Summer's End Part 7 By S.L.Hawke It was shaping up to be a very memorable Halloween... or Samhain, "Summer's End" festival, as some would call it. It had all started a few "interesting" months back... of the, "may you live in interesting times", Chinese curse variety. Interesting times, that kept getting progressively more "interesting" -- both the good parts, and the bad -- up until this disturbing weekend. Sometimes, you must pass through a little darkness, before you can come into the light... Copyright © 2011 S.L.Hawke. All Rights Reserved.
Have you ever wondered what a "Halloween horror" story would be like, from the witch's perspective? Meet Crystal, a transgendered witch who has big reasons to not be happy with some particular guys. A woman with her own difficulties... whose life turns many conventional story elements completely upside down...

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This is an (almost) true Halloween horror story -- loosely based on reality, it is semi-autobiographical in places... although the 'Autobiographical' tag has not been used, as poetic license has _definitely_ been taken. Which parts are true, and which are pure fantasy? "Truth is stranger than fiction...". Names have been changed to "protect the innocent"... and many events have also been deliberately scrambled a bit, to further obfuscate things -- so that if someone *does* recognize an actual person despite the name changes, they won't know who really did, or said, what. [And of course, some parts are purely imagination -- things *no one* actually did.]

There are many tales out there, about dressing for the first time... or early transition. This is something just a little different. Life, long after the dust has settled... but in unusual circumstances, where nearly forgotten gender issues once again come back to the surface...

CAUTION: This is an entry in the "TG Terror" contest: don't expect it to be entirely 'sweetness and light'. (Although, hopefully, the good times outweigh the bad). Contains mature adult content and themes -- reader discretion is advised. Occasional (rare) use of strong language, when it is appropriate. Occasional (rare) use of what some may consider 'explicit sexual' references or content, when necessary to the plot development.

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PART VII: Shades of Grey

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Opening my eyes, I glanced around the bedroom for my cell phone... before noticing the distinctive ring-tone of my 'other' cell phone. The one whose number Michelle had...

"Hello?"

"Hi Crystal. Sorry if I woke you up... but Kristine and I are over at the nearest hospital, and we need help. Kristine is bleeding bad... and the doctor's here are refusing to treat her. Can you come get us in your car?"

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Chapter 14:

Early October, Saturday, 22:51.

"Hi. I am here looking for a patient by the name of Kristine..."

Before I could finish asking, I heard, "Crystal? Over here..."

"Hey Michelle, sorry it took so long -- I wasn't dressed when you called. Where is Kristine, and what is going on?"

"She's down this way, in one of the side rooms. They said that they're 'not sufficiently familiar with her condition to treat her', and they want us to go away..."

I stopped her in the hallway, still a little ways from the room she was leading me towards. Interestingly enough, when I had mentioned the 'True Color' thing to her after taking it... Michelle had casually mentioned that she had taken the same tests at an earlier date, and tested as an "Impulsive Orange". Something that didn't surprise me in the least... but which was a surprisingly useful thing to know. It gave me some insight into why she seemed a bundle of emotions right now, wanting to just *do* something... anything... rather than settling down and focusing completely on the problem -- which is how I tend to react to emergencies...

"Wait, Michelle. I _need_ to know more than that, before I can do anything. A lot more. Slow down, and start over, please. I know Kristine just got home from her reassignment surgery on Thursday evening. Does this have anything to do with that?"

"Yeah, I guess. She had a small infection while she was there, that they thought they had under control... but it started swelling again on her flight home, and it burst this evening. And they won't *fix* it!"

"Whoa, Michelle. Back up. What sort of infection, and where, exactly?"

"Umm, you know. Down there. From the surgery. They thought it was fixed, so they let her go home 'cause she didn't tell them that it was getting sore again that morning, before she left for the airport. It started swelling, and it kept swelling more and more the last couple days... then tonight, it just sort of 'popped'... blood everywhere..."

"Wait. You said this started *before* she left, but she _didn't_ tell her doctor? Did either of you *try* calling her surgeon, yesterday or today?"

"Uh... yeah, it was before... and no, that's a long distance call, so we just tried to deal with it ourselves..."

I just covered my eyes with one hand, shaking my head. "Michelle..."

I stopped.  «Worry about that later. Focus on the problem, girl. »

"Is she bleeding *right now*, or has that stopped, now that the pressure is gone?"

"Uh... stopped, I think..."

I won't repeat the rest of that frustrating conversation. In fairness, I don't think either Michelle or Kristine have any medical training at all... possibly not even a basic first aid course, which *everyone* should take. Some of what I managed to piece together came from Michelle... some came from the hospital -- although Michelle was right about that: the staff at the Emergency Room just wanted her to leave. But while they were not being 'helpful' to Michelle or Kristine, directly... so long as I asked my questions *away* from the others, the staff seemed friendly enough -- talking to *me*.

As far as they were concerned, Kristine's life was not in *immediate* danger, and a complication from a sex change operation was something they just wanted nothing to do with. So they fell back on a loophole of their rules, which said that a medical practitioner was expected to assist anyone whose injuries lay within their area of competence -- but was *not* required to treat a condition that they were not 'sufficiently trained' to handle.

Barracks lawyers. Idiots trying to find a way to *not* do their job, rather than figuring out how to help. The patient *must* always come first... although these fools seemed to have forgotten their basic professional training...

Sorry if I seem a little harsh -- I do not suffer fools gladly. At least, not in the medical profession, and not when it endangers a patient. And as far as I could tell, that was exactly what they were doing, despite any legal dodging they were trying to make.

I find myself torn, here. This was an important incident to me... in that it influenced how I acted for a long time afterwards. But... there is also 'patient confidentiality' to consider, even if Kristine was never really *my* patient...

What I am willing to say, although I am uncomfortable with saying even that much, is that Michelle's somewhat scrambled account was basically correct. An SRS complication involving a rupture due to something that didn't heal right -- with a lot of blood, no doubt, while the problem initially drained. It had stopped bleeding after the rupture released the pressure... but there was a *huge* open wound left behind. The hospital was technically right -- she wasn't in *immediate* danger, being sent away -- but they were also very wrong, in my opinion. A wound *that* big, in that location, was a serious risk for infection. Not immediate danger, but if not treated, quite possibly life threatening in a few days time -- and even if that didn't happen, utterly certain to leave a *huge* scar, in a place where it was all too likely to seriously compromise her quality of life...

