A Beginner’s Guide to Voicework

  Announcement Hello, lovelies! Just a reminder that you can read 3 CHAPTERS AHEAD on this story, as well as Trade Paperback Romance, by becoming a paid subscriber to my Patreon!

  Helena Heissner's Patreon

  Hello, lovelies! Don't forget you can buy my books here:

  Amazon.com: Love During Robot Fighting Time eBook : Stacy, Helena: Kindle Store

  Amazon.com: Magical Girl Exorcist Squad: Love Thy Enemy: 9798343324785: Heissner, Helena: Books

  And you can follow all my socials here:

  Helena Heissner | Instagram, TikTok | Linktree

  Brian

  I woke up and thought, I’ve made a huge mistake; my head throbbed with an anvil-sized hangover and my throat burned from having over-used my girl-voice yesterday, and just in general I felt like death warmed over and then left to rot in a swamp at the height of a boiling summer. Oh God, ooohhhh fuck, oh fuck, everything is pain and I hate the universe, fucking fuckity fuck fuck!

  I groaned, rubbed my eyes, and swung my legs out of bed. The spike in my skull pushed deeper and deeper as I forced my way out of the room while wearing nothing but briefs and a baggy crimson Harvard t-shirt (I was swimming in the thing, but it was so darn soft it was perfect for sleeping). Please don’t let Kyle be awake, please don’t let Kyle be awake, please don’t-

  “Hello!” Kyle boomed, somehow louder than God’s revolver and twice as shiny the morning after getting bck-out drunk. Ugh, I’d forgotten the part where the meathead never got hangovers. Lucky son of a-

  He went over and scooped me up into a big bear hug, lifting me off my feet and propping me in the air with his bulging muscles. Did I mention he wasn’t wearing a shirt? I should probably mention he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Just a pair of basketball shorts. WHY WASN’T HE WEARING A SHIRT?!

  I opened my mouth to ask to be put down, but when I tried to speak in my regur voice, no sound came out. My eyes went wide with panic. Crap, how was I gonna expin this?

  “You okay?” Kyle said, still holding me up. His massive hands were both on my back, my face not too far off from his. Goddammit, he was ying it on thick. Steam filtered around my brain, pouring out my ears, and all I could get out was a squeak. Like I was some kind of boiling tea kettle. GODDAMMIT!

  I shook my head, and slowly, carefully, he set me down. The big lug was taking considerable effort not to hurt me, which I always appreciated. Well, not to hurt me physically. Emotionally, though…

  Not that I had a leg to stand on.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. Kyle’s expressions were easier for me to read than most people’s were, and this… This was concern. This wasn’t part of the game.

  I mouthed, ‘Sore throat.’

  “Sore throat,” he nodded. “Hm. Wonder how that happened.”

  I squeaked again.

  “Hm? What’s that?” Kyle said, bending down, cupping his ear as he pointed it towards me.

  “Hm!” I groaned.

  “Gonna need to be a little clearer, there,” he said, mugging for some nonexistent camera. This was just typical- real worry one moment, outright mockery the next.

  I flicked his ear, giggling silently as he went into a state of exaggerated anguish. He did a pratfall, tumbling through the air and nding on his ass and groaning on the floor. I rolled my eyes, and failed at suppressing another giggle.

  He sat up, instantly normal (or whatever passed for it with the lunkhead). “Seriously, though: you okay?”

  I held my hand up horizontally and shook it to gesture for ‘so-so.’

  “Hm,” he said. “Well, let me help with that.”

  I started to mouth ‘how,’ but before I’d finished he was already on his feet and ambling over to the kitchen. He retrieved a jug of pulpy orange juice from the fridge and poured me a gss, bringing it over to me and putting it in my hand.

  “Drink,” he said.

  I cocked an eyebrow.

  “Please?” he sighed.

  I smiled. ‘Better,’ I mouthed. I drank the whole gss down in one go, the pulpy, sweet nectar bringing a bit of relief to my aching throat.

