A TURN OF THE MOON
Day Ten
by
Jessica Drew

I sat in the darkness of the dining area, staring down at the half-eaten slice of toast in front of me. I couldn’t remember the last time either of us had sat at the table to eat. It just felt so formal and impersonal. This morning, the disquiet had felt right somehow. I reached for my mug of coffee, taking a sip, but it was already cold. I sighed and got up, walking over to the kitchen, crossing the few shards of light that intruded through the gaps in the blinds.

I tossed the toast into the bin. I’d thought I wanted it, but one bite had been enough to turn my stomach. I poured the coffee away and stared over at the pot, wondering whether to pour myself another. Everything felt too difficult and I gazed up at the ceiling, trying to summon some motivation.

Lauren was still in bed. I’d asked her if she wanted anything, but she’d just groaned and pulled the covers over her. After Elliott Shaw’s visit, she’d been inconsolable, finally letting out everything she’d been holding onto. I’d held her, wanting to cry myself but finding myself unable to. Since then we’d barely spoken. Neither of us ate anything that night, and we had numbly got into bed, not even knowing what time it was.

I turned from the counter, noticing my cell phone on the kitchen island, silent and unused since the accident. I stepped forward and reached for it, but the sight of my small hand made me hesitate. I took a breath, then quickly picked it up, tapping it with a finger. The battery must have died as the screen stayed dark.

I carried the phone over to the lounge, bending down to plug it in at a wall socket. My breasts shifted freely beneath my beige sweatshirt. I hadn’t felt much like wearing a bra, or panties, or leggings... There didn’t seem to be any point. As I straightened, I picked absently at the boxer briefs I wore under my sweatpants.

I looked across at the sofa where we’d sat yesterday. It seemed increasingly like we only sat there to hear bad news. First Doctor Rourke, shifting our timeline for a cure, and then Shaw, the Axis attorney, telling us I was no longer a priority. How they wanted to shift the blame for the accident. And then came my dismissal, citing failure to engage with their questionnaire. That stupid piece of paper tucked away in my bedside drawer. I’d been fired, because I hadn’t divulged if I’d been crying more than usual...

They couldn’t do that, could they?

I didn’t really know enough to say. I didn’t know how much was legal truth, or Axis trying to intimidate us.

I sat down on the opposite sofa. It seemed different sitting on this side of the lounge. Fewer memories.

I felt my wet hair dripping down the back of my neck. I hadn’t washed it this morning, but then I hadn’t bothered to pin it up before my shower either. I gathered it up as best I could, then drew the hood of my sweatshirt over my head. I pulled the cords, retreating into it. Looking down at myself, I saw that my baggy clothes had settled in a way that seemed to hide my shape. I consciously shifted my legs, letting them splay open, trying to complete the pretence. I closed my eyes and breathed in, noticing the scent of the Deep Blue body wash I’d used.

I opened my eyes at the sound of Lauren’s bare feet tapping down the stairs. I looked over, seeing she was wearing a pink robe, with her brunette hair tied loosely back. She glanced over at me as she walked through into the kitchen, her eyes looking red and puffy. Her expression shifted, but didn’t quite make it as far as a smile.

Lauren poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot. “Do you want one?” she asked flatly, not looking up.

“No… I’m fine,” I said. Our voices seemed loud in the quiet of the house.

Lauren cradled the coffee cup tightly, staring into the steaming cup. She brought it to her lips even though it must have been far too hot.

I looked away quickly as she turned toward me, barely picking up her feet as she came over to the lounge.

I stared down at my lap, playing with my fingers. “So... what now?” I asked, peering up at her from under the hood of my sweatshirt.

“I don’t know, Scott,” Lauren sighed, her expression blank and detached. She looked down at me, noticing my clothing, her eyes lingering on the NYC logo written in white across my chest. “You’re back to wearing—” She stopped herself and shook her head. “It doesn’t matter…”

“Lauren, I—“

“I told you. It doesn’t matter. Wear whatever you want. You shouldn’t listen to me. You should never have listened to me…”

I watched in silence as she drifted away, heading down the hallway that led to her office.

I just didn’t know what to say to her. What could I say?

Sorry, honey, you’ve got a woman for a husband now… A wife.

