in the drawing room, they weren’t as inquisitive, or their nerves would often get the better of them. If they wandered around the room, looking at the accoutrements lining the walls or picking up the book she left out specifically for that reason, they tended to make themselves at home wherever they were, comfortable in any situation.

Jesse kept standing, glancing around the room and called out, “Hello?” and it was time for Fern to make her grand appearance. Not with smoke or an overly tacky accent that was reminiscent of the crappy late night television psychics from the 90’s, but with a soothing smile and a delicate handshake.

“Mr. Andrews. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Jesse.” He smiled quickly, clearly a little uncomfortable but the soft smile remained on her face. After he shook her hand, he shoved his right back into his pocket. She’d be willing to bet it was to keep from displaying a nervous habit. Flicking his fingers, drumming them, picking at his nails, something you didn’t let people see. No one wanted anyone to have any real sort of information on them and a tell was the worst kind of information. Someone knowing when you were nervous could essentially ruin you if they got their hands on a juicy tidbit of gossip that turned out to be true. “Yeah, likewise. Look, can we just get this over with? I’ve got some place to be tonight.”

She couldn’t have asked for a better opening. He was in a rush to get out of there, even though he was the one that called this meeting. “Ah, yes, you have a gig tonight, don’t you? Where are you spinning?” He raised an eyebrow, all while she smiled serenely. Please fall for it, please fall for it.

“I never told you what I did for a living.” Hook, line, and sinker.

“You didn’t have to, dear. The spirits did.” Wikipedia and the inability to sleep at night did, actually. He didn’t look like he was necessarily buying it, but he was still there and seemed to grow a bit more uncomfortable, shifting his weight between his feet. “Shall we get started?” He gestured for her to lead the way and she sauntered off towards the parlor where she did the readings. A wooden table sat in the middle of the room with two chairs on either side. They were both velvet lined but they didn’t match, as it would take a little bit away from the idea that she scavenged for what she had and that it was all given to her by her goddess. Finding out she got them from a furniture store a couple blocks away would really ruin the mood she worked so carefully to set.

The room itself was lit up with string lights, a vase with day old flowers starting to wilt on the chest she kept all of her things in. Granted, it was a false bottom and there really wasn’t much in there, but no one ever went looking. It was bad karma to go snooping around what didn’t concern you. The crowning glory, though, was the crystal ball that sat up on a shelf directly in the middle of the room, her crystal tiara balanced on it precariously. She never used either of them, they really were only for aesthetic appeal and people ate that shit up.

“Is Fern your real name?” he asked as he followed her in, glancing around the room. His eyes were drawn to the crystal ball, just as everyone else’s were and really, Andrews, be any more predictable.

She glanced back at him, eyebrows raised. “Is Jesse yours?”

“Point taken.”

Her favorite deck of tarot cards sat in the middle of the table and she motioned for him to sit at the side the cards were facing. She picked up the cards and shuffled them wordlessly, flawlessly, before holding them out for Jesse to take. “Take these and shuffle them.” He didn’t ask why or even look confused but the slight hesitation told her that he was questioning her words.  “It will transfer some of your energy into the cards, so that you will have an accurate reading.” As he shuffled the cards to his heart’s content, she explained. “You’ve asked for a ‘mind, body, spirit’ reading.” She said this like she was announcing it to the powers that be, but it was more because she found a lot of her clients to be forgetful idiots and needed to be reminded of why they were here. “Three cards. Three ways to look at yourself.”

He handed the cards back and she sat them on the table, drawing the first one. “Mind.” When she flipped it, it was The Sun. The only bad thing was … it was facing her. “The Sun.” She paused for dramatic effect, making him wait out the result for just a moment before she continued, “When rightside up, The Sun means success and accomplishment, but sadly, it is reversed. That means loneliness and unhappiness. You find yourself longing for company that isn’t there …” Where he originally seemed to disbelieve her and (rightfully) think she was a fraud, he shifted, straightening where he sat. Okay, Fern. You’re on the right track.

“Body. The Nine of Cups … reversed.” He seriously needed to get his shit together. “You spend your time overindulging in things that only bring you pain. They will do nothing but hurt you at the rate you’re going.” If he at least had gotten it rightside up, it would have meant that his body was in decent shape, but she didn’t have to look very closely to notice the fact that his whole body just screamed exhausted: he’d been slouching on the way in, feet dragging a little, and the bags under his eyes were larger than the Prada purse she’d bought last week. He was hanging on her words now, desperately awaiting what she would say next, she could tell by the way he was leaning forward, leg beginning to shake under the table.

