A Turn of the Moon - Day 13

A TURN OF THE MOON
by
Jessica Drew

Day Thirteen
Poked and Prodded

I stood in front of the full-length mirror and adjusted my necklace so it hung in the centre of my chest. I smoothed my hands across my light blue tee and adjusted the high sleeves so it sat straight. Lauren had said this colour matched my eyes. Maybe that was why she’d bought it for me.

I checked myself in profile, tugging on the hem of my top so it sat nicely over my breasts. Taking a breath, I stared at my blue eyes in the mirror. It felt different today. Different because everything I wore now belonged to me, from my nude bra and light grey panties, to my charcoal leggings and light blue top.

I turned back toward the bed. It was strewn with my new clothing, along with a mess of opened bags and packets. I picked up the receipt, my eyes scanning down it.

A multipack of panties, three tops, a couple of pairs of leggings, a couple of skirts, a couple of bras…

My eyes widened. Did bras really cost that much? No wonder Lauren had only picked me up a couple — one in black, and the other in the nude colour that I now wore. I had a few more options with my panties, the multipack offering several colours to choose from — plus they would last me the whole week without having to borrow any.

I automatically reached for Lauren’s drawer, wondering when that had started to feel normal. Her panties were all arranged by colour and folded neatly. I slid the drawer shut and instead opened my own underwear drawer. It was a jumble of black and grey boxer briefs, nearly all identical in style and brand. Scooping them out of the drawer, I dumped them onto the bed. I began to repack my drawer, partly to make space for my new underwear. Carefully folding each pair of boxers, I placed the blacks over on one side and the greys on the other. I then placed my new black bra on top, followed by my panties from the multipack.

“Uh.” A sudden twinge in my abdomen made me wince. I straightened and rubbed at my tummy. The sharpness subsided quickly enough, but I could still feel a dull ache, like I’d pulled something. Maybe I should have been doing more of those stretches that Lauren had showed me. I took a breath and leaned down more carefully this time to open my t-shirt drawer. There wasn’t much room in there either. I’d always hoarded t-shirts, falling into a cycle of wearing out my favourite ones — then wearing them only for bed. Only when they finally fell apart would I think of throwing them out.

I folded my spare pair of black leggings, along with my two new tops, and placed them on top of my old t-shirts.

Staring down at the two skirts laid out on the bed, I wondered why Lauren had bought them for me. Yesterday’s skirt had been hard to get used to — that feeling of exposure — even if it did feel cool to wear in the heat.

I opened my side of the wardrobe, staring at all my shirts and pants. My male wardrobe was beginning to feel like a moment in time, frozen in place since the incident. I shoved the clothing along on the rail and hung my two new skirts carefully alongside. One was a cream colour, though plainer than the one I’d borrowed from Lauren yesterday. The other was a pastel pink. At least the colours were nice and might have been something I’d choose myself.

I returned to the bed and gathered up the rest of the things that Lauren had bought for me. I was grateful for the new tube of moisturiser, which I placed straight away on my bedside table. There was a small hairbrush that would fit in my bag, along with a compact mirror — those would come in useful. Finally, another tube of concealer cream and a small lip balm. I set the items down on the vanity table and left the bedroom, humming softly to myself.

* * * * *

The house felt much cooler as I descended the staircase. There had been a storm overnight and the heat had broken. I looked over to see that Lauren was in the kitchen preparing breakfast. She hadn’t noticed me yet, so I leaned against the rail, watching her from above for a moment. She was dressed in a pair of black leggings and her plum long-sleeved top. It was the same top I’d worn myself last week. She whisked up a few eggs in a bowl, glancing over at an open cookbook on the counter, while talking aloud to herself.

“Now, normally I would be advocating for a large social media boost, but in your case we want something more tangible and closer to home — so I’m thinking billboards, testimonials from other local businesses… The Riverside name needs to feel part of the family…” Lauren paused and screwed up her face. “Uhh, that’s so lame.” She put the bowl down and wiped her hands against her apron, then picked up the pen and notepad she had beside her cookbook. “Part… of… the… community.”

“Hey, what’s all this?” I asked, walking the rest of the way down the stairs and over to the breakfast counter.

“Hey, honey,” she said, flicking her glasses up on top of her head. “I thought I’d make us some French toast this morning.”

“Well, I won’t say no to that!” I said, pulling out a stool to sit on.

Lauren grabbed a pan from the drawer under the kitchen island, set it on the stove, and turned on the heat. “Oh, you wore your new things!” she said, beaming, as she added a knob of butter to the pan.

“Oh, yeah.” I looked down at my light blue top.

“Well, do you like them?”

“Yes… I do.” My cheeks warmed a little from the admission. “So, how’s the presentation going?”

“Hmm. Well, sometimes when I hear myself speaking, I think, ‘Lauren, you have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about’…” She sighed as she went over to the fridge for some milk.

“That’s called imposter syndrome,” I said quietly. “Believe me, I’ve been having that a fair bit of late.” I stroked a hand through my blonde hair.

Lauren added a little milk to the eggs, glancing up at me. “Yeah… sorry, this is just silly stuff I’m worrying about.”

I got down from my stool and walked around into the kitchen area, the tiled floor cool against my feet. “No, I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have made the comparison. It’s not silly at all.” I reached for the handle of the pan, swirling the melting butter. “It shows you care. But Lauren, you know your stuff. You’re really good at this.”

She leaned in and planted a kiss on my cheek. “You’re a sweetie.”

I smiled back at her. “You better hurry before this butter burns off!”

“Oh… What am I missing?” She flipped her glasses back down and leaned past me to look at the open cookbook. “Vanilla!” She hurried to a cupboard. “Can you add the cinnamon?”

