Rent or Forfeit 24

Chapter 24: Past Transgressions and Future Choices

Friday evening, Tommy stood alone in his room, gazing into the full-length mirror on the wall. The girly figure reflecting back was a shadow of his former self, a stranger that bore no resemblance to the young man he remembered. As he slowly shook his head, sending smooth, sleek strands of lilac hair rippling across his shoulders, he struggled to comprehend his new reality. He was no longer Thomas Edward Jenkins. The piece of paper tucked away in the top drawer of his bedside cabinet made that official. He was now legally named Tamsin Emilia Jenkins!

Is this my life now? He thought as he examined the lilac-haired princess pouting back at him. She wore a short pink satin dress, the fabric shimmering under the warm light and decorated with a playful butterfly design. The neckline plunged low, showcasing her faux chest, while the flared hemline ended high on her thighs, encased in sheer pink tights.

His face was, as always, fully made up. Thin, arched brows - carefully pencilled - looked impossibly feminine. His lips, still swollen from fillers, glistened under a thick coat of pink gloss, and his doll-like eyes seemed enormous, framed by thick eyelash extensions that brushed against his cheeks with every blink.

Turning his head, causing his hoop earrings to jangle loudly in his ears, Tommy examined his long, sleek hair for knots. Satisfied that there were none, he sighed. He didn’t particularly care about looking good when he was alone in his room, but with another Instagram post to make that evening, having his hair and makeup presentable would save him some time.

Shuffling back slightly, one of the tall six-inch heels of his hot-pink pumps caught on the edge of the rug, causing him to stumble. “Son of a…” Tommy muttered in frustration, glaring down at the towering heels he’d been wearing all day while running errands for Mr Hopkins. His feet were throbbing, but the days of wearing anything but heels felt like a distant dream.

The rug made Tommy reflect on the other changes to the room since he had moved in. The once plain white walls were now painted a girly pink, adorned with pictures no boy would hang. The old bed had been replaced with a grander frame, while dresses and skirts were piled on a chair in the corner. High-heeled shoes were scattered across the floor, and cosmetic items cluttered the vanity and nearby shelves. It was fair to say that the room, like himself, had undergone quite the transformation.

Turning back to the mirror, he took in his feminized image once more and scoffed. Not long ago, his days revolved around playing computer games; now, he couldn't remember the last time he'd held a controller, and given the length of his nails, he doubted he could even use one effectively. The absurdity of it all hit him as he studied his reflection. What would past Tommy think if he could see present-day Tammy? A busty secretary who turned heads and made men double-take. The thought made him shake his head, a mix of disbelief and bitter amusement washing over him.

(See image 24)

He continued to study his image in the mirror, marvelling at how wearing skirts and dresses had somehow become a normal part of his daily routine. It was strange to think he’d been stepping out in them for weeks without the overwhelming sense of wrongness he used to feel. Once, the idea of walking out the front door dressed like this would cause him to sweat and shake, but now it was just something he did. And if he were being honest, there was a small part of him that didn’t entirely hate the attention it brought.

As a typical boy, he’d been invisible. No one gave him a second glance, let alone opened doors or offered a seat on a crowded bus. But now, people noticed him. They stopped, smiled, and sometimes even went out of their way to speak to him. Though the occasional pang of unease lingered, the sheer terror he used to feel about being seen in public as a girly girl had largely dissipated.

I guess these things help, Tommy thought, lowering his gaze to his large, incredibly realistic fake breasts. It was astonishing to believe that someone had not only invented such a product but could make a living selling it. Tentatively, he raised his right hand and cupped his left breast, watching in the mirror as the girl with long pink nails gave it a light squeeze. He felt nothing, of course, but the sight stirred an odd curiosity. What would it feel like to have real breasts? Would they be sensitive?

“Am I interrupting something?” Sarah announced, clearing her throat with an air of amusement.

Tommy’s hand snapped away as if burned, and he turned to see his older sister leaning casually in the doorway, a mischievous grin plastered across her face. “Erm… no. I was just… erm… What do you want, Sarah?” he asked, his frustration bleeding into his tone.

