“Stop crying!” The middle-aged man barks as the electric clippers shear my head clean of the hair I’d been growing over the last twelve months. I gulp and blink my eyes, but as lock after lock of light blonde hair tumbles in front of my face, I can’t control my emotions. My life, just my hair, is tumbling down in front of me.

Once the haircut is complete, I look at myself in the mirror and I want to scream. Looking back at me is undoubtedly the face of a pre-teen boy. A pre-teen boy with a cute face, but a boy nonetheless.

“There,” dad says, placing a hand on my shoulder and smiling at my reflection. “There, isn’t that better? Say that you’re a boy.”

“No,” I whisper futilely.

“Say it!” Dad orders. “Now!”

“I am a boy,” I say, dying inside with every word I say.

“And you always will be,” dad growls in my ear as he pays for the haircut and shoves me onto the back seat of his car, locking the doors just as he did 24 hours earlier, when my nightmare began.

I should be enjoying the school holidays. It’s August, it’s blazing hot, the perfect weather for wearing light, floaty skirts with no tights underneath, but instead I’m wearing plain dark blue jeans and a boy’s button-up shirt- ‘what a boy should wear’ according to my father. 24 hours ago, though, I was wearing one of those floaty skirts, a cute black one with a pink floral pattern on it. I was in the supermarket with my mum, doing the weekly shopping, when I felt a strong arm grab me from behind. Before I could cry out, a gag was stuffed in my mouth, silencing me, and I was led out of the supermarket by the arm. Every time I tried to resist or remove my gag, my dad would tighten his grip on my arm, actually bringing tears to my eyes with the pain he was causing. 24 hours later, the bruises still haven’t faded.

In his car, I kicked and screamed, I begged to be let out, to go back to my mum. I even tried to break the window, but every time I tried to resist dad threatened to ‘thrash me to within an inch of my life’. We drove for hours, eventually arriving in Leeds, where my dad lives. Making sure that no one saw us, he dragged me out of his car and all but threw me into his house.

“I’ve got some proper clothes upstairs,” dad growled at me. “Go and change out of that women’s shit. Now!”

“Take me home to mum!” I bawled, my voice filled with fear, anger and confusion.

“Your mother doesn’t want you anymore,” dad snorted. “I’m taking care of you now, and you are going to be a boy!”

“I’m a girl!” I yelled, only to freeze in terror as dad pulled back his fist and threw a punch straight into the wall mere inches away from my head.

“LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO!” Dad yelled as he grabbed me and forced me to look at the hole he’d just created in the plaster. “NOW GET UPSTAIRS! NOW!” Meekly, I obeyed, crying and shaking as I removed my beautiful skirt and my comfortable underwear and changed into the boxer shorts, jeans and shirt dad had laid out for me. When I trudged downstairs to the living room, dad had a satisfied look on his face, though his facial expression soured when he saw that I’d been crying.

“Stop crying!” Dad yelled. “You’re not a fucking woman and you never will be!” I took several deep breaths and dried my eyes.

“I want to call mum,” I said in a small, terrified voice.

“I told you, she doesn’t want to raise you anymore,” dad growled. “I’m going to teach you how to be a man. You should be thanking me for this.” A pause filled the room as dad stared at me with angry eyes.

“Well?” Dad asked, incredulously. “Aren’t you going to thank me?”

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“Louder!” Dad ordered.

“Thank you,” I said, my voice quivering.

“Better,” dad said. “Now get some rest. First thing tomorrow we’re getting you a PROPER haircut, get rid of that stupid girl’s hair. Then we’ll get you enrolled in a school up here. This is your life from now on, LEON, I suggest you start liking it!”

I cried the following morning- this morning- as I woke up, hoping that the experience had been just a nightmare, but the sight of my jeans on the chair brought me crashing down to reality.

As I get out of dad’s car and meekly march into his home, my hair, my femininity and my entire life erased in a second, I feel like dying. I actually feel like I could take a gun right now and end my life.

“Stop looking so miserable,” dad spits. “This is for your own good.”