I picked up the bowl of cinnamon from the side, glancing back at Lauren before shrugging and tipping it into the egg mixture.

Lauren returned with the vanilla extract and paused, looking down. “Did you just put all of it in there?”

“Yes, I thought—“

“That’s why there’s instructions! Never mind! Quick, dip the bread in!” Lauren said, as she added a few drops of vanilla.

I soaked the bread, the smell of cinnamon almost overpowering now. Using a spatula, Lauren carefully laid the first slice in the pan. It sizzled loudly, smoke rising almost immediately.

“Ahh! Look out!” Lauren turned off the pan and moved it onto a spare ring.

I sprang into action, quickly soaking a dishcloth in the sink then draping it over the pan, which sizzled and steamed fiercely.

“Well, that was unnecessary…” Lauren said, with her hands on her hips.

“Sorry, err… that’s what we’re taught to do in the lab.” I stared down at the mess we’d made.

* * * * *

We sat side-by-side at the breakfast bar, each eating a banana and drinking coffee.

“Did the thunderstorm keep you up last night?” I asked, gazing over at the tall windows at the rear of the house. The wooden decking of the porch was wet, glinting where the sun peeked through the grey clouds above.

“A little, though my sleep is pretty broken at the moment anyways,” Lauren said as she chewed.

“Oh, how come?” I asked, taking a bite.

“I keep getting too hot. I think it’s you!” Lauren grinned, nudging me with her elbow. “It’s like having a furnace in the bed with me!”

“That’s what I always said about you! Now you know what it’s like sleeping with a woman in the bed!” I laughed.

Lauren looked at me for a moment. “So, do you still want to do this?”

I picked up my phone from the counter to double-check the message. “Doctor Hartwell said to meet at her clinic at ten.” I paused for a moment, seeing a new message from my supervisor Henry. My former supervisor… I wiped my thumb absently against a smudge on the screen.

Lauren reached over and put her hand on my arm. “But we’re still going to fight Axis over this, right?”

“Yes… we have to,” I said, looking at her.

“Good. Because I don’t want you… either of us… getting our hopes up again. The legal route has to be our priority.”

“I know, I know. It just can’t hurt to hear her out,” I said, taking another bite.

“I’m still not sure I trust her.” Lauren sighed. “This could just be Axis trying to find another way to screw us.”

“But why would they cut us off, to then invent a way to draw us back in? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Maybe. But let’s just keep our eyes open, okay?”

I nodded and folded the empty banana skin. I picked up my coffee mug, bringing it to my nose as I inhaled the new Colombian blend.

“How is it?” Lauren asked.

“I don’t know. All I can smell is cinnamon,” I said, smiling.

* * * * *

I emptied my tan cross-body bag onto the counter and began to repack everything into the smaller navy-blue purse. Lauren had offered it to me as an alternative the other day, and it seemed like it would go well with today’s outfit. There was still enough room for my modest collection of belongings. I picked up my new small hairbrush and tried running it through the ends of my blonde hair a few times, before slipping it into the bag. I then flicked open the compact mirror, checking my reflection briefly before slipping it in. Finally, there was the lip balm. I unscrewed the cap and brought the tube to my lips.

“Would you mind driving today, honey?” Lauren asked. She was over by the lounge, checking herself in front of the mirror. “I still feel a little tired.”

“Nuh, I duh muyd,” I said, looking over at her as I applied the lip balm.

I drew my moistened lips in and popped the cap back on the balm, dropping it into my purse. Slipping the strap over one shoulder, I zipped it up and walked over to join Lauren by the mirror.

“Oh, you used the balm,” Lauren said, turning back to look at me. “I wasn’t sure whether you’d like it or not, but it really suits you!”

“What are you talking about, it’s just a…” I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror and took another step forward. My lips were now moist… and pink. “I… I thought this was just supposed to be for dry lips!”

“Well, it is… but it’s got a tint,” Lauren said, using her little finger to wipe some of the excess from the corner of my mouth. “Did you not notice when you put it on?”

“You were distracting me!” My brow knotted as I grew more irritated.

“Well, I’m glad I can still distract you!” Lauren teased.

“That’s not what I meant.” I looked again at my tinted lips in the mirror. “Uh, I look like Legally Blonde.”

“Well then, all you need is a chihuahua and you’ll be ready to take down Axis!” Lauren laughed, and I laughed with her. “It’s pretty natural looking, it just adds a little bit of colour to that pale face of yours!”

I found myself staring longer into the mirror. Did I really have a pale face?

“Look, if it bothers you that much, just wipe it off with a tissue,” Lauren said, reaching into her own purse to offer me one.

“Forget it,” I sighed. “We’re going to be late again.” I walked toward the door, my black flats tapping against the wooden flooring.

* * * * *

The clinic was a little way north, meaning we had to take the freeway. I weaved the convertible in and out of the traffic though I could sense Lauren’s foot coming down as if trying to hit an imaginary brake pedal beside me.

“Can you slow down a little?” she said, sounding genuinely annoyed. “Just because you’ve got your driving mojo back, doesn’t mean you have to drive like an idiot!”

“Okay, okay,” I said, slowing down as we approached the intersection. Coming to a stop at the lights, I glanced at the rear-view mirror, noticing a car coming up fast behind us. It pulled alongside, a black BMW with tinted windows. The engine revved a few times, the powerful exhaust sounding like a roar beside us.

“Oh really? We’re doing this, are we?” I said, looking over, but seeing only my own reflection in the dark glass of the vehicle’s passenger window. Blonde hair, pink lips. Frustrated, I tapped my foot on the accelerator a couple of times, but immediately felt Lauren’s hand on my arm.

I looked across at her as she slowly shook her head. “Don’t you dare!” She looked past me towards the other car. “Besides, I don’t think he’s revving because he wants to race you.”

