hannibalsloverboy

“Does it hurt?” Samira asked, dabbing gently at the wound.

Pope drew in a ragged breath, his eyes shutting for half a second, body tensing from the pain.

“You still with me?”

His gaze found her face in the dim light—brows pinched, lips caught between teeth—a kind of concentration she reserved for the Emergency Room or Sunday morning crosswords. He wondered how many words she could carve into his skin before she realized she could never truly hurt him.

Popemira.

[JERRY STARES AT GEORGE FROM ACROSS THE TABLE IN CONFUSION AND DISBELIEF FOR SEVERAL SECONDS]

JERRY: “You understand trans people?”

GEORGE: “Is that so hard to believe?”

JERRY: “I find it hard to believe you understand yourself.”

GEORGE: “But that’s kind of my point, see. When one life isn’t working out, you can just try to find one that does. You’re doing your best as Danny, things aren’t going great… [GEORGE CLAPS HIS HANDS FOR EMPHASIS]… give it a second go as a Deborah.”

JERRY: “Like a do-over.”

GEORGE: “A do-over.”

JERRY: [PICKS UP COFFEE CUP] “I don’t think that’s what’s going on.” [DRINKS COFFEE]

GEORGE: [COMPLETELY IGNORING THIS] “And I get that. I really do. Because things have never worked out for George. George has never been able to stick the landing. But Georgina? [HE CHUCKLES CONFIDENTLY] Georgina’s going places.”

JERRY: “Georgina.”

GEORGE: “It’s a work in progress.”

JERRY: “Ya know, I think that the trans community is facing enough challenges without you being in the mix.”

GEORGE: “What, are you implying they’re too good for me?”