Last but not least, “Spirit.” She was hoping for him that this card was good, that he got something positive out of this session even though the negatives meant he had something to work on. “Justice.” Thank you, Maiden, Mother, and Crone. “Your spirit is focused harmony and equality. All you wish is for the world to be at peace and for the factions at hand to stop warring with each other.” Give him just enough information to satisfy him, leave him reflecting on himself instead of picking out a detail she might have messed up and narrowing in on that. It appeared that the spirits on the other side had spoken, but really, when your client was an out and proud transman, it wasn’t hard to figure out that he was tired of dealing with transphobia. “Mr. Andrews, I suggest you reevaluate what is truly important to you. You have a wonderful life and I would honestly hate for it to come down around you.”

He hadn’t said anything throughout the reading, not even a scoff that would have suggested she got something wrong. In fact … he seemed shaken. Shaken was a good sign, it meant that she had done her job well and used the tools at her disposal to get him to believe whatever crap she pulled out of her ass. He stood slowly and extended a hand again. “Thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome, dear.” And as he left the room, with his cash on the table, Fern breathed a sigh of relief.

A sucker was born every minute.

[v-stone-blog1]

who needs a gift bag? || self para

The ball was over, and thankfully, unlike the last one Veronica had gone to, it didn't end up in tragedy and she had enjoyed herself, in the end it had been a nice evening, which had thankfully came to an end. Thankfully because although she had enjoyed herself immensely, it was still too many people around, all of them in masks, and although you could tell, in some cases, who they were,it was hard to be sure, and not knowing who it was that was around her unsettled her, Veronica didn’t like not knowing thing. Also her feet hurt, but that was because of the shoes.

Heading to the lobby, and the coat check to get her shawl, she wondered of any of her cameras had gotten anything, because of course Veronica had cameras with her, she always did. Even if they hadn't caught much, some money could be made by selling pictures of an exclusive event like the one she was leaving, but still, the Informant had been o hr case recently, reporting on her, actually reporting, and the fact that they were even interested in her made her shudder. She needed something to distract them, and keep them of her case.

So distracted was she in her thoughts Veronica didn't notice something on the floor until she kicked it while walking. Pausing and frowning she bent down to pick whatever it was, up. Someone had left their wallet behind, something dangerous, given the amount of things one could do with the information present on someone's wallet, but it happened often enough. Putting it in her clutch, she could, after all wait until she was in the taxi to find the owner, she headed out, picking up her shawl in the way, and waited at the door for her taxi. While she was comfortable in life, and her parents rich, the idea of bringing a driver to those things never crossed her mind, they were nothing but a waste of money, given that she could always call a taxi for cheap.

Finally spotting her ride she got in and gave the address for her Echo Park home, taking off her mask in the process. It was the first time she was taking it off the whole night, and Veronica was sick of the thing, regardless of how pretty it was. Taking off her heels, it was after all, a bit of a drive back to her place, she opened the clutch and inspected her find.

It was a pretty wallet, feminine looking, and leather, even if it didn't seem too expensive. With a shrug she opened the wallet, after all she needed to know who it belonged to in order to return it. Right away she could see an I.D. in a clear casing, and just by looking at the picture she could tell who it belonged to, Kitty Diaz.

The blonde was nothing but a blip in her radar, one of many, someone who, besides all her newfound fame what with being the model of Threads, didn't excite her curiosity in the slightest. With a small sight of disappointment,it didn't seem to be that exciting of a find, she rummaged through it. It wasn't her wallet, and she shouldn't be looking, but Veronica had always been curious, had always wanted to know more, and rifling through wallets was nothing new to her.

You could, sometimes, tell people's habits through their wallets. Kitty Diaz seemed to be a very boring,normal person from what she could tell. There was nothing out of the ordinary, nothing surprising or noteworthy about the wallet, and so she was disappointed. Card after card, the only new thing Veronica had discovered was Kitty’s bank! After having turned the wallet inside out, and having taken everything out and dumped it on the empty seat next to her, she pouted and sighed. Oh well, she couldn’t always strike it big.