Stupid, really. That complication is not really all that different from the sort of damage that can happen in a difficult child birth -- and I knew very well that this particular hospital had a large maternity unit, with many OB/GYN specialists on call. It was, quite simply, by far the best equipped hospital in the region to handle this -- Kristine and Michelle had done exactly the right thing, in coming here. There was absolutely no doubt in my mind that this place was *full* of doctors and nurses, who might not be trained in 'SRS complications' -- but who were none-the-less fully competent to handle precisely this sort of problem.

If they wanted to. Which they didn't.

Unfortunately... Kristine is another fairly 'obvious' transsexual. A cold fact I mention, as it undoubtedly had a bearing in this mess -- as a 'passable' woman, I had walked in here to find them... and been treated with dignity and respect, by seemingly friendly, professional staff. Encountered kind, seemingly caring staff, who answered my questions completely and with courtesy -- at least, when away from the others. As open, 'unpassable' TS... my friends had walked in -- and been subjected to one indignity after another. Treated as freaks by the same people... who revealed another side to themselves, as prejudiced, unhelpful bigots. Then my friends were asked to leave -- still medically untreated. With a "stable for the moment", but potentially extremely serious medical condition.

And people wonder why I am so untrusting, so reluctant to have 'faith', in the behaviour of other people. _If_ those other people knew my past. Which I go *far* out of my way, to ensure they do not.

Sorry. A bit of a rant. I *hate* it when a patient is abused this way. Any patient, let alone someone I know...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Saturday, 23:55.

Fortunately, Angela was spending the night elsewhere... although she had gotten rather vague about exactly where, when I had asked earlier.  «I really hope she has not slipped off the wagon... although, while she hasn't spoken about it yet, I get the feeling that there is something else -- not drug related -- that is bothering her lately ». But her not being here was a detail that mattered at the moment, as Kristine was in our bed with one of my big surgical pads unfolded under her -- an 'extra' one that I had not used, during my own recent surgical recovery.

Getting her here, and resting as comfortably as possible, had used part of the last hour... but not all of it. A fair chunk had been spent on my phone, calling in favours. Remember Sara? The friend I spoke with so long ago, who worked as a head nurse in the E.R. of a local hospital? Well, unfortunately she didn't work at *this* particular hospital... but to say she was unimpressed about Kristine's treatment would be a vast understatement. Which I had figured would be the case... and was why I had 'wasted' time making that call, rather than treating my friend -- who like it or not, now seemed to also be in my care for the moment. Speaking of which...

"Umm, Kristine? Before we go much further, there is something I seriously *need* to make absolutely, crystal clear to you, okay? I am *not* currently licensed to practice medicine in Canada. I am not a lawyer, but as I understand it, that means I am *not* allowed to do a whole lot of things... and you need to know that. I *can* help you, in some minor ways... but only as a friend, only doing 'first aid'. Are you okay with that? And do you want my help, *knowing* that I do not have a licence to give that help?"

She still seemed a bit out of it... but she also seemed aware enough to fully understand me, as she said, clearly, "Yes."

"Okay. You are not actually bleeding at the moment... which means that we are not really in an emergency situation, yet. I have a friend working on getting you the real help that you need... getting you in to see an OB/GYN, for surgical repairs... but for now, let's focus on more immediate problems. I know from what Michelle said that you were dealing with swelling for the last couple days... and that you were over at that hospital since sometime early this evening. I also know that for someone as recently post op as you are, that you *must* dilate regularly -- or risk even worse complications than you are already dealing with."

I paused... mostly for dramatic effect, to make sure she paid attention to what I said next. "How *long* has it been, since you last dilated?"

"Umm. I dunno. I think yesterday morning sometime... but it hurt so bad I stopped right away..."

 «*Not* good. Not good at *all*. Depending on who her surgeon was, she has missed at least three, and probably *many* more, dilations. That has to be fixed, *right* now... at her early stage of healing, that kind of mistake can have *serious* consequences... »

"Most of that pain you felt was probably from the swelling, which has gone away now that the pressure has been relieved. I think it _really_ is important that you try to dilate, love. If I help you, do you think you can try to do that?"

"Uh, yeah... but I don't have my stents with me..."

"Would Michelle know where to find them, if I asked her to go get them?"

"Yeah, I guess."

Not the most intelligent sounding of replies, I'll admit... but then, she was probably still in a bit of pain -- and from the lost, slightly panicky look in her eyes, in a situation totally outside of her experience. At a complete loss as to what she should be doing. Trusting me, for lack of a better plan, to help her with what she *knew* was a serious problem. A serious problem that she had already *tried* to follow the "right solution" for... and been rejected, forced to go with a highly problematic "Plan B".

 «Actually, that _has_ to be a pretty scary situation to be in. I'm surprised she's holding up as well as she is, now that I'm thinking about it... »

When Michelle returned, at first we tried to give Kristine her dignity, letting her try to take care of things by herself... but there was *no* way that was going to work. I won't go into details... I have already shared more than I am comfortable with... but in the end, I ended up 'assisting' her. I am just glad that I also had spare items left over from my own recent problems... as while I keep a large first aid kit in my car, gloves and surgical drapes are not the sort of thing I usually have lying around my home...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

It ended up being a rather long night... and one where I lost track of the time. But somewhere around dawn on Sunday, Sara finally managed to convince "someone" high enough up in the food chain, to get them to admit that this actually *was* a problem they could deal with -- and agree to fixing Kristine, once we got her back there.

It's funny, really. Dealing with my own personal life, I sometimes show my blonde roots. Act like a complete air-head, unable to make up my mind about stupid little things. But put me in an emergency... and I just take charge, do what has to be done. Whatever it takes. If that means talking with some hospital administrator in a completely cold, angry tone of voice... projecting feelings I would never let myself express, in my own personal life... so be it. An example I mention, as I vaguely recall doing something pretty much like that, sometime that night -- Sara was not the only one making calls and pulling strings, behind the scenes.

Not something I normally think about... except, Michelle mentioned it to me. Mentioned how impressed she was, that I was willing to do that for them. How impressed she was, with how strong and forceful I could be, when someone else's welfare was at stake.

 «Do I really do that? *Am* I _really_ capable of doing that, when it's necessary? »

When I was finally able to rest, I found my mind racing... thinking about that, and other things. I suppose, objectively speaking, I didn't really do that much that night. Played taxi driver a couple times. Loaned my bed to someone. Made a few phone calls, and offered only a tiny bit of first aid and physical assistance, albeit assistance that involved rather intimate contact. And yet... that night played a big role in my own life, as it taught me a lot about myself. Reminded me of a part of myself that I had sealed away, decades ago, when I transitioned. Gave me a lot to think about, that indirectly influenced my life for years to come...

Sometimes, it's surprising just how *much* of an impact little things can make on our lives...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Sunday, 20:05.

