Teenage Dirtbag

Sometimes the things that hurt us the most, are the things we are the most thankful for in the end.

☆

That day had been a good day, the kind that lets you breathe even if it’s just for a second. He’d gone out to the park and sat on a swing with his eyes closed, listening to music on his phone. The wind blowing in his long black hair, the birds in the background singing, the children playing. He’d felt alive for the fist time in long while. Like a real person, not just another organism drifting through existence without significance or purpose.

The peace didn't last long, like most good things in the life. Unfortunately, the world is a cruel place, and it all ended with one phrase. That dreadful phrase that made the world come crashing down. He cursed himself internally, his stupidity, another reminder that he should never let his guard down.

“Give me your phone.” his mother said in a monotone,  matter of a fact way. One that gave no room for argument or doubt. It was the voice she used when she knew that he’d done something wrong.

All he could think was shit. shit. shit. I forgot. I’m such a fucking idiot; I was happy just this once, how could I forget something so simple. He went through all the options to get out of this horrifying situation in his head . He could go to the bathroom and quickly delete every thing? No, but she would take his phone away before he went. He could run to his room? No, she would just run after him yelling. God, he hated it when she yelled. It felt like the world stopped, like he was drowning and he couldn’t breathe. Desperately gasping for air as she pulled him down deeper into the depths of the icy water.

He went through all the options in his head again, hoping to find a loop hole he’d missed. Not one of the million ideas he could think of would let him come out of this unscathed. He could feel the panic inside of him rising. He couldn’t tell if it was showing on his face; he really hoped it wasn’t. That would just earn him more yelling. Which would in turn lead to him spiralling. 

Shit, how long had he been standing there without a word. She was going to yell soon, he could feel it. 'Please don't yell at me', a voice cried out from inside of him, but it never reached his lips. He could never express his true feelings. He was too scared. As much as he wanted to, part of him could never do it. It didn’t matter how many times his brother had told him to, he just couldn’t. The idea made him feel physically sick – the image of him speaking his mind felt so freeing, but so distant. A light at the end of the tunnel he could never reach, sprinting after it as it got further and further away. Sometimes in his dreams, it wasn’t the idea of running that he was chasing, it was his brother. Even though it was always just a silhouette, he knew that it was him. The brightest star in the whole fucking sky.

This was the end. She was going to find out. One look at those godforsaken apps, that had made him feel so alive, and she would kill him. He’d found himself and people like him on those apps, and as much as he regretted having them in this moment, overall he didn’t. They’d helped him when he just wanted to tear his skin out, grab his hair and pray that it would just fall out on its own. But it never ever did. No matter how much he prayed things would change, they never did. So yes, he got Pinterest and Tumblr without his parents knowing, because he wanted to find out why he was in so much pain. Why, when he looked at himself in the mirror, all he could do was cry and look directly into his own eyes with so much disgust that it reminded him of his mother. It was thanks to those apps and the people on them that, when his own brother left in him a house that felt like it was swallowing him from the inside and taking every part of him he thought was salvageable, he kept going. He took on every new day and never looked back. He never thought of the past or future, just taking every day one after the other. Days merging into one.

He had always deleted all the evidence before giving his phone in, but in all his bliss, he’d forgotten. It’d only taken one time, but this was it. His life as he knew it was over. Part of him felt relived, all the other parts were already getting ready for the pain that was coming. 

Shakingly, he handed his phone to her. She eyed him with a suspicious glare before it was unlocked.

He’s not sure what happened after that, it’s all a bit of a blur. He only remembers that evening in three different parts.

First: The yelling 

“WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS LYRA!!?!”

“I don't know,” he’d replied in a small voice looking down at the ground, trying so hard to blink the tears away. She was just going to shout at him more if he cried. He knew that, but as much as he tried they just kept trying to come. 'Stop, please', he thought before he could feel the tears overflowing and pooling down his face. They wouldn’t stop; they just kept coming. Again and again. Once they were set free they never wanted to come back in. The tears dropped to the ground, disappearing like they had never existed. Just like him. Fleeting and forgettable.

 Clearly, this wasn’t the answer she was looking for because she proceeded to grab his long hair and yank him up so that he was looking straight into her cold, green eyes. He’d always though it a mercy that he got his fathers eyes. He already looked like a carbon copy of her – if he had her eyes too, he thinks he might have gouged them out. They were so full of hatred and despise, worse than when she looked at his brother. When she looked at Sirius it was always with disappointment and shame, but this was worse. So much worse. She actually hated him. He could feel it in her stare, her tone even in her fucking posture. He was a stranger to her now. He was no longer her child. He gulped labourously, trying to get rid of the ball in his throat. He would be no use to himself if he couldn't speak.