  Kyle poured me another gss, then set to work beating a half-dozen eggs in a mixing bowl and sprinkling in a bit of shredded cheese while letting some red bell-peppers saute on the skillet. He brought it over on two ptes when it was done, putting one before me and handing me a fork. “Old Duggan family secret: cheesy scrambled eggs and pulpy orange juice for a sore throat. Ain’t no better fix.”

  I tilted a skeptical eyebrow at him, but he didn’t blink or drop his contented smile. So I dug in. Damn, that was delicious- perfect texture, right amount of cheese and salt, peppers giving it a bit of brightness. I’d eaten every scrap on the pte as soon as I started, the food helping with my hangover and my throat alike.

  “Better?” he said.

  “A little,” I croaked.

  “Good.”

  “Thanks,” I said, barely over a whisper.

  “Thank my mom, it’s her little homespun cure-all.”

  I smiled just a little. “Thanks, Mrs. Duggan.”

  “Mrs. Jensen, now, actually.”

  “Hm?”

  “She, uh, got remarried a couple years ago.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  “Yeah,” Kyle said, looking down and picking at his food with his fork. “My, uh, well, my dad died when I was fourteen.”

  I gulped, mouth opening slightly, brow furrowing. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know-”

  “I mean, I’ve never really mentioned it, it’s fine-”

  I reached across the table and took his hand in mine. God, my hands were so tiny compared to his, but… I hoped they could support him nonetheless. Yeah, he was a meathead, and yeah, he was trying to beat me at our little game, but he was also kind and helpful and did nice things for me without even having to be asked. He was my friend. “It’s not. I could’ve asked. You know so much about me, and I barely know anything about you. I’m sorry.”

  I hated every word out my mouth, both because I was using my normal voice and because my confession was the truth. I could’ve asked.

  The way he was looking at me then… It wasn’t an expression I’d seen before on him. I couldn’t read it. What was going through his head?

  “Thank you,” he whispered.

  I nodded. “Tell me about him? If you want, I mean-”

  “You don’t have to-”

  “I want to,” I said. I just wanted him to be okay. What was the point in doing all that I’d done if he wasn’t okay?

  He breathed in a short, shallow breath, then let it out just as quickly, his posture rexing, finally squeezing my hand back. There he was, back to something I could read. My Kyle. Stark and stalwart and steady. “My dad was a lighthouse keeper in Maine. He was… He was the best. Tough but fair, loved to goof around with me and my little brothers. Always gave the best advice, always picked me up when I was down. He was the one who got me to start focusing on school instead of just betting it all on sports. He was the one who taught me how to cook, how to talk to girls, how to fix a car… Everything. He was the kind of dad who let you smoke a cigarette so you could find out how awful it really tastes, and to this day I’ve only ever had the one. He was the kind of dad who let you curse as much as you want around him, provided he didn’t catch me doing it in front of mom. He was the kind of dad who wasn’t ashamed to tell you he loved you in public, not afraid to give me or my brothers a big damn group hug. It was… It was nice.”

  “He sounds lovely,” I said, still holding tight to his hand.

  “Yeah,” Kyle said, running his thumb against my palm in a circur motion, sending blissful tingles up my arm. “Then when I was fourteen… Car accident. Drunk driver. Some fucking asshole ran a red light when Dad had right of way and… I didn’t have a dad anymore. Just like that. Mom… She didn’t take it well. She and Dad… They were the kind of parents who were just grossly in love with each other and weren’t afraid to show it around the kids. Something in her withered when Dad died. She threw herself into work, and it fell to me to take care of Luke and John. Cooking, cleaning, getting everyone home after school, making sure they did their homework… The whole bit, because we still had a mortgage to pay, still had bills and groceries and all that shit. I didn’t… I didn’t want to go as far away as I did for school, because I thought it would be better if I stayed close, commuted from home, kept taking care of my brothers, but Mom wasn’t having it. And neither was Luke- he was sixteen by that point, and he looked at me one night and said ‘it’s my turn to be man of the house. It’s your turn to live your life.’”