I looked back. The car’s window had rolled down and the man in the driver’s seat was smiling over at us. He revved another couple of times and seemed to mouth something. It was all over in an instant. He took off, the car speeding ahead of us down the road. All I could do was sit there with my mouth open, my cheeks flushing red.

“Scott? The lights.” Lauren spoke softly at my side.

“Right…” I flexed my fingers and looked down to orient myself. I released the parking brake and pulled away, driving a little more cautiously this time.

* * * * *

My phone announced that we had reached our destination. I turned off the engine and leaned forward over the steering wheel, gazing over at the small strip mall in front of us.

“It looks a little rundown,” I said, a chill running through me. Lauren handed me my navy purse from the footwell, then flipped the visor down to check herself briefly in the passenger mirror. I unzipped my purse and reached in for my own compact mirror. I flipped it open and angled it to look across my face. All I could think about was my lip colour, wondering if it was too much. I drew my lips in, hiding them from view for a second, before letting my expression settle.

“You look great,” Lauren said, looking across at me from the passenger seat.

“Do I want to look great? Or do I want to look needy and helpless?” I gave a half-smile back.

“If you need to, just try and look sad — bat your lashes at her,” Lauren teased as she opened the passenger door.

I got out and smoothed my pale-blue top, then slipped my purse strap over my shoulder. I looked around for a moment. The strip mall was arranged in an L-shape, with a handful of small stores and businesses. The freeway roared behind us, the overpass casting a shadow across the parking lot. As Lauren stepped up beside me, I noticed a man coming out of a pharmacy up ahead. He looked dishevelled and unshaven, and staggered as he walked.

“Oh fuck, we’re going to be killed out here, aren’t we?” I said. I was only half-joking, but I still found myself linking with Lauren’s arm, clinging to her tightly. I was relieved when the man turned and headed away from us.

We walked over toward one of the buildings, our shoes lightly splashing against the still-wet sidewalk. It looked abandoned. The door and windows had all been white-washed and everything was dark inside.

“Are you sure this is the right address?” Lauren asked, rattling the door handle.

“Well... I think so.” I unzipped my purse, reaching for my phone so I could double-check. The sound of an approaching car made us look up and we watched as Doctor Hartwell’s silver estate rolled into the lot, parking next to the convertible.

Hartwell stepped out and gave us both a polite nod. She wore black pants that were loose in the leg, along with a white blouse and a grey cardigan that reached almost to her knees. It had the effect of making her look even smaller than she already was. She adjusted her black-rimmed glasses before reaching into the back of the car for a box full of files.

We hurried over and Hartwell thrust the heavy box into Lauren’s hands.

“Thank you,” she said, looking up at us both. “And apologies for my lateness. There are some idiots on the road today.” Lauren and I glanced at each other. Hartwell walked past us, her hands deep in her cardigan pockets, rooting around for her keys.

* * * * *

The lights flickered on and we stepped through into a small waiting area. Hartwell walked over to attend to the alarm system that had begun to softly beep from behind the reception desk. The clinic looked clean and modern, nothing like what I had expected from the outside. The only sign of neglect was a potted plant that sat on the desk, where the leaves had long since fallen and turned brown. There was plush seating arranged along one side for Doctor Hartwell’s patients to wait. Lauren dumped the box she held onto the seat closest to her. My eyes roamed the white painted walls and the informational posters — all of them about some aspect of women’s health.

“There we are,” Hartwell said, turning back to look at us both. “I was worried I wouldn’t remember the code.” She came closer, the stark light revealing the creases and lines in her face. “Now then, Scott, I know... and Mrs Carter... we weren’t properly introduced before,” she said, her expression remaining unreadable.

“Lauren,” my wife introduced herself, giving a tight smile. She kept her arms folded. Lauren had all but chased Hartwell off when she saw us talking in the park yesterday. She seemed to want to come along today out of protectiveness, rather than believing that Hartwell would actually help us.

“I’m Philippa Hartwell, former employee of Axis, just like Scott here. Though my departure was by choice.” She spoke with an even, slightly raspy cadence. She opened up another door with a key, turning on the light. “Do come through. And Lauren, could you bring the box please?”

Lauren looked at me and rolled her eyes. “Of course.”

We stepped through into Hartwell’s consultation room. It was a decent size, with a desk and plush leather chair, and at the far end a privacy screen and examination bed. Next to the bed was a monitoring machine with a built-in display screen. There were more posters on the walls. One was a diagram of the female reproductive system. Another was a flow diagram, charting the phases of the menstrual cycle. Then there was the plastic model on her desk, showing how a baby sits, upside down, within the womb of a pregnant woman. I could feel my heart beating a little too quickly, as if my mind was trying to grapple with something I wasn’t ready for.

Lauren dropped the heavy box of files unceremoniously onto the floor, making me jump.

“Careful with those,” Hartwell said, switching on her computer. “There’s some valuable data in that box... and strictly speaking I shouldn’t even have it.” She raised an eyebrow, then gestured for us both to sit.

I sat down in front of Doctor Hartwell’s desk, slipping my purse from my shoulder and holding it in my lap. Lauren hesitated for a moment, then took a seat beside me. Hartwell took her place on the leather chair. It seemed designed to give her small frame a little extra height and gravitas. “It’s been a while since I’ve used this clinic,” she said, her eyes roaming around the room. “I’ll be starting up my practice again. But today I’m all yours.” She held her hands open.

“How good of you to squeeze us in,” Lauren huffed. She leaned forwards in her seat, seeming increasingly angsty. “Look, first we’d like to know exactly why—” she stopped herself, rubbing at her forehead. “No... No, you should speak,” she glanced at me, looking apologetic.

