There are two things I'd like to clarify about my appearance. The first being that I do not have dwarfism, or whatever the medical term for it is. I am proportionally limbed. Most doctors think that I had delayed puberty or something like that.

Because of this, the second thing I wanted to clarify was that I have very little body hair. This makes me happy as I have never had to shave, but it also upsets me as I'd really like to have a little goatee to lend to my evil appearance.

Okay, so my appearance isn't evil, and that's the problem.

I stood there in front of my short dresser, looking into the mirror, on that Saturday morning, contemplating my new eyebrows and soft complexion, and I seriously started contemplating cutting for the first time. Not anything ritualistic. Just cutting lines into my face to remove the beauty that everyone else saw there.

There was something else I'd like to cut, but no one else knew about that.

Which reminded me.

I never slept in the bandages, but I wrapped them around my ribs now.

Let's be honest. I was wrapping my chest. It made me appear to be the flat boy that everyone else assumed I was.

I was male, it was obvious, but I was also something else, and I didn't want anyone else to know my shame. I'd read online that gynecomastia could be caused by steroids and other chemicals.

I'd never taken any of those chemicals into my system. I'd never used any of them on my skin. The fact that it might be a symptom of something else...well I simply didn't want to let anyone know. It didn't matter that I was taking my life into my hands in doing it.

I just knew that they'd assume steroids first. I was strong for my size. I had a lot of rage. Sure I didn't have the huge muscles, but things like that don't enter into a mainly emotional argument...most of the time.

I slid my finger along my cheek, imagining where I'd cut if I had a knife. A long swooping curve from the corner of my eye to start...

"Aaron?"

I looked into the mirror, startled, and saw my dad standing in the doorway. I grabbed for my shirt but the damage had already been done.

"Cracked ribs again? Look, I know that the last time you said that you were fine, but I really think we need to take you in to see the doctor."

"Dad, you know how I feel about doctors, and besides, aren't I forbidden from leaving the house as a boy?"

"I'll figure something out. We're not letting you play the tough guy routine this time, Aaron. You're going to see a doctor about this and that's final. The third time I noticed you wrapped up I told myself that the next time...this time you are seeing someone about it."

As you may have noticed, I'd been avoiding seeing a doctor for the past year or so. I just wanted to keep this to myself. Now...well I'd be glad in one way for this to all be out in the open. It was hard to breathe in a fight with how tight I'd had to wrap recently.

I figured that I could tell my dad the truth to try to stop him from figuring out how to get me in front of a doctor, but that would likely only make him want to get me in front of a doctor even more.

Would that be a bad thing? If I was going to see a doctor, it might as well be the right kind, right?

I took a deep breath and removed the bandage. I considered going down to my dad's study and just flashing him, but decided against it. I went down the upstairs hall to my mom's studio.

Now would be a good time to shed a little light on my home life.

Dad is a mathematician. That's the simple answer. He tortures numbers for a living. No, he's not a scientist nor an engineer nor an accountant. Just a number cruncher.

Mom is a clothing designer. She works for some big name fashion house or something. Every few months she talks about striking out on her own, but I think that I am the main reason she never has. I was infamous enough in her mind and I didn't need the added infamy, or the fact that my actions would likely hurt her success.

That is my one true regret about fighting. I've limited how far my mom feels she can go.

My home, right? Dad's study, a nice formal one with books on the shelves, is on the main floor. That's also where we have the home theater, formal dining room, kitchen nook, kitchen, deck, living room, two and a half baths, and a partridge in a pear tree.

There's a guest room somewhere in the mix as well.

Upstairs we have the master bedroom, my room, and my mom's studio.

The house was custom-made for our needs, and a real studio for her was part of the deal: big airy windows and lots of light.

"Mom?"

"What's up, Aaron?"

You may have noticed that my parents call me by my name. That was their way. They both felt that you should tell things like they were, and that included giving things their proper names. They even used the names of waitresses and waiters in restaurants when addressing them.

That meant no pet names for me.

"Um, I've sorta been keeping something from you and dad."

I took off my shirt and began slowly unwrapping the elastic bandage. The way mom was looking at me made me want to cover up. I felt like a specimen of some sort in a Petri dish.

"Aaron...how long have you had breasts?"

I blushed bright red and put on my sweat shirt before answering.

"I don't know. About a year, I think."

"Didn't you think this is something your father and I needed to know?"