“I want to speak to mum,” I mumble meekly, making dad growl angrily and punch the wall again.

“EVERY ONE OF THOSE YOU CAUSE IS COMING OUT OF YOUR POCKET MONEY!” Dad yells, pointing at the hole that he’d just created. “Your mother doesn’t love you anymore! She never did, especially after you started pretending to be a fucking woman!” I choke back tears and nod, but I don’t believe him for a second. One thing he says is true, though- I never really was a girl, I was only pretending. As I look at myself in my bedroom mirror, all I see is a boy. Even after taking my ‘boy blockers’ for eight months, I’m still unmistakably male- and now, it looks like that’s all I’ll ever be.

…But that doesn’t mean I have to accept my fate. Whilst dad stays downstairs watching TV, I search my new bedroom for anything I can use to contact someone, anyone- mum, grandma, the police, even Ricky. I’ve watched TV shows and films where the hero- or, more commonly, heroine- is kidnapped, and it always scared me, but living through this… Is infinitely more terrifying. I open each drawer as carefully as possible, desperate not to disturb dad downstairs, but all I find are more and more boy’s clothes- no phone, no computer, no nothing. As I’m looking around my bedroom, the sight of a lock on the door- to which I obviously don’t have a key- sends shivers down my spine. I pace my room for what feels like ages, desperately trying to think of a way to get out of my predicament, before I’m interrupted by a call from downstairs.

“Leon!” dad yells. “Get down here!” With my head held low, I obey, shuffling downstairs as slowly as possible in an attempt to delay the inevitable. I shiver as I enter the living room to see dad staring at me, though the previous anger in his eyes has been replaced by a look of what could almost be described as love.

“What took you so long?” Dad snorts. “Football’s on, figure you’d want to watch it.”

“I don’t like football…” I meekly argue, but the look in dad’s eyes quickly sours, making me gulp and fear for my health.

“Don’t be stupid,” dad spits. “All boys like football! And you are a boy, aren’t you?” The threatening tone in dad’s voice makes me shudder before I answer.

“Yes,” I say, feeling more and more nauseated. “I am a boy.”

“…And?” Dad asks, gesturing toward the TV screen

“…And I like football,” I say, barely keeping myself from collapsing on the floor.

“Good lad,” dad says with obvious pride. “What’s your favourite team?”

“I- I dunno,” I say, stammering as I’m put on the spot.

“Every boy knows who their favourite team is,” dad scoffs. “So who’s yours?”

“Umm…” I stammer, trying to think of any football team. “Chelsea?”

“Chelsea!?” Dad shouts angrily. “You’re a Leeds supporter, just like your old man! Only women and poofs support Chelsea!”

“…I support Leeds,” I whisper.

“Damn right you do,” dad says, gesturing to the sofa opposite the TV, which I dutifully park myself. We spend the rest of the afternoon and evening watching various different football matches, and as much as it pains me to admit it, by the end of the day, I was almost enjoying it, if only because dad’s attention was focussed on the games rather than me. I go to bed shortly before 9pm, changing into a loose pair of shorts and a plain white t-shirt and wishing every second that I was wearing my pretty blue nightdress, that I have no doubt is still laid out on my bed at home- my REAL home.

As I huddle under the thin bed sheets, I try not to cry myself as I feel my stubble-short hair rub against the soft cotton of the pillowcase. Two days ago, I was in bed wearing a nightie, my near shoulder-length hair bunched underneath me… I was in heaven, and now I’m in hell. And just to rub it in further, before I fall asleep, the devil himself comes in to check on me.

“I AM doing this all for your own good, Leon,” dad says. “I DO love you, and I only want what’s best for you.”