I brushed a strand of hair away from my forehead and cleared my throat. “Well, uh... I guess the first question I have is... why did this happen to me?”

Hartwell looked at me, her hazel eyes sweeping down my body for a moment. She nodded, as if agreeing with my choice of question.

“I suppose I should tell you about my work at Axis,” she said, leaning back in her chair and steepling her fingers. “I’ve been working on reproductive regenerative medicine using gene therapy. Simply put — restoring reproductive function in women who have lost, or never had the capability.”

Lauren and I looked at each other, our eyes wide. “But... that’s huge,” Lauren said.

“My life’s work,” Hartwell said, taking off her glasses to rub at her eyes. “The only problem being... so far it hasn’t worked.”

“And I’m the ‘unexpected effect’,” I said, remembering the words used in our letter from Axis.

“Yes,” Hartwell said, “I suppose you could say that.” She reached up, smoothing back her greying, auburn hair.

“So, this compound... B-57... whatever,” Lauren began. “It was supposed to be used on women, but instead it turned Scott into one?”

“The compound is just a catalyst really. The real work is being done by the body’s own genetics.”

“So... my body did this to itself?” I asked, shifting in my seat.

“Put simply, yes.” Hartwell nodded. “And now you’ve got Axis all excited, wanting to see if they can reproduce the effects.” She sighed, her shoulders dropping. “Suddenly, my lofty goals and ideals have fallen by the wayside, in favour of something altogether more sensational.” She reached for the plastic baby model on her desk, tilting it towards her, looking a little sad for a moment.

“And... uh, have they? Reproduced the effect?” I asked, cautiously. Lauren and I glanced at each other.

“No, of course not,” Hartwell said, with a small flicker of satisfaction. “You see, I’ve come to realise we were missing a vital piece of the puzzle.” She held my gaze.

“Me? But... what’s so special about me?” I gripped my purse tightly as my mind began to race. I felt Lauren’s hand come across to find mine.

“Maybe nothing… maybe a lot,” Hartwell said. “But we should at least find out.”

I looked at Lauren, then down at our clasped hands. “Alright.”

Lauren exhaled. “Look, before Scott becomes your latest lab rat, we need to know this isn’t about your research… This isn’t about your crusade to help all the women of the world, or whatever it is you’re trying to do. This is just about reversing what you did to Scott.”

I could hear the emotion in Lauren’s voice. I squeezed her hand and offered a smile.

“I know you’ve been hurt already by too many broken promises,” Hartwell said. “So I won’t insult your intelligence by offering another. All I can say is I’ll do my best by you. And there’s no employment contracts, no NDAs… There’s nothing to stop you walking out of here whenever you want.”

The three of us sat in silence for a moment, though I could tell Lauren was making a conscious effort not to say anything more. I kept my eyes on her as I answered.

“When do we start?”

* * * * *

I stood behind the privacy screen, staring up at the wall. Another poster — this one showing a man holding a woman from behind, as she smiled back at him. It was almost the same pose as the wedding photo I had of me and Lauren on my phone — only this couple were especially delighted about the particular brand of contraception they’d been using.

I gave myself a moment, then crossed my arms, slowly pulling my light blue t-shirt over my head and threading my blonde hair free. I laid the top down on the examination bed and rubbed at my arms, feeling my flesh prickle into goosebumps. I tried to reassure myself that I was doing the right thing. It would have been so easy to leave with Lauren and go home.

I reached back and unclasped my bra, feeling the pressure ease from my breasts. I slid the straps from my shoulders and pulled the cups from my body. The bra still felt warm from my body heat, as I carefully folded it and placed it on top of my t-shirt. My bare breasts responded to the cool air, my nipples growing erect.

I gripped the waistband of my charcoal leggings and shimmied them down over my hips. I bent at the waist, pushing them down to my ankles and slipping them over my heels. Standing in just my light-grey panties, I picked up the gown that Doctor Hartwell had provided for me and slipped my arms through. The back was open, and I reached back, fumbling with the drawstrings.

“Everything okay in there?” Lauren’s soft voice came from the other side of the screen.

“Yes, fine... Well, actually... could you do me up?” I asked quietly.

Lauren stepped through, pulling the curtain back into place behind her. She paused, looking down at the hospital gown.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Just... uh... bringing back some memories,” she said, clearing her throat to compose herself. “Turn around for me?”

I turned my back to Lauren and swept my hair forward. I felt her fingers brush against me as she tied a bow with the drawstrings, first at my neck, and then around my waist.

“There,” she said, quietly, rubbing a hand against my back. “Listen... while Hartwell’s in the other room — are you sure you want to do this now? I mean, we only just met her and you want to let her go poking and prodding you?”

“You heard what she said, how I was the missing piece of the puzzle,” I said, turning back around. I flicked my blonde hair back over my shoulders.

“The things she’s asking... that’s a lot for any woman to go through, especially...” Lauren looked down and sighed. “Look, if you feel uncomfortable at any point, if you want anything to stop... you just say, okay?” She looked back up, her eyes scanning my face.

“Are you giving me the ‘consent’ talk right now?” I asked, wryly.

“Hey... I’m being serious,” Lauren said, cupping my cheek.

I nodded and took a deep breath. I reached for the screen, pulling it back.

* * * * *

Doctor Hartwell hovered close to my face, shining a light into my eyes.

“Now, I’d like to conduct some basic checks first,” she said, speaking evenly and quietly. She clicked the light off and looked at me for a moment. “I’d like to begin with your lymph nodes… and your breasts. Is that still okay with you, Scott?”

I glanced at Lauren, who stood anxiously to one side. “Yes… that’s okay,” I said. My body wasn’t convinced, as my heartbeat began to race. Hartwell took a pair of blue latex gloves from a dispenser, wriggling her fingers as she pulled them on.