"Well...um...I was ashamed and thought that you'd think that I was taking steroids or something, or that I was on hormones, or you know."

"Aaron, you have no need to be ashamed of your body. You always did look pretty in a dress."

"Mom!"

"Well, it's true. That's the main reason I kept having you model my dresses for me–especially with all that red hair of yours."

Something in me glowed at her compliment. I'd secretly thought that she wanted me to cut off my hair. You know, I was supposedly a boy after all. To have her compliment it, however...

"Mom? Do you want me to be a girl?"

"Aaron!? What would give you an idea like that?"

"You had me try on dresses as a little boy, and you like my hair..."

"Aaron, you are my child. I had you try on dresses because I needed someone your size to model them for me. I never really see how a dress looks until it moves. I thought you liked trying on clothing."

I blushed at this. I loved my mom. A lot. I used to spend hours in her studio just watching her work–drawing and cutting and sewing.

"Mom, I tried on clothing because it was spending time with you."

"Oh, Aaron." She began to tear up a bit, so I wrapped her in a hug.

"Mom?"

"Yes, Aaron?"

"Dad's calling a doctor because he thinks I have cracked ribs again. I wanted to let him know it's not cracked ribs."

We broke our embrace and she led me downstairs. "Louis?"

"Yes, Mandy?"

"Our son needs a different type of doctor than you're trying to find."

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, he has breasts."

See, they like to call a spade a spade as my granddad used to say.

My dad turned back to the phone, "Doctor Sparks? Looks like I need might need you instead of another specialist."

He listened for a few moments and then responded, "Yes, I understand, and no I don't think it's an emergency any more. He has breasts apparently that he's been wrapping up...how big?"

He looked at my mom as he said this.

I just pulled my sweatshirt tight. My dad's jaw dropped a bit but then he regained his composure.

"Big enough that he should be wearing a bra," my dad said and then waited for a response. "Oh really? Okay. See you then."

Dad turned to me with a strange expression on his face. "Apparently this could be a sign of a severe underlying medical condition. He mentioned tumors or developmental issues. He wants to check to make sure that everything is fine."

"Um, he can't do that here, can he?"

"No, so we need to take you into the hospital. He's expecting us in a couple of hours."

"I'm not dressing as a girl."

"I know, that's why we need a couple of hours. I need to verify that it's okay for me to take you out of the house to go to a hospital."

"Aaron, while we wait can I play with your hair?"

I nodded to my mom and we went into her bedroom. I sat down on her bed and she began to comb out my braid. This was something we did on a fairly regular basis, and I really appreciated the help. My hair was long enough that it was difficult for me to manage on my own.

The braid is about the size of my wrist for most of its length. It is below my waist that it really starts to thin out, and it quickly goes down to half its normal width before I simply tie it off. I have a tail of about three inches at the end.

We brushed it on my mother's bed, and it covered most of the king-sized bed before we were done.

"Rapunzel let down his hair, huh, Mandy?"

"Dad!"

"Yes, Louis, he did."

"Mom!"

They laughed and I tried to keep strong and indignant, but I broke down and laughed with them. It just felt too good getting my hair brushed to really stay mad. It's a good thing too, because with my hair spread out like it was, it was a little difficult to move my head. Not the weight–that is only about a pound and a half–the sheer bulk of it.

"Aaron, can I try a new hairstyle on you?"

"Let me ask something first. Is the Judge okay with me going to the hospital as a boy?"

I heard dad sigh, but couldn't see his expression. "The Judge is fine with it, as it is a potentially severe medical condition. He didn't feel right denying you medical attention."

"Mom, dad, why are you guys pushing this so hard?"

"Well, Aaron, we don't know what to do with you. Neither of us want to send you to military school. You only got in fights when we sent you to the high school for delinquents last year. We're down to our last straw and this is it. We want you to try to at least act properly. If that requires you presenting as a girl then so be it. If you can do it without presenting as a girl, then we would be fine with that too. We just want you to stop getting in fights at the drop of a hat. You are always well behaved here at home."

I began to cry silently. I know. Boys are supposed to be tough. I don't care. Their words cut me to the core. I was obedient at home. It's just when I got outside that the anger at the way people treated other people sort of took over. I had to change their behavior.