I was tired, since I rarely can sleep in the daytime... and had missed sleeping last night. More than ready to crash. But I forced a smile, as I opened the door to one of neighbours -- although not one I really had spoken much with before.

"Umm, hi? It's Crystal, right?"

"Y-e-s... was there something I could help you with, Avery?" She was our neighbour from straight across the hall... a young woman with a small baby, whom Angela sometimes talked about... which was about all I knew about her. Well, other than that Angela seemed to have a good opinion of her...

"Uh, yeah. I was talking with Angela and Nasrine yesterday, and they said that maybe you could help me...". She really looked uncertain... and almost like she was having second thoughts about imposing on a stranger, for whatever it was...

I tilted my head, raising my brows in inquiry. "Nice to meet you, Avery. You said you needed my help?"

"Uh, yeah. They said you were pretty good with makeup and stuff... and while I know how to do basic stuff, and nightclub stuff... I never really learned to do fancy makeup. Like, you know, 'sophisticated' looking stuff. And, well, like, my older sister is getting married next weekend, and, she, you know, like sent me some money to buy a dress so I could go..."

She bit her lip... pausing, while looking as if she were organizing her thoughts. "My parents tossed me out last year when I got preggers, and while my sister wants me there... Mom and Dad are gonna really be looking at me *hard*, like, *judging* me, ya know? So I _real-ly_ don't wanna mess this up... and I was wondering if you could, like, give me some pointers on how to do this. How to look, like, *respectable*, ya know? *Not* like a 'cheap tramp'... which is what I *know* they think I am..."

She paused again, closing her eyes while collecting herself. "I can do casual easy enough... or 'hot' for a nightclub, or whatever. 'Single mom' practical. But... I was never, like, into going to proms an' stuff, in junior high... and then, well, I was preggers and hadda drop out before I got to do that sort of thing as a senior in high school..."

She shrugged. "I just never got around to it, ya know? And then it was too late... and since I had my baby, I just haven't had the time or money to... well, you know. Like, learn all this stuff."

 «Huh. A bit of a strange request... but not really a problem... and I do know Angela likes her ». "Umm, sure. Come on in... we probably need to talk a bit about this, first."

As we settled on the couch -- our *new* couch... or at least, new to us, from a recent donation to the shelter -- I continued. "For that sort of formal look, we will probably have to take into account what colours are in the dress that you are wearing, and the accessories you're planning to take with you. Also, is this going to be an evening reception or a daytime one, and are you going to both the ceremony *and* a reception, or just one or the other of those?"

"Just the reception in the evening... my sister wanted me at the service to, but, like... she figured that was pushing things with Mom and Dad too much..."

"'Kay. Do you have your dress, yet?"

She took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. With a sort of half-apologetic, half-wincing smile and shrug, she admitted, "Well, like, that was another thing. Angela said you had some really nice dresses... especially a blue one that she thought might look great on me... and, well, I do have some money from my sister, but I am going to hafta buy a bus ticket to get there, and my daughter needs some stuff, and..."

I smiled, looking at her body measuring-ly. "Not a problem, hun. You are a little shorter than me... but not enough to matter. And while your breasts are a bit smaller as well, that also shouldn't matter too much with the way that particular dress is cut."

I don't really have that many fancy dresses, actually. Just a few, bought for various special occasions... much like the wedding reception Avery was going to. In fact, as I thought about it, she could probably use not just the dress, but most of the exact outfit I wore that time -- it's not like anyone there would have seen it before, or I had any real use for that outfit myself right now...

Digging through my side of the bedroom closet, it did not take long to find -- the closet was not large. Actually, most of my clothes were in boxes... other than a few items that really needed to be hung up.

The dress in question was an azure blue halter cut gown, backless, with a rather plunging neckline, and a bias cut, layered skirt. The bodice has an inner layer of thicker material for modesty, but the halter straps and the skirt, as well as the outer layer of the bodice, are of a quite sheer chiffon -- the skirt would almost be translucent, except that it has a couple layers that combine to provide modesty. The skirt hem was also cut diagonally... higher on the right, tapering down to the left, which was partially slit up the side. It was designed to be worn bra-less, so that wasn't really an issue... and the halter top wasn't stiff enough for the difference in our breast sizes to matter. I had worn a white bolero style shrug with it, which would probably be appropriate for her, too... and which I had stored on the same hanger, so pulling them both out was easy.

"Here you go. What do you think of this?"

Her face lit up, as she delicately reached out to stroke the fabric. "It's beautiful... are you sure you don't mind this? I mean... you don't even really know me..."

"Not a problem. I haven't worn it in years... and as my breasts are a bit larger now than when I bought it, I'm not sure I could even get into it, now. Please try not to wreck it... I have some fond memories about it, and would sort of like to keep it... but if something does happen, don't have a heart attack."

I grinned and added, "And as for the 'don't know you' thing... you *do* just live across the hall, and my room-mate likes you..."

Looking speculatively at her as she held it up against her, I asked, "Do you have heels suitable to wear with that, and accessories?"

Her face fell a bit, as she looked at her feet. Glancing down myself, I noted that they actually looked fairly close to mine in size... which wasn't really a given, even though we were about the same height.

"I wear a size eight shoe myself... umm, I think that is a UK size five and a half, or Euro size thirty eight and a half... if you want to try the 'strappy' stiletto sandals I wore with this..."

She bit her lip, then did a sideways shrugging nod of her head. "Maybe. I usually wear an eight and a half... but if it is, like, an open toe, sometimes I can manage an eight..."

Fortunately, she said she had a necklace that would work... and the dress watch I loaned her (blue cut glass 'crystals', with the watch face inside one of the crystals... it looked more like a bracelet than a watch) was not really all that expensive -- although it looked like it was. The black leather purse she normally used wasn't ideal... but it would do, I guess. I did have a clutch purse that went with the outfit better... but... well, there is a limit to my trust...

I'm not sure if I have really talked about that, for this shelter. The WEAR building, where I had first gone, was *not* anywhere that I would trust anyone at. Not really. There were exceptions -- there are *always* exceptions -- but the people there were too transient, too near the edge. Too desperate. 'Shark infested waters', was the way I usually thought of that place. But the MAR building? There was much more of a sorority house sort of feel to it... a woman's dormitory. The women who lived here were all trying to get *out* of the mess they were in... and it showed, in many little ways. The babysitting that went on, helping each other out so that the many single moms could get necessary tasks done. The conversations in the hallways, sharing things with each other. The many lonely women, who left their apartment doors open... an open invitation for anyone else who wanted to chat to just come on in. Lots of things.

