I closed my eyes, I can’t look. I just can’t.

I wish they all would just shut the fuck up!

I can’t believe these sons of bitches are doing this to me!

I don’t know when, I don’t know how, but you bastards will pay for this. I swear.

Damn it! Why can’t I close my ears to block out the noise like I can close my eyes?

God, I can’t believe I’m stuck here. They deserved their pathetic little slap on the wrist. They locked me in the fucking closet for Christ’s sake.

Did they have to write ‘plague’ on me with a marker? It’s bad enough, I’m taped naked to this fucking flag pole.

I wish the wind would stop blowing. God it’s cold.

God, why don’t the teachers fucking do something?

Keep my eyes closed, if they see how hurt and embarrassed I am, it will only make it worse. Keep them closed and don’t cry.

I gotta just keep my lips closed. Don’t let these fuck heads have the satisfaction of hearing me yell.

Don’t cry. I can’t cry. I can’t let them see me cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

Shut up Greg! You fucking bastard!

Oh God, I can hear the busses pulling up. Please someone help me!

“Look the little plague is crying.”

I’m not crying! My teeth are chattering you fuck head, Tyler! Consider your self dead! You fucking ass!

Is it always this fucking cold? Can’t they see that I’m shivering?

Where are the teachers? Where is the principal? Yeah, like he’ll do anything. He’s part of the reason I’m here. That dumb ass.

Does anyone care?

Doesn’t anyone fucking care?

Fuck!

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

“Fuck!” Erika woke up in a cold sweat. The blankets and sheets were twisted, tied in knots from all of her thrashing. She felt the soft night gown covering her upper thighs, and her wet curls. She propped herself up in bed and looked down her body and sighed gratefully when she spotted her red toenails. The color was called Cajun Shrimp because it had a bit of orange in it, but it was kind of red.

Erika lay back in bed, and half heartedly tried to cover herself with her blankets as she tried desperately to focus on something other than the nightmare. Greg and Tyler still haven’t been paid back for their torture of Eric.

She thought about slashing their tires, but that was too passive aggressive and not personal enough.

She could ask some bigger, tougher, guys to beat them up, but all that would do is show that some big guys can beat up on smaller guys, and they already knew that.

What she needed was to do something similar to what had been done to what's his name at camp. At Camp Kumoni; something public and humiliating.

Erika sighed. Gingerly, with light probing fingers, she touched her nose. It was still sore, still had some bruising. She still couldn’t smell too much out of it, but the surgeon said that it would take a week or two to get back most of her smell.

Finally her bladder made her decision for her. She rolled out of bed and padded into her bathroom and emptied the contents.

While washing her hands, she looked in the mirror at herself. Her permed dark hair now hung just to her shoulders. Sasha said it would take close to a year to get some good length especially with the perm. The curls on the back of her head were still moist from the night sweat. She would definitely have to take a shower.

Her blue eyes, pretty by even her standards were currently encircled by a nasty brownish yellow bruise. If the color had been contained only between her lid and brow, it would have made for an interesting but almost attractive smoky eye effect.

Pale, creamy skin that most of her friends would have killed for was lightly dotted with freckles across her nose and cheeks. She didn’t care too much for her freckles, but Tricia said that they were where fairies had kissed her. She did finally decide that she had nice lips, especially when she was wearing a light shade and some gloss on them.

Erika popped an antibiotic into her mouth and swallowed it without the aid of liquid. It was a bit more harsh, but she was feeling lazy and didn’t want to wait for the pipes up in her bathroom to be flushed with cool fresh water.

“Curly or straight?” She asked her reflection. “You have all the time in the world today. Tricia won’t get out of school until almost three.”

Erika really didn’t have anything to do until then. Aunt Carrie had left a few days ago with promises of returning in the Spring. Daddy was at work and her mother was doing her usual, cleaning something that might have a speck of dust on it and getting ready to watch her soaps.

Erika blew out a sharp, heavy breath and climbed into the shower to try and wash the sweat as well as the memory of the dream down the drain.

Ever since she had the surgery, she had been having strange dreams and nightmares. The plague night mare, which she hadn’t had in months had come to haunt her several times over the past week. She had a night mare of Summer killing herself, and of being way up on her rope course and falling, she even had a dream where she was a guy married to Samantha. The hardest part of that last one was that is was categorized as a dream rather than a night mare. She didn’t like the idea, but it wasn’t an all too unpleasant dream.

Nightmares, she figured were the dreams that you woke up from, screaming or terrified. Dreams on the other hand were could be bad, but didn’t wake you in a cold sweat.

She had the time, so she shaved her legs, arms, and chest. She didn’t have too many hairs on her chest, but more than she wanted. The idea that testosterone was flooding through her body at that very minute was unsettling. She wanted to get started on the hormone blockers as soon as possible, but had promised her doctors as well as her parents that she would wait.

What if she woke up tomorrow morning and her voice had dropped two octaves. What could she do then? This was a critical part of a young person’s development and the right kind of hormone was important. She needed to at least curb the testosterone, somehow.

Erika carefully blotted the water from her skin and slipped into her bathrobe before taking the towel to scrub at her hair. She wound it up into a turban and plopped down on her bed and stared at her closet.

“What shall I wear today?” She wondered aloud. She didn’t have to be anywhere. She had taken care of her doctor’s appointments the day before. She didn’t have much money to do any shopping, unless of course she talked Samantha into taking her to the second hand clothing store again.

Her thoughts were interrupted by her phone chiming. She picked it up to find a text from Tricia. She smiled to her self as she opened the program.