“I know,” I say quietly as dad snaps off my bedroom light. I close my eyes and quickly try to fall asleep, but the sheer wrongness of my situation- and my underlying terror- prevents me from getting any rest. After hours of tossing and turning, I stare over at my bedside clock- which reads 1:21am- and a plan begins to form in my mind. Earlier, I’d seen dad use a mobile phone to call a betting line- it must be in the house somewhere. I quietly slide of my bed and pad downstairs in the darkness, trembling with every step I take. Much to my dismay, when I reach the living room, the phone is nowhere to be found. A quick search of the kitchen yields no luck either. I take a deep breath to calm my nerves as I return back up the stairs, freezing in terror every time a step creaks under my feet. I eventually reach the door to my bedroom, ready to admit defeat, when I notice that the door to dad’s bedroom is slightly ajar. I pause briefly to decide whether or not I’m brave enough to sneak into his room whilst the man’s asleep, before taking a deep breath and slowly open his door further. When dad doesn’t wake up, I glance around the room and quickly spot the phone on his bedside table.

I drop my knees and slowly crawl across the floor toward the phone, my breathing and my heart getting faster and faster as I near the key to my freedom. I lay a finger on the phone and smile triumphantly, when all of a sudden, dad’s light snaps on and I find myself staring straight into the furious face of the older man, who immediately realises what I was planning.

“You ungrateful little shit,” dad growls, snatching the phone away from me. In one swift motion, dad slams the phone down on my hand, making me cry out in pain.

“If this is broken, you’re paying for it,” dad says, getting out of bed and squeezing my injured hand tight as he literally drags me back to my bedroom.

“AND STAY IN THERE, YOU LITTLE BASTARD!” Dad yells as I fall heavily to the floor, tears freely flowing from my eyes. Dad slams the door, and before I can even move, I hear the door lock behind the angry old man. Still crying, I crawl into bed, cradling my hand and rocking back and forth as I cry myself into a deep sleep…

“Hey Laura!” Nicole greets me with a hug as I arrive at the school gate, my knee-length pleated skirt blowing in the wind.

“Hey Laura!” Megan, Harriet, Priya and Suriya all say, greeting me with individual hugs. Before I can reply, however, my five friends all walk off, leaving me on my own in my school uniform, my skirt having been replaced by a pair of itchy trousers that slowly creep up my torso to around my throat, squeezing the life out of me…

I wake up with a start and for a second I’m confused, wondering why I’m in an unfamiliar room, when all of a sudden the horror of my situation comes flooding back to me and I silently cry into my pillow, only drying my eyes when I hear my bedroom door unlock and my dad poke his head around the door.

“I trust there won’t be any repeat of what happened last night,” dad says with a stoic voice. “Get up and get dressed, we’re going shopping for your new school uniform today.” I nod and silently slide out of bed, dressing in the jeans and shirt that dad’s laid out for me.

After a breakfast of bacon and eggs that leaves me feeling sick, but dad insists I need to eat as ‘boys need food and energy to grow big and strong’, we head into the centre of Leeds and to the vast Uniform Direct shop. The last time I went into a shop like this last August, I was giddy with excitement as mum filled her basket with skirts, blouses, loads of pairs of grey tights and my red one-piece school swimsuit. Walking round the shop with dad today, I feel sick.

“Do you like these football boots?” dad asks, showing me a pair of studded boots that I try to feign interest in.

“They’re okay,” I mumble, prompting dad to put them in the basket along with two pairs of grey trousers, three white shirts, a blazer- a BOY’s blazer- a boy’s PE kit (including, much to my horror, a rugby shirt) and five pairs of black socks. Dad pays for all the clothes- which come to well over £100- and I feign gratitude, but inside, I know I would literally rather die than ever pull on a rugby shirt and football boots. As we leave the shop, I longingly gaze at the rack after rack of gymnastics leotards, trying desperately to remember the feeling of my own ballet leotard as I stretched it over my body, but a sharp tug on my still-hurting hand snaps me out of my daydream and back to the nightmarish reality I inhabit.

As we walk back to dad’s car I slowly start to resign myself to my fate. I am a boy- and that is what I’ll always be for the foreseeable future. And yet, every time I walk past a girl wearing the same type of light, floaty skirt I wore two days ago, I feel a twinge of pain. It should be me in that skirt. It WAS me in that skirt. It would be me in that skirt… But it can’t be, not anymore.

