No no no no this can't be happening to me! Hey I can't believe I didn't say..... awww crap.

Did I freak? You bet who wouldn't. I'm a boy for christ sakes with breasts. Breasts! NO this can't be happening. My breathing was fast. Is this a heart attack? Why can't I see anything? My eyes are open but it's all white.

"Bel..." static all I hear is the thump of my blood in my ears. Wait its sorta grey now with blurs..

SMACK!

I see mom and she she...

"You slapped me!" I hold my hand to the side of my arm where she slapped me hard.

"I'm sorry honey but I didn't know what else to do you were freaking out."

"You slapped me."

"Honey cry, yell do something!"

"YOU SLAPPED ME!" now that was a yell.

"THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT! YOU KEEP MAKING ME A GIRL! IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT ME TO BE BELLE ALL THE TIME! IS IT! WELL ANSWER ME MOTHER DEAR!" I tried to grab the bra and rip it off. A side note of me is amazed at how strong they are they don't really look it. I eventually take off the damned bra and fling it at mom.

I grab my hoodie and shove it on backwards in my anger and have to bring it up again when my arm brushes across my nipple and it sends signals surging through my body. I finally get the dam thing straight and stomp out of the house. I do not know where I am going but I'll be damned if I'm going to go back into that house and be a girl for mom.

It takes me awhile stomping around and crying, yes crying like a damn girl, before I tire out somewhat and calm down a bit. I make my way to the old park where I used to play as a kid. There is still the old tire swings on the bar. I sit ontop of one and sort of swing and twirl around a few times alternately crying or screaming till I just put my head against the rope and really think of nothing.

I was there for probably half an hour or so before something told me I was not alone. When I opened my eyes I saw not my mother, who I expected, but of all people Kim. She is sitting on the edge of the bar that, at one time years ago, held seesaws. I think kids nowadays use it as a sort of goal post or something.

"Hey Kim."

"Hey. So is it Bill or Belle?" she asks me, but it's a funny ask.

"Does it matter? It seems god or fate is making me be Belle when all I want is to be Bill again. Why do you care anyways?"

"It matters to you."

"Should it?"

"I don't know Bill. I do know that for years I have been playing with makeup and stuff. I have made girls look like guys for halloween. Ive made friends look like zombies. I have even helped a guy dress up as a maid, not a french maid but a real one. One thing I have learned is that coverings aside people under the skin are what they choose to be."

"That makes no sense to me at all."

"Does it? Does it really? Or do you just not want to hear it?"

"I ... when you look at me Kim what do you see?"

"I see a person who is neither a boy or a girl. I see someone who is in alot of pain. But mostly what I see is a person who believes so much in what a covering is that they do not even see themselves underneath." she lets me think on that in silence for a few minutes.

I can sorta see what she is saying I have been so caught up in what other people think or think they see of me this week that I haven't really looked at myself. When I look in the mirror I see myself. Not myself as Belle. Or myself as Bill with makeup on or off. I just see me. The same me I have seen for years. Does it really matter all that much what people think of me? No not really the important thing is if I see me.

Surprisingly this gives me a focus of a sort and I realize I'm neither angry or sad anymore. I turned around to thank Kim when I noticed that she was gone. When I look around I see no sign of her. I get off the swing and go look at the seesaw bar. There is loose sand around it that would leave footprints if someone had been right where she was sitting not 2 minutes ago. The ground is strangely undisturbed.

All the way home after that I couldn't shake the feeling that something weird had happened but in a good way. My sister was on the couch when I got home and she was not in the best of moods. From the moment I got into the house I felt her eyes boring into me. She didn't say anything to me at all that night and when I went to my bedroom I saw the bra I had thrown at my mother on the ground. I picked it up to examine it. While stretched in a few places it didn't really look all that bad. I know next to nothing about women lingerie and for some reason I had to find out if I could do anything to save this poor bra. I spent some time online reading about it. Actually I fell asleep at my computer reading about it clutching that bra.