I would not be so foolish as to loan anyone here money, or something I really needed. We were not angels, and prudence was called for. But... it was another level entirely, from what the first shelter had been like.

Take Avery, for example. She seemed a nice enough girl. Probably at least eighteen, although she looked younger... except, if she actually *were* younger, she would be in one of the 'youth' shelters instead, wouldn't she? Regardless of her age and how nice she was... I had already learned the hard way (a large stainless steel cooking pot... lent to another women, who subsequently constantly avoided me...) not to loan out things that were easily pawned. The dress was something I might never wear again -- certainly not in the near future, since there was no way I could get into it with my shoulder problems. It was quite likely I would eventually end up giving it to charity someday anyway. The watch was a risk, but not much of one... and not an item I would really miss, if I guessed wrong about her. The shrug something I had bought specifically for wearing with that particular dress... and which I had no real use for, unless I were to wear that dress again.

 «I may be w-a-y too trusting in other people for my own good... w-a-y too willing to try to see the good in people, rather than only looking for the bad... but even _I_ *can* learn, when life gives me enough 'hard knocks'. »

 «Still, even if I *know* others sometimes can't be trusted... I would rather get burned occasionally, than _completely_ harden my heart. »

"Is it okay if I try this on?"

"Sure."

Quickly wriggling out of her jeans and top, she was soon in the dress, looking in the mirror I had mounted on the closet door. She frowned, looking at her obvious bra-straps. "What sort of bra do you wear with something like this, anyway? I mean, like, the back goes so low you would see the band... even with clear straps, it would be pretty obvious..."

"It's meant to be worn bra-less... but if you think your parents wouldn't approve of that, there are adhesive bra's that you can buy. I don't have one, though... and my bra's won't fit you, regardless."

She did the partial sideways nod thing again, this time in the other direction, with a doubtful half smile. "I guess bra-less it is... it seems to cover well enough -- especially with the wrap."

"Hmm. Anyway, do you have your own makeup? With your dark hair, you need different colours than I use... even if it were a good idea to share makeup, which it isn't."

She did, and a half hour later, we had a workable 'look' for her, that she was confident she could do herself. It didn't really take that long, what with her already knowing the basics. As she was leaving, carefully carrying the dress -- which she had changed back out of before we played around with makeup -- a stray thought amused me for a second.

 «Strange, being the one asked for advice like this. I guess I'm getting old... I'm not sure whether to be depressed at the thought of an eighteen year old looking at me as a sort of surrogate mom, or pleased to have her looking at me like a 'big sister'. Either way... quite a change from my 'early days', when *I* was the one looking for advice from natal women... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Monday, 19:32.

Sitting lightly on the very edge of her bed, I spoke softly. "Hey Kristine. How are you feeling tonight?"

She smiled. "A lot better, thank you. And thank you *again*, for everything you did this weekend..."

"De rien... it's nothing. I'm just glad we were able to help. Have you had any problems since they did the repair and discharged you?"

"No, not really. A little discomfort when taking a tinkle, but..."

She shrugged, with a sort of half smirk. "It's not like I have *that* totally figured out yet, anyway. It's not that different... but it *is* different..."

A wicked grin danced around my lips, as I replied in a little girl voice while flaring my eyes in faked wide-eyed innocence, "Ya hafta *push*, to go pee..."

She just looked at me, like I was strange.

 «Oh, well. You had to be there, I guess... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Wednesday, 12:35.

"Hey Michelle, Jennifer, what's up?"

She glanced up from the paper in front of her, on the lunchroom table. "Oh hey. I was just reading somethin' in the news that Jenny pointed out to me..."

With a glance back and forth between the two, I raised my brows in inquiry.

Jennifer replied, "They caught someone who had been stalking and assaulting women by the downtown college campus, in another city not that far away. And the kicker is, the assailant was a schizoid pre-op TS, that wanted to be a woman half the time, and was assaulting women the other half the time, when his guy personality took over. Really messed up... and as it's in the news today, the other students have been giving us some rather nasty looks..."

Somewhat startled, I instinctively pulled back a little. "Whoa. That's certainly different... didn't this person's therapist know about this problem?"

Michelle added, "It says here that she only went to see her shrink when she was feeling like a 'girl'... and avoided the shrink the rest of the time..."

"Ouch. Well, just keep your cool, guys. I suppose this will blow over soon enough, so long as you don't give them anything to worry about."

I stopped and winced. "Sorry, the women in my group always use that 'guy' word, even when we are talking about other women..."

Jennifer snorted. "Yeah, I know. They do it in our group too. Don't worry about it. I'm just worried that someone in our group will spill about me, and what I've shared there..."

At my enquiring look, she continued, with a glance at Michelle as if to confirm that I could be trusted. "When I was a kid, I was molested by my dad... and then, when I was around puberty... well, I sort of did the same thing myself. Seduced my cousin, who was maybe half my age. I hated myself for it afterwards... and mostly I did it as I was real curious about girls -- wanted to *be* her, ya know? But... technically... I am a paedophile..."

 «What on Earth do you say to something like that? »

Inside, I could feel very old fears welling up... stirred to life again by meeting someone out of my worst nightmares. You would think that having someone admit to me that they were an actual incarnation of the thing I had feared for so many years... especially now, when I was so close to the edge from other things... would send me right over that precipice. Totally freak me out. But... I could feel her pain, as she said that. Knew that she was absolutely sincere, in her regrets. It's weird... but... in hindsight, that moment was probably a very valuable healing experience. One that let me finally confront an old demon, and truly lay it to rest...

A chance to come face to face with something from my childhood that had haunted me for most of my life... but having faced 'the boogieman'... discovered that the monster from my dreams was just a person, as messed up as the rest of us. Although it was perhaps a good thing that I had already gotten to know her, *before* this little revelation...

"Wow. Umm... that's a biggie, all right. Especially around here. But then, it was probably a biggie when you first told your group about that... and if someone was going to tell, they probably would have done it by now. Or at least, that's a hope, anyway. Sorry... I can't be much more reassuring than that -- it really is a potential problem..."

It's funny in a way. As more and more studies are starting to confirm, being trans is almost certainly a birth defect -- something induced by pre-natal hormone imbalances. Similar to being intersexed, although the part of the body effected by the hormones was different. Or at least _mostly_ different... I haven't seen a good study of it, but I rather strongly suspect that the percentage of TS who are also 'conventionally' intersexed is probably much higher than the percentage of the general population that are 'IS'. But while that 'biological origin' for being trans is nice to know... there is a flip side to it. Trans-folk are pretty much normal people, other than their physical birth defect.