  “How did he do?” I said softly, my voice slipping back up into a higher register. It was quiet enough that Kyle didn’t notice, and he just kept rubbing the inside of my hand with his thumb and the outside with his index finger. Lord, that felt nice.

  “Amazing,” Kyle said, a proud, joyous smile sprouting and making his beautiful face somehow more beautiful. “He’s so fucking strong. Got an engineering degree from a state school, working a wicked good job in Rochester nowadays. He and his girlfriend just got engaged, too- they’re pnning a wedding for this Summer.”

  “And John?”

  “John… Well, he’s had his problems. Got into a lotta fights growing up, nearly got booted from school because of it. He fixed himself up, though: he’s a social worker now, and he and his boyfriend just moved in together. He’s doing well, and I’m proud of him.”

  “And your mom?”

  “Better,” he said. “My step-dad… He’s a good guy. Treats her right. Think he probably realizes he’d be in trouble with his three hulking step-sons if he ever hurt Mom, so that keeps him in line. She was in pain for a long time, and I’m just gd she found someone else.”

  “Good,” I said, still barely above a whisper. The home remedy had helped, but I would probably need more experienced advice about something like this.

  “Thank you for listening,” he said, putting his other hand over mine, staring deep into my eyes. Sitting there, with him… I didn’t even care about the game, about him using my strategy on me st night, about whether or not he knew. I was there with him, doing what I set out to do in the first pce: making sure he was okay. And he was letting me help him, and that made me feel…

  It made me feel like I was still Rose.

  “What about you?” Kyle asked.

  “How do you mean?”

  “What about your family? I feel like I don’t really know much about them. I know you’ve got like fifty sisters-”

  “Five, actually,” I rolled my eyes.

  “But you never really talk about your parents. What are they like?”

  A pulse of uncertainty, brutal and hot, vibrated through me and shook me out of whatever headspace I’d just been in. I pulled my hand out of his, my back stiffening as I broke off eye contact.

  “I’m sorry,” Kyle said. “I didn’t-”

  “It’s fine,” I said.

  “You don’t have to-”

  “It’s fine. Just… Not today. Maybe some other time, but not today.”

  “Okay,” he said.

  I retreated to my room after that, my throat still stinging and my hands still clenched. Needed to do something, anything. Needed out of the apartment. I pulled out my phone and pulled up the one contact I had who knew something about throat and voice health.

  ‘Need help. It’s personal,’ I texted.

  I spent a few moments watching the ellipses on the other end chat before my boss finally, mercifully responded, ‘Want to come over?’

  I exhaled before sending back ‘y.’

  Fuck. This was gonna be wicked hard.

  ***

  Violetta wore pajamas as I sat across from her in her living room. It wasn’t exactly shocking: it was still Saturday morning (albeit narrowly), Carlos was making pancakes and coffee in the kitchen while wearing nothing but a pair of white briefs that left little to the imagination, and a gentle flurry of snow was falling outside. And we were in her house, a gorgeous brownstone in Back Bay with brick walls adorned with Carlos’ immacute (and highly erotic) paintings and floors decorated with gorgeous Persian rugs. I sat in a leather chair, bck and with a recliner I didn’t use. A gss coffee table sat between myself and Violetta on her red loveseat, while a psma screen television was to my left and an open-air dining room to my right. It was, for ck of a better word, homey. But I still hadn’t been expecting pajamas from this refined, regal woman I admired so greatly. A bathrobe, maybe, or some kind of fancy nightgown, not… Pastel pink jammies with crimson hearts all over them.

  That she looked amazing just made it even more jarring. Hair up in a messy bun, no makeup, no jewelry, fuzzy pink slippers going along with her jammies… She was still the most gorgeous, most distinguished woman on the face of the pnet.