After arriving ‘home’ and putting my new school uniform away, dad turns on the TV, leaving it on a sports channel showing motorcycle racing. When dad leaves the room, I change the channel to the BBC1 channel for London, hoping to catch the end of the local news bulletin in the vain hope that there’s something about me on it, but all I get is the end credits. I silently weep as it suddenly dawns on me that I’ll never see anyone I love ever again. My mum, my grandma, my friends, even my brother… And Phil. They’re all gone, gone forever. I dry my eyes as dad returns to the lounge and changes the channel back to the motorbike racing.

“Why did you change the channel?” Dad asks accusingly.

“I, um, I wanted to watch the news…” I feebly reply, unable even to lie to the domineering man.

“You’re not going to be on it, you know,” dad says threateningly. “You weren’t kidnapped. Your mum doesn’t love you anymore and sent you to live with me.”

“Then why did you grab me and gag me?” I ask, making dad’s face flush with anger.

“Because I knew you’d be an ungrateful little shit!” Dad snaps, before turning his attention back to the television.

As I settle down for my third night behind my locked bedroom door it’s all I can do not to curl up into a ball and die. If I had the option, I would gladly fall asleep and never wake up, but I know that no matter how hard I try to hold my breath, or wrap my t-shirt around my face to try to suffocate myself, I will wake up tomorrow morning and my hell will continue. With no other option, I clasp my hands and close my eyes.

“God,” I pray. “I know I’ve never really believed in you before, but right now I’m in a lot of trouble. I’m in a lot of trouble, and I need a miracle, something, anything, please.” I pause, listening only to the sound of silence, before clasping my pillow over my face and screaming long and loud until my throat is raw…

I wake up the following morning and dress in my jeans and shirt, before heading downstairs for another bacon and eggs breakfast that leaves me feeling sicker than ever. I look down at my stomach and I can almost see my previous slender waist expanding, inch by inch…

“What do you want to do today, Leon?” Dad asks. “And don’t say ANYTHING about your mum or your grandma!” I pause, tears filling my eyes as I'm reminded about the two women I may never see again.

"Tell you what," dad says in a kind voice that I know is hiding his inner rage, "how about I take you to McDonalds for lunch so we can catch up? You know, as proper father and son?" Ordinarily, a trip to McDonalds would be a perfect treat, but after a fattening breakfast... And with dad... It just makes me feel even sicker.

"That sounds good," I whisper, barely holding back a retch as dad chuckles happily.

Just after noon, the two of us leave his house and get in his car to head into the city centre. I briefly consider running, but I know it'd do no good- he's stronger than me and faster than me, and where would I run to? We're in the middle of an estate in a huge city where every street looks the same, and I don't have any idea where I'd run to... The only place I could run to to accomplish anything is the middle of the street, and there are no cars coming in either direction...

As I pick away at my Big Mac, I feel more and more sick. I would give anything, ANYTHING for my prayer to be answered right now. I don't believe for one second that mum and grandma aren't out looking for me, but Leeds is a big place, with over three-quarters of a million people... A father and his son blend into the crowd, even if our faces have been circulated to police.

"Come on," dad urges as he wolfs down his own burger. "Get that down you, I paid £4.39 for that!" I meekly obey and cram the burger down my throat, feeling more and more sick with every bite.

"I have to use the toilet," I announce after finishing my meal. Dad simply rolls his eyes and grabs my arm, guiding me to the men's toilet, which I shudder as I enter. Unlike the public women's toilets I've used, this toilet- whilst clean- has an air about it that feels corrupt, like I shouldn't be here, and when dad directs me to one of the urinals, it's all I can do not to break down in tears.

"I, um, I-" I say, desperate not to use the urinal. I haven't peed whilst standing up in over a year, and I have no intention of starting now. It may seem silly, but if I'd used that urinal... I'd have been giving up.