Luckily for her, Veronica had always had a good memory, and so she started putting the blonde’s wallet back together, putting the cards in the slots she thought she had take them out of, when she felt something. A small grove on the inside of the wallet that was not supposed to be there. Frowning she looked closer, it was hard to see with the lack of lighting, and so she reached up to turn on the little light on the backseat of the taxi she was in. With nibble fingers Veronica opened a small pocket she hadn’t noticed before, and pulled out something.

A small paper square, the back of which was white with some words written on it. Through the texture she could tell it was a photo, with the glossiness of the paper, the smoothness of one side in contrast to the other, it was obvious to someone who worked with photos as much as she did. Turning the photo around Veronica blinked.

And blinked.

And blinked.

When she finally realized that the content of the photo weren't going to change, regardless of how many times she blinked, her mouth dropped open. And once again, gold.

It was Kitty.

Pregnant.

It was a pregnant Kitty Diaz.

It was gold.

As quickly as she could Veronica grabbed the phone, Kitty’s wallet falling to the floor, not that she cared, and opened her e-mails. 

Maybe this will get the freaking Informant out of my hair.

[lachapellexx-blog]

long time.

word count; 1066. time; apprx. 10:27 pm, january 30th, 2018. los angeles, california, usa. triggers; drug use. implied emotionally/mentally abusive relationship. nothing explicit. 

“I’ll be at your apartment in 2 hours. Be ready.” Click.

Vincent’s voice rang clear in Xavier’s clouded mind. Two hours, that’s all they had to get home, get somewhat sober, and get ready. Their stomach churned and twisted, threatening to expel its contents; Xanax, vodka, a fucking hamburger. It was times like this that Xavier realized how truly fucked they were. As they tried leaving the club, hands belonging to various friends kept pulling them back into the crowd. Despite their whines and protests, their friends didn’t give up. It was Xavier’s first night out in three weeks (which in LA is the equivalent of 4 years), and their friends were determined to make sure they had a good night.

It wasn’t as if they could tell them about the situation; no one was to know about their relationship. One of the many stipulations set forth by Vincent when their arrangement was first proposed. The first of many that chilled Xavier to their core. They thought back to one of those fateful days in Orlando. With no other options and a dream that they just couldn’t quell, Xavier had made a decision that would impact their life in a way they never thought possible. Now, it seemed like every move they made, every place they went, and every person they spoke to was under strict scrutiny by the older man. Vincent occasionally injected himself into Xavier’s life, especially if he believed they were acting in a way that seemed out of character.

Xavier had begun to push those boundaries, especially since Channing left. Nights spent out until daylight greeted them, various drugs coursing through their system when they touched down in Orlando to meet with Vincent, and letting their temper get the best of them were only a few examples of how Xavier had been trying to push Vincent. Unsurprisingly, the older man’s grasp on the young artist’s life had only grown tighter. His presence in Xavier’s world was the cause of their absence from the nightlife. Vincent disapproved of their pasttimes, but knew better than to try and get a 26 year old to stop partying. Maybe that was exactly what Xavier wanted; some sort of constant reassurance that someone would stay in their life, no matter what kind of bullshit they pulled.

They could only assume that would be the topic of conversation tonight. Xavier complained of stomachaches to their friends and finally managed to slip away nearly an hour after Vincent had called. They were even more anxious than before, with less time to go home and prepare themself for the evening. The conversation would be short, it typically was. Vincent, when needing to address serious issues, typically leaned towards digital forms of communication; email, texting, the like. No, tonight Vincent was bored. He was lonely and he wanted to indulge in his favorite employee.

“Fuck,” Xavier mumbled. As they stumbled out of the night club, the lights of the city and the hum of cars passing them only served to further a migraine that threatened to crack open their skull. It was nothing they weren’t used to at this point.

An Uber pulled up to the curb and Xavier climbed inside, immediately laying down in the backseat. They stared up at the ceiling of the Toyota, eyeing a tiny brown stain on the upholstery. A tiny speck in an otherwise perfect car; Xavier could only imagine its origin. The car seemed perfect at least; it was shiny on the outside, complete with a stunning black leather over all the seats and perfectly clean floor mats. But the more time Xavier spent with their head resting on the seat, the more problems came into light. There was a small clunking in the motor, only when the driver sped about 30 miles an hour. The stereo had a distant buzzing that pulled Xavier’s mind into knots. And that speck. That fucking speck on the ceiling, the only aesthetically fucked up part of this car.