She began to feel along my jawline, then around my throat, seeming to concentrate on my thyroid gland.

“What are you checking for?” Lauren asked quietly.

“Just any sign of abnormalities,” Hartwell said. “Scott’s cells have undergone a traumatic experience. Intense mitochondrial activity, unprecedented cell division...”

I tried to read her expression as she continued, to see if she’d detected anything, but her face was as inscrutable as ever. “Now, would you mind slipping the front of your gown down for me?” she continued.

I nodded and reached back to where the gown was tied behind my neck. Lauren stepped forward to help me, pulling the string free. I felt the gown part between my shoulder blades. I gingerly slipped it down, freeing my arms. My cheeks grew warm as I bared my breasts to her. It had taken long enough to feel comfortable being topless in front of Lauren, but here I was in a strange place, with a woman I barely knew staring at the breasts I didn’t even possess until two weeks ago. I watched Hartwell’s face carefully, but she gave no indication of being affected at all.

“Can you raise your arms for me, like this?” Hartwell said, demonstrating. I raised them, feeling the shifting weight of my breasts. She used two fingers to feel around the lymph nodes under each of my arms. “Good, you can put them down again. Now, I’m going to check your breasts, is that okay, Scott?”

“Yes…” I said, my voice catching a little.

I flinched at the coolness of her gloved fingers against my skin. She used both hands, working around, gently palpating my soft breast tissue. “How does that feel? Any tenderness?”

I exhaled, suddenly remembering to breathe again. “No… I mean, yes… but, well I guess I don’t really know what normal is supposed to feel like,” I said. I had felt my own breasts, but not like this. Not with such blunt firmness, or intent.

Hartwell continued to feel me for a few more seconds. There was nothing intimate about it. Everything about it was professional and methodical. But I still couldn’t bring myself to look at Lauren.

“No pain or discomfort?” Hartwell asked, stirring me from my thoughts.

“Uh, no.”

“Good,” she said at last, pulling her gloves off with a snap and tossing them into a medical bin. “You can pull your gown back up now.” I quickly slid my arms back through.

“Well, is everything okay?” Lauren asked, sounding even more anxious than I was.

“I didn’t detect anything out of the ordinary,” she said, her gaze fixed on me.

I turned to Lauren, giving a smile of reassurance, but she had her eyes closed and was breathing a heavy sigh of relief.

* * * * *

“Ow!”

I gave a small yelp as Hartwell pressed a needle into my arm. I had a healthy dislike of needles — or anything that hurt in general, so I kept my gaze fixed on Lauren.

“I’m going to need a few vials, I’m afraid,” Hartwell said. I winced each time she pulled a full vial of blood from the tube, feeling the pressure of the needle in my vein.

“Just one more… there we go.” I exhaled as she slid the needle free, replacing it with a cotton ball. “Just hold that there for me, Scott,” she said. I looked back and held the wad in place, keeping my forearm raised. Hartwell tore off a strip of medical tape and helped me stick it in place. I glanced at the deep crimson vials arranged on the rack beside her — five tubes in total, all with different coloured caps.

Hartwell must have noticed me looking. “There’s a few different tests I’d like to run — blood count, hormonal… the larger one is for the genetic profile analysis,” she said, pointing.

I nodded as she picked up the rack of samples and carried them through a door at the rear of the examination room. I peered over from my seat, glimpsing what looked like a small laboratory setup in the room beyond, the fluorescent lighting reflecting off an array of expensive-looking machinery.

“Is that an iSeq?” I asked.

“Good eye. Courtesy of a few research grants over the years,” Hartwell said as she walked back through. “I’ll have to give you the tour some time.”

Lauren sighed, drumming her fingers against her thighs. “I’m sure this is all very fascinating, but can we please just get this over with?”

Hartwell walked up to me, holding what I recognised as a buccal swab kit. She put on a fresh pair of gloves and tore open the packet. I opened my mouth, knowing what to expect. She ran the swab stick around the inside of my cheek. My eyes had just started to water when she removed it. She popped the stick into its tube and quickly labelled it. Despite my experience working in genetics laboratories, I still found it fascinating that everything about me was somehow neatly wrapped within a DNA double-helix. But how much of that was still me, and how much of it was something new? I still didn’t know the full extent of my changes, or what still lay hidden and unknown inside of me.

* * * * *

I lay on my back on the examination table, the cushioned bed feeling cool against my bare arms and legs. I watched as Hartwell pulled the curtain back and wheeled the ultrasound machine into position. It lit up and beeped at us, the display screen glowing.

Lauren helped to lift the front of my gown, exposing my abdomen, while Hartwell laid a paper sheet across my lower body.

“Can you lower the waistband of your panties a little for me please?” Hartwell asked.

I looked up at Lauren and swallowed. I reached down, tugging the waistband down a little.

“Is… is that enough?”

“Perfect, Scott.”

Hartwell reached for a bottle of gel, squeezing a generous amount onto my bared abdomen.

“Oh!” I gasped.

“Are you okay?” Lauren asked.

“Yes, just cold!” I gave a nervous laugh.

Hartwell pressed the handheld wand to my navel and began to slide it around, smearing the gel across. We all looked up at the screen, as grainy, grey-scale images started to form.

“What’s that dark patch?” I said, feeling myself panic already.

“It’s okay, that’s just your bladder,” Hartwell said calmly, as she looked down at me. I felt the pressure of the scanner as she moved it a little more. She paused. “But this shape here? That’s your uterus.”

Lauren flinched at my side. I looked up at her and we silently stared at each other for a moment.