-We miss you at school. Everyone is asking about you. Can’t wait to see you tonight.-

-Getting dressed right now- Erika responded. – trying to decide if I should wear my hair curly or straight.-

Erika tossed her phone on her bed and went to her closet. She pulled out a pair of skinny jeans and her MCR T-shirt. She pulled on some pink panties, tucked her male parts, slipped into a bra and dropped her breast forms into place before pulling on her clothes. Her skinny jeans, although tight, were soft and moved as if she were wearing leggings.

After drying and straight ironing her hair, she pulled out her makeup pallet and went to work. It was going to be emo day so she may as well cover her bruises with dark eye shadow, thick eye liner, and thick mascara. Blood red lips should finish the look.

A knock came at the door, and then it opened. “Good morning. Are you going to come down and have breakfast or are you going to wait until lunch?” her mother asked.

“I’m not sure. I’m finishing up my makeup right now.”

“Did you take your meds?” Her mother inquired.

“Yes.” Erika huffed.

“Just checking, it is part of my job.”

“I’ll fix myself something if I get hungry.” Erika stated.

“Please clean up your mess.”

“I know.”
Her mother closed the door behind her.

Erika found some earrings and put them in before fixing her fringe and spraying it place.

She stood back from the mirror and looked at the rocking emo girl looking back. She needed a belt and her boots to finish the look. Tricia was going to be in for a cool shock when she came by after school.

Erika located her black belt, lined with silver studs and fastened it loosely over her T-shirt. Boots. She needed her boots. Erika practically dove into the base of her closet and pulled out the large box. She set in on her bed and opened it. A pair of black, knee high, heeled boots lay in waiting. A plastic bag also lay in the box.

Erika looked in the bag and remembered the herbals that Aunt Carrie had bought for her. She had promised Aunt Carrie that she would wait until after her follow up with the Endocrinologist, but Testosterone was being pumped unchecked through her body. She could already feel her body hair thickening and growing in thicker. She needed to do something. They were herbs. They were natural, what could they really hurt? Erika read a bottle of pills. It said it was an all natural source of women’s hormones.

Erika listened to locate her mother’s where abouts. She sounded like she was in the kitchen. She opened the bottle and swallowed two of the pills. She quickly tucked them back into the box and pulled out the boots and tugged them on. She put the box back in her closet and tossed her clean jeans on top of them.

Erika’s boots clicked on the kitchen floor as she entered.

“Well that is one way of covering up those bruises.” Her mother stopped to stare. “That’s goth, right?”

“No.” Erika was indignant. “It’s called emo.”

“Is emo like goth?” her mother inquired.

“Not really. Goth’s are a bunch of vampire want-a-bes who dress all in black, wear pasty white foundation and talk about how cool death is.”

“What do emo people do?” her mother was afraid she didn’t want to hear.

“Emo stands for emotional.” Erika explained, “Emo’s are into getting in touch with their emotions. They are more into poetry. Hard core emos cut themselves with razor blades to explore the feeling of pain; some because they can’t feel anything so pain is better than nothing.”

“You don’t go cutting yourself, do you? Her mother was a bit wary.

“No. Most of the Cutters are losers.” Erika rolled her eyes.

She could see her mother’s body language relax.

“Any coffee?”

“There’s a little left, but it’s not fresh by any means.” Her mother warned.

“That’s okay.” Erika poured the coffee into a mug then added a bunch of sugar and milk to it as her mother left the kitchen.

The morning caffeine started to bring the mind up to speed with her body. Her eyes finally seemed to track a little better and she didn’t feel like she had lead weights pulling down her lids.

She began again to figure out what to do with her day until Tricia arrived.

“What are you working on?” Her mother asked as she rummaged through the fridge.

“What to do today.”

“I haven’t seen you work on your art in a while.” Her mother suggested. “You know, I could always use some help with the housework.”

“You’re right; I haven’t drawn or painted in a while.” Erika took the provided out. She didn’t want to be polishing light fixtures or washing windows. “Thanks mom.”

Erika grabbed a cookie and an apple and clicked out of the kitchen. She set the apple down on her dresser and pulled out her sketch pad and colored pencils.

Pencil in hand, she just stared at the pad of paper. The nightmare started to run through her mind. She needed to get the hurtful images out of her brain.

She stared long and hard at her hand, deep in thought and suddenly decided that she needed to change her nail polish.

Erika pulled out the small box that she had containing polish remover and a few colors. Her mind worked as her fingers went about their business.

Other than duct taping the two to a flag pole, how could she get even with the two asses? She could cause problems with their girl friends, but that would only hurt the girls, not the two dick heads. It had to be something humiliating to them and not hurt anyone else.

She finished putting the dark blue on her nails and lay back on her bed while they finished drying. She picked up her phone and checked it.

-you haven’t worn it straight in a while- Tricia had texted.

-How are you feeling?- from Samantha.

-I’m getting your homework- Victoria sent.

Erika smiled to herself. She had such great friends.

Once her nails were dry, Erika went to work on the sketch pad, losing herself in her art. The more she thought about the nightmare, the angrier she began to get. Soon her pencil strokes reflected her anger in aggressive, strokes and slashes. Erika flipped the page over and began sketching Greg and Tyler in an embarrassing position. She tore it from the pad and began another, then another.

Usually drawing calmed her down. Today she seemed to be getting more riled. Her art work was usually pretty refined, with soft strokes. Now exaggerated scratches, almost scribbles dominated her sketch paper.

Exhausted, Erika collapsed on her bed. She squeezed a couple of tears out of her eyes then kept them closed, closing off the world.