Snap!

The digital shutter on their phone swiped over the screen as the speck was saved to their camera roll. Tomorrow, they were sure they wouldn’t remember why an Uber’s ceiling was so extraordinary, but tonight, it was clear.

Everything was perfect until you paid attention.

The drive to Xavier’s place seemed longer than normal, but they were sure that everything in their system was working against them.

Thirty minutes until Vincent was here. Thirty minutes until Xavier had to paint on a smile and pretend they were happy to see him. In some respects, they were. There was so much that they owed Vincent, so much that he had done for them for which he could never repay him. Xavier wasn’t used to being in this kind of relationship. They were always the one giving, the one that lent out their arm and leg if it meant someone else would benefit.

As they pulled the sheets off the couch and stuffed them in the washer, Xavier imagined all the times they’d let friends crash on their couch, especially the past few weeks; anything for a bit of company.

As they arranged dishes in the cabinets, Xavier imagined all the times they’d cooked meals for people who otherwise wouldn’t have eaten; anything to fill the silence.

As they changed into Vincent’s favorite outfit, Xavier imagined when they’d called the man, drunk off his ass, wondering why Vincent wanted to help them so much; anything for reassurance.

As they swallowed down two glasses of water, Xavier imagined helping their friends out of a bad trip, staying with them all night if it meant they wouldn’t harm themselves; anything to stay busy.

As they hovered by the door, Xavier imagined what it felt like to watch Channing walk out of it; anything to forget.

Caught in his thoughts, they jumped when there was a soft rattling at the knob. They stepped away and watched Vincent enter through the threshold, shoving his set of keys (including a copy of Xavier’s apartment and car keys, both of which he was financing) into his suit jacket.

“Evening,” the elder greeted.

Xavier smiled warmly. The sight of Vincent’s face wasn’t often warming, simply familiar. With Vincent, they knew exactly what they were getting. And maybe after a night of drugs, dancing, and drinking, Vincent was exactly what they needed.

“I missed you.”

[v-stone-blog1]

episodes of the life of Veronica Stone || self para

4 and a half years old, Summer of ‘98

She had her own room now, with her own stuff, her parents said she was old enough to sleep alone, without her sisters, and so there she was . In her brand new bed, with her new nightlight shinning a comforting glow across the room. Veronica was sleeping by herself for the first time she could remember. 

There was no need to be scared, Veronica knew that, her parents had tucked her in and read her a story, as had her brothers, sneakily, after the door to their parents bedroom was closed. They had checked the closet, under the beds and rest of furniture, and there was no monsters there. Still Veronica was terrified. Hiding under her covers, clutching her stuffed bunny to her chest, the first gift her parents had given her when she was adopted, shivering although it wasn’t cold. Every sound drew her into a panic, every shadow made her flinch. 

Tears started leaving her eyes, although she knew she was a big girl, and that big girls didn’t cry she couldn’t help herself. Burying her head in her pillow Veronica tried to distract herself, calm down, but she couldn’t. A particularly loud crack came from outside, and that was enough for her to run. Her small feet hitting the ground and short legs running as fast as they could. Her rabbit was dragging in the ground as she left her room, looking left and right she decided to make a dash to the room in front of hers. At the moment, in her panic, she couldn’t remember whose room it was, but she didn’t care.

Standing on the tip of her toes Veronica threw the door open and ran inside, heading towards the bed she could vaguely see. A small hand reached up, and poked the sleeping body she could see. Veronica kept poking, until the owner of that particular room woke up and looked down at her with bleary eyes, and at seeing who it was that was bothering him (the owner of the room was Haider, her older brother and the third child her parents had adopted) a small sigh was given before he picked her up and tucked her, and her bunny, next to him. He told her a story (The Elves and the Shoemaker, her favourite), and lulled her to sleep. There she knew the monsters wouldn’t get to her

5 years old, Autumm of ‘99

Looking ahead she could see two of her sisters, and glancing behind her was her eldest brother, one hand firmly in the back of her seat, an encouraging smile on his lips. Still she was scared, what if she fell and hurt herself? What if she broke the bike? So many things could go wrong and Veronica was scared. Maybe her mother as right and she should wait a few more years? She was only five.

A hand touched her shoulder, and there was her eldest sister, asking her if everything was alright, telling her that her siblings would understand her not wanting to learn. But the thing is she did, she was just scared to hurting herself. But she could do this. With a shake of her head and a determined set to her chin she faced forward and started peddling, she could do this.