Well, maybe that's where it started. That didn't excuse me from putting people in the hospital, though. Me. I had hurt someone else as badly as the incident that had first convinced me to learn how to fight. The pain of that day still lived in me. How could I have done that to someone else?

"Mom, I really screwed up this time, didn't I?"

"Aaron?"

"Those girls. I've really hurt people before, but I've never put them in a coma. It only just occurred to me that I have become what I hated about Justin and Jeremy. I should never have told Jeremy that I was gay, I know that, but their reaction to it...and now I'm doing the same thing: beating people until they just don't wake up."

"They're not dead, Aaron," my dad said.

"No, but when they wake up they will be broken. Just like me."

My dad wasn't really the hugging type, so he sat down next to me and took one of my hands.

"It's okay, Aaron."

"No, it's not. I DID this."

"Will it make you feel better if we visit them while we're at the hospital? If it's okay with their families that is." Mom was always ready with a solution. Usually they were good ones.

"That sounds like a great idea to me."

"ay, then, hold still while I finish with your hair. We'll stop by and visit the girls when we're done with the doctor."

"Just a moment more...and done."

I did my usual ritual of running my hand along the length of my braid. When standing up it fell to my mid thigh. When my hair was loose it literally dragged on the floor. Yes, I really like my hair.

We went and got into the car and drove the twenty minutes to the hospital. Our family practitioner was actually at the hospital. I know it's more common for them to be in clinics or some such, but not ours. Okay, so I don't know that they're usually in clinics. I assume.

We went up to the eighth floor and checked in with the nurse at the reception counter. I went over to sit and wait, but I had only taken a couple of steps when my name was called.

"Aaron Smith?"

"That's me," I said and followed the nurse back to get weighed and measured.

"112 pounds. Hmm, looks like you've grown an inch since the last time you were in here. That puts you at 4'11"."

I was shocked to say the least. I'd been 4'10" tall for as long as I can remember. Okay, well, not that long. At least since I was in the hospital, so five years. I'd been avoiding doctors and hospitals whenever I could since then.

The daze I felt lasted me until I was in the exam room and already changed into one of those stupid paper gowns.

"Well, Aaron, it seems you've got a bit of a conundrum for us."

"Hey, Dr. Sparks."

"If you wouldn't mind dropping the top of the gown so I could have a look?"

He examined my chest, and gave me a general physical.

"Well, you seem to be healthy enough. Probably a little light on your muscular development. I'm going to send a nurse in to draw some blood, and then I have you scheduled for an MRI. We're going to scan your entire body just to see if we can determine the source of the problem."

"Okay, Dr. Sparks."

"You'll need to stay in the gown for the MRI, but it will all be over soon enough."

Dr. Sparks left me alone in the room. I sat there and waited for the nurse. The door opened and a nurse stepped in.

"Oh, I'm sorry, miss. I must have the wrong room."

She left and closed the door again. She was back a few seconds later. "Are you Aaron Smith?"

"You can call me AJ if it helps."

"I'm sorry if this is offensive, but you really don't look like a boy."

"A friend of mine did a makeover on me yesterday."

She looked at me a bit strangely.

"My looks are part of the reason I'm here today. Apparently my face isn't the only feminine thing about me."

She glanced at my chest and I smirked at her.

"Yes, that is another big part of it."

"Well, let's get some blood drawn."

"Sounds good to me."

The blood flowing into the vial fascinated me, and I watched it, mesmerized. I wondered idly if it would look similar if I cut a vein open. Yes, I'm messed up. It is what I wondered though.

She took three vials of blood total and then had me fold my arm around a cotton ball. After that she helped me situate my gown to almost completely cover me and led me to the MRI lab.

This next bit was a lot of boring staring at the ceiling two inches in front of my face, as I was moved back and forth through a giant metal doughnut.

Then I was done and getting dressed. My parents joined me again at this point.

Dr. Sparks began as soon as we were situated, "I'll have a specialist look over your MRI results, and we'll likely get the report back late Monday. I'll review it and then we can meet again on Tuesday to discuss the results.

"The family of one of the girls doesn't want you to visit. They feel you've done enough harm. The other girl hasn't had any visitors as her family is out of the country, and the hospital staff thought it would be fine if you stopped by to visit."

No visitors? That would suck, even if you were in a coma.

We took the elevator down a couple of floors. Her room was off in a corner by itself. My imagination painted it as a dark corner, but the light there was actually a bit better than on the rest of the floor.