  Pangs of embarrassment and woeful inadequacy cycled through me in warm, painful spins as my boss looked at the selfies I’d shamefully snapped while en femme st night, before I’d met Kyle at the first of our numerous pubs. They’d filled me with a singing joy when I took them, and I’d never pnned to show them to anyone, but… Well, it was easier than expining the whole thing with a sore throat. She stared at the photo, looking back at me, then back to the phone, then back to me. She turned to Carlos and shouted, “Carino, could you please whip up some of that special tea for our guest?”

  The great big bear of a man grunted in response, his broad shoulders shrugging. I couldn’t see his face, only the back of his gray-haired head and the movements of his bulging back muscles.

  “Is that a yes?” I asked, squinting, throat still stinging a bit.

  “It is,” Violetta said.

  “How do you-”

  “Because I know my man,” Violetta smirked. She looked at him one more time, clearly tracing him up and down with her eyes, and said, “Very well, at that. Down to every st inch.”

  Carlos turned around and gave an overdone bow, flourishing his hands and blowing his wife a kiss. I developed a sudden and powerful obsession with the carpet.

  “But we’re not here to talk about my devastatingly beautiful husband,” Violetta said. “We’re here to talk about you, my most favorite employee.”

  “I’m-”

  “Don’t let it go to your head,” she said, pointing a finger at me.

  “Yes, ma’am.” “But yes, you are. And I see you’ve been making good use of that vacation I gave you.”

  I gulped and nodded.

  “So this is all… A game between you and your roommate. And it started out as you just wanting him to clean like he normally does?”

  I nodded again, squeezing my eyes shut.

  “And now because of st night, you believe that he knows?”

  Only the most furious of nodding would suffice at that point.

  “But you flew too close to the sun with your girl-voice?”

  “Yes,” I squeaked, exhaling loudly.

  “Well the tea should help with that,” Violetta said, giving me back my phone. “I’ll just ask you point bnk: have you ever considered that you might be-”

  “I’m not.”

  “You didn’t even let me finish.”

  “I’m not trans,” I said in what was supposed to be a confident protest but came out sounding like a girly whine.

  She stared at me bnkly for about thirty uninterrupted seconds, the only sounds the pancakes sizzling from the kitchen and the tea kettle singing as the pressure built up and howled for release. Carlos poured the tea and set a timer to let it steep, then flipped the pancake on the griddle. Then he grabbed a trio of kitchen knives and began juggling them while he waited for the next pancake to cook. How the fuck-

  Violetta finally said, “I don’t believe you.” I balked. “But I’m not-”

  “And I’m not going to try to force you to admit it, I’m not going to prod you, and I’m not going to tell you what to believe about yourself. But I can tell you, based on the information at hand and my own experience with the subject matter, that I just pin don’t believe you.”

  “But-”

  “And just like there’s nothing I can say to convince you, there’s nothing you can say that will convince me. So, we can stay at this impasse, or you can let me help you. What’s it gonna be, kid?” I rubbed the back of my neck furiously, breathing in and out through my nose as memories began trickling in from the nooks and crannies of my mess of a brain and falling into the cold light of day. “I just want help with my voice.” “Very well,” Violetta nodded while Carlos- all six feet two inches of him, and all two hundred something pounds of muscle by the look of him- brought over my steaming mug of tea. I gingerly took a small sip of it, surprised by the sweet fvor. “Mmm,” I moaned. “Thank you, Carlos.”

  He nodded sagely, his expression utterly inscrutable but his posture rexed.

  “It’s good, yeah?” she said. “I’ll text you the name of it so you can pick some up. You’re gonna need it if you’re doing this.”

  I nodded. “Please.”

  “I can also get you in to see my speech therapist,” she said. “Woman’s a miracle worker. You remember what I sounded like when you first started working for me?” “Honestly, no.”

  “Good, that’s what I like to hear. And it’s a testament to the power of Dr. Bailey’s work. She’s a busy woman, but she’ll get you to something sustainable. I can also ask my regur therapist to get you a referral- I’m not comfortable having the same one as you, but I’m sure she can find someone else who’s well-suited to your… Unique situation.”

  “That’s… That’s…”

  “And, should you need it, I can get you in to see my endocrinologist as well.”