That’s what I’d been thinking. That’s what Lauren must have been thinking too. Over the span of a week, the cure had become a genetic reversion pathway, and now there wasn’t even any certainty of that. At the beginning, Rourke’s reassurance had made it feel as though we were looking at days, or weeks. Now it felt more like months, or years…

Or never.

Somewhere at Axis Labs, a box had been ticked, or a form had been signed, and in the process my future had been rewritten.

My body… my gender… my identity… my marriage…

I heard the office door closing as Lauren shut herself away. I didn’t follow after her because I knew what she wanted… she wanted her husband.

I looked down, running a hand along my thigh, realising I was sitting with my legs together again.

I sat alone in the lounge, listening to the wind blowing through the trees outside. A flash of light caught my eye. My phone had come back to life. I leaned forward to pick it up, gazing down once more at the wedding photo that served as my wallpaper.

The phone vibrated in my hand as it tried to recognise my face, just as it had before.

One failed attempt. Two attempts remaining.

Not wanting the indignity of being locked out again, I quickly held my thumb across the camera. I carefully tapped in our anniversary date and unlocked it.

My eyes were drawn to the notifications of my unread messages. I tapped at the screen and scanned through them — mostly junk, along with a summary of our bank balance that wasn’t quite as healthy as I’d hoped… But a couple of messages in particular stood out.

I opened the first. It was from Henry, my supervisor at Axis Labs.

”Hey Scott… Just wanted to check you were doing okay. We’re not supposed to talk about what happened to you here at the lab, which is crazy… Let me know if you need anything. H.”

As much as I hated Axis, Henry was a decent enough guy. Just another worker bee like myself. I’d been told he was the one who called for an ambulance when I was first exposed to the compound at the lab. I’d passed out and they couldn’t wake me. It was only at the hospital that I had started to change… Somehow, Henry must have found out what had happened. I wondered how many other people knew…

I slipped the hood of my sweatshirt back as I moved onto the next message, leaning forward a little on the sofa.

”Dear Scott, it would be great if you visited your mom. She’s been asking after you. Robert.”

Robert… technically he was my stepdad, though I never called him that. I didn’t really have much of a relationship with him, so for him to message me direct was a little unusual. I did feel a pang of guilt for not seeing Mom more often, but I couldn’t face answering them right now. They didn’t know about any of this, and for the moment I decided they couldn’t know.

I was about to put the phone down when I paused. My finger hovered over the ‘Photos’ app and I pressed it. I flicked through the most recent photos. They were mostly of Lauren, and I immediately noticed her full smile that lit up her face. She’d smiled at me often over the last ten days… but not like that.

One of the photos was a selfie-shot of the two of us, out on the back porch. I found myself gazing at the man, studying him like a missing person photo. His hair, short, scruffy, but manageable. His light grey eyes, larger nose and ears, a squared jawline with flecks of sandy stubble. I thought that had been my most recent photo, but I was surprised when I swiped across to find one more.

A couple of weeks ago we’d taken delivery of a new wooden post to replace the damaged one on the back porch. I must have asked Lauren to hold my phone while I carried it round to the back of the house. The photo was a candid shot of me from behind, carrying the post on my shoulder. I didn’t even know Lauren had taken this… or that this was how she saw me. It was like looking through her eyes.

As I gazed down at my phone, I realised I’d been absently twirling a loose strand of hair and sitting with my legs crossed. The contrast with the man on the screen was almost unbearable.

I uncrossed my legs and promptly stood up, my clothes settling once more over my curves. I needed to do something. To keep myself busy and stop the wave of thoughts from overwhelming me. Just like Lauren had been doing for me. Lauren… I set my phone down and walked over to the hallway that led to her office. I paused, listening carefully, wondering whether she had gone off to phone Emma. I couldn’t hear anything. Not even the clacking of her keyboard to suggest she was working.

I tapped my fingers against the wall, lingering for a moment before turning away. As I walked across the length of the living space, my breasts swayed freely beneath my sweatshirt causing my nipples to chafe uncomfortably against its fabric.

I flicked a switch and stepped through into the garage. The fluorescent lighting clicked and flickered above me. It felt much cooler and I folded my arms in front of me for warmth. I walked carefully around the cars, first the SUV, then the convertible, making my way over to the workbench. The air smelled of wood and metal. My hand slid over the surface of one of the shelves, finding it higher than I remembered.