"You need a shit?" Dad asks, and I nod in response. "Go and pick a cubicle, then." Still shivering from being in the 'wrong' toilet, I pick the cubicle furthest away from the exit, praying for there to be a window, or a cupboard, or anything, but all there is in there is a porcelain basin. Unable to control myself any longer, I silently retch, vomiting my lunch into the bowl. Once it's all out of me, I allow myself a quick grin- my first genuine smile since my ordeal began- before wiping my mouth and flushing the chain. Not keeping my lunch down is only a small victory against dad, but it IS a victory nonetheless.

"Feel better?" Dad asks after I wash my hands.

"Yeah," I say, feeling internally smug about my 'victory'.

"Good," dad says. "Decided what you want to do tonight yet?" I sigh sadly as dad asks me the question to which there will inevitably be only one right answer- sitting on the TV watching sport. Tonight I SHOULD be pulling on a pair of pink tights, a pale blue leotard and dancing ballet with my friends... But that'll never happen again.

"I- I don't mind," I say, my will finally breaking. Dad's triumphant chuckle finally smashes what little hope I had left. No one is coming to rescue me, that's plainly obvious. Before long, dad will have moved me out of Leeds and somewhere more remote- possibly even to another country- and the only options I will have for my life are 'boy' or 'death'. And right now, I know exactly which one of those I'd prefer.

As we walk back through the crowded restaurant, I stare at the busy street outside. Cars are rushing past at 30mph. It'd be no trouble, no trouble at all to simply run out in front of one of them, bring my nightmare to an end...

As we head out onto the street, however, I see a sight that restores my faith. There, in a public phone booth, is the unmistakable sight of my brother. He's wearing plain clothes- jeans and a t-shirt, just like me- rather than his military fatigues, but his face, particularly his profile, can only belong to him. I briefly consider calling out to him, knowing that in a physical fight between him and dad, Ricky would win every time, but there's still the chance dad could get away, take me abroad...

"Come on, let's go home," dad says, dragging me away from my potential saviour. I briefly scan the street behind Ricky for anything I can use to get me closer to him...

"Newsagent," I whisper to myself. "Um, dad?"

"What is it?" Dad asks, confused.

"Can I, um, can I get a football magazine? The season's just started, I want to catch up..." Dad looks over at the newsagent, following my gaze, and my heart stops for a second as I fear that he's spotted Ricky as well, but much to my relief, he simply smiles, thinking he's 'broken' me.

"Come on," dad chuckles, taking me to the newsagent. I have only one chance to attract Ricky's attention, and as we pass the phone box- which dad still hasn't realised contains his other son- I take a deep breath, and knock on the door, hoping that dad didn't realise my plan. He briefly looks confused by the noise, but on a busy main street such as the one we're walking down, odd noises are commonplace, so dad quickly dismisses it. However, I have no idea of knowing if my plan worked...

As we head back to dad's car, Ricky is nowhere in sight, and my heart once again sinks. Maybe he didn't hear me- he was on the phone, after all- maybe he didn't spot me in time. Maybe it wasn't even Ricky? All I know is that I'm heading home with a football magazine in hand- which I pretend to read after arriving home, but inside, all I want, more than anything else, is to see the front door fly open and Ricky to come in, laying out dad whilst taking me home...

"I'm ordering pizza for dinner," dad says, picking up the mobile phone I'd so nearly gained access to, and which left a still-visible bruise on my right hand. "What do you want on yours?"

"I don't mind," I say.

"Well, just pick something!" Dad demands.

"Ham," I say without thinking. It seems a shame to waste good food by throwing it back up into the toilet... But it’ll be another blow against my captor."

"One large ham pizza, one large pepperoni, one large side of wedges," dad says into his phone, before turning to me. "Hope that McDonalds hasn't spoiled your appetite!" If only he knew...

I immerse myself in the football in my magazine and on the television for the next few hours until our pizzas arrive. Dad throws me the 12 inch wide dish which I tuck into, predictably feeling sicker and sicker with every bite.