  I nearly dropped my porcein teacup. Only thing that stopped me was fear of ruining that expensive-looking carpet beneath my feet. “Just so I’m clear, an endocrinologist-”

  “Is a hormone doctor, yes. And should you want it, she could prescribe you Estradiol. And spironoctone- that’s a testosterone blocker, if you’re-”

  “I know what spiro is,” I interrupted.

  She smirked. “Hm. Interesting. I see someone has done her homework.”

  I flinched at the spark of warmth that ignited in my soul at Violetta’s casual application of the feminine pronoun towards my unworthy, cis-het male ass. My mind was pulled in two directions, as if tied to two different horses that were running in opposite directions: one was galloping towards a sunny field of grass and flowers and butterflies and joy and fulfillment, and the other was in a mad dash towards a cold chasm of ice and death. One was what I wanted, and the other was what I deserved.

  “Let’s start with the first two for now,” I said. “Speech therapist and brain therapist. Please.”

  She sighed. Carlos just rolled his eyes as he brought us two ptes stacked high with the most divine looking pancakes I’d ever seen and set them on the gss table. “Yeah, that’s what I expected,” Violetta said. “Just… Look, I don’t want to project my own experiences onto you, but at the same time, I see a lot of myself in you. I know I’m your boss, but I care about you. If you ever want to talk about this, I’m here. Okay?”

  I licked my lips before hesitantly uttering, “Okay.”

  “Good. Now. I’ve done my part as a host by feeding you. You do your part by eating what I’ve given you. Sound good?”

  “Yes, ma’am!” I chirped. I took a bite of pancake while Carlos brought his pte over and sat next to his wife. They turned on the tv and queued up an episode of some show I’d never seen before, which they informed me was about time traveling stoners in a superhero universe gallivanting about history and ‘screwing things up for the better.’ The pancakes, adorned with butter and real maple syrup, were delicious and soft but also crispy and so, so very sweet in that home-cooked, New Engnd way. Between it and the scramble, I was certainly well-fed today. And just in general, looking at the two of them, just… Spending the early Saturday afternoon with them, hanging out. They looked so damn affectionate, so sweet, so domestic, and they were letting me into their home and feeding me and helping me and entertaining me… It almost felt like I was with my mom and dad. Which was ridiculous. My parents had never been the type to do something like this. Especially not my mom.

  Still, I felt welcomed and cared for, and I appreciated it. And them. And looking at them being so sweet together, it stirred something in my heart, sending wisps of fantasy up into my mind that coalesced into an image:

  An image of Rose, doing the same thing. Cooking and keeping house, spending a Saturday eating good food and cuddling on the couch with her partner. And the clearer the image got, the more and more that hypothetical partner began to look like Kyle. Picturing that, us sharing that domestic bliss, holding hands like we had this morning, kissing like we had st night, was the most amazing sensation I’d ever known… For about twenty-eight seconds before the ramifications of that truly dawned on me and sent a stampede of panic trampling over my soul. Oh, FUCK! I thought as the credits began to py over the end of the episode.

  ***

  I left a little after one, thanking Violetta for everything. She’d texted me the numbers for the speech therapist and the endocrinologist (just in case, she said) before I was out the door. I hopped on the T, attempting to take everything I’d thought, take that whole image of a home where a husband and wife lived, where Kyle was the husband I… Where Rose was the wife, and crammed it all into a bottle to be chucked into the bottomless depths of the ocean of my subconscious.

  Results were mixed. Damn bottle kept bobbing up the proverbial surface, the equally proverbial tide trying to push it back to the shores of consciousness (if that metaphor still works, I don’t know, maybe I’m stretching it).

  I got off at the station a block from my apartment and trekked through the frigid air until I was coming up on the front of my building… At which point I saw Ruth and baby Caleb exiting it, and Kyle walking alongside them as they turned left and started down the block.

  At which point, I walked right past my building and started trailing them, my hands bunched into fists inside my pockets.