That can be a good thing... but it can also be a bad. 'Normal', or what is sometimes called 'cisgendered', people are not just all of the law abiding, 'nice' people. 'Normal' also includes such things as rapists and paedophiles, murderers and thieves. What some might term 'saints *and* sinners'. Trans people can likewise be very good people... and on occasion, not so good. Each person is different, the same as any other randomly selected group of people, united only by a common medical condition...

But one thing that *is* a bit different about trans folk, is that the general public already tends to think of them as 'sexual perverts'. Which means that when their bigotry is seemingly 'confirmed' by the rare individual who is both trans *and* something else... well, it can get really ugly, really fast.

It's not fair... but who ever said life was fair?

Something told me that I would be doing my very best to 'blend in' for the next few days, though. A part of me wasn't proud of that... wanted me to show 'solidarity' with those who didn't have that option... but prudence suggested otherwise.

There was a time, many long years ago, when I *did* the 'out and proud' thing. Gave speeches, tried to get laws changed... all that activist jazz. You get tired of it, after a while. Fortunately, I was always careful to use an alias at those gatherings, and not allow my picture to be taken -- when I tired of being seen as 'different'... and just wanted to be a woman... I was able to walk away from all that. A small part of me is still willing to make political gestures, even to this day... but not big ones. Not anything 'risky'. Not anymore. I did my time, and moved on. 'Been there, done that, wore out the T-shirt, long ago...'

But even so, I wasn't proud about fading into the woodwork...

 «Mea culpa... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 15:

Early Mid-October, Monday, 17:05.

When they hear the phrase "Thanksgiving Day"... a lot of people may think of the US holiday -- which I think is sometime late in November. But Thanksgiving is traditionally a holiday similar to the Wiccan 'Mabon' ceremony... which is to say, it's based on a pagan Harvest Festival. The climate in Canada is much colder than down south, with a shorter growing season... so the harvest must be completed earlier in the fall. All of which is to say, around here, Thanksgiving is the second Monday of October. Today.

Of course, not being Christian myself... today was just another day, for me. Well, other than the fact that there was no school today -- so I was able to sleep in. And the detail that Angela was off somewhere with her kids and their (usually very absent) father... so I was home alone. A quiet time, for peaceful reflection... at least, until someone knocked at the door.

"Oh hey, Michelle and Kristine. What's up?"

Michelle surprised me with the *huge* grin that was bubbling up from somewhere inside her -- and even more so by sweeping me up in an almost crushing hug. *Really* not the sort of behaviour I expected out of her.

"Whoa, girl. Easy... you're hurting me. What was *that* all about?"

"I just wanted to thank you *sooo* much, for Friday night... and your help with Kristine."

I felt my brows going up. "Umm... Friday night?"

"Zach said that it was *you* who called him up, and arranged for him to ask me out. We *really* hit it off good together -- I'm *so* glad you did that...!"

Kristine interjected, "As am I, for your help at the hospital the other day..."

"Err... okay."  «You know, at my age it sort of looks dumb to still visibly blush about things like this... »

I collected my straying thoughts, and continued, "It really was no big deal, though. I am sure you both would have done the same for me, if things had been different..."

For a moment, Michelle managed to suppress her happiness, and look serious. "Maybe so... but we wanted to thank you anyway."

At that point, Kristine pulled something out from where she had been concealing it by standing mostly behind the much bigger Michelle. "Michelle said that you had mentioned liking fried chicken to her once... so we pooled together all our extra money, and thought we would buy you a bucket of KFC. Not exactly a traditional turkey dinner... but the best we could do..."

 «Oh goddess. That stuff is *loaded* with MSG -- which I'm very allergic to... although at least, it usually takes five or six hours after I ingest some, before the symptoms get *really* bad... »

"Why, *thank* you so much, for the thought... although you really didn't have to. Err... won't you come in, and at least share it with me?"

I tried really hard to encourage them to 'dig in'... to eat as much of the chicken as they wanted... but not to much avail. They kept waiting, wanting me to take the first piece of chicken...

 «Ulp. Well, maybe if I take *just* one, and eat *really* slowly... with lots of bread and water to dilute it... the inevitable won't be _too_ bad, when it happens. They look *so* happy... *so* pleased with themselves, for finding a way to say thank you to me... and I *know* just how big a hardship the money they spent on this is _really_ going to be for both of them, this month... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Monday, 23:15.

"Uh. Uh. Oh goddess...". For a moment, I thought I was going to heave yet again... but not quite...

"You really _must_ learn to say *no* to people, sometimes, girl..."

 «It's a good thing I cleaned in here this morning. Although now that I'm lying here beside the toilet looking up, I see I missed a spot... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Tuesday, 00:21.

"Crys? I'm sorry... but... I *really* have to go to the bathroom, *right* now..."

"Uh, right. Just a sec while I catch my breath, and I will crawl out of here..."

"Umm, don't worry about it. Stay there... I'll just slip in and go, 'kay?"

 «You know, it's kind of an odd view, lying here looking up at another woman doing her business and wiping herself. Seriously strange... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Wednesday, 21:33.

"Crystal?"

"Hmm? What's up, Angela?"

"You know that once in a while, I see my ex... just for the kids' sake... right?"

"Y-e-ssss?" My eyebrows asked the question.

"I know that I shouldn't do it... that he is a total jerk, who used to beat me up... and even broke my bones, more than once. But... well, sometimes, just sometimes, when he is being on his very best behaviour for the kids... well, I still love him, you know? Despite everything he has done. At least, just a tiny bit..."

She looked away, obviously struggling with what she was saying. I didn't say anything... just quietly waited for her to collect herself and continue.

"Anyway... long story short... a couple months back, we had a really good day. I had the kids, and we both spent a really nice afternoon together, with the social worker watching. But after she left with the kids... well... the two of us got to talking about old times, over a bottle of wine... the good old days, before he became such a jerk... and..."

She was crying, now. "I was stupid, Crystal. *Really* stupid. I ended up sleeping with him again, for old times sake. Just the once... but I wasn't on the pill..."

With tears streaming down her face, her arms wrapped around herself while she sat there, rocking slowly back and forth, she added, "I'm pregnant, Crystal. I swore I was never gonna do this with him again. That when I let myself be drawn back into that miserable marriage -- when I discovered I was pregnant with Sandy -- that never again would I *do* that. And now, look at me..."

She closed her eyes. "It's the same thing all over again. I *knew* what he was becoming, by the time I had Lenaya. I actually *left* him after she was born... went to live in a shelter... but then... I found I was pregnant with Sandy, and... I just knew I couldn't do that to a child. That I had to go back. That it took everything I had, to survive in that shelter with *one* baby -- there was *no* way I could do it while pregnant with a second."