Hartwell moved the scanner a little more. “That’s one of your fallopian tubes… and there… your right ovary.” We gazed at the screen dumbfounded. I had no reason to suspect that my transformation hadn’t been complete — outside and in. But there was something about seeing the image on the screen. Knowing this was inside of me, tucked away, hidden amongst my other organs. I watched the shifting patterns on the screen.

“Hmm,” Hartwell murmured to herself. “Tell me, Scott, have you noticed anything over the last few days?”

“Wh-what do you mean?” I raised my head from the bed.

“Everything’s okay, isn’t it?” Lauren asked, her hand squeezing my shoulder.

“Any discomfort in your abdomen?” Hartwell continued.

“No,” I answered, but then thought back to this morning. “Well, there was a little twinge. I thought I’d just pulled something…”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Lauren said, her voice wavering.

“It didn’t seem like a big deal,” I said.

“It’s called Mittelschmerz,” Hartwell said. Lauren immediately turned away, her hands on her hips as she stared up at the ceiling.

“Any changes to your sensory responses? Taste or smell?” Hartwell continued. She was fixated on the screen now, adjusting the scanner.

“I… I don’t think so,” I said, finding myself unable to think straight.

“Actually,” Lauren said, turning back, “you’ve been inhaling everything over the last couple of days.”

“I…have?” I stared back at the screen.

“You see there?” Hartwell said, tapping the screen with her fingernail. “There’s a mature follicle on your right ovary. You’re ovulating.”

“I— I’m what?” I looked at Lauren. Her expression softened. It was like she already knew.

“There’s nothing to be concerned about. Everything appears healthy,” Hartwell said, grabbing some paper towels and beginning to clean the ultrasound scanner of the gel. She handed me a few sheets to wipe my abdomen.

I cleaned up and tugged the waistband of my panties back into position. Swinging my legs round to the side, I sat upright, pulling my gown so it covered my thighs.

Lauren leaned in to hug me. My arms wrapped around her. “You okay?” she whispered in my ear. I nodded, my eyes glistening.

I cleared my throat. “Why do I feel like I’ve just been told I’m pregnant?” I sniffed as Lauren released me.

“Pregnant? No… but it could be possible for you,” Hartwell said, as she switched off the ultrasound machine and wheeled it out of the way. “Have you had unprotected intercourse since your transformation?” she asked, turning back to look at me.

“Of course she hasn’t!” Lauren blurted.

Hartwell paused, looking at us both for a moment. She raised her eyebrows, then continued. “I make it a point not to make assumptions about the arrangements of any relationship.”

“Of course I haven’t…” I said, quietly.

Doctor Hartwell gazed at me and for a moment I saw a flicker of something. Almost a smile, though with her I couldn’t tell. She slipped her glasses off and turned away from us. Her shoulders rose and fell as she took a deep breath.

“What is it?” I asked, rubbing my clammy hands against my thighs.

“I’m sorry,” Hartwell said, turning back to face us. “It’s just… well, it worked… complete female reproductive function.” Her thin lips trembled slightly.

I wasn’t sure what was most disconcerting — being told I was ovulating, being asked if I’d had unprotected sex… or seeing Doctor Hartwell show genuine emotion. I realised what this must have meant for her. She’d been working her whole career to restore reproductive function in women… only for it to be born… within me.

Hartwell took a breath and slipped her glasses back on. She pulled her long cardigan around her. “Well, ah… just one more test to perform.”

Lauren placed her hand on my knee. “You don’t have to do this, you know. She’s got enough from you now. Let’s just leave it there.”

I looked over at Hartwell, still seeing the remnants of emotionality at the corners of her mouth.

“No. Let’s get this over with,” I said at last.

Lauren looked at Hartwell. “You’ll… be careful, won’t you?”

“As careful as I can be,” she replied.

* * * * *

I lay back on the examination bed, lifting my gown and raising my hips, as Lauren helped to slide my panties off. She turned away, placing them carefully on top of my folded pile of clothes.

Hartwell was busy fetching what she needed. She turned back toward me and I instinctively let my hand drift down to my thigh, my arm covering my modesty. Hartwell reached under the end of the bed, releasing a locking mechanism and unfolding a pair of stirrups. The metal arms clacked into position, the cushioned footrests hovering above the foot of the bed.

“If you just scoot down to the edge for me, Scott,” Hartwell said, lightly tapping the bed. “Lauren, can you help him, please?”

“Y—yes, of course,” Lauren said, coming back over. I shimmied down, my bare buttocks against the edge of the bed. Hartwell and Lauren guided my legs up, settling my feet in the stirrups. The sense of exposure was almost overwhelming. I was suddenly spread, open and vulnerable, with nowhere to hide. Lauren glanced between my legs, but only for a second. She quickly moved further up the bed. I reached and grabbed her hand.

“You won’t go anywhere, will you?” I asked, looking up at her.

“Of course not, honey,” Lauren said, looking almost heartbroken. She reached down to stroke my hair.

Hartwell placed another paper sheet over me, hiding my lower body from my own view. She wheeled a stool over and sat at the end of the bed, positioned between my spread legs. She pulled on a fresh pair of gloves.

“You’re getting through quite a few of those,” I said, finding myself talking through my nerves.

“I’m going to start with an external examination, Scott, is that okay?” Hartwell asked, looking up at me.

I nodded and drew my lips in, squeezing Lauren’s hand tightly.

I flinched as Hartwell’s gloved hands touched me. She paused for a second to let me settle again. I felt her gently spread me, carefully and precisely parting my folds. I held my breath and looked up, fixing my gaze on a point on the ceiling. It must have only lasted a few seconds, but it felt much longer.

“Good… External observation of clitoris, labia and vaginal opening all appear normal,” she said. I finally breathed out.

“Now I need to use a speculum,” Hartwell said. “It slips in and will just gently hold you open while I take the swab samples.”

