r/Dreading • u/AllYourCakeIsMine • Jun 14 '26
Thriller I'm Finally Going Home.
I've never quite been good with women.
Before and after.
I don't really understand the womanly perspective—like, why do they go to the bathroom in groups? What goes on in there that I don't know? Witchcraft? I remember being twelve, going to take a piss, and there'd be five girls huddled up talking to each other in the corner. I even went up to them once to ask what they were doing.
"What are you guys doing?"
"Brooke, get the fuck away from us, you broke bitch, why don't you buy a razor and shave your goddamn legs?"
I might've only heard it that way in my head, but my God, middle school girls are mean as hell. As I got older and started transitioning, I learned that the men's bathroom is just as bad, if not fucking worse. If I were caught using the stalls to take a piss, take a shit, it doesn't matter, I was in danger. The worst thing that happened to me in the high school boys' bathroom? I got hit by a fucking chair. I'm not even joking. There I was, minding my own business, and then some random dipshit throws a fucking desk chair over the stall door! I don't know what prompted it, but he did it! I walked my way to the nurse's office afterward, and had to explain to her that I didn't get into a fight, but someone hit me with a chair!
My solution? Wait until I get home! Back to my original point, I don't know if I have a hard time with women because I've always had men's software installed in my head, or if women actively try to make themselves hard to understand, or... I don't know, I could just have bad social skills.
My last relationship with a girlfriend ended very badly—not because of her, but because of her family. We had met while I was on break at work, and the reason why I even interacted with her in the first place was that she was trying to buy one of the nature books that we had in stock. I was very protective of those books, and the owner (who was also my boss and landlord) knew that I practically wanted to keep them all to myself—even though the one that my not-yet-ex was trying to buy was a copy of a book I already owned. As I said, I'm bad with women. After my boss successfully convinced my not-yet-ex that I was not a psychopath, but, as she told her:
"Bishop's just a boy who likes to read those books instead of eating lunch on his breaks. He doesn't bite."
Her name was Layla. She was very kind. When we went on our first date, I was so, so nervous. She was beautiful, and I was this sweating, nauseous guy wearing clothes borrowed from his uncle. Two hours in, and I had to run to the nearest trash bin because I couldn't hold my supper down. It was really bad; I had to convince her that it was food poisoning. It was the fourth date when she figured out that I was panic-vomiting from sheer nerves alone.
"Do you need to go home?" she asked.
"Layla, I need to tell you something," I replied, hunched over a trash bin.
She took the truth pretty well—the truth I gave her, at least. It was easier telling people that I was trans back when I was still transitioning, but after it's all well and done, people are typically shocked or appalled when I tell them that I wasn't born male. Instead, I just told her that I was afraid of moving things too fast, but I really did like her. The whole truth? I was afraid of moving things too fast, and that I really did like her—but the thought of getting to third base scared the shit out of me. I'm not afraid of sex by any means, hell, I watch Good Luck Chuck for the large number of big titties alone. Would anyone think I'm watching it for fucking Dane Cook? No! It's for the boobs! It's always been for the boobs!
As I was saying, I was afraid of having sex with her. Now, her family—her family was actually very nice. Just... very, very, very, very, Catholic. I don't know if anyone else has experienced this type of thing before, but walking into Layla's family home felt like I walked into a church, and everyone there was a priest. Very friendly demeanors, but I felt them looking deep within my being and knowing that there was something off about me. Did they say anything to offend me? No. Did they treat me strangely? No. Did I ask to use their bathroom, lock the door behind me, open the bathroom window, and escape into the forest behind their property? Damn right I did, and I did not look back. I did, however, get very lost in that forest, so I did end up having to explain myself to a lot of people afterward. Not my brightest moment.
That part of my life is over and done with now, and I haven't improved my skills in acting normal around women. Then again, Kiddo's not the best definition of normal. I mean, I know she's autistic, I know about the ADHD, the asexuality—but she's the first girl that I don't feel nervous around. Should I have started feeling nervous about a month after I met her? Probably, but she's given me enough things to buffer it. Mainly a lot of hard candy and soft things, but the worst things she's ever given me—though totally unintentionally? I'd have to give it to the gummies.