Then, blank. Nothing.

Second: The beatings.

He doesn't remember anything. Not until he’s on the ground sobbing loudly. Her foot hitting his stomach repeatedly. Vomit coming up and going all across the expensive carpet. His ears ringing from the pain, his eyes burning from the tears. He desperately tried to cover himself with his arms. An instinct that just earned him another slap as she yelled at him to stop crying.

“WHY THE FUCK ARE CRYING YOU LITTLE SHIT?! DO YOU THINK IM HURTING YOU?! IM NOT EVENING YELLING WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU.” She had always hated it when he cried. Part of him believes that it’s because she felt bad. She didn’t want to believe that she was the one making him cry, so she would desperately try to take the blame away from herself and place it on him. Telling him thats he’s weak and that she’s not even that bad compared to her parents. He thinks that she does actually believe it, that she’s not as bad as her own parents. Truth is, she’s exactly the same. They say the abused become the abusers.

“ARRÊTE DE PLEURER!! I ALWAYS KNEW YOU WERE DEFECTIVE JUST LIKE YOUR BROTHER. PUTAIN T’ES INSUPPORTABLE!” her French bleeding into English like a razor sharp blade. It always hurt more when she insulted him in French because that’s when he knew that she truly meant it. Words only have as much meaning as we give to them, and for him, French had always felt like an escape, a secret place where he and his brother hid from the monsters outside. So when she insulted him in French, it felt like a hundred small knives dug themselves into his heart. It was also the first time she’d mentioned Sirius in two years. His name becoming a slur, an insult to anyone that was deemed terrible enough to be compared to him. Her last desperate attempt at justifying the way she treated him. Ironically, the thought of Sirius being there with him, kept him lucid for a few more moments before he passed out.

Third: The calm before the storm.

When he woke up again, it was in a pool of his own blood. It was coming from everywhere, and this time he really thought he was going to die. His mother had seemed to tire after hitting him so much, so she’d taken to yelling again. “You know, I really thought you were different. I thought that you cared about me. About this family.” She scoffed in a calm voice that had no indication of the anger from before. She then paused, looking out at the street. She looked strangely at peace. As though the bleeding child next to her was gone, just another ornament in the stone cold house. Trapped there like the paintings and people. She looked down at him again and sighed, the look of disappointment covering every feature of her face. Even after everything, that look still made him want to just crawl onto his knees and beg. Beg for forgiveness, beg for everything to go back to the way it was before.

She crouched down in front of him. Her breath tingling against his aching skin. “You are dead to me.”

Those are the last words he ever remembers her saying to him before the sirens came rushing in. Before the knock at the door. Before he left that house forever.

☆

As the sirens pulled up to his house, he felt unexpectedly at peace. It was strange really; part of him was terrified of telling someone what was happening. Of letting go of the veil over his life, admitting to someone other than himself how bad things had gotten. Everything hurt, from his body to his soul – he doesn’t think there was one part that didn’t ache, that wasn’t begging to be saved. Only for those pleas to be left on deaf ears, no one to hear them, no one to care. 'I guess that’s what happens when your alone'  replied his heart. He truly was utterly and completely alone.

A women with a panicked face knelt down next to him and gave him a warm smile. It was meant to be comforting, he knew that, but it wasn’t. It made him want to curl up into a ball and never leave again. His head swarming with excuses of what he would tell her. 'I fell', he thought. That had always worked in the past. Saying he was clumsy and that it was just a mistake. Lying through his teeth as he tried not to cry. Every fibre of his being wanted someone to see through his lie. To see him and immediately understand, that’s all he wanted. He wanted to be asked if he was ok and for someone to not believe him when he said he was. But they never did. Because no ever really cared. They would ask out of politeness and common courtesy, not actual concern. 

He thought this women would be the same, just another person that didn't truly care if he was hurting, if he was dying inside. Because he was. He had been for years, ever since the night he was abandoned, left without a way to defend himself, without someone to protect him and tell him that everything was going to be alright.

There had never been a time in his life where he believed in a god or some kind of higher power; today however, he did. As the women sat next to him explained that it was over, that he was going to leave, that he was going to be free. He could feel every part in his body lighten, like an immense weight had been lifted from him, one he hadn’t known was there. She told him that help was on its way, that he was going to be staying with some nice people while they found a new place for him to stay. A family, she had said. The words ran through him with joy. A family. He doesn’t think he’s ever had one, not really – maybe he had when Sirius was around but definitely not since. It must be nice he thought, the idea that he could have one made him grab a little tighter to the loose thread that was keeping him alive.

