On the other hand, someone else would have a much better chance of actually being happy. He'd still inherit her psychological scars, but not the dozens of physical ones that the necessary surgery would give her. Maybe her childhood would seem as distant and unreal to him as a Digitac episode did to her.
So it boiled down to a choice between growing up to be a woman with low self esteem and a malformed body, and donating the rest of her life to some boy who—strange memories aside—might actually qualify as normal. His life would certainly be easier than hers, especially if he also wanted to date girls.
She grabbed her pillow, hugged it and curled up into a ball. Why did this have to happen to her? She was just a girl trying to lead an ordinary life.
In the end, she finally made a decision. She was pretty sure it was the wrong decision, but she didn't know what else to do. At least this way, she'd stop being such a burden and an embarrassment to everyone.
"This is your last chance to change your mind," said the doctor in a soft, sympathetic voice. He put his hand on hers. "Are you sure you want to do this?"
Faye looked down at their hands. Her wrist was encased in a light blue bracelet with her name and date of birth printed on it. They'd soon have to change it, she realised.
Of course I'm not sure, she thought. Was anyone? She held back a tear. "Yes, I'm sure," she said, nodding. She just wanted to get it over with.
David opened his eyes. A blurry white light filled the room. Slowly, everything came into focus. He was lying on a hospital bed, soaked with sweat. A fan was perched on the table next to the bed, blowing a gentle breeze of fresh air into his face. He looked around. There was a bag with a liquid in it suspended above him, with a tube running down to his arm. He found a mirror on the table, next to the fan, and picked it up. Holding it in front of his face, he gazed at his reflection.
It was the same as it had always been, of course, except that where long, frizzy hair used to be, there was now a tightly wrapped bandage, stained with blood. It was clearly the face of a young boy staring back at him. For the first time, he wasn't repulsed by it. It wasn't like looking at a stranger he grudgingly had to put up with. It was more like... he thought about this. It didn't really feel like anything at all. His reflection didn't provoke any kind of emotion in him. It wasn't good, it wasn't bad, it was just who he was. That had always been the problem with Faye, though: not that her body was bad, just that it simply wasn't who she was.