#also it's highly illegal to dodge a real debt using a shift in identity or presentation. but this isnt a real debt. i don't owe them shit

[nohj3]

The phone rings with a known number, a debt collector, trying once again to convince me to pick up the debts of my ex-spouse. I lay, listening to its ringing as it goes. Irritating. Frustrating. And I'm already so upset. Upset at... Myself... Mostly...

In a move I, at the time called stupidity, but later learned was intended as an Implicitively ignorable form of self harm, I answered the call.

"Hello?", the voice said, wavering with a tone of uncertainty, reflecting it's owner's confusion at the vacuous space that their expectations would usually assume another voice to be in.

I'm already in this now. The social conventions of answering a call clearly implicate a consent to conversation that my new temporary partner in telecommunications has done no faux pas, to allow me to safely unlock the cage that is societal expectation.

"Hello," I state. Simple and efficient. With no attempt at conveying information the greedy vultures shouldn't have. My voice, upon registering the need for polite but stern tones, slipped quickly into its work uniform. High pitched. Firm. Tight throat. The way i talk around strangers who don't need to know about my nonstandard gender. "Whom is this I'm speaking to?"

"Oh! I'm srry ma'am!" The voice continues, both more comfortable in It's locating of a designated dance partner, and less comfortable in hearing whom they didn't expect. "Srry to bother you, I'm looking for a man named [deadname]. Do you know where he might be?"

The revelation that my voice unintentionally deceitfully removed from it's oppositional voice's owner's mind the very idea I could be the one that they sought, filled me with such joy. My voice passes! That's incredible! I've worked so hard for this! The joy is quickly used as a foundation to motivate me into a mindset capable of navigating such a conversation.

"You still haven't answered me. Whom am i speaking to?" I state, with a confidence in my voice, i thought myself previously incapable.

"Oh uh... We work for [redacted], i uh... Legally Can't say anymore than that unless i know I'm speaking to [deadname]. Do you know where he is?"

"I can certainly give them a message. What would you like me to say?"

"Oh uh... I mean.. That won't be necessary.." The voice stammers as it's possessor processes the pressure prevalent in pursuing a position possessing the potential to procreate payment from the pocket of a person permeating privacy. "If you could just tell us how to reach him?"

"Oh, I'm sure they would have no qualms being the one contacting you." I state, poorly hiding my sadistic pleasure in my social domineering, a trait i, despite my growing confidence in my personal tendencies, still define as a necessary tool not to be enjoyed like a toy. "But they're not devoid of busy. I mean, if they were they'd be easier to contact. No?"

"I-i suppose bu-" they're cut off as i continue.

"So if we want them to have you in possession of a higher slot in the callback list, you simply must give me some information they would deem worthwhile to pursue. I apologize that your hands are metaphorically tied by legal rope, but, to be quite frank, that's not my problem? As it stands all [deadname] will hear is that [redacted] called, but didn't bother to say why. Now that doesn't seem very urgent now does it? Also, dare i say, lacks quite the professionalism on your part." My tone sharp but soft edged. A mix of caring and uncaring, like a sadist playfully tearing down their prey's will.

"W-well that's fair. I um... Uh... You can tell him um...." The sweet soft tones of the struggle the voice conveys fill me with a pleasure i deem too hedonistic to savor. As i push back down my instinctual self in favor of a version less hopelessly addicted to inciting such delicious sounds from those consenting to be prey, I tune back into the stammering The voice fails to hide. "You can tell him... That uh... We called... And we'll call again. Later. When he's less busy. Um... S-srry again to bother you ma'am."

"Oh no trouble at all," i speak, with an almost sultry, but certainly not lacking in control, tone. "It's been such a pleasure talking to you."

"Y-yeah? I-i mean. I'll call later. Bye!!!" They hang up quickly. Failing to hold even a crumb of professionalism by the end. Cute.

I'm still laying. The surge of confidence and self actualization must be far more affected by the unexpected method of its own arrival than i originally anticipated, as it's done nothing to affect the physicality of my body. I sit up. I'm going to be ok. A thought i, mere a few minutes prior, thought my brain to be vacant of. I'm going to be ok. My spouse is gone now. They can't hurt me. The constant chains reminding me of their presence all of a sudden feel to be made of weaker metal as i successfully evaded the vultures looking to devour my liver.

These are but threads tying me to them. They can no longer hurt me. I'm going to be ok.

#dialogue from my life #rants #trans #i tried writing this one more like i write my stories #figured it'd be good practice #if anyone is curious no i don't owe them money. but my exspouse does and keeps telling them to get their debt from me #well i assume keeps telling them. knowing collections i doubt they had to be told more than once Dx #also it's highly illegal to dodge a real debt using a shift in identity or presentation. but this isnt a real debt. i don't owe them shit