Not even five minutes later he was carried off into a van, his mother nowhere in sight. He hadn't seen her since the nice women spoke to him. He had been so disoriented that he could only focus on her and her soft, calming voice as she reassured him that everything was going to be ok.

He doesn’t remember what happened next, it was just a series of beeping machines and emotionless people in white coats asking questions that he didn’t want to answer. He felt ashamed of what had happened, part of him felt that it was his fault and that he had overacted. He was so afraid that they would see through him and tell him that he was a liar, that they would send him back. If they sent him back now, he knew that he wasn’t going to survive. 

☆

It was only until a week later, when he stood in front of a large house with a picket white fence, that he realised that he was never going back. During the week he had spent in the hospital, he’d had a long time to think. Mostly about his future and what this meant for him and his life, but also about himself. Now that everyone knew, he doubted anyone would want him. The bad news was that his entire family despised what he was, so there was no way they were going to take him back. The good news however, was that now that everyone knew, he wouldn't have to hide anymore. Starting again meant that he could be whoever he wanted to be. 

The first house he stayed at was owned by a middle aged women that seemed to live alone. She was nice enough, well that was till she kicked him out, yelling at him, saying bullshit about how god created everyone perfectly and that he was a monster. Honestly, after his mother, the words didn’t even phase him. Nothing she said could have been worse than what his mother had said to him. So when she called social services again, he didn’t mind - well that wasn't entirely true, he felt very hurt, but he pretended like it meant nothing to him because he knew that if he let go of the façade for even a second, that everything would come crashing down again. So he held his head high and shrugged when young men that clearly knew nothing of what it was like to be him, asked sternly why he had been kicked out. 

“Can you explain to me why the very nice lady sent you back after not even a week,” asked one of the two men that looked like they were about five years old. It was clear that they blamed him without even knowing why. Assholes, it wasn’t his fault that the world hated trans people.

“Lyra!!!! Are you paying attention?!” said the other one, snapping his fingers. He stared back into their eyes with the same glare his mother would give him.

“My name’s not Lyra,” he replied calmly, his eyes still locked with theirs.

“What?”

“I said my name’s not Lyra, thats why I got kicked out. The ‘very nice lady’, as you put it, was not to pleased when she found out that she was, what was the phrase she used again,” – he looked up at the ceiling for dramatic affect (cause why not, he was taking a page out Sirius’ book, the bastard always seemed to get away with everything, so why not use his methods) – “oh right, I almost forgot.” He let out a dry laugh. “She wasn’t happy that she was ‘harbouring a disgusting creature of Satan’,” he quoted, his face back to its original (natural) ‘I don't give a fuck about your opinion’ look.

The two stuttered in shock in front of him, unsure of what to say or do. The next day, he was sent to his second home. No further questions were asked.

☆

His second home was even worse than the first. He was ‘welcomed’ by an old conservative Christian couple and their young nephew who’s parents died in a car crash. When he heard the story, he couldn't help but feel envious. As horrible as it sounded, he wished his parents had died in car crash, maybe then it wouldn’t have hurt so much that they abandoned him, left alone, without any one left to protect him. Even though in his core he knew that they were the people he needed protection from. But if he could pretend that it wasn’t true, even for a minute, then maybe it wouldn’t be. Maybe then he could pretend that they did die, the superficial image of the perfect daughter still ingrained in their heads, not the freak of a son he turned out to be.

Shaking his head lightly, he pushed those thoughts aside, and focused on creating a plan. He was done with Lyra, done with his previous life that was full of misery and high expectations that he never seemed to be able to reach. Done with the idea of being the perfect daughter. But it didn’t matter anymore, none of it did. He was free to be whoever he wanted. He could meet the people he wanted to meet, he could date the people he wanted. He could be the person he was always meant to be.

However, in order to do that, he needed a flawless plan. One that involved leaving the ‘good’ Christian family he was in, and making those assholes at social services change his file, so that people would stop using the name that made him feel like he was being shot in the heart repeatedly every time he heard it. So that he could finally be recognised for who he truly is.

So far, he’d come up 3 things:

1. Choose a good name. 
2. Cut his hair.
3. Cause a scene. 

He wrote the list down on a piece of paper, carefully folding it and placing it into the back pocket of his jeans.

He played their game for a few weeks. Going to church, attending the local school, even doing the chores. He needed to seem like the perfect guest so that when they finally did snap, it would be catastrophic.

