Crossed Over

by Santana Knox

“If a girl is calling me Kitty, she better be making me purr.”

When you’re a woman, your anger is either childish or irrational. It’s never justified. So I didn’t care to try to explain myself anymore.

It was exactly like Harvey said: sometimes, everything was all too much, and something to dull that sharp sting of existence didn’t feel so bad every now and then.

“Please tell me I can kiss you.” Her eyes were glued to my lips, and my stomach fluttered something awful. “I think I’ll die if you don’t.”

“I’m already brown and autistic. I wasn’t prepared to add ‘lesbian’ to the mix.”

“Now tell me what you want from me, princess,” Harvey whispered in my ear.

“I want the moon, the stars. I want an entire constellation made of us.”

“Ask me just a little nicer, princess,” she whispered softly. “Please. Please, Kitty.”

I didn’t need to destroy myself over a victory, didn’t need to be self-sacrificing or get hurt in order to be a winner. In order to be their hero. I could be my own damn hero, and that meant sometimes letting someone else do the saving.

There was nothing that felt as good as winning. Except Harvey under me.

“Whoever said life was fair never met death, sweet child.”