“Still acting like a little bitch, I see? Or were you always a diva just waiting to get out?” Sarah shot back, her words dripping with sass.

Tommy let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders sagging. “Look, I’m sorry I snapped. Can we not do this right now? It’s been a long week, and after walking around everywhere on stilts, I haven’t got the energy to fight.”

Sarah raised an eyebrow at his unexpected response, “Well, I guess so,” she said, her teasing tone softening. “But let’s not forget - you’re the one who got yourself into this situation with all your lazy, mooching ways.”

“I know,” Tommy replied quietly, surprising her further by agreeing without protest.

“Hmm,” Sarah murmured, stepping further into the room as she cupped her chin in mock thought. Her gaze travelled over her brother’s feminized frame. “Maybe you are changing, like Monica said,” she mused, her voice unusually contemplative. “You are a lot nicer to be around these days. Tell me, how does it feel to be a beautiful woman?”

Tommy blinked, caught off guard. “You think I look beautiful?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper as he glanced back at the mirror. His thick lashes framed his wide eyes, and his makeup - flawless and vibrant even at the end of the day - reflected the care he’d taken earlier that morning.

“Beautiful? Come on, Tammy. You’re an absolute knockout,” Sarah replied with a playful scoff. “Hell, I’m even a little jealous. You get Mum’s bone structure and hair, and I get Dad’s jaw and man hands. How is that fair?”

Tommy studied his reflection, his slender figure wrapped entirely in soft pink fabric. A whirlwind of emotions surged through him - a little scepticism, some pride, and a lot of embarrassment - before he turned to face Sarah. “I’m so confused, Sarah,” he blurted out, his voice cracking as a tear formed in the corner of his eye. “Why did you do this to me? Do you hate me that much?”

Sarah’s teasing smile faltered, and she sighed, shaking her head. “Come and sit with me on the bed for a moment, Tammy,” she said, her tone softer now, as she gestured with her arm. Without waiting for a response, she walked over and perched herself on the silky pink covers.

Tommy hesitated before tottering over to join her, the faint clicking of his heels filling the quiet room as he rounded the bedframe. He lowered himself onto the opposite side, smoothing his skirt and folding his pantyhosed legs mid-thigh as he waited for her to speak.

Sarah watched her little brother as he lowered himself onto the bed with a grace that was almost unsettling. His movements were more fluid, more feminine than she could have imagined when all this began. She let the moment settle before speaking, her tone honest but firm.

“To answer that we need to remember that before Tammy, there was Tommy,” she began. “And Tommy was vile. Cruel. He hurt everyone around him and acted like it was all one big joke.”

Tommy’s pout deepened, his glossy lips trembling as he processed her words. He wasn’t a saint - he knew that - but had he ever done anything so terrible that he deserved to have his entire life destroyed through being forcibly feminized? “I was young and angry,” he said, shaking his head. “Mum was hardly ever there, and when she was, I wished she wasn’t. She was always so mean to me, while you and Monica could never do anything wrong.”

Sarah nodded slowly. “She has issues. She’s been hurt in ways you’ll never understand, and as a result, she has this deep hatred for all men. It was wrong of her to take it out on you, but it was just as wrong for you to take it out on me and Monica.”

Her words hit him like a punch to the gut. “I didn’t mean to—” he started, but Sarah cut him off.

“Maybe you didn’t mean to, but you did,” she said firmly. “And maybe you didn’t notice, but we were going through Mum’s shit too. Why do you think I got out of that house the second I turned eighteen? And Monica - she was an easy target, right? Because she’s sensitive, because she wouldn’t fight back. You bullied her to the point of clinical depression. She’s still on medication to this day. Did you know that?”

Tommy’s thick lashes fluttered as tears welled in his eyes. His throat felt tight, and his voice came out in a whisper. “I’m sorry,” he said as the first tear slipped down his cheek. “I... I wish I could take it all back.”

Sarah’s glare softened, though only slightly. “I’m not the one you should apologise to,” she said sharply. “But if you really have changed, then prove it. For the next few weeks, be Monica’s sweet, caring sister. Give her the support and kindness she never got from having a brother.”