"Dammit, I ordered potato wedges as well," dad says when he sits down to discover his side missing. Another knock at the door makes the older man smile as I choke down slice after slice of the fatty food.

"That'll be them," dad says, opening the door, but his face soon falls when he sees who is at the door.

"Are you Robert White?" A thick Yorkshire accent- and most definitely not that of the pizza delivery man- asks.

"Who needs to know?" Dad asks, his voice suddenly filled with panic.

"West Yorkshire Police," the man says. "You're a hard man to track down, Mr. White. I'm sure you're aware that your daughter was abducted from her London home three days ago. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?" With nothing to lose- and reinvigorated at being described as his 'daughter', I seize my opportunity, knowing that it might be my only one.

"Help!" I yell, making dad stare at me angrily. "Help, please!" Dad immediately bolts for the back door, but doesn't get two steps before the policeman is on top of him, cuffing his hands behind his back.

"Robert White, I am arresting you on the charge of child abduction," the policeman says triumphantly. "You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Now get your arse off the floor." I stare, dumbfounded, as dad is led into the police car outside and taken away. Just like that, in the blink of an eye, my ordeal is over...

A policewoman with a kind face enters the house and immediately comes over to where I'm sitting, snapping me out of my daze.

"Hi, are you Laura?" The kind woman asks in her own Yorkshire accent.

"Hi," I say, still in shock at the turn of events. "Hi, um, yes, I'm Laura. I AM Laura." I smile as I use the name I thought I'd never ever use again.

"My name's PC Karen Hodge, I'm here to take you home," the policewoman says, bringing tears to my eyes. "Do you want to finish your pizza first?"

"No way!" I say, closing the pizza box and making PC Hodge laugh.

"Come on," Karen giggles, taking my hand and leading me out to her own police car. At the station- where I'm told dad is being held, but he's nowhere to be seen- I'm led into a small, warm room, where I see the face of my saviour.

"Ricky!" I yell, breaking free of Karen's handhold and rushing forward to give my brother a long, tight hug. "I knew you'd come, I just knew it!"

"Your hair looks stupid," Ricky says, cautiously returning my hug. "It's much better long." I laugh as tears flow from my eyes.

"How did you know how to find me?" I ask.

"I knew Robert lived in Leeds," Ricky explains, deliberately avoiding any use of the words 'dad' or 'father'. "Mum called me the second you went missing, I immediately got on a train to Leeds. Monday and Tuesday I walked all round the city centre, today I was all but ready to give up when I heard you knocking on the door of that phone box. I saw you, followed you back to Robert's house, called the cops, here we are."

"You've been here three days?" I ask, my jaw dropping.

"Hey, I'm not going to let my little sister down now, am I?" Ricky says smugly. I give Ricky another tight hug as I once again cry uncontrollably. He may not have supported me at first, he may have been an arsehole, but right now... Everything is forgiven.

"Last train back to London is at 9:33," Ricky explains. "We should be able to make it in time."

"I'll call you both a taxi," PC Hodge says. "You may need to come back to Leeds to give statements, but right now the most important thing is to get you home." My entire body goes weak as my adrenaline drains and I realise that yes, I am going home. This time tomorrow, I'll be in my own clothes- Laura's clothes- sleeping in my own bed. Sure, my hair will still be short, but I grew it back last year, and I'll grow it back this year.

The train journey is long and tedious, and I'm actually asleep when the train pulls into King's Cross station, but Ricky nudges me awake as everyone starts to depart, and as I step out into the station concourse, my eyes fill with tears as I see my mum and my grandma standing there. Ricky lets my hand go and I immediately run over to mum, embracing her in the tightest hug I have ever given anyone.

"I love you," mum whispers into my ear. "I love you so much..." Grandma joins in the hug, and at the urging of the two women, Ricky does as well. We remain in the station for what feels like an age, before getting in grandma's car and driving home, where I immediately change out of- and dispose of- my nasty boy's clothes and underwear, and pull on my pale blue nightie, which was, as I'd predicted, laid out on my bed for me. However, even after I pull on the delicate nightdress, when I look in the mirror, I still only see a boy wearing girl's clothing. Despite all my efforts over the last year to integrate with my friends... I'm still not truly 'one of the girls'. Dad's right- I am just 'pretending' to be a woman.

