Chapter 2

The obvious answer was to take this body to my mother. My mother was an amazing woman. I was seven when my mother managed to get away from my father and take us, including my five-year-old sister, to a woman's shelter. We moved to another city and started with nothing, but my mother worked hard and I can honestly say we never lacked anything we needed. My sister wanted more, but she got everything she needed.

I knew that this body that I was temporarily controlling, would be safe, cared for and loved by my mother if I could get it there. The difficulty was that I had so little knowledge. I didn't know the name of anyone in the house, not even my own. I didn't know where I was or what I looked like.

With a frisson of fear, I felt the ugly soul of the man get up out of bed. I cowered in my bed, going into a fetal position, terrified that he would come back. I hadn't really felt any of his previous attacks, but if he did anything now, I would feel all of it.

I felt him move around and then the shower went on. I released a bit of tension in my body. He was getting up. He always got up early to go to work. I was safe. Despite knowing that and watching the woman get up and go to the kitchen to make his breakfast, I didn't fully relax until he left the house.

I got up carefully and had a look at myself. I was wearing a nightie and had very pale blonde hair. A quick check confirmed I was a girl. I took a deep breath, that was unexpected. I had presumed that since the man was only interested in my bottom that I was a boy. That didn't really change anything though. I still had to do my best for this new body until the owner returned. There was a small voice that asked the question, what if she never returned? I was small and slight, definitely a child, but I wasn't sure of the age. I went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. Bright blue eyes stared back at me. In combination with the pale hair, my look was quite striking. I was going to have to cut my hair short or dye it if I was to go on the run.

I had very little pubic hair and only the slightest hint of breasts although my nipples were both sensitive and itchy. I had a big scar on the front of my chest, so I guessed it was a heart transplant. I had a shower and washed myself thoroughly. I didn't exactly explore, but I did touch my new areas and try and make sure they were clean. I washed my bottom. Any evidence was lost but I realised that going to the police or phoning a child helpline might get me help eventually, but at best it would be with a stranger and I couldn't see it happening before that man had another go at me.

Getting dressed was an experience. Putting on panties and having nothing to bulge did strain my mind briefly. My drawer also had these sports bra type things that were more for the appearance than requirement, I think. Wearing it definitely reminded me that my body was female. Looking in the wardrobe I saw a school uniform dress. I swallowed nervously. I didn't really have much choice. I put it on. I couldn't help feeling that I was half-naked. I brushed my hair out. It was still fairly wet, but I didn't know how to dry it with a hairdryer. It seemed quite an involved process when I had seen my mother or sister do it.

I then searched the room looking for anything that could help me. I found a school backpack. I put a pair of jeans and a denim jacket with a few pairs of underwear, socks and bras in. I rolled a jumper up and put it in along with a pair of trainers. Three T-shirts and another dress, to give me options. My best find was a small handbag with a purse and twenty dollars in it as well as a travel card. I didn't know if I was going to go on the run, but I wanted to be prepared in case. I would be incredibly vulnerable if I did that, but I was even more vulnerable at home.

I went downstairs and met the woman who I guessed was my mother. She had pale blonde hair and blue eyes, but her eyes were lifeless.

“You better hurry up, we have to leave in ten minutes. I've made you lunch,” she said indicating a pack lunch bag.

“Thank you,” I said. I didn't know what I normally had for breakfast or even what cupboard I should look in for it, but there weren't many that could be a pantry and most kids eat cereal for breakfast. At the bottom of the pantry was a box of corn flakes, so I grabbed that out and then realised I had no idea where the bowls were kept or spoons.

The woman huffed and got them for me. “You are old enough to get these yourself, young lady,” she said.

“Thank you,” I muttered again and proceeded to eat.

Fortunately, she had left the room before I had finished, so I could go around quickly and find out where things were, putting my bowl in the dishwasher and the milk back in the fridge. I filled the water bottle I had in my school bag with water from the tap. I was ready to go to a school I didn't know to meet friends who I wouldn't recognise.

It was scary and my little body was full of emotions, feeling them much stronger than I ever remember as Eric. I had worked out a plan A and a plan B. Plan A was to convince this woman that we needed to go to a woman's shelter, today before the man came back. If that didn't work, I would need to figure out a plan to run away.

During the journey, I was trying to gather my courage to speak to the woman, but the journey was short and we arrived quickly, so I had no choice but to go for it as she parked the car to let me out.

“Mum. I can't let him do that to me again,” I said with a shaky voice.

“We've spoken about this, Cindy,” she said, looking away. “He will kill us if we leave. We have to endure.”

I got out of the car. She was too scared to ever leave him. At least I found out my name. I caught sight of her eyes when she started pulling away, noticing the tears. Plan B it was then.

As I walked towards the school another girl ran towards me and straight into a hug. I instinctively hugged her back, smiling. She immediately started talking and didn't seem to breathe between sentences, which was great for me since I had absolutely no idea what to say. I just followed where she led which was to a classroom. She carried on chatting until the bell went and our teacher arrived. Our first lesson was music in the music room, so we all had to trek in single-file to another room and then sit cross-legged for our lesson.

The lesson was very basic and I found it quite boring. Considering I had been an eighteen-year-old man who had only recently finished school and had been playing the violin for twelve years, it wasn't too surprising. I did note the musical instruments in a case with a glass front and that gave me an idea. When the class ended I went straight up to the teacher.

“Miss, could I borrow a violin?” I asked.

“Those instruments are for our school orchestra. Are you joining up? Have you been having lessons?” she asked.

“Yes, for a while now,” I answered.

“Come here at lunchtime. If you can show that you can play, then you can borrow one,” she agreed.

I rushed back to join my friend.

She looked at me puzzled. I think she was my best friend and had waited while I spoke to the teacher, overhearing my conversation.

I looked her in the eye. She was sticking to me like glue, which was helping me to go unnoticed despite my lack of knowledge but was going to be difficult to lose if I needed to leave. “I'll tell you more at lunch.”

The lessons before lunch were easy for me. As soon as lunchtime arrived I headed back to the music hall. Another class was leaving, so I waited and then entered as soon as I could.

The teacher looked at me with a puzzled expression, shrugged her shoulders, pulled out a key and opened the cabinet, pulling out a violin case and passing it to me. I spent a few moments checking the tuning and adjusting it slightly. I did it automatically without thinking about it as it was part of my routine. I closed my eyes and started playing Albinoni's Adagio in G minor. As usual, I lost myself in the piece. It takes me about eight minutes to play it through and I had intended to only play for a minute or so, but I hadn't played anything since I had died. Playing again was a comfort, an element of familiarity that I needed at that moment so I didn't stop until I finished, only opening my eyes at the end. I think I might have even played it better than when I was Eric. I felt the emotions more and had experienced more that I could somehow express through my violin.

There was a silence for a moment when I had finished. Then I heard clapping both behind me and in front of me. The music teacher had tears in her eyes as she was clapping and when I turned around there was a group who had followed their ears, both adults and children.

My friend ran through to give me another hug. “Can you play something else? That was beautiful,” she said.