Shy Guy.... or Girl?

I was always the shy one in my class. People would tease me and say things like that I was homosexual or transgender. I hated it, but it was true. I'm 19, in college, and a transgender. In my earlier years, yes, I had been a boy, but things had never worked out with that gender. I had talked to my mom, and she had approved that I get the surgery. It is now a few years post-op, and I am much happier to the day. I have a steady boyfriend who knows about the surgery. He's fine with it, because, after all, I am technically a girl. A hot girl, that is. Guys never stop staring, and sometimes I do amaze myself with how much I do look like a girl. I'm sorry, guys, but I am on the ladies' side; guys have it easier. Breasts and other girl problems are much harder to deal with.
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I'm sitting in class learning about the periodic table when Professor Sten gets a call from the office. Her jaw literally drops to the ground, and she hangs up the phone.
"Students, please make an orderly exit out the door and to the library. There is a terrorist in the ladie's locker room," she said.
There were only a few other classes in the library, but we all knew that half of the school would be in there soon, and we'd be squished and squashed together. That's when I saw my boyfriend in the hall, and knocked on the window. He ran in and sat down next to me. I sat on his lap, and he held me really tight. I slipped my hand into his, and held on for dear life. Then the principal came in and locked all the doors, and turned off all the lights. I put my head on my boyfriend's shoulder. I knew I was crying, but I couldn't make a sound. Not if I didn't want to die. Every once in a while, you could hear someone else stifle their tears. I was looking out the bottom corner of the window when I saw two pairs of combat boots walk by. Since they were banned from school, I knew it was the terrorists. I tapped my boyfriend's shoulders, and he saw them too. We hugged each other tightly, and whispered sweet nothings to each other. Then he put his hand on my back and rubbed lightly. We kissed for what seemed an eternity, but was only a few seconds.
There came a knock on the library door, and you could hear the silent screams of innocent students. I heard the sound of a gun being loaded. I squeezed my boyfriend tighter. I knew they wouldn't see us right away in the corner, but I knew they would find us eventually. My boyfriend and I heard the footsteps backing up. All of a sudden, bullets, were being shot through the door, and everyone was screaming. I heard the cut-off screech of one of my best friends. I knew what had happened. The terrorists entered the library and shot randomly around the room. I heard the screams of everyone they hit and nearly hit. The bullets were coming closer, and I knew we were next. I gave my boyfriend one last kiss and hug, and we embraced because we were certain for death. Then his eyes widened and he screamed. Then I screamed, because I had been hit in the stomach area. I put my hand over the wound, and whispered to my boyfriend, "Play dead, boy." We slumped down and pretended to be dead. I heard the sounds of footsteps walking around making sure that everyone was hit. Occasionally, another shot would go off, and I would jump. They came around to us. I heard, "Boss, we killed lovers. Hahaha." It was a strange accent, and I just wanted to strangle them. Then they walked away, and I heard the echo of the school doors closing. The terrorists had killed everyone we loved, and just left. I swore that if I ever came across them again, I would be ready. I'd be ready for them and their combat boots.
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It is now three years later. My boyfriend and I are still together. In fact, last week he proposed to me, and I said yes. I have not met up with those terrorists yet, and I don't plan to. They have caused severe emotional damage to me and my boyfriend. I still have nightmares about them, and my boyfriend says I scream and cry at night. Yet, I feel that the damage has made me an a better person. I'm stronger than I ever was before, even though I lost all my loved ones. It's true that all my friends died. Besides my boyfriend and I, only three people survived. They were seniors in college that I didn't even know. After that incident, the "five survivors" got to know each other a lot more, even though we were constantly swarmed by reporters. My parents, as always, had went to extremes and moved way far away. I hardly see them now, and I miss them terribly. They are coming back in a few months for the wedding that I'm working really hard on planning.
I had been doing some thinking about the newspapers writing about the "five survivors". What if the terrorists had seen the articles? Worse yet, what if the terrorists lived in our town? I'd prayed, but I don't think God had ever answered my call.
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It's the day of my wedding, and I am super stoked. I'm in my wedding dress and I'm looking from the church window down into the crowd. I see my parents, arguing about something that probably doesn't matter. The ceremony is about to start. I see the flower girl and ring bearer walk down the aisle, and I hurry down to get in line. The ceremony proceeds until it's my turn to go down that aisle. I feel my eyes start to water and tear up. I slowly walk down the aisle. Then I hear a voice that I remember say,"Hey, boss. Aren't those the lovers? Hi, bride. It's so nice to see you again."
I stopped right there, pondering wht to do. Everyone stared at me, as if telling me to continue walking. I couldn't, though. I ran up to my soon-to-be husband and told him in his ear. Then he told the pastor, and had him rush the marriage. We shared the "big kiss". Then the two terrorists stood up, and yelled out that we weren't going on our honey moon just yet. They pulled their pistols out of the sides of their trousers. Each of them pointed them at my new husband. I could almost hear them pull the trigger, so I jumped in front of the bullet, and missed. I heard my husband get struck, and the tumble of his muscly body hitting the ground. The pastor called the cops. I was sobbing. My parents were sobbing. Everyone was sobbing. They had just shot my husband, and it was all my fault. If I would have timed my jump right, he would be alive.
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