"My beautiful girl," mum says, giving me a tight hug from behind that causes me to bristle slightly at the memory of how I was so cruelly ripped away from this life.

"But I'm not," I moan. "I'm not beautiful... And I'm not a girl..." Mum simply sighs and rests her head on my shoulder.

"You ARE beautiful, and you were a girl for the last twelve months," mum says. "You were happy as a girl, you were successful in school as a girl... Your hair will grow back, it did before."

"I know..." I sigh.

"You're just tired," mum says. "Your friends will all be coming over tomorrow, they're dying to see you... Just get some sleep, I'm sure you'll feel better in the morning."

"Okay," I say, climbing into bed. "Mum?"

"Yes, Laura?" Mum says.

"I do love you," I say through teary eyes. "I'm so glad I'm home..." With it being almost 2am, I almost immediately fall asleep.

"Leon!" Dad yells in the darkness. "Leon! Come here!"

"I- I don't know where you are..." I moan as I stumble around the featureless space.

"I'm right here!" Dad snaps angrily. "Come here! NOW!" I fall to the ground and start to spasm as dad's yells grow louder and louder...

I awake with a scream, and within seconds, mum is in my room, giving me a tight, comforting hug.

"It was just a nightmare," mum whispers. "It's over now, it's all over now..."

"What time is it?" I ask.

"Just gone 7am," mum says. "Why?"

"I should get up," I say meekly, swinging my legs out of bed.

"You- you've only had five hours," mum argues, but I'm already in the bathroom, sitting on the toilet for my morning pee. After washing, I look at the small vial of pills on the windowsill and sigh- my 'boy blockers', that I haven't taken in four days. If my experience has taught me anything, it's that I'll never 'truly' be a girl. As much as I may pretend, as much as others may join in the illusion, that's just what it is, an illusion. I can't live a lie... But the truth hurts even more.

I pop a pill out of the vial and play with it for a short while. Eventually, I shake my head and start to return it to the vial, when I catch sight of the latest copy of Teen Globe magazine sat in the rack beside the toilet. And it IS the latest copy- the one published on Tuesday, whilst I was still in Leeds. Mum must have bought it in the hope that I'd read it when I returned home. I sit back down on the toilet and open the magazine, smiling when I reach my favourite article- Nikki Thomas's monthly column.

'Just because your genetics, because your body says otherwise,' the column reads, 'it doesn't make you any less a girl. Even if you have short hair, or no hair, it's what's inside that matters. If you look in the mirror and don't know what you see, ask yourself this question- what do you WANT to see?' I put the magazine down and stand up, staring in the mirror at the face staring back at me. What I see is a pre-teen boy, wearing a girl's nightie. But when I close my eyes, what I see is a glamorous woman, maybe an actress or a ballerina, wearing a sweeping, long gown, her face immaculately made up, her neck long, her waist slender...

I open my mouth and pop the 'boy blocker' on my tongue, swallowing it in an instant. Just because I'm not a girl... It doesn't mean I CAN'T be. After making a mental note to send a 'thank you' email to Nikki for her advice, I head back to my bedroom where mum's still waiting and change out of my nightdress into a brand new pair of girl's panties, before pulling on a knee-length denim skirt and my cutest pink t-shirt. Mum actually has tears in her eyes as I apply a small amount of mascara and eyeliner, before finishing up with some clear lip-gloss. Sure, in the mirror all I see is a pre-teen boy wearing girl's clothing and make-up, but in my mind's eye... I see a GODDESS.

When I head downstairs I bristle slightly as I see grandma sat on the sofa, despite the older woman's warm smile.

"I know, I'm wearing too much make-up," I say, making grandma chuckle.

"You wear as much make-up as you want!" Grandma says, giving me a tight hug. "I'm so glad you're back... I hope they lock that evil man away and throw away the key!"