Around his second week in the house, he’d found his name. The name that would go on to define him for the rest of his life, the name people would call out to him, the name his lover would whisper between soft kisses. He’d found it while reading his favourite science journal ‘Science & vie’. It came from France but his local vendors sold it; the French made him feel safe, like he wasn’t alone. On page two of that months issue, in big golden letters, exhibited the phrase: ‘L'astrologie Intuitive : Le Soleil et Regulus’. ‘Regulus’. The heart of the Leo constellation. One of the brightest stars in the night sky, but never the brightest. Always outshined by those around it. A white dwarf. Small and hidden away. Seemed fitting. 

It would be a lie to say that he didn’t think of Sirius when choosing the name. Sirius was as brave and loyal as a lion, but also as prideful and arrogant as one. It felt right. That way, a part of Sirius was always with him, no matter where he went, he could always find himself and his brother in the sky. Looking over everything, guiding his way.

☆

Once step 1 was complete, next came step 2.

Step 2 was by far the most frightening step. He’d never had his hair shorter than to his shoulders. So going from long, feminine hair to short boy hair was definitely going to be a shock. But even then the shock would be nothing compared to the feeling of freedom it would bring him. The problem however, was the reaction of his foster family. He was terrified of how they would react. 

Would they hit him like his mother? Ignore him like his father? Abandon him like his brother?

He didn’t know what to expect, except that they where going to send him back. He had no expectations of them. Would they yell? Kick and scream? Considering his odds and his luck so far, he was pretty sure they would. Especially if their political standing was any indication. But he needed to do this, he’d dreamt of this moment for so long that he wasn’t going to back out now. He was in reach, so close to catching up to the dream that kept trying to run away from him.

He laid low for a while, trying not to bring too much attention to himself. He attended church with them, prayed with them, ate with them. Soon enough, they where singing his praises. Little did they know, he was exactly what they claimed to despise.

One day, around his second week with the couple, he carried out his plan. He ran straight from school to get to the house before the couple came back from picking up there nephew. He sprinted as he entered the house, quickly grabbing the scissors from the kitchen and heading for the bathroom. He stood in front of the mirror for a few moments, staring at ‘Lyra’ one last time before he cut her off. Then without warning, as if by impulse, he wet his long black hair, tied it into a pony tail, a cut it off. 

His first thought while looking at himself in the mirror was, 'Finally'  . His second was less nice: 'What the fuck have I done' . He grimaced at the refection in the mirror, however this time it wasn’t for the same reason as before. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the way he looked, if anything he loved it. It just looked a little….. strange is all. It was clear that it wasn’t cut professionally, nevertheless he loved it. He finally felt comfort when he passed a hand through his hair. A breathless laugh erupted from the back of his throat in amazement. He’d finally done it. 

☆

Last and final step was going to be fun. Very fun. Just thinking about it made him smirk, a satisfied grin spreading on his soft features. His ‘nice’ foster family had yet to see his hair, he’d worn a hat to cover it as soon as he heard the click of the front door, indicating that someone was coming into the house. Adrenaline was rushing to every part of his body as ‘gracefully’ ran to his room.

When they asked about the hat he replied, “Oh I'm just having a bad hair day,” flashing them a warm smile that he knew would make them believe him. Who could resist such a sweet and innocent face?

His plan for the third step was rather simple for the massive impact it would have. The couple had a old set of China from 3 generations ago that was their pride and joy. It was gifted to their great-grandparents for their wedding nearly a hundred years ago. They would talk about it non-stop till the point that it would make Regulus want to tear out his own ears. God they were insufferable. But all his pain was going to be worth it, because this is how he was going to leave. One little push and he’d be out of there in no time. 

One night while everyone was asleep, he crept into the living room at the bottom of the stairs. Portraits staring at him as if they knew what he was going to do, their eyes following him. He just scoffed at them quietly as entered the 70s decorated living room, horrible floral wall paper across every wall that made the room look quite mad. And there, in all its glory, the wooden cupboard with ornate glass imagery across the two wide glass panes that displayed the China. The moonlight hit the cupboard at a perfect angle that made the glass reflect its patterns onto the ceiling.

“How pretty,” he found himself whispering to no one in particular, “It’s a shame it has to go.” A smirk once again finding its familiar place on his face.

Carefully, he moved the cupboard away from the wall a couple of inches so that he would be able to push it, the shit brown carpet beneath it muffling the sound of the moving furniture. With a great amount of force and determination, he started to push the cabinet. It rocked. Once, twice, three times. 

The cupboard now laid face down into the carpet, glass everywhere in the carpet. Regulus stood over it grinning like a maniac. Hearing all the China shatter was oddly satisfying. He expected to at least be a little scared, but no,  it was exhilarating.