“Ow.” I flinched as my finger caught on a splinter of wood. I brought it to my mouth, sucking it, as I gazed at the tools hanging on the wall.

My hammer and toolbox clattered loudly as I dropped them onto the decking of the porch, only just managing to teeter out with it all. I stood for a moment, with my hands on my hips, catching my breath. The lake rippled gently as it reflected the greyness of the clouds above.

I stepped across to the broken porch post. It was loose and rotten at the base, but at least it was driven into dry earth, rather than one of the front posts that disappeared into the dark waters of the lake.

I walked down the steps that led from the deck of the porch, feeling the soft grass beneath my bare feet. The replacement post lay on its side, close to the house. I squatted down, grasping the post, rising slowly up again. It was awkward to hold in my small hands.

“Ahh… fuck,” I groaned as I began to back up, dragging the heavy post towards the porch steps. The other end of the post began to carve a furrow across the grass.

I shuffled back further, my blonde hair falling across my face. I reached the first step, raising a leg back to try and step up, but my heel caught. I fell backwards against the steps, landing on my side.

“Ahh!” I cried out with the sharp pain.

The post fell, hitting the lower step with a thud before rolling back across the grass.

I unexpectedly burst into tears. I managed to sit up, wiping at my eyes, as I stared down at the post and the chunk it had taken out of the lower step.

Once the shock had worn off, I pulled myself to my feet and limped back up the porch steps, holding my side. I sniffed, my lower lip still wobbling, as I flopped into one of the chairs. Looking across the lake I could see the house on the opposite shore. It looked finished now. Two men had built a whole house and I couldn’t even fix a post.

I ran a hand over my sweatpants, now scuffed and dirty with a tear at the side.

I stood in front of the full-length bedroom mirror. My eyes were red and a little swollen, just as Lauren’s had been earlier. I looked down, seeing my beige clothing now creased, dirty and ruined. I’d retreated into the sweats this morning, the same clothes from my first few days as a woman. They had felt safe and didn’t explicitly label my gender in the same way that Lauren’s other clothing did.

But these were still Lauren’s clothes… They were still too delicate for the task I had attempted. I had retreated… but not far enough. I couldn’t go back, could I? Not really.

I took a breath and gripped the hem of my sweatshirt, pulling it off in one smooth motion. I saw my bare breasts jostle free in the reflection of the mirror. I placed my palms on top of them. My nipples were sore from the sweatshirt, making me regret not wearing a bra. I exhaled slowly, the tenderness beginning to subside already. I focused on their shape, the almost straight slope outward from my chest, and then the soft rounded curve of their underside. I turned at my waist, noticing a bluish bruise on my side. I prodded it and winced.

I slipped my thumbs into the waistband of my sweatpants and slid them down my thighs, letting them fall. Finally, I peeled the ill-fitting boxer briefs from my body, seeing the red marks the waistband had left on my hips. Between that and my bruise it was like my body was wearing the scars of my bad decisions.

I rubbed gently at my curved hips, soothing the sore marks. In the mirror my gaze drifted to my mound, and the tuft of blonde hair, tidied now from shaving yesterday.

My transformation seemed to be a ledger of gains and losses. I’d gained breasts, hips, a backside and long hair. I’d lost height, strength, my balls and my penis. As I gazed down I found myself trying to remember what it felt like to have one. I twisted from side to side, imagining it swaying, but I felt nothing. Its constant weight and presence wasn’t just absent… it was getting harder to remember.

But alongside the loss, there was another gain to add to the ledger. Something hidden. I let a hand slide down, past the soft hair, tracing with a finger down the centre. I flinched as I brushed against the apex of my new anatomy. It wasn’t just sensitive. It was too sensitive. My finger slid lower, to smooth, soft and slightly moist flesh, still tender, but not uncomfortably so. As I traced the curve of my lower body, my finger dipped, the tip slipping inward, just a fraction…

I pulled back, surprised. Not so much at how it felt… but the way it made me feel. A new vulnerability existed there... as part of me. I had a flicker of thought, an awareness — that I didn’t really know what had changed inside of me, and to what extent.

I needed to cover myself. To stop looking and thinking. It was more than I could deal with today.