The path was uneven, made of beaten gravel, with small patches of mud, Autumm was beginning in Colorado, the weather was getting colder and it started to rain. One particularly large rock stood out in the path, made the bike she was riding give a sharp bump which knocked her out of path. Unbeknownst to her her brother had let go a few feet back, and so Veronica fell.

It was hours later and the sun was starting to set when the group of siblings made their way home, dirty and muddy, all of them. Veronica had scuffed knees and a nasty cut on her elbow, but she could ride a bike. One of her brothers was carrying her on his back, and they were all congratulating her for overcoming her fear of falling. All the Stone kids where laughing or smiling, Veronica most of all, her siblings were the best. 

12 years old, Christmas of 2006

The whole house smelled of cookies, ginger ones to be exact. It always did, but this time it was stronger. The fire was burning in the fireplace, the sound of Christmas carols and laughter filled the air. It was after dinner and there were only a couple of seconds left until midnight, until they could all open their gifts. Everyone was home, from the oldest, Sebastian, currently home from college, to the youngest, Amira, the eleventh child her parents had adopted, who was currently two years old. It was a bit late for everyone to still be awake, but it was Christmas, and the Stone family tradition was that gifts could only be opened come midnight, so they all made an effort to fight sleep.

Finally the clock chimed midnight, and her parents made their way for the Christmas tree in the middle of the leaving room. Only after all the siblings settled down did the gift giving start. Most of the gifts were handmade, personalized for the person receiving it, only those among the siblings with jobs bought gifts, but their parents that was. Veronica waited for her turn as all the tags were read out and gifts were handed to the rightful owners. Watching the reactions on her brothers and sisters faces as they teared at wrapping paper and marveled at their gifts. And finally her turn came. With a smile she stood up and grabbed the gift her mother Linda was handing to her, making sure to give both her parents a hug and a kiss before she went back to her place on the floor.

Looking at the square box in her hands she felt very tempted to shake it, but it looked fragile, so she didn’t. Carefully taking the tag away, and noticing that this gift in particular was from her two oldest brothers and her parents, she set out to tear apart the wrapping. As soon as the first rip was made she could see a logo, the Canon logo to be exact. Looking up with wide eyes at her brothers a large smile filled her face. Ripping the rest of the paper aside Veronica couldn’t help but to tear up. Glancing between the box in her hands and the siblings all around her a sudden feeling of warmth came upon her. They knew her, they knew what she wanted, they knew what made her happy.

Opening the box carefully she marveled at the camera now in her hands. It wasn’t professional grade, not even close, a small digital one, waterproof from what the box told her, it was enough for her to use and take her pictures, a hobby of hers that had been growing throughout the years. As excited as she was Veronica didn’t leave to enjoy her new gift, that was against the rules. So she staid put, clutching the box holding her greatest treasure to her chest. She had a camera now, and a dozen other gifts, but she had a camera. It was hers. That moment was one of the happiest of her life.

[jesseandrewsx-blog]

When: November, 2015 Warning: Mild NSFW Trigger Warning: Transphobia, Violence, Drug Abuse, Alcohol Abuse

It had started in a haze. A haze of pills and liquor and random strangers flirting with him at the club. Jesse wasn’t even sure of who he was talking to when he agreed to go home with them (Ryan, Zach, Thomas?), he just knew that he was following them out to a taxi. He remembered what hotel he was staying at well enough and being able to tell the cabbie was an impressive feat. Especially because he had the stranger kissing him, down his jaw and to his neck. 

The ride to the hotel passed in a blur. Almost everything was a blur though, when you were barely awake to begin with and then decided that your memories didn’t have enough gaping holes in them. His shirt had been unbuttoned before they even got into the hotel, Jesse tossing money over the seat without so much as looking at the fare. Surely, a couple of hundred dollar bills would be enough to cover it, right? 

The penthouse suite was his location, where he was being put up for his week long stint at a festival. It was a nice room with a good view, the Empire State Building was directly across from him and the hotel itself contributed to the New York skyline. But it wasn’t what Jesse was focused on. They barely made it to the bed before Clark, Mason, Nick was on top of him. Their shirts had been tossed somewhere throughout the room and the man’s pants and boxers were off. Jesse’s were tugged down around his ankles and his boxers followed suit but things stopped there. The man - Wesley! - stopped. 