We entered the room and I looked at the figure in the bed. I had done this. Her face was a puffy mess, and her arm and leg were in casts. She looked so small in that bed, but I remembered her as being so much bigger than me in the heat of the moment.

I began to cry as I walked over to the side of her bed.

"I'm so sorry. If I could do anything to change this I would. I never meant to cause this sort of harm."

"I thought she was beaten up," said a male voice from behind me.

I quickly turned around, my hair whipping out behind me. There might not have been a weight on the end of it, but three feet of hair smacking you in the face can have an impact.

"Oh, crap, I'm so sorry."

"You should register that hair as a lethal weapon," he said. He was covering his face so I couldn't get a good look at it, but the rest of him was really nice looking.

"I'm sorry. You startled me."

"Don't worry about it. I should have been here sooner. I only found out that she'd been hurt a couple of days ago."

"Where were you? Outer Mongolia?"

"Close. I was setting up a water purification plant in Uganda."

I boggled at him. Was he serious?

"Yes, I was really in Uganda setting a water treatment plant up. I'm a Civil Engineer."

I had to add a couple of years to his apparent age, which was too bad since he was really very cute. Unfortunately I doubted that my parents would be okay with me dating someone ten years older than me, even if it turned out he was gay. Most of the really good looking ones are straight, unfortunately.

"So, how has my sister been?"

Sister? Oh crap.

"I'm sorry. The hospital said no one had visited her and thought it would be fine if I...I'll be leaving."

"Why would you leave?"

"Because I'm responsible."

"What, you were the one who convinced her to go out? You lead her down a dark alley?"

"No," I said, unable to meet his eyes, "I beat her up. Well, her and about seven other people who were with her."

He started to laugh.

"Hey, it's not funny."

"A cute little, and I emphasize little, thing like you beat up my sister and her friends?"

I almost missed what he said, lost in the fact that he'd just called me cute.

"I may be small, long shanks, but yes, I did. And no, I'm not proud of it. I picked a fight with a bunch of...I just did a stupid thing, okay?"

"I should know more than anyone that my sister can be a bit trying. I also know that she is a black belt in Judo."

"Just cause she is shodan doesn't mean much."

"She is actually yodan."

A 4th degree black belt in Judo? Not bad. It explained the throw she'd given me in the midst of the mess.

"I'm really sorry for hurting her so badly. I was trying to eliminate opponents and she kept wading back in. That doesn't excuse my actions and I shouldn't have done what I did in the first place."

"You faced off against eight people?"

"No, it was more than that, but the rest ran away after I dropped a couple of the guys."

He got a thoughtful look on his face.

"I know a guy who is looking for some female MMA fighters to coach. You would probably fit well into that arena, and it would get you off the streets..."

"Thank you for the offer, but we're trying to get AJ to stop fighting," my mom said.

The guy looked over at my mother, as if noticing her for the first time. This made me blush for some reason.

"Look, Ma'am. Mixed Martial Arts isn't just fighting. It's about discipline and keeping it in the ring. Your girl is going to fight whatever you do. This might just focus her on a reason. At the very least, it will keep her from getting killed in a street brawl where someone decided to bring a gun."

There was a haunted look in his eyes when he said this.

"What's your name?" my dad asked.

"Shawn Harris."

"Well, Shawn, AJ has a criminal record, and so I doubt your friend would want to get involved with her."

I liked it when Shawn referred to me as a girl, but I just didn't know how I felt about my dad doing the same thing. I know it's a bit silly, but I'm allowed a little silliness in my life, aren't I?

"As long as it's not murder, then you should be fine. Here's his card. Just think about it, okay?"

I took the card from Shawn. The name on it was Felipe DesJardin.

"We'll leave you to your sister, Shawn. We need to get AJ home."

"Bye, Shawn. It was nice meeting you."

"See you some other time, AJ, AJ's parents."

"Bye, Shawn," my mom said with a knowing look on her face.

We were almost back to the car before my mom spoke up.

"So, Shawn was good looking."

I blushed a deep scarlet color, and my parents laughed. Yes, he was, but I didn't want them pointing that out.

"Well, let's get you home before you turn into a pumpkin, Aaron," my dad said.

"I thought I was Rapunzel, not Cinderella."

We got in the car and drove home. I was left with no more answers about my future, or what was wrong with me, but now I had some options for that future that I'd not even considered before.