She shivered. "That's how I got hooked on drugs, Crys. After Sandy was born... living with that asshole... he kept beating me up. Breaking my arm. My jaw, once. A couple ribs, now and then. I needed to take pain killers, to be able to function well enough to look after the kids... but... I didn't dare go to my doctor for them, or they would find out what was happening to me -- there are only so many times you can tell them that you fell down the stairs, before they stop believing you. So I started buying things on the street... and... one thing lead to another..."

She looked back at me, with haunted eyes. "I just can't do that again. Can't have another child by him. I've been clean for over four months now... a couple more, and they might let me have my kids back full time. But I'm just barely scraping by now, with lots of help from you -- if I can't work because I'm pregnant, I'll be right back where I was with Sandy. Having to go back to live with that animal, once again. I just can *not* do that, not again..."

She blinked, causing the tears glittering in her eyes to stream downwards, again. "You know that I'm Roman Catholic, right? That my church forbids abortion... that it's a sin?"

By now, I was sitting beside her, holding her. I just gave her a squeeze, in acknowledgement.

"I've... known that I was knocked up for a couple weeks now. Trying to decide what to do." Her mouth quirked briefly. "You aren't the only one who's been having nightmares, lately..."

She took a slow, shuddering breath, and visibly gulped. "Anyway, I finally went to the doctor yesterday... and made an appointment at the local Women's Hospital, for an abortion. It's on Friday afternoon... and they want me to have someone there, someone to take me home, to look after me for the first twenty four hours afterwards. Can you... I mean, *are* you okay with that? Would you mind taking me, in your car?"

What could I say, but simply, "Yes".

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Thursday, 13:45.

Today's class was... unusual. A bus ride downtown, followed by a tour of various facilities that they wanted to draw our attention to. Things that were in handouts we had received earlier in the course... but if we ever truly *needed* to know where they were, we might be on the run -- with no time to look for those brochures. Hence this tour... letting us actually see these places, fixing their locations in our minds.

The locations of several women's shelters (not something I needed to be reminded of... but most of the women in our program currently lived elsewhere). The location of a couple food banks. Several charitable agencies. The main city library... where it was pointed out that we could get free library cards, just by signing a statement confirming our low income status. And then there was this particular 'destination'...

A woman's physical fitness facility, that offered substantial discounts for low income women. Not as strange a place to visit as you might think... the course *did* include segments on the importance of healthy eating and exercise, et cetera... but still a bit odd. Whatever... we were there, and it was a nice enough place. Converted from an older community recreation centre, when the city replaced it with a more modern facility in the same area, this was not just an exercise room, but a swimming pool, sauna... lots of things. No big deal -- I like to swim, and had been to the newer public facility many times, back before my shoulder injury.

No big deal... except, we did a tour of the facility. *All* of the facility -- including the women's change rooms and showers. Rooms that were currently in use, with many women wandering around in various stages of undress. Which triggered another of those 'waves of awareness' things, in my group-mates. Sigh.  «It's been over five weeks now, since the course started. You would think they would get over it, already... »

 «Oh well. I guess they *are* learning, though. I'm getting a few funny looks... but no one is actually *saying* anything. More like they are just trying to surreptitiously check to see how *I* am reacting to all this... »

I had to suppress a smile, as I thought,  «Not that I can complain about their doing that... considering I am covertly watching *them* secretly watching me... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Thursday, 21:55.

As I got ready for bed, I found myself watching Angela a bit more closely than normal. Wondering what must be going through her head, right now. She was putting on a brave front, trying to pretend that everything was just peachy... but... you could see it in her eyes, occasionally.

Abortion is not something I give a lot of thought to, normally. It has been legal in Canada -- with a few restrictions -- for many decades now... and even those last restrictions were completely dropped something like a decade ago. I have always been at least mildly 'pro-choice'... a side effect, no doubt, of the torments and literal tortures of my youth. The rapes... the being drugged... the barely visible, faded whip scars on my back... all the things which engraved forever into my spirit that it is simply *wrong* to impose things on other's bodies. That I would rather they simply kill me than have someone dictate what I can and can not do to my own body.

Still, I do understand the 'pro-life' position as well, even if I can't, personally, endorse it. While the Wiccan Rede does say, "An it harm none, do as ye will"... with the central tenet being the 'Harm none' part... Wicca is also about balance. Harmony with nature, and *all* living things. My heart aches with the thought of the harm to the Child Within, the Unborn One... but... one *does* have to use some common sense about things. Balance the harm done to the mother, against the harm to the potential new life growing within.

Sometimes, there are no good answers. Real life is complicated... shades of grey...

In some ways, I wish Canada still had some of it's earlier restrictions. That the line were drawn somewhere earlier in pregnancy than the near-full-term abortions that are currently allowed. But... well, who gets to dictate where that line is drawn? There is no simple solution... which I suppose is why the courts eventually struck down *all* of those restrictions. Whatever. None of that 'viable baby' stuff really applied in Angela's case, anyway. She was still fairly early in pregnancy -- when what was to be ended was technically not an embryo, having become a foetus at the end of week seven... but not far beyond that line. A little too late for a chemically induced 'Medical Abortion'... but still early enough that the 'Surgical Abortion' would be done by the most common method of 'Suction Aspiration'... which is a fancy way of saying that a suction tube gets inserted and vacuums out the entire lining of the uterus, including her daughter.

Her daughter? At week seven, the genitals form... and she had already had a sonogram done earlier this week, while deciding on what to do. Things are still so tiny -- the entire foetus being only about forty millimetres long -- that it was highly likely that she was wrong about the sex. It's usually closer to week eleven, before the genitals are considered 'distinguishable'... even if technically they differentiated earlier. But in her heart, she was convinced that she was carrying a daughter. A defenceless little girl, that she was about to kill. Small wonder that her dreams lately had not been easy. I honestly think that if not for her other children, she might have solved this problem another way. A very Final Solution. Fortunately, it had not come to that... but still, I had been watching her closely these last few days...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Thursday, 23:58.

Some women like to wear nightgowns... others do not. Both Angela and I happen to be people who prefer the feeling of unrestricted freedom that we get sleeping nude... well, other than the panties she probably wore during 'that time of the month'. Which now that I was thinking about it... I had not seen her do, since moving in with her. Foolish of me... I should have guessed she was pregnant...

Anyway, how we sleep is not normally relevant to anything, but this evening it is perhaps worth mentioning...

"Crystal? You still awake? Would you mind just holding me for a while?"