I brushed blonde hair back behind my ear as I turned to the dresser, opening the panty drawer. I found a nice pair of powder blue panties, feeling the softness of their fabric with my fingers. I held them low and stepped into them, drawing them slowly up my legs until they settled at my waist. I smoothed the waistband and ran a finger along the leg openings at the front and back. I let out a soft sigh, relieved by their comfort.

I moved to the next drawer and found a matching bra. I slid my arms through and leaned forwards, scooping my breasts into the cups. I straightened and hooked it at the back, sliding my fingers along the shoulder straps to straighten them. The lift and support of the bra was immediate, and the padded cups were soft and kind to my body.

I checked myself in the mirror, first turning to see myself in profile, and then turning a little more to look over my shoulder. The pastel blue underwear looked like it was made for me.

And that was the point.

That was why I’d given up on my male underwear in the first place. My boxers had conspired to cause discomfort… to hurt me even. In a way, they were a crueler reminder of my transformation than the panties and bra, which soon settled out of thought once they were on.

I selected a pair of navy leggings and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling them up my legs and standing to wriggle them up over my hips and backside. I ran my hands over my thighs, feeling the snug fabric encasing my legs.

I opened another drawer and leafed through Lauren’s folded tops. I pulled out a fitted cream-coloured top and threaded my arms through the long sleeves. I pulled it over my head and down my body, smoothing the hem out at the front and back. I then reached up, adjusting the boat-neck across my shoulders so it sat straight.

Satisfied with how my clothing looked in the mirror, I turned and walked over to the vanity, sitting on the stool. I started brushing my hair out, wincing as the tangles caught, cursing myself for not looking after it properly this morning. I brushed it back and gathered it into a ponytail with a hairband.

I scanned my face in the reflection of the mirror. Since my transformation, I’d taken my appearance as a whole… she was the woman in the mirror. But now I found myself focusing on small details — my smooth cheek bones, my chin… I ran a finger over my thin eyebrows and then the bridge of my nose, noticing a smattering of light freckles. My finger then traced across my lips, prodding at their plump shape.

My light blue eyes looked tired. I noticed the concealer that Lauren had used on me yesterday and squirted a small amount onto my index finger. I carefully dabbed under each eye and rubbed it in.

That’s better.

I looked fresher, and in turn it made me feel it a little better. Finally, I picked up my wedding ring necklace. I brought my blonde hair forwards and clasped it at the back of my neck. I flicked my hair back and straightened it. I felt a wave of relief to be wearing it again. I stood up, thinking only of Lauren.

I headed back downstairs, swiftly gliding, my hand sliding against the rail. My feet tapped as I made my way down the hallway towards Lauren’s office.

I paused and lightly tapped on the door. After a moment, Lauren opened it, standing there in her robe, her eyes moist and glistening. She looked down at me, a small smile forming, but somehow she still looked sad.

We embraced.

Lauren’s hands wrapped around me, as mine slid up her back. I rested my head on her shoulder as she held me tight.

“I’m… sorry,” Lauren sobbed against me.

“I’m sorry, too,” I hoarsely managed as I began to cry with her.

Neither of us were ready to talk about it. We just knew that we needed each other. To hold each other in the moment. At first I was aware of the awkwardness of our bodies pressing together, the subtle jerking movements as we wrestled with our emotions. Then I just felt a warmth. I didn’t know where my body began and Lauren’s ended. It was like we were one. Finally, we pulled back.

“I made your top wet,” Lauren said, wiping at the tear stains on my cream top.

“It’s okay…” I said softly, looking up at her, glancing at the damp spot on the shoulder of her pink robe. “I did too.”

“We’re a mess.” Lauren said as she tucked a loose strand of my hair back behind my ear.

“I guess some things never change,” I said, smiling warmly.

We walked silently back through to the living area, holding hands tightly. Lauren hit a switch on the wall and with a motorised whir, the window blinds began to retract up towards the ceiling. Sunlight flooded the space — the dining area… the kitchen… the lounge. I closed my eyes for a second, letting them adjust.

We slipped an arm around each other’s waist and walked outside onto the porch. I took a deep breath, gazing at the waters of the lake, then further to the tree line beyond, and finally to the mountains, hazy and uncertain in the distance.

I glanced up at Lauren, noticing she was staring off to one side — at the broken porch step and churned up grass.

“What happened here?”

I just smiled and let my lungs fill with the fresh air once more.