Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 95676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
"Hey, Dee," Cam says casually, looping an arm around my waist. "Kitten, this is Daphne. You can call her Dee."
My cheeks redden when I realize my mistake. Daphne is a trans woman.
"Is this her?" she asks, eyeing me up and down.
Cam jerks his chin in a nod. "This is Ivy."
"Girl, you are smokin'," she says, giving me a big smile.
"Um, thanks?"
She throws her head back and laughs loudly before motioning for us to come in and sit down. "You hungry?" she asks, gathering up paint brushes and a can from the table and moving them out of the way. "I'm making my famous pancakes."
"You hungry?" Cam asks, rubbing his thumb over my knuckles.
"No, thank you," I murmur, too nervous to eat anything.
"We're good," he says to Daphne, holding out a chair for me to sit.
Once I'm settled, he slides in next to me, scooting so close his body presses against my side in one long line. I gladly lean into him, letting him steady me as butterflies erupt in my stomach. I have no clue what we're doing here.
My gaze drifts to the paintings hanging on the walls. They're really good. One in particular catches my eye. It's an abstract of a woman's curvy body. She's dancing through a field of blue and white, almost joyously. It's amazing.
Daphne bustles back to the stove, her and Cam chatting back and forth.
"Catfish?" she asks.
Cam nudges me like he's expecting me to answer.
"Um, no thanks. I'm not hungry."
Who eats catfish with pancakes?
They both laugh like I said something funny.
"What?" I ask, narrowing my eyes on Cam.
"She didn't ask if you want catfish," he says with an amused smirk, still chuckling. "She asked if you know what a catfish is."
"Yes, I know what a catfish is," I say, rolling my eyes. He spends far too much time laughing at me. "It's a ray-finned fish of the ostariophysi order, often with barbels that look like whiskers, which is where they get the name. Oh, and they taste best when fried and served with ketchup and hushpuppies."
Daphne laughs again when he glares at me.
"Girl, you're funny," she says, flipping her pancakes onto a plate and turning off the stove. "But I wasn't talking about the actual fish, honey. I was talking about the other kind of catfish."
There's another type of catfish? News to me.
"I don't understand," I admit.
"A catfish is someone who creates a fake identity to lure people in online," she explains, pouring syrup over her pancakes. "They find photos of someone they like and use those to create an entirely new identity. More often than not, they do it to experience life as someone else."
"Fake Ivy," I mumble, my heart thumping hard.
"Mmhmm," Daphne says with a nod. "Seems you and Cameron have caught a big one."
"What…I mean, what do I do about it?"
"Usually, I'd say nothing. Most catfish are harmless. They don't set out to hurt anyone, but the lies pile up and before they know it, they're in over their heads. Yours though?" Daphne shakes her head, tsking. "Girl, yours is on a whole new level if what Cameron told me is any indication."
"She's destroying my life," I whisper, twisting my hands together in my lap. "A college kid is missing, and the cops think I had something to do with it. She's using my name, my pictures, my everything."
Cam reaches over and gently pries my fingers apart before slipping his hand into mine and giving it a squeeze.
"If they don't find this kid, I'm going to be charged in connection to his death."
"That ain't even right," Daphne says, sliding into a seat across from us at the table.
I don't know what to say to that, so I nod.
"Tell her your story, Dee," Cam requests quietly, still holding my hand.
Daphne chews her pancakes and then swallows before taking a long drink of her juice. She sits quietly for a moment and then sighs. "I grew up here," she says then. "Lived in this house my entire life. The people in this neighborhood change with the seasons, but the neighborhood never changes. You gotta be hard to survive life around here. And I've known since I could walk that I was meant to be female." She takes another bite of her food before continuing. "Even in San Francisco, in the hood, that's a bad way to be. People get shot around here for a hell of a lot less, so I hid it. And I did a damn good job of keeping my secret."
I give her a sympathetic smile, though I can't imagine what it's like to grow up legitimately afraid to be yourself. My heart aches at the thought of anyone living in fear that being transgendered will get them killed. She's right though. It happens. Even now, it happens far too often.
"Didn't nobody know the truth. But the thing about hiding who you are is that, eventually, it starts to eat at you. Two years ago, I hit rock bottom. I was a hot mess, on depression medication and still fighting every day not to eat a bullet. I started going online. I thought I'd meet some people and find a little meaning in my shitty life." She laughs. "Life isn't ever sunshine and roses though. I was so fucking afraid someone would find out my dirty little secret, I opted to be someone else. I created an entirely new life for myself. By day, I was Delante Torrance. By night, I was Daphne Torres."