He waited, sitting cross legged in arm chair near the cabinet. The sound of the grandfather clock in the kitchen echoing throughout the entire bottom floor like a death march. His hair was uncovered and messy, his chest was bound using some of the bandages in the kitchen (god knows that shit hurts like hell, he’s 100% sure he did wrong because nowhere did say that it would hurt that much), and a loose t-shirt that hid all of his natural curves. All things this family hated to so much. 

“Women should show their natural figure, otherwise they'll look like boys, and thats just wrong,” they’d said in one of their daily, lengthy discussions on how the latest generation had no respect and would ruin the world with their “blasphemous” ideas and fashion.

It was all so perfect, the old women walking down the stairs in a rush. “Not very lady like,” he snicked under his breath. The look of pure shock and horror on her face was something he’s sure he’ll never forget. She let out a high pitch yell, followed by an ugly sob, her face turning completely red.

“WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED!” she yelled furiously.

“Oof  Mrs. H what is that filthy language,” he replied in an even voice, shaking his head to further show his fake disappointment in her. His lips curling upwards as he stayed sitting in his chair, legs crossed, hands on his lap.

“M-my China.” She knelt down next to it, bringing some of the broken plates to her chest, tears threatening to fall. “It’s… it’s all gone. I- I don’t understand. Who could do this to such as a nice person.” She looked up at him, tears now falling, none of the anger from before now visible on her crying face.

He rolled his eyes and starred down at her from his chair. Leaning in closer as he whispered, “because your a horrible fucking women, Agnes,” his grin widening as another wave of shock hit her.

Needless to say, things did not go better with her husband. Mr. H’s anger was much more viscous than his wife’s, actually slapping Regulus when he saw the look of pure disbelief on his wife’s wrinkly face. Yelling at him asking what he’d done, if he was crazy, why bad things always happed to good people.

“Bla bla. No one cares assholes,” he breathed out when the angry husband fisted his shirt, pulling Regulus up from the chair. Obviously he hadn’t said it quietly enough because next thing he knew he was on the floor. Fragments of glass imbedding his skin. That was going to hurt like a bitch later.

Finally, after two hours of three angry people yelling at him, he got what he wanted. Mr. H called social services, and he was out of there the next day. Once again another set of people who hated their jobs, asked according to him what had happened. He told them the whole story, not shaking the blame off of himself even once, just stating that he wanted out and that that was the only way he knew he’d be able to achieve what he wanted. He wasted no time in telling him that he wanted his file changed to ‘preferred name: Regulus’, and a note saying that he was trans and would like to be perceived this way.

By some miracle, they complied and his file was changed.

☆

His third home was a group home. He lasted three weeks over there and he learnt a lot. He met a lot of people that were like him, from families that didn’t want them. He heard all their stories of how they had either been forced to leave or were given up. It was amazing, a room full of unwanted kids, yet for the first time since his brother had left him, he felt wanted, needed. 

He learnt a lot about what it meant to be a foster kid as well, about how he was now one of them and if he ever needed anything they would be there. It was so comforting and safe, and soon, without him even realising, they became his first real family. 

When he told his own story, it was amazing to see them acknowledge what had happened, instead of just looking at him with pity, because they knew what it was like to be pitied, and they knew just as well as him that what they needed wasn’t for someone to feel sorry for them, repeating how it must have been so hard. All the while thinking about how good their life is, then going home to hug their family. No, what he needed, what they all needed, was for someone to understand them. To actually listen, not try to help but just to believe them. 

They told him about ‘the list’. Everyone there had one. A list of all the homes they’d been in. It was hidden away somewhere, but always with them. One person had theirs tattooed, another, sewn into their favourite hoody. He put his inside a shoe. Three names for the three places he’d been. 

For the first time since he'd been taken away from his parents, he didn’t choose to leave. If he could have, he thinks that he would have stayed there forever. God must hate him though, because out of no where, the man who ran the group home handed all the children in his ‘care’ back to social services. When asked why, he simply said that he was tired. Such a lame excuse to break up a family. 

☆

He went from to home to home, state to state for 5 months, completing an impressive record of 7 homes. Every time he was either kicked out or forced out, he wrote their names on the small piece of paper that was in his shoe. Just as his first ever family had to taught him to. He stayed in touch with a few of them, but most didn’t have phones, so all he had left was his memory of them, and their faces on the images in his phone. He would smile any time he looked at them, one of the best times of his life.

Things don’t always go the way you expect them to, but that’s just life. And sometimes, you find something you didn’t even know you were searching for.