“O—okay,” I said, still not looking. My mind played tricks on me, conjuring up some monstrous medieval device.

I could hear the wet sound of the gel lubricant being applied to the speculum. “This will feel a little uncomfortable at first,” Hartwell said, “but try to stay relaxed.” I felt a pressure against… my vagina. I shifted my gaze to Lauren, gripping her hand tighter.

“Just remember your breathing, honey,” Lauren said.

I breathed in, just as the pressure against my lower body seemed to give and I felt the speculum slowly enter me. It felt surreal, like I was helplessly sliding down into a well with my hands tied, powerless to do anything about it. My cheeks flushed red, as if it was an embarrassment. Or was it more that I was affronted?

“You’re doing very well, Scott,” Hartwell said calmly, gently pushing the speculum the rest of the way. I felt an uncomfortable fullness, and my lower body tensed, as if trying to expel the invading object. “Now I’m going to start opening it slowly, but let me know if it gets too uncomfortable, okay?”

“Okay,” I said, looking up at Lauren. I noticed that every now and then her reassuring smile would drop and she’d have to remember to maintain it.

I could feel the slight movement of Hartwell’s hand, and gradually a tightness built, as the speculum stretched me.

“Ow,” I whimpered.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“Just for a moment,” I said, trying to get used to it. “Okay… okay, I’m ready.”

Hartwell began to open the speculum further. I bit my lip and closed my eyes.

“Ow, ow!” I cried out.

“Ow!” Lauren winced and pulled her hand away for a moment, shaking it from where I’d almost crushed her fingers.

“Sorry!” I said, with a brief nervous laugh.

“It’s okay, honey,” Lauren said, wiping a tear from my cheek. “Breathe with me… in… and out.”

“Am I supposed to do that ‘heh, heh, heh’ thing?” I asked, trying my best to concentrate.

“No honey, you’re not giving birth,” Lauren said, laughing a little herself now. “At least, I hope not!” She cupped my cheek.

“Please don’t make me laugh,” I said, wincing. “It hurts.”

“There we go, that looks good,” Hartwell said, shining a handheld light. She wheeled back on her stool to collect the swab packets.

Lauren bit her lip, trying not to laugh more. We looked at each other, realising we had inadvertently distracted each other from what was happening.

“I’ll be as quick as I can with the swabs, then I’m all done,” Hartwell said.

I began to breathe — properly this time.

In… one… two… three… and out.

I winced again, feeling a scraping sensation inside of me, but it was over before I could register what had happened.

“Uh!” I flinched at a new sensation, deeper within me, like a tight cramping.

“Th-that’s enough,” I finally said.

“And done,” Hartwell announced. I heard the clicking of the speculum as it was closed, then carefully withdrawn. I felt the fullness and pressure ease immediately, though a dull ache and soreness remained.

While Hartwell bagged and labelled the swabs, Lauren moved to the end of the bed, carefully helping me out of the stirrups.

* * * * *

I stood behind the screen as Lauren handed me my grey panties. I stepped into them and slid them up my legs, saying nothing. I felt numb, as if something had shifted inside of me. I felt… vulnerable, with an awareness that the only thing stopping the speculum from entering me had been my own consent. Just a handful of words. My panties settled against me, the cotton soft and familiar, though offering little in the way of protection.

I dressed in silence as Lauren handed me my clothes one by one.

“I know what you’re going to say,” I said, as I pulled my light blue top over my head.

“What?” Lauren said, her throat sounding a little dry.

“That women have to go through this all the time,” I said, smoothing the hem of my top and flicking my blonde hair back over my shoulders.

“Well, we do.” She smiled.

I pulled back the curtain and looked over. Hartwell was in the laboratory room. I walked stiffly over, feeling tender and sore.

I hovered in the doorway. Hartwell was leaning over a bench, busy preserving some of the samples with different solutions. I could see her concentration. My eyes drifted across the rest of the room — the high-end equipment, a refrigerator, lab benches and glassware. Some of the equipment I recognised — the iSeq genetic sequencer, the Agilent stuff... But it was more than I ever got involved with at Axis.

“Do you miss it?” Hartwell said, looking up.

“Hmm?”

“The work.” Hartwell carefully placed the samples into a storage container to be analysed.

“Oh. Well, I don’t miss Axis… obviously.” I paused as I thought about the question a little more. Hartwell stepped over to a small basin and began to wash up. “I guess I do miss the work. Sometimes, at home, I feel kind of useless. Like I just don’t know what to do with myself.”

Hartwell dried her hands with a paper towel and nodded. “You should try and fill your time with something. Something methodical that will give you that same satisfaction and engage your brain in the same way.” She walked towards me, turning off the light by the door. “Maybe you could help me here.”

I gave a little laugh as I stepped back through into the examination room. “Yeah, maybe.” I glanced back at Hartwell, my smile fading as I saw her neutral expression. I tensed as my body reminded me, sharply, that things still hurt.

“Are you okay?” Lauren asked, stepping towards me. She held both our purses like she was anxious to leave. “Don’t worry, I can drive us home.”

“Thank you for coming to see me, I know it wasn’t an easy decision,” Hartwell said as she followed us through into the waiting room, her hands in her cardigan pockets. “Who knows, maybe we’ll get lucky with this. But I’ll let you know if I need anything more.”

“I think you’ve had your pound of flesh... or blood, don’t you?” Lauren said, her tone shifting as she reached for my arm.

Hartwell drew a breath, but didn’t rise to the comment.

“Thank you, Doctor Hartwell,” I said, trying to clear the air, though I wasn’t exactly sure what I was thanking her for.

“Please, call me Philippa,” she said with a slight smile.

