She's 17 when you meet, about to turn 18. Bright green eyes, and curly brown hair. The typical mid-2000's scene phase in full swing, and fishnets cling to her legs in photos. A director, B-list horror films. Incredibly talented, and it's a shame that she never [[did anything with it]].

Coming soon. For now, you're still stuck at [[Twenty]].

22 was a good year. 22 was sunlight, fireflies, and treacle tarts. It was freckles, green eyes, and freedom from his abuse at long last. \n\nUnfortunately, you are still [[Twenty]] and not quite there yet.

It takes you the entire relationship to realize that she'll never get a job. By that time, she is now a he. 7 months on testosterone, and you're sharing the vial but not the needles. You've got thicker skin (in more ways than one) and inject in the bathroom, away from any prying eyes. He has you do his shot in full view of your roomates, unashamed. You never transition. He does. 7 years later, his license will say 'Male'. Different circumstances, different outcomes. Out of the 4 people in that apartment, one transitioned, one fled, one moved out, and the other is [[dead]].

Twenty is the second piece in the series, 'Ten', a story of overcoming abuse, homelessness, neglect, gender identity discoveries, and much more.

You met your future roomate years ago. She was your friend. At one point, she was in love with you--before you'd met the girl from California. When she moved in with you, you thought it would be great. It wasn't. She was depressed, and didn't grasp the concept of cleaning. Tension was at an all-time high, and you fought with your partner so much it bled over into your relationship with the roommates. Eventually, everyone hated one another. You didn't realize how sick she was. Six years later, curiosity got the best of you. '[[What happened]] to her?' you wonder. You wish you'd never looked it up. \n\nYou find her obituary in the Google search, and cannot help but wonder if your treatment of her caused her suicide. This keeps you up at night more often than you would like to admit.

You turn 20 on April 9th, 2005. There is a lot to be thankful for on this birthday, as opposed to the previous one. You've moved back to Massachusetts, and have a stable job. Eventually, you meet [[someone]]. It was bound to happen, right?

A week before you are supposed to turn 21, your partner's father decides he's had enough of the 'lesbians' living under his room. You pay him $400 a month, and wonder why your very presence is so offensive to him. Living at home wasn't like this. At home, you could be yourself.\n\nYou spend your birthday, and half of being [[21]] homeless. Washing your hair in a Kinko's sink, and catching a nap before work in Starbucks. You'll spend the Summer eating ice-cream, and wondering if the local Jesus freak teenagers have it right, after all. Anything has to be better than living like this. You think to yourself that you might be a [[sinner]] but at least you are honest with yourself about who you are.

The only partner that doesn't abuse you is your fiancee, that you won't meet until you're just about to turn [[22]].

A lot happened when you were 20. Cutting the brown locks of your partner with a $10 razor set from WalMart, and their family screaming at you for hours that you, "RUINED HER BEAUTIFUL HAIR!" and this was clearly all your fault, rather than you giving in to your tearfully pleading partner to help them look more like the person they were on the inside. \n\nEven seven years later and 3 years on testosterone, you hear that your ex's family still misgenders them. This does not surprise you. What does, is how far they were willing to go to forget you [[ever existed]].\n\nWhat happened to your roomate is something that you never thought would. In the midst of everything else, it was easy to overlook her depression, or to assume she was just tired. You regret it, even seven years later. You wonder if you could have changed it.\n\nToo fucking late, asshole. \n\nYou kind of hate yourself.

You make it through the first year of the relationship, somehow. It's harder than 'love' is supposed to be, and that should have set off some alarm bells. You wonder if this is your punishment, for leaving the girl in California. If you are doomed to repeat your mistakes and suffer a lifetime of [[abuse]].\n\nHe screams at you, you scream back. You vowed since California, to fight back if someone hits you. You wish with everything in your power that you didn't have to use this self-appointed rule so often.

By Kiran (Catherine) Oliver\n

They call you that a lot here. A sinner. They say you're going to hell. It feels like hell, living at a house where you are not welcome. You work, for a year. Non-stop. You plead with your partner to get a job, and they never do. Sometimes, there are decent moments. More often than not, there is fighting. Screaming, hair-pulling, angry words and, "I wish I'd never moved here." spit like venom. You wonder if he realizes what you have given up for him, and how hard you are working to keep this relationship [[together]].