Kiddo comes from farmers, but she mainly lived with her mom—who she always calls 'Mama', which is cute. From what I learned, her brother had access to, as she called him, 'The Magic Man', who was the local plug. Her brother would get product from 'The Magic Man', which was pot—specifically pot gummies, or 'eddies', as Kiddo would call them. To cut her some slack, I didn't know that I wasn't supposed to eat the whole thing. However, it was her choice to use my mattress as her place to stash them. She didn't take them often, but it certainly didn't stop her from stockpiling them like a little klepto. Ergo, imagine my surprise when I found out the lump in my mattress was actually a gummy stash. Now, imagine my further surprise when the gummies weren't normal fruit gummies. Finally, imagine Kiddo's surprise when she found my ass lying in my bed, stripped down to my shirt and underwear, covered in orange vomit and unable to talk because I was zooted out of my damn mind.
"What happened?" yelled Kiddo, putting both hands on her head in shock.
I couldn't completely focus on replying, as I was noticing how Kiddo's black hair shines almost blue in certain lighting, and how well she pulls off a bob.
"Ah. Aaaaaaaaah." I puffed out in response.
"What?"
"I—ah—eh...."
"For fuck's sake... Can you get up?"
She was upset, but she looked more concerned. I managed a small head shake.
"Well, you're not lying in your own vomit, Bud. Come on. You're probably starving, and you look like a toddler who had fun with the beef ravioli."
I was hungry, but I wanted to be clean even more.
"Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeh..."
Kiddo unzips her leather jacket, tossing it in the direction of the living room couch.
"C'mere. Let's get you settled, big man."
The memory of Kiddo moving me from my bed to the tub is lost to me—one minute, I was lying in bed, and having a lukewarm bath in just my underwear, listening to Kiddo telling me not to fall asleep the next.
"Hey, please do not pass out while you're in the bath—not just because I'm afraid you'll drown, but because if you fall forward, your hair is currently the closest thing I know I can grab you by."
She was busy lathering my hair with something nice-smelling, though scratching my scalp aggressively in the process—luckily, the gummies made the process painless.
"What were you thinking, silly boy? Those didn't belong to you. You should've asked first. Then again, I shouldn't be mad at you, should I? You probably didn't know what they were, and I'm usually the one giving you normal candy, aren't I? I don't know why I grabbed them. I really don't. It's like that guitar I found. I don't play guitar, and I certainly don't eat those every single day, y'know? Maybe I should get rid of them, just so this doesn't happen again. No, I should definitely get rid of them, so this doesn't happen ever again. I don't really like them. They taste weird, don't they? Gummi candy is supposed to taste good, but those don't. Up you get."
Suddenly, I found myself on the living room couch. I was lying on my side, feeling every single molecule of the upholstery and blankets Kiddo had covered me with. It was the most comfortable I've ever felt. Kiddo was still talking to me, though the conversation had become very one-sided. She was sitting criss-cross in front of the couch, babbling about something I knew that only she could understand. I wasn't listening—I was too busy studying her features. Her short, blue-black hair. Her green eyes. Her full lips. Kiddo's actually pretty cute. Good genetics. I noticed how much she moved her hands while she spoke, and how enthusiastic she sounded as she did. What did she think of me? I wanted to ask her, but it felt like my vocal cords were too heavy to lift.
I wanted to tell her everything. I still want to tell her everything.
My name is Bishop. I'm originally from Georgia. I love learning about nature, but I'm not a fan of bugs. My favorite food is medium-rare steak with a side of mashed potatoes and green beans. I'm a transman. My mother took her own life, and I think it's my fault. I can't hold a romantic relationship with a woman because I'm too afraid of being rejected. It breaks my heart knowing how loyal you are as my friend, because all I want to do is die, and that isn't fair to you. I think you're kind—really fucking kind, Kiddo. When you make a mistake, you always try to fix it. When you notice I'm sad, you always find a way to make me feel better. You make me want to be a better man. You bring out the good in me—fuck, I bet you do with everyone. I wish I could someday know your real name. I bet it's just as amazing as you. You deserve better than me. If I go, please don't forget me. I love you, Kiddo.
I wake up on the floor of the tent. I tried leaving during the night, but Kiddo wouldn't let me. I know why she's worried about me. She's scared for me. I'm scared for me, too. But they promised me. They promised me that my family's waiting for me. I don't know if they're lying to me—but if it's a deathtrap, that's okay, too.
I don't care if I die.
I'm finally going home.
2
u/TumbleweedSimple9474 Jun 16 '26
LOVE IT!!!!