Chapter 1: The Blood Secret

“Why does it smell like blood in here? Did someone in our dorm get hurt?”

“No, but I smell it too.”

The question hung in the stale dorm air, mixing with the scent of Axe body spray and microwaved mac and cheese. After making sure nobody was bleeding, everyone’s eyes landed on me.

“Derek, are you hurt?”

I shoved my curtain aside, earbuds still in. “Not me, guys.”

My voice was flat, unamused, with a look that said, drop it, seriously. I rolled over. “I’m on the phone with my girlfriend. Don’t bother me.”

“Oh, a girlfriend—talking to her so sweetly.”

I was the first in our dorm to claim a ‘girlfriend.’

Of course, it was all fake.

For someone like me, even a normal relationship is already a mountain to climb.

A girlfriend? Not a chance.

I have a secret that’s hard to talk about.

I am intersex.

Even though I look like any other guy, I have female organs—and I get my period every month.

It eats at me. Even here, in America, where everyone’s supposed to be open-minded, it’s impossible not to feel like a freak when you’re hiding something this big.

So I made up the girlfriend.

It gives me a reason to head down to Target and buy pads ‘for my girlfriend.’

But really, they’re for me. I know the layout of the feminine products aisle like the back of my hand. I always toss some chips or a Red Bull in my basket, acting casual, pretending I’m not terrified someone will ask questions. The store lights were harsh, the shelves stacked with pastel boxes. I grabbed a bag of chips, acting like I belonged here, like I wasn’t terrified someone would ask questions.

Because I’m not like everyone else.

I keep my distance, cold and withdrawn, avoiding close contact, not because I want to—but because I’m scared someone will find out.

To keep up the act, I even read fake couple conversations off my phone, using my naturally husky voice: “I like you, of course I like you. I’ll never break up with you.”

“We’ll see each other this weekend. Just hang in there a bit longer.”

Then, I made a kissing sound into my phone. “A kiss, bye-bye, see you this weekend.”

After hanging up the call that never existed, I let my hand rest on the edge of my laptop, waiting for the laughter or teasing that always followed. My chest felt tight, every word a lie I’d practiced a hundred times. I wondered if anyone could see through it—if Marcus could. It’s exhausting.

But because of this, my roommates are convinced I have a girlfriend.

They tease: “Derek, your girlfriend is so clingy.”

“So jealous. When will I ever get a girlfriend?”

“Forget it. Look at Derek’s face—not just girls, even guys would want to date him.”

I threw a pillow at Tyler’s face. “Say that again, I dare you.”

The pillow smacked Tyler’s shoulder and he just laughed, hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright, I’ll stop.”

Whenever the group messes around, my eyes flick toward Marcus.

He’s the roommate across from me—aloof, top of the class, always first in GPA, and looks like he walked out of an Ivy League campus tour video—preppy, untouchable, annoyingly perfect. He’s got that old-money, button-down shirt half-tucked vibe—like he grew up sailing and never had to worry about student loans. He’s the only one who never jokes about my girlfriend.

It almost seems like it bothers him that I have one.

Could he be jealous I started dating before he did?

But if Marcus wanted a girlfriend, he could have one—there’s a whole line of people waiting for him.

After the call, cramps knifed through me and I didn’t have the energy to keep up the banter. I curled up under my blanket, breaking out in a cold sweat, wishing the guys would just leave me alone for once.

Then, the mattress creaked.

To my shock, Marcus climbed up onto my bed, his body closing in on mine, crowding the tiny space with heat and pressure.

His legs pinned mine, knees wedged between my thighs, trapping me.

He braced himself on either side of me, pressing a palm to my forehead, which was clammy with sweat, and frowned. “Dude, you look rough. Why didn’t you say you were sick?”

Meeting Marcus’s deep gaze, I suddenly became extremely nervous. My mouth went dry. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to bolt or lean in closer. My mind spun. Did he know? Could he smell it? I tried to look away, but he was so close I could count every freckle on his cheekbones.

“Can you walk? I’ll take you to the ER.”

“No need, it’s too much trouble.”

I couldn’t wait for him to leave. “I’ll just take some Tylenol.”

At this distance, I was terrified he’d smell the blood. My pulse hammered in my throat; I yanked the blanket up, hoping it would hide me.

Marcus studied me for a moment, then finally said, “Okay.”

He climbed off my bed and I let out a shaky breath. My hands trembled under the covers; I tried to steady them, counting my breaths.

But then Marcus said, “I think I smell blood. Are you hurt?”

“Let me check.”

Panic shot through me. “No, really, there’s no need!”

But after checking there were no obvious injuries, Marcus was about to lift my covers.

In a flash, I bit his hand—hard.

Marcus hissed in pain.

Finally, he gave up. “Sorry.”

Without another word, he climbed down. I heard the squeak of his bunk as he rolled over, probably nursing his hand.

Suddenly, I felt incredibly guilty.

If… if I were normal, maybe Marcus and I could be friends. Maybe even something more, if I dared to hope.

But as I tried to sleep, I couldn’t shake the feeling Marcus knew more than he let on—and that tonight had changed something between us.