This choice: It's old manly junk he wants to get rid of • Go Back...Chapter #7It's old manly junk he wants to get rid of by: Yote   "I forgot, there's something I wanted to show you. You're going to love it," he says giddily, jumping up from his seat . Those hormones have his emotions bouncing around like ping pong balls. Even if he doesn't have the body or the skills of a woman, he's quickly developing the mentality of one. If he was muddled-up when he entered into this transition, by now he must be positively scrambled. All the more reason why you must look out for his interests, if he is unable to look out for his own. If there is any suggestion that he is not 100% on board with this, you have to stop it immediately.
Could you not leave it just a few months? the voice of your Inner Child pipes up. At the rate he's losing mass, it wont take long before all his hard work at the gym atrophies to nothing. It'd take years for him to build up again, during which you'd be the big brother. He'd never call you shrimp-arms again!
So your inner child still has a few unresolved grudges. Sam had always alternated in your youth between beating off the bullies and bullying you himself, though looking back you realise he'd just been trying to toughen you up. Your Outer Adult gives your Inner Child are a sharp talking to and sends it packing.
Sam leads you back through the kitchen and out into the garage. A mound of stuff has been piled there next to his 4x4 and her company car. Sam's stuff. Cardboard boxes stuffed with the missing rugby trophies. Stacks of motocross magazines. Black bin-liners filled with a wardrobe full of his clothing. Much of the hardware and power tools that had hung from the garage walls had also been taken down and thrown in there. Jutting up from the mound was his beloved home gym.
"You're getting rid of your weights?"
"Strictly cardio from here on, bro. If it's alright with you, I'd like you to have 'em. Use 'em, sell 'em, burn 'em. Whatever you want, as long as they're not here. This aint me anymore."
You give a low whistle. It's almost the entirety of a person's possessions here, and there's some good stuff in there. "Sure, if that's what you want. Who knows where I'm going to put it all though, or how I'm going to fit it in my car. You might have to let me borrow the 4x4."
He pulls out his keys, holds them contemplatively in his palm before holding them out. "Take it. It's yours."
"You're... giving me... your car?"
"Not my car. The old me's car. It's a symbol of everything I was. Look at it - big, loud, expensive, talk about overcompensating." He tosses the keys with a grin. "Only one who has to compensate these days is you, shrimp-dick."
"Th-thanks. But I can't-"
"You wanted proof of how committed I am to this, there's your proof." You hug even longer this time, you gazing over his shoulder at the big, beautiful, oil-black gas-guzzler that Angelina had bought him only a year ago. "Now you have a reason to make sure I don't wuss out on this," he chuckles.   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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