“Oh, fuck. You’re a tranny.”

The moments where Jesse found himself being insecure were far and few between but that? It hit him like a bullet to the gut. He wasn’t ashamed of who he was, never had been. This situation might have changed that. “The fuck does that matter?” 

“I’m gay, dumb ass. I’m not going to go fucking some girl.” 

God, tears. Don’t fucking cry. Do not prove his fucking point. “I’m a guy.” He pushed Wesley off of him, pulling up his boxers. Not like either of them wanted to have sex now.

Wesley got off the bed and started gathering up his clothes. “I’m guessing you’re just some chick who never got told no.” He pulled his pants back on and, under his breath, mumbled, “Probably would’ve done you a world of good if your parents femmed you up.” 

On any other day, this would have rolled off of Jesse’s back. He had an amazing support system, he was confident about who he was, and people’s comments, while tactless and ignorant, weren’t purposely aiming to hurt him. “Stop acting like a goddamn child just because you’ve got blue balls. You could have been having sex right now.”  

“It’s not my fault you’re a giant cocktease. If people like you didn’t exist, then this wouldn’t be an issue.” 

No, if people like you didn’t exist. “That’s funny. I’m pretty sure that’s what Hitler believed.” He tugged his shirt back on, hastily doing up the buttons. He’d never felt so bothered by the body he was given. The shame of it all was enough to send a flush down his cheeks and an angry heat up his back. He just wanted this to be over, so he could self medicate for the next twelve hours.

Wesley laughed. “Ooh, someone’s getting her panties in a twist. Comparing that to Hitler? This must be getting to you.” Jesse didn’t believe in God, but he figured that now would be as good a time as any to start. Please give me the strength not to fucking kill this man. “So listen, sweetheart,” he said with a condescending pat to Jesse’s cheek and a sickeningly sweet smile, “Since you like fucking men so much, go out and find a straight one and maybe he’ll turn you into the girl you are deep down inside.” 

Oh well. Eight seconds wasn’t such a bad record. White flashed in front of Jesse’s eyes and he blamed the alcohol and pills he mixed for causing this reaction, but he had Wesley shoved up against the wall with Jesse’s hands around his throat. Give me a reason. Just one. I fucking dare you. 

"Looks like you’re getting angry.” He laughed again. Actually fucking laughed with Jesse threatening to choke him out. “That time of the month?”

It was in that moment he found himself in control of his actions again and took a step back. “Get the fuck out.” He wasn’t going to go to jail over some transphobic piece of trash. 

Wesley pulled his shirt on, and then his shoes, taking his time as he got ready to go. Like this was normal. Like he hadn’t effectively sent Jesse down a spiral he’d never felt before. “Maybe one day, you’ll grow your hair out. You’d be so pretty with long hair. Such a pretty girl.” 

He’s trying to get under your skin. Don’t let him. Just let him go. You don’t always need to get the last word. But that shit eating grin, the one that said that he was totally aware that what he was doing was testing every last bit of restraint that Jesse had. Without even fully thinking through the actions, he punched him, directly in the face. He heard Wesley’s nose give a sickening crunch when his fist made contact. Get laid looking like that, fucker, ran through Jesse’s head, followed promptly by, Oh, god, you just punched someone and their nose is broken and that’s enough proof to take you to court. “I swear, if you tell anyone about this, I’ll sue your ass for defamation and take every goddamn penny you have. Now get the fuck out.” This time, Wesley didn’t hesitate before leaving and Jesse followed him to the hall. “Oh, and by the way!” He was shouting with little care that he was in a hotel and it was three in the morning. “My clit is bigger than that pathetic thing you call a cock anyway!” He slammed the door shut after, rattling the walls and causing a framed picture to fall and shatter on the floor. He’d pay for it the next time he left. 

He grabbed a bottle of wine the festival’s promoter had sent up to his room and stormed into the bathroom. He had every intention of taking a bath and possibly staying there for the rest of his life. As the tub filled, he left his boxers on the floor and unbuttoned his shirt, staring at himself. He’d never hated himself before tonight and he wasn’t sure when this damage would be undone. It was enough for him to be unable to meet his own eye in the mirror, practically refusing to acknowledge that this was the body he was stuck with. 

What he would pay to be comfortable in his own skin again.