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August, 2018
Lucy felt deeply and extremely unlovable. Disgusted, her hands wandered around her body. Her chest was nothing but flat, it was disappointing; her hair was too short, and it truly felt like that body didn’t belong to her. Lucy groaned out of frustration.
She didn’t only feel like a stranger in her own house, her own body, but she also knew that was the biggest “trans cliché”. Ninety percent of the few stories about trans people she had access to included a character looking at themselves in the mirror, hating their genitalia and thinking about “how nice it’d be if they had the guts to commit suicide.”
Boring and generalized, which made Lucy hate the trope more. Why the hell did she have to be such a walking stereotype?
November, 2018
It was a Sunday morning. The sunlight passed through the closed curtains as Lucy, once again, analyzed her reflection in the mirror. Her hair had grown a little longer, which was pleasant — it was almost reaching her shoulders, and she almost felt a bit feminine.
Carefully, Lucy stared at her own body, trying to find the striking poetry Louisa always managed to find in it. Her girlfriend was fascinating; the way she found beauty in every little thing, even the ugly, wrong ones, such as Lucy herself, would always amaze her. How could such a kind, radiant girl like Louisa think she wasn’t worthy of… of… well, of anything.
For a second, Lucy heard Louisa’s voice in her head, saying that, perhaps, the same happened to herself. How could Lucy think she was anything but wonderful?
When the room’s door opened, Lucy pushed the thought away. It clearly wasn’t the case, and she didn’t feel like convincing herself of a lie at the moment. Not that Louisa was a liar—
Oh, Lord. Why was her head so messed up?
“L-Lucy?”
“Honey!” Lucy exclaimed, covering her undressed body as quickly as possible. Louisa’s face was completely red and God, she was so cute.
“D-don’t worry! You… you don’t need to… hm… d-dress u-up for me…” Lucy didn’t know that was possible, but Louisa got redder. “Not that I’m implying anything! I’m not! I… um… I’m really not! Unless… unless y-you want—!”
Lucy laughed, wondering what had she done to deserve such an adorable girl like Louisa as her girlfriend. Maybe she didn’t actually deserve her.
“We’re dating, and you’re still nervous when you’re near me. I’m not going to do anything, y’know?” Louisa gulped and Lucy caressed her hair. “Unless you want to. Just like you said.”
“L-Lucy…”
As Louisa whispered, Lucy kissed her lips. They tasted like tea, as usual. Then, she started kissing her girlfriend’s chin and neck.
“Do you like that?”
“Mhm,” Louisa moaned. “I do.”
“Do you want me to continue?”
“Yes. Yes, I do.”
Louisa didn’t have to say it twice — in a few seconds, Lucy was already continuing the course of kisses on the other woman’s skin, delicately, just like her lover herself. During the affectionate moment, Louisa murmured compliments, about how exquisite Lucy was, and how good her lips tasted. And, at the moment, it felt right.
It felt good to listen to Louisa calling her the most gorgeous woman in the world. Perhaps, the validation of her identity was the most remarkable part of her speech. Lucy loved Alcott in every way someone possibly could, but there was something about that specific way — about her confidence when talking about how fondly she thought of Lucy.
There was no doubt about how she felt; sometimes, Lucy wondered if those tender words were just spoken on the spur of the moment, but that didn’t feel reasonable. Everyone who knew Louisa at least the tiniest bit was aware of how much she valued words. One of the most important reasons why she hesitated to speak was her obsession with choosing the right words. Louisa May Alcott rarely said things she didn’t mean, usually because of her hesitation, but, with Lucy, it was something different.
Louisa always had the right words to say, because her feelings for Lucy weren’t something she still had to think about; it was the opposite: she had had all the time in the world to think about what she should say, and her confidence was as clear as water, because she meant every syllable.
All that certainty made Lucy feel comfortable and confident, for a second — just a millisecond, but one that was enough to give her hope.
June, 2019
Lucy stared back at the girl in the mirror. She clearly remembered checking her reflection in the mirror that was in front of her at the moment dozens of times before, and feeling like she was looking at a stranger. She clearly remembered wondering when would her reflection show the person she actually was. That was kind of a tricky question, since Lucy didn’t have a clue of what that looked like, but, being affected by Louisa’s hopeful aura, she decided that it wouldn’t hurt to be willing to find out.
Months later, the mirror was full of colorful post-its with encouraging messages from Louisa. In the beginning, Lucy didn’t think it was such a good idea, but it turned out to be one, mostly because of the other woman’s skill with words. She knew exactly what to say, and how to do it — naturally, believably, and definitely not a cliché, unlike most things in Lucy’s life.
Besides, Louisa’s notes didn’t do the whole job on their own. In the middle of the process, someone appeared; someone quiet named Akutagawa Gin. As Louisa glued her sweet notes on Lucy’s mirror, Gin helped in their own way: more physically than verbally. Their hands would carefully run around Lucy’s back, waist and neck, in appreciation. Every time that happened, Lucy felt like she was the personification of an artwork, worthy of admiration. It wasn’t a permanent sensation, of course, but she had learned that a few seconds — minutes, if she was lucky — of confidence were already a huge step.
Lucy stared at Louisa’s meticulous calligraphy for a while. There were comparisons and metaphors, about how her hair looked like flames, which matched her fiery soul, the soul of a fighter; or about her eyes, so strong, yet so kind. Then, Lucy stared at the reflection again.
The first thing she noticed was that her hair had grown considerably longer. At that moment, it already touched her chest, which was a good feeling, though strange. The next thing was her posture: it was somewhat confident. The rosy, laced lingerie she was wearing seemed to suit her skin, slightly less pale than the last time, and Lucy felt like crying of happiness.
It suited her. For her whole life, Lucy had analyzed her appearance and choice of outfits in the mirror, and it always felt like a collage — a discrepant combination as an attempt of fitting in, if not her impossibly high beauty standards, then society’s.
But there, that day, surrounded by Louisa’s sweet, loving notes, Lucy could see a fraction of what she and Gin saw.
Then, Lucy smiled and started to get ready. First, she wore her usual yellow and pink dress; it was simple, but the colors were vibrant, and she had grown to like it. Then, her pair of brown shoes and the most complicated, but also the most diverting, part: the hairstyle. Lucy needed a long time to get used to it, since she spent her entire life with it cut short, but it was definitely worth it.
“L-Lucy!” Louisa called, from the living room. “We… we are ready!”
Quickly, Lucy grabbed a hair clip from her bedside table and walked to the room, to meet both of her partners. “I’m here! I was just getting the hair clip!” Lucy smiled, pointing at the accessory. “Shall we?”
Walking to the park, Lucy felt truly good. She was in the middle of Louisa and Gin, holding both of their hands; Louisa’s was warm and her voice was soft, as she rambled about a novel she was planning to write, about four teenage sisters; Gin’s were the opposite: they were cold, and created an electrifying feeling that made an amazing contrast with Alcott’s sensation of safety — and Lucy loved it. Gin’s silence was also kind of comforting: they were quiet, but not absent. Their presence could be felt, and it wasn’t negative at all to have someone contemplating you, just taking it all in.
Once, Lucy had found herself deeply and extremely unlovable. Now, she wouldn’t say she was absolutely happy, she was far from that, but when Louisa or Gin told her they loved her, she believed; and Lucy managed to smile sincerely and find herself pretty, occasionally.
Lucy hadn’t achieved happiness yet, but she knew that she was in the right way, that she was going somewhere — and that was enough for her.