"Where's Ricky?" I ask.

"Gone back to his barracks," mum says. "He didn't want to wake you before he left... You owe him a lot, Laura."

"I know," I say. "I owe him my life..." Mum and grandma both give me big hugs as I say this and continue to hug me as we sit down on the sofa and the two women fill me in on what happened during my absence. It turns out there WAS a media report about my disappearance, with mum, grandma, all my friends, even some of my teachers (including my ballet teacher) giving interviews. I'm astonished when I watch some of the interviews on TV- heartbroken when I see mum and grandma bawling their eyes out following my disappearance, and surprised and sad to see my friends- even the normally tough Harriet- all crying as they're interviewed. If I lost any of these people- as I nearly lost grandma a few months ago- I'd be devastated, but to see them so emotional, and knowing that all that emotion is for me... It doesn't take long for me to cry myself.

A short while later, when my friends arrive, I launch myself into the group hug as fast as it approaches me. After a few comments about my hair- and how much I was missed during my absence- the six of us quickly fall back into our old routine of talking about music, dancing (apparently our dance teacher has a special surprise for my return, even though I've only missed one lesson) and the upcoming start of the school year and experimenting with various make-up styles. My friends all stay until it's time for our ballet class, eating lunch and dinner at my house (I don't eat much, my appetite having not fully recovered) and changing into their identical pink tights and blue leotards. I actually receive a round of applause from my friends as I descend the stairs in my own dancewear, which feels more comfortable than ever, snugly wrapped around my body.

"Laura!" Miss Fullerton gasps excitedly as I arrive at her class. "It's so good to see you back, I just want to give you a big hug!" Miss Fullerton looks expectantly at mum, who simply sighs and nods, prompting the tall, slender dance teacher to reach down and wrap me in her arms. "This place just wasn't the same without you..."

"I only missed one lesson," I giggle as I and my friends follow Miss Fullerton into the studio, where I'm greeted with yet another rapturous round of applause.

"It's good I had this made in time then, isn't it?" Miss Fullerton says, going into her storage closet and producing a beautiful baby pink tutu that she hands to me.

"Oh my god," Nicole coos as I inspect the delicate fabric. "It's so beautiful..."

"I think," Miss Fullerton explains, "for one night only, someone needs to be treated like the princess that she is."

"I'm hardly a princess with this hair, though..." I moan as I rub my buzz cut.

"Well, I also have wigs," Miss Fullerton says. "Unless, of course, you'd prefer this..." I gasp as the blonde woman produces a sparkling silver tiara from her costume box, which she places on my head. As I look in the studio's mirrors, my eyes see a boy dressed in a leotard, a pair of tights and a tiara, but my brain sees a truly beautiful princess. A princess who could possibly stand to lose a little weight, but a princess nonetheless, especially after I change into the tutu and dance a few steps for the delighted crowd of students and parents. I smile, and eventually laugh manically as I twirl around the floor. My nightmare is over. Dad is gone, Ricky has finally accepted me as his sister, and I am where I belong- among family and friends who love me for the girl I am.

Six weeks later, I find myself sat on a hard bench in a courtroom in Leeds. My hair is still short, but my legs are covered with black tights and a smart black skirt, my face is covered in a light layer of make-up and my nails are coated in clear polish.

"Mr. White," the judge says in his summing up. "What you did was not only criminal, but it was selfish and highly damaging. You thought nothing of your daughter's safety and welfare when you committed this heinous crime, and only thought of your own perceived shame at having a transgendered child. I have no hesitation in handing down the maximum possible sentence: you will go to prison for seven years." I look over at my father as he hangs his head at the news of his fate, but I don't feel the slightest shred of sympathy for him. He chose to do what he did, and must face the consequences, severe as they may be.

"It's over now," mum whispers to me as dad is led away in handcuffs. "Where do you want to go for dinner?"

"Anywhere BUT McDonalds," I say with a smile, making mum giggle and give me a quick hug.