 «Well, I *wasn't* awake... but I *do* wake quickly and easily... »."Of course, dear..."

For a while I simply held her, feeling her body occasionally shudder with suppressed sobs. Gently stroking her arms... her hair... holding her close, until her breathing finally eased into the regular rhythms of sleep...

 «Odd. Usually, I am the one being held safely snuggled in the arms of another, larger, person. Spooned against them, my back to their chest... and their hands usually roaming my body -- although I am certainly not doing *that* with her. But Angela is a full hand's breadth shorter than I am... petite. I wonder if this is what it is like, to be a 'man' holding a woman 'he' loves? So different, being the 'protector', rather than the one being 'protected'... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Friday, 09:55.

 «I know Angela insisted that I go to classes this morning, for my scheduled 'half-day'... said she wanted some 'alone' time... but... I haven't the *faintest* idea what the group has been talking about for the last hour... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Friday, 10:06.

Over half the group had stepped out for whatever reasons, at the start of the ten AM coffee break... but a fair number were just sitting around the classroom, chatting casually.

"My ovaries hurt..."

I blinked.  «What? Where did *that* comment come from? Perhaps I should pay more attention... even if I didn't get much sleep last night... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Friday, 12:48.

Angela looked up at me with tortured eyes, from where she had been borrowing my notebook computer to look up something online. "Oh God, Crystal. The baby's nervous system starts to develop at week _three_. What am I *doing*?! Is my daughter going to *feel* this?!"

Holding her hands, and looking tenderly into her eyes, all I could say was, "Umm... actually, I think it might be closer to week four... and that is only when things *start* to form... not when *thinking* begins... but...". I stopped, realizing that this wasn't helping. "You don't have to do this, if you can't. I will call the clinic for you, and cancel, if you want... and help you through all this, whatever you decide..."

If anything, the torment in her face merely increased. "God forgive me, but I... I... I just can't. I simply can not have this child... may God have mercy on my soul..."

Her voice faded out into a wail, as she sat rocking slowly back and forth in my arms, tears streaming down her face. As they were also streaming down mine...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 16:

AUTHOR WARNING: The following short chapter contains a fairly accurate, somewhat graphic portrayal of what a visit to an Abortion Clinic is like. For the convenience of those who would prefer not to read it, the only really graphic part (three paragraphs) has been offset and typeset in italics. Reader discretion is advised...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Mid-October, Friday, 13:55

As the traffic light turned red, the little pedestrian sign turned to the symbol for 'Walk'. We had parked a block away from the hospital -- there was a Visitor parking lot closer, but who can afford to pay their outrageous rates, on Welfare? No doubt later I would have to bring the car around to pick Angela up at the door... but for now, on the way in, she said she didn't mind the walk. Although I noticed her steps were getting slower and smaller, the closer we got to the doorway...

The local Women's Hospital is actually just a wing of a bigger facility... served by a somewhat small doorway, discreetly tucked away down a side access roadway. Hidden away from casual view... like so many parts of women's underground culture. The small waiting room puzzled me for a moment... before it occurred to me that in this part of the hospital, most patients went straight in -- and were often accompanied by those who were with them.

There really wasn't that much to the sign-in process: many things had already been completed earlier this week, when Angela booked this appointment. The sonogram was already done... and she had been fasting today, as required. Well, sort of. I seriously doubt she could have managed to eat anything today, even if it *were* permitted...

"Crystal? Is it okay if I list you as next of kin on these forms?" She sort of sadly half smirked. "I suppose if anything actually *does* happen, you could always claim to be my same-sex, live-in partner... same-sex marriage *is* legal in Canada, after all."

She rolled her eyes... almost playfully, although I could see it was just a facade over her inner hurt. "Mostly, I just *do not* want to list my ex anywhere on these forms... and I know you are bisexual, and actually *were* in that sort of relationship with a lesbian, once..."

I hesitated for a moment... unclear of exactly what the legal situation was -- I am not a lawyer. "No problem, Angela. I doubt it would hold up in court for anything serious... and definitely not for inheritance issues... but for minor administrative stuff here in the hospital? Maybe. It's not like it would be down in the States, anyway. I might be wrong, but I *think* the 'next of kin' thing up here is more like it is in the UK. Just a formality, really. Someone the doctors can talk to for *advice*, if they are unsure of what the patient's wishes would be -- the final decision on treatment lies with the patient first, the staff second, and only then are next of kin asked for their opinion about anything..."

"Yeah... but... if I list you as next of kin, with the relationship as 'same sex live-in partner'...they will let you come into the back with me. Or at least as far as the prep and recovery areas... if you don't mind doing that?"

"Of course, dear..."

"Thank you. And if it's any consolation, it really isn't a lie. We *do* live together as _financial_ partners, and we *are* the same sex... and sleep together... even if *all* we do in that bed is *sleep*."

I had to laugh, slightly. "I think you're rationalizing... but no problem. I said I would help you through this, and I meant it. Whatever it takes..."

Tears were her only reply...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Friday, 14:02.

She looked at me, with a sort of half-baffled, half-angry expression. "How can that other woman *be* like that? Like she is just standing in line for coffee at Timmies?"

I could only shrug. "I think she said something about this being her fourth abortion..."

"Her fourth?! What... how... How can someone *do* that?!"

I could only shrug again, slightly shaking my head. "You're asking the wrong woman, luv. I would give anything to be able to have one of my own... and I *know* how hard this is for you. I don't get it any more than you do, even if I do know that something like one in three women end up having an abortion, these days. I guess it must just get easier, after the first time, for some people..."

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Friday, 14:06.

Angela was already in her surgical gown, donning her "anti-embolism stockings".  «Funny looking things... and while the little hole under the toes is probably useful for checking blood circulation in the toenails, it really doesn't make them that comfortable to wear... »

I found my thoughts straying,  «Being stealth even in my medical record, I have worn things like that many times now. Ironic, really. I have read online about how doctor's make TS stop hormones for surgeries, these days... but... even though I *tell* them that I am post hysterectomy, and *on* HRT -- they never even _suggest_ that *I* stop HRT before any of the surgeries I have had, since going stealth. No more than they insisted that Angela be off birth control pills. They *ask* if a woman is on that sort of thing, but only so that they can take appropriate precautions... such as the stocking things, which help prevent blood clots forming in the legs during surgery... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Friday, 14:31.

Angela was gone, now. Wheeled away towards surgery... where I could not go with her. But in my mind, I found myself reviewing what I knew of what was to happen. I have never had an abortion, obviously... nor assisted in performing one... but I have had enough surgeries -- and known enough other women who had an abortion -- that I could easily visualize what she would be experiencing. Sometimes, I hate my too vivid imagination...

