Free Thirteen, Fourteen... Little Boy Unseen by Willow Rose

before. You’ve seen these eyes begging you to stop, pleading you to leave them alone, haven’t you? Well they’re not the ones pleading anymore.”
    The man forced the therapist to his knees before he pressed the gun to his temple; his hand was shaking in anger. The therapist was sweating heavily and trembling in fear. His eyes appealed for mercy.
    I’m not a girl! I’m not a girl. Who am I? The man heard his sister’s voice plead in his head.
    The man was inclined to simply pull the trigger and finish the therapist right here and now. At least he would never be able to hurt anyone else. But the man had a greater plan for him.
    “Now, you listen to me, you asshole. You destroyed my sister’s life. Do you know that? You destroyed her. That is why you must die today. That is why I will kill you, but first you have to do as I say. I have a little exercise for you to do. Do you hear me? The faster you do as I tell you, the faster this will be all over, and the less you will suffer. Do you understand me?”
    The therapist nodded while trying to speak. He whimpered behind the gag.
    “Good. Now, I’ll hand you something, and then I’ll need you to put it on.”
    The man opened the backpack while still pointing the gun at Dr. Korner. Looking at him made so many bad memories resurface, and the man’s hands were shaking heavily as he pulled out the red dress and black stilettos. He threw both on the floor in front of the therapist.
    I’m an alien. Nobody wants me!
    “I want you to put this on,” the man said, fighting the anger filling him up from all the years of being repeatedly humiliated and tormented.
    The therapist whimpered again.
    “Take your damn clothes off, now!” the man said harshly, just like the therapist had said to him and Alex so many times.
    The therapist started undressing himself. He was crying, the wimp. Probably just trying to appeal to the man’s sympathy. But he wasn’t going to fall for it.
    I’ll never be good enough as a girl. I don’t know how to be a girl!
    “Hurry up!” the man said.
    The therapist was now naked, and the man took a picture of him with his phone. Then he told him to put on the dress and the shoes. The therapist did as he was told. The dress was too small, and ripped in places when he tried to put it on. Finally, he succeeded, and the therapist stood in front of the man wearing the beautiful dress and the stilettos. The man smiled. Tears burned in his eyes, thinking about his sister. The man grabbed a mirror from the wall, then placed it in front of the therapist. He used his cell to record a video.
    “So, take a look at yourself, dear Doctor,” he said. “Then, tell me. Are you a woman?”
    The therapist shook his head.
    “Are you a man?”
    The therapist nodded. The man pulled out his baton, then slammed it across the therapist’s face. He made the sound of a buzzer.
    “Wrong answer. Try again.”
    The therapist was on the ground. The baton had left an ugly mark. It was getting swollen.
    “Get up and try again,” the man said. “Remember, this is an exercise based on your own beliefs. What was it you used to say again? Oh, yes. Gender is learned. Gender is something that can be changed in early childhood. Something like that. Am I right?”
    The therapist got up on his knees. The man slapped him with his hand. “Answer me when I speak to you. Wasn’t that what you used to say?”
    The therapist nodded, while tears ran across his cheeks.
    “Good. Now, back to the image you carry of yourself. The image, according to your theories, can be altered with the right influence and exposure to the right things. Tell me once again. Are you a woman?”
    The therapist whimpered and looked up at the man.
    “Don’t look at me, you idiot. Look at the mirror. What do you see? Do you see a woman? Let me put it differently. Do you see a dress?”
    The therapist nodded.
    “And do we agree that women wear dresses?”
    The therapist nodded.
    “So, since you are the one