I woke the next morning in my bed in the same nightshirt of my sisters that I wore Monday. I felt surprisingly good. I took my time that morning in the shower washing myself and my hair. I got out and looked at my options for my breasts. I decided against the girly lingerie and eventually settled on an old small tshirt. It was a winter tshirt so a bit thicker than a summer one but just thick enough for what I needed it for. I didn't fuss over my clothing. I didn't even fuss over how my hair looked I just did what I had always done before and combed it back while wet and left it to dry.

As I entered the kitchen for breakfast before school I found dad sitting there. Mom was strangely absent. I poured my usual Shreddies breakfast and sat to eat.

"Your mom was crying alot last night." oh one of those mornings.

"Bill I'm not gonna tell you what you should do. However a real man would admit to his mistake and apologize for it." sighing I put aside my spoon.

"I know dad. I went a little ballistic and took it out on her. Is she still asleep?" I didn't think so but one can hope.

"No she left early for work. She has taken alot of time off to help you lately. Time it seems you never even once thanked her for." Okay now I feel less than human thanks dad.

"Do you know if she made that doctor's appointment?"

"No but it being Friday I doubt she would be able to get you in until Monday or Tuesday at the earliest."he said while sipping his coffee.

"You should go help Sam get ready. I'll drive you both to school this morning." and that was dad's father son talk. It's never alot but there is meaning in the unsaid words.

I went to my sister's door and knocked on it before entering. She was at her vanity table already dressed in another long skirt and sweater, not quite matching, but otherwise nice looking. I watched her brush her long hair repeatedly for a few minutes thinking about what I should say. She however beat me to the punch.

"You hurt mom last night."

"I know."

"Dad talk to you Bill?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

"I fucked up. It's just that the whole...Belle thing and the breasts it was too much. And...I think I took it out on mom." brush brush brush.

"She still loves you you know."

"I don't deserve it."

"No you don't. But she still put you to bed even after all you did to her."

"Oh"

"Yeah oh."

"Uhmmm. Do you need me to do anything?" I asked her. Surprisingly she allowed me to help her finish getting ready. I got a lesson that morning on how to apply makeup, or more specifically how to hide stuff with makeup. She wouldn't let me near her eyes and my hands got covered with foundation and powder but at least her face looked all one color and the yellowish bruises were covered up. She did teach me how to apply mascara to my own eyes along with eye shadow.

It was a closeness of a sort when dad came to her room and found us giggling at how stupid I made my eyes look. I used her makeup remover to clean my face before I washed it in the bathroom sink. As silly as it was the ice that morning was broken and we got along. Not as brother and sister but more as big sister to little sister I guess. She smiled as I pushed her wheelchair around to the car.

One thing she didn't tell me nor did I notice was that mascara leaves a dark stain behind on the actual lashes. So my normally lightly colored lashes were darker than usual. Not alot actually you would have to look closely to even notice it at all. The subtly of it was enough to change the way my eyes looked just that tiniest little bit that make my face look just an itty bit more feminine.

School seemed to have returned to normal for me. I still had to use the unisex washroom as the guys made it clear mens rooms were off limits to me. Still people were calling me Bill. Sorta anyways, it was more like 'uh yeah uh Be...ill'. It was a far cry better than Belle that's for sure. I wasn't really obsessing over it, I just noticed it.

All seemed well till lunch time came around and I had gone to the lunchroom to eat. Or I was going to anyways, when the posse of girls that had ambushed me yesterday morning with makeup were waiting for me as I exited the stall. I tried to ignore them and just wash up but as you would guess they had other ideas.

"Belle stop this nonsense."

"Excuse me?" what nonsense?

"Look Belle your an attractive girl,more than any boy has any right being, which just proves your really a girl...with a bit of a plumbing problem."

"Hello Bill not Belle!" like give me a break with this crap.

"Look Belle, who is NOT Bill, it's okay to feel scared. Jason was pushing your limits and we understand that. Still it's no reason to run to the closet because your scared."closet? What closet? What is she talking about?

I tried to just ignore them and continued to wash my hands. A few of the girls said pretty much the same thing before leaving. They think that me being Bill is a costume and me being Belle is the real me. How? Why? What is it that people see in me that screams Belle. I stopped washing my hands and looked at myself in the mirror for a long time after they left.

All I see is me.