Chapter 1: The Dying of the Night

It was a quiet night.

Christie had just gotten done off another day of work. It had been another late night at the office. She was always to get off her shift, especially on shifts like these. She wasn’t exactly working overtime either, she had been all but drafted by her manager to stay on late when someone who was supposed to fill in for her didn’t call in at the last minute. It was 2 AM when she was finally allowed to leave.

She turned on her phone and contacted her ride. No answer. She laughed emptily and kicked the trash can so hard that it would have fallen over and spilled out all the rubbish if not for it being one of those bins that was grafted to cement. This was going to just be another one of those nights.

Especially for someone like her. Life was hard enough on it’s own. But on these nights, she had predators to worry about. Ever since transitioning, she had become very much aware of how much of a nasty place the world could be. On it’s own, she knew of all the freaks and psychotics out there, ready to rob you or worse. Every woman knew that.

That was what her lady friends had told her in her old life. She took pride in recognizing that truth on a gut level when her male friends said they didn’t. After awhile, it was something she thought all those same guys were just being dumb pigs about, that they were pretending not to know while deep down, they were all too aware. It was the first sign that things were different about her.

How true that had been. Growing up as a teenager, the kids like to insult each other by calling them fag, queer, the whole plethora of insults. She never liked using any of them, they just seemed to sting so very easily, like they could be redirected back at her. For some reason the word transvestite especially stung hard. It just seemed very insulting to her.

Christie would later figure out why. She remembered the last time she looked in the mirror as her old self. That morning she took a selfie to remember that final image of who she had grown up as, of who she had been raised as, it was like looking at an old friend.

And for all her hesitations, thinking on what she had to lose, it was ultimately a lie. She was ready to embrace her true self no matter what might come after. That last day, she was scared and excited and so much more.

She remembered how much things had changed. She had been so glad to transition over, to embrace who she was on the inside. She had no regrets about that. But living in the shell of a man while not the best thing for her psyche had at least afforded her some notion of comfort and safety. People would pass by her no problem and the most she would get is some asshole making a remark about how her weight. She never felt like a true outsider.

A true outsider. That was just scratching the surface. Things were different now. Where before the worst she suffered was some bullshit from random bullies on the streets who only saw her as a random target amongst many random targets, now she was plainly aware of just what an ugly place the world could be. She remembered the first time she had walked the streets as her new self. She was on top of the world, surrounded by her friends, her real friends who stayed with her. They had all cheered her on.

But the next time she walked the streets alone, things were different. Alone and with no backup, she saw the way people were looking at her. The snickering, the looks, it was coming from so many people, not just the punks looking to start shit. At first, it would have been enough if they were just having jokes at her expense. That was enough. She was chubby living the lie she had been as a man. Those remarks were nothing.

Then came the first stalkers. She had expected it, she knew the reports of women being harassed and catcalled in open daylight. Had seen it herself too. Did a little bit of it back when she was living that lie, to fit in. She knew the streets at night could be hell for women.

But none of that compared to this. As a transwoman though, after midnight was like a horror movie waiting to happen. It was bad enough that men would harass her. It was another thing to get it from women too. And they would often join in on it too.

Christie figured it was the perils of living in a small town like this one. It was because of that that she was a workaholic like this. One day she’d save up enough and escape. She didn’t know where she wanted to go. But anything had to be better than this.

There was a pair of headlights in the distance. She tensed up. Ever since her first experiences post transition, she had grown wary of strange headlights in the dark. The worst was that random people had catcalled her, made whooping shouts about her gender. That didn’t make it any less scary. She always knew things could be worse.

When she looked up LGBT+ forums for support, she found she wasn’t alone. She realized she was lucky too. There were people who when they were down on their luck, either being homeless or having a long ride ahead of them suddenly getting help total strangers offering prospective support and rides home. Things looked good.

Only for things to turn dark fast. Cases of attempted kidnapping and worse. Christie realized how lucky she was. She also realized how vulnerable she was, and what a target was on her back. For that reason and more she couldn’t wait to get out of this town.

But then she heard familiar voices from the car. “Hey bitch!” said a loud woman’s voice. “You looking lost like a deer in headlights!”

The car stopped in front of her. Christie went on over to the passenger’s side door. There was a lean black woman already in there, hair tied back in cornrows, smiling a toothy grin. They high-fived each other.

“Was starting to think you never showed up,” Christie said. “The fuck am I thinking getting chauffeured by you Anita? Driving Miss Daisy only works for cool old black guys like Morgan Freeman. Not your ghetto ass.”

“Hey, don’t blame me,” said Anita. “Blame this pasty bastard on over here,” she said, nodding to the driver. In the seat opposite her sat an almost albino looking man, long red hair, he looked like a hippie.

“Can’t rely on gingers for shit huh Bryant,” said Christie.

“You’re insulting my people!” he said.

“Yeah, yeah,” said Anita. “Checking out all the hotties walking out of the club instead of focusing on where you’re driving.”

“When there’s a total hottie right here,” Christie said.

“Got that right. Turn on over so I can see that cake of yours girl.” Christie did exactly that and Anita grabbed her butt. She whistled and lifting up her skirt, dug her fingers deep into those cheeks, long nails and all. “And damn, turn around so I can see those hooters.” Christie did exactly that and bent over. Anita laughed. “Shit, these titties are coming in deep. Weren’t these big before. You sure you’re not taking in any of them implants?”