The watching of the ceiling, as the gurney is wheeled down the hallway... often with a few stops along the way, for whatever reasons. The porter slapping the metal plate by the doors, to open them for the gurney. Being jolted back and forth, as they positioned it next to the table... then the sort of half-scramble, half being slid, as she was transferred from the gurney to the operating table -- being careful not to snag the I.V. line, which had been inserted in the prep area when they did her blood typing tests and pelvic exam, earlier. The racing of her heart, as someone ironically tells her to relax -- before terrifying her by injecting medication into the port on the I.V. line. The somewhat stale, odd smelling mask being held over her face... before being told to count with the anaesthesiologist, while the gas comes on... and then the rapidly narrowing tunnel vision, fading away to black...

She probably would not remember much of anything after that... but with my training, I do know what would happen next. The opening of the vaginal walls with a speculum... grasping the cervix with tenaculum forceps to hold it in position. Insertion into the cervical opening of a series of gradually larger, thin, highly polished metal rods known as 'dilators' -- although much smaller and longer than what a TS may think of when they hear that word, for the largest of these is about the width of a finger. Once dilated, the cervix is held open with the repositioned tenaculum -- a type of long forceps with a slender sharp-pointed hook tip, attached to the sort-of scissor-like handle.

A suction wand goes in next... vaguely like you would see in a dentist's office, except thinner and with a bent tip, as well as having openings on the sides of the tip rather than on the blunted end. Two or three minutes later, the deed is mostly done... the fragile foetus torn apart by the suction, and the uterine lining removed. Just to be certain, there is a final scraping of the uterine walls with a "long handled, tiny spoon shaped" curette knife, with a second suctioning afterwards. Her part would be over then... although the abortionist would still need to carefully examine the suction collection bottle containing everything that had been removed, to ensure that nothing was left inside...

The whole thing is over in only about ten to twenty minutes... but the effects can last a lifetime. Literally.

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Friday, 15:08.

When they had brought Angela back from surgery, they had left her face down on the recovery bed... which might seem an odd thing to do to an unconscious patient at first blush, but helps with 'drainage' of anything left inside. She was just starting to make uncoordinated movements, and incoherent mutterings, when the nurse came to turn her... rolling her onto her side, with a "Maxipad" placed between her thighs to absorb any remaining discharge. I noticed that she was crying again... although she did not seem aware of me holding her hand, or much of anything else, yet.

I knew it would probably be a while yet, before she was fully conscious.  «At least she doesn't have my medical problems with medications -- even with the alternate anaesthesia techniques that they usually use on me, I am often out for many hours -- sometimes, days -- after surgery. But she should be aware of her surroundings *much* sooner than that... probably about another fifteen or twenty minutes, the way she is moving now. Although she may already be aware enough to remember this, later... »

With that thought in mind, I started softly speaking to her... knowing she wouldn't answer, but just might understand me. "You're okay, Angela. The surgery went fine. You are in the recovery room, and..."

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Friday, 15:45.

"Come on Angela... I know you aren't hungry right now, but they want you to have the cookies and juice anyway, before they will let you leave. You have lost a lot of blood..."

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Friday, 16:26.

She was moving very slowly, and painfully... but she had managed to walk a lap around the recovery room -- which was enough that they were willing to let her go home. I had brought the car around to just outside the clinic doors, then helped her out to it.

 «I wish this thing wasn't so low-slung, right now. I remember from when I was raped just how much it *hurt* to lower myself down into it... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Friday, 21:55

Angela had not really wanted to eat much for our 'late' supper tonight... but while I hated to push her about that, I had encouraged her to eat just a little -- for much the same reasons as the hospital had, earlier. After that, she had mostly just wanted to lie down... which was appropriate, really. Her post-surgical instructions specified that she should rest the remainder of the day... that there might be "some discomfort" today and tonight, and that she should avoid strenuous activities for a few days. That it would be normal if she experienced some bleeding, possibly with mild cramps, for the next week. But basically, the physical part was over.

 «The emotional part? I must admit I am still worried about her... she wanted to be left alone, so I am sleeping on the couch tonight... but I can only hope she will be okay... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Friday, 22:16.

"Crystal?" I heard Angela softly call out through the open bedroom door, as I came out of the bathroom. "Would you mind talking for a bit?"

"Hey, girl. How are you feeling...?"

She listlessly shrugged, with a sort of sad, melancholic expression on her face. "A bit of pain... but that's okay. I *deserve* pain, right now... as penance."

Tears began to leak slowly from her eyes, as she added, "What have I done, Crystal? I thought I was making the best decision... but..."

She stopped, closing her eyes and taking a shaky breath. "I start crying every time I see the blood on my pad. In the toilet. On the paper as I wipe. The blood of my murdered daughter. She wasn't born yet... will never be born, now... but she was real to me. I want to know she is growing again inside me... want to feel my boobs becoming sore... I even want to be sick again in the morning. I want my baby back..."

She opened her eyes, looking somewhere far beyond the bedroom walls. "And yes, I know how stupid that is. I know it was right. That I had to do it. But what my mind knows... my heart does not..."

Glancing into my eyes, she slowly turned the rest of her head to follow. "God, Crystal. When will all this *end*, anyway? I mean... I grew up with the usual dreams... being a good mom to 'two point two' children, a loving husband, a car, and a house with a white picket fence. The usual stuff every girl dreams of. But it's all just gone s-o-o-o wrong, ya know? Like... I had to run away from my home to get away from my husband, the kids have been taken away... and now..."

I gently squeezed her hand, sitting beside her on the edge of the bed. "I know, Angela, I know. I had those dreams, too... and who knows, maybe someday they will come true, again? You're right, though. As things stand, those dreams seem impossibly far away..."

I shrugged, lightly. "I wish I had all the answers for you, dear. I really do. For now, though... all I can say is don't give up. Life may have kicked us both when we were down, but... well, it is a very old cliché, but... all we can do is keep on trying. Never give up. *Make* our dreams come true..."

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Saturday, 04:48.

I started awake, at the faint, gentle tapping on our door. Slipping off the couch, I absently noticed soft sounds of breathing coming from the dark bedroom as I passed it. Glancing though the outer door's peep-hole, I found Amber -- who had obviously had her own sleep disturbed, as she was in a housecoat with her hair up in rollers.

"Crystal? Sorry to wake you... one of the girls tried to kill herself, and we can't get her to let us take her to the hospital. Michelle suggested you might be able to help...?"

 «Angela?! But... who is in the bedroom, then? »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~