Tommy blinked, the tears now streaming freely. “I… I’ll try,” he stammered, his voice cracking. “No, I will. I’ll change. I’ll be a better person.”

Sarah studied him, her eyes narrowing as if searching for cracks in his sincerity. After a long pause, she finally nodded. “I want to believe you mean that,” she said. “So let’s test it. No more forfeits, starting today. But instead, I’ll set you a challenge - a chance to make amends.”

Tommy’s heart raced. “What kind of challenge?” he asked, his voice trembling.

Sarah leaned in, locking eyes with her brother. “A do-over,” she said firmly. “An opportunity to revisit some of the moments where you hurt Monica the most - starting with the night you destroyed what should have been one of the best nights of her life.”

Tommy swallowed hard, the guilt tightening his chest. “What do I need to do?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“To help you understand that, let’s go back five years, to the night Monica was supposed to attend her senior prom,” Sarah began, her voice sharp with restrained anger. “For once, everything seemed to be going right for her. She’d been asked by a boy she really liked, and after weeks of working in that horrible fish and chip shop every evening and weekend, she finally saved enough money to buy her dream dress. Do you remember how that story ends?” Sarah’s glare bore into Tommy, daring him to answer.

Tommy bit his plump lower lip and lowered his head in shame. Of all the terrible things he’d done, the memory Sarah was dredging up was at the top of the list. He had spent that afternoon at Henry’s house, playing video games and underage drinking with a gang of their friends. Coincidentally, Monica’s prom date that evening had been Henry’s older brother, Harry.

The memory came rushing back, sharp and unforgiving. Someone - he couldn’t even remember who - had discovered that Harry had left one of his social media accounts logged in on the family computer. Fuelled by alcohol and the boys egging each other on, the boys had decided to have some fun. They photoshopped Monica's head onto a pig's body and posted it on Harry’s profile with the caption: “Princess Piggy. Oink! Oink! Can you believe this fat pig actually thought I’d take her to prom? Guess she’s even dumber than she is ugly.”

But the cruelty hadn’t stopped there. Not content with just posting it online, they printed dozens of flyers - enough to drain the house printer of ink - and plastered them all over their neighbourhood. For the final blow, they sneaked into Monica’s room and covered her walls, laughing the whole time.

Tommy vividly remembered Monica coming home that afternoon. She had been beaming with excitement, her hair styled and nails freshly manicured for the big night. Then, she saw the flyers. The sound of her heartbroken sobs still haunted him. She’d run out of the house in tears, never making it to her prom. She moved in with Sarah shortly after, and it was years before Tommy saw her again.

“I remember,” Tommy muttered, his voice barely audible. “It’s not something I’m proud of.”

“You’re not proud of it?” Sarah snapped, her voice rising with emotion. “Do you know what happened after she ran out of the house? Little, heartbroken Monica swallowed a bottle of sleeping pills and chased them with vodka!” Sarah’s hands shook as she took a deep, shuddering breath. “If she hadn’t called me... she’d… she’d be dead!” Her voice faltered, the weight of the memory pressing down on her. “I got her to the hospital just in time. They saved her, but barely.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Tommy felt the full force of Sarah’s words as if they had physically struck him. His glossy lips parted, but no words came. He wanted to disappear, to undo the damage he’d caused, but it was impossible. The realization of what he had done left him nauseous with guilt.

“You asked me earlier why I hate you,” Sarah said, her voice softer now but no less piercing. “Does that answer your question?”

Everything clicked into place. The disjointed pieces of the past slotted together, forming a picture that made Tommy sick to his stomach. Tears streamed down his cheeks, smudging the mascara he’d carefully applied earlier that morning. “What can I do to make this right?” he blubbered, his voice trembling. “I’m not that person anymore. The person who did all those awful things is gone. He disgusts me.”

Sarah’s gaze softened as she reached out and placed a hand on Tommy’s trembling shoulder. “Show me,” she said, her voice steady but kind, a faint, closed-lipped smile appearing. “Tomorrow is going to be a special day, Tammy. We’re going to give Monica some new memories - better ones.”