* * * * *

”The latest report suggests that one in four women don’t go back to work after maternity leave, and those that do often feel unsupported or marginalised. We spoke to Kerry, a thirty-one year old mother of two about her experience of returning to work…”

The sound of the radio drifted over from the kitchen, gently stirring me from my nap. I was curled on my side on the sofa, hugging a cushion to my body, with another tucked between my legs. I set the cushions aside and sat up, stroking hair away from my face. Lauren was sitting over at the breakfast bar with her laptop open, working on her Riverside presentation.

She looked up, peering over the top of her glasses. “Hey sleepyhead,” she said, smiling.

I yawned and stretched my arms above my head. As I rose from the sofa, I winced, feeling a twinge of discomfort.

“Still sore?” Lauren asked.

“It’s feeling better than it was,” I said, rubbing at my abdomen as I slowly made my way over. I came up behind Lauren, looking over her shoulder at the glowing laptop screen. “How’s it going?” I rested my hand on her back.

“I’m almost there,” Lauren sighed. “I just need to tweak this section in the middle. Maybe I can practice on you later?” She looked back at me.

“Of course you can,” I said and kissed her cheek. I walked around into the main kitchen and opened the fridge, grabbing a carton of juice.

“Do you want one?” I asked, as I fetched a glass.

“Yes, please, honey.”

I poured us both a glass, setting one down on the breakfast bar beside Lauren. She was engrossed, the reflection of the laptop screen flickering in her glasses.

I leaned against the kitchen counter and began to idly flick through the cookbook that Lauren had left open from this morning. The radio talk show continued in the background.

“People don’t seem to appreciate what happens when you become a mother. It’s like your whole identity shifts — and somehow when you return to work you have to reconcile who you are as a mother, with who you used to be professionally. It’s like you have to piece together a whole new ‘you’. And try explaining that your employer…”

I stared at the recipes in the book. It kind of reminded me of the process sheets that I had to follow when I worked at the lab. Everything carefully followed and exactly measured. I turned the page, seeing a picture of a luxurious-looking chocolate cake. My tummy rumbled. Glancing over at Lauren, I could see her mouthing the words of her presentation to herself.

I set the book down, leaving it open on the cake recipe. I reached down to open the lower drawer of one of the kitchen units and pulled out the ‘Star Baker’ apron. Slipping it over my head, I reached behind to tie the cord in a bow at my waist.

* * * * *

I held the mixing bowl under my arm, mixing the cake batter furiously with a wooden spoon. My hair was tied back and I paused to wipe at my perspiring forehead with the back of my hand.

“I didn’t know this would be such a workout,” I said, breathing a little more quickly.

“You could have used the electric whisk,” Lauren said, without looking up.

My shoulders dropped. “Now she tells me!”

“I thought you were going for the handmade approach!” Lauren glanced up and smiled.

I spooned the mixture into the cake tin, looking over to check the cookbook. I wiped a smear of butter from the page.

Despite the mess I’d made — there was flour everywhere — I’d enjoyed myself. Lauren had been able to focus on tomorrow’s presentation, while I’d successfully distracted myself from thinking too much about this morning. About the new revelations of my female body. I glanced over at the counter and the two remaining eggs in their carton. Eggs. Fuck. Almost distracted myself.

I opened the oven, a blast of hot air hitting my face. I carefully slid the cake inside and closed the door. I double-checked the instructions and set a timer.

* * * * *

“Are you ready for the great unveiling?” I said, my hands resting on my hips.

Lauren closed her laptop lid and smiled, walking around the breakfast bar and into the kitchen.

I opened the oven door, breathing in the pleasant aroma. Slipping on the oven gloves, I carefully pulled the cake out. At least, it was supposed to be a cake. This looked like someone had fed it through a vacuum cleaner.

“Oh,” Lauren said, folding her arms.

“It, uh, might still taste okay?” I said, trying to convince myself, as I set it down on the cooling rack. I pulled the oven gloves off, flinging them onto the counter.

“You’d need a spoon to eat this,” Lauren said, picking up a knife to prod at the doughy centre.

“Don’t poke it!” I said, slapping her hand away. “I don’t understand. I followed all the instructions.” I picked up the cookbook, staring at the perfect photo of a delicious chocolate cake, then back at my steaming, collapsed mess.

“Sometimes, you need to adapt these things a little,” Lauren said.

“But… it doesn’t say to adapt,” I huffed. I looked at Lauren for a moment. “Besides, I’m not sure I should take advice from the woman who burned toast this morning!”

Lauren’s mouth hung open. “Watch it, missy!”

“So… take-out tonight?” I grinned.

“Definitely.”

* * * * *

I stepped through into the bedroom, fresh from the bath Lauren had run for me. I brought my wrist to my nose and inhaled the lavender-scented fragrance from the bath-salts. My body felt soothed and refreshed, and my soreness had nearly all subsided.

I slipped out of my bathrobe and pulled on the mint-green pyjama set I was still borrowing from Lauren. The soft cotton settled gently against my skin. I sat on the edge of the bed and picked up my phone. The facial recognition made its customary failed attempt to identify me. I typed in my passcode and stared down at the screen.

This was getting ridiculous.

Navigating through to the ‘Settings’, I clicked to re-register the facial ID. It asked me to confirm with my code, then presented me with a front-facing camera view of myself. I took a breath, gazing at my own image. I reached behind my head with my free hand to unpin my hair, letting it fall freely over my shoulders. I looked more like ‘me’ this way. I held my phone up and turned my head left and right, up and down, until it buzzed, confirming it had everything it needed.

Warning: this will replace your previously stored ID. Do you wish to proceed?

I hesitated, then pressed ‘Yes’.

Well, that was that... I’d just erased my old self from my phone. I gazed up at the ceiling, seeing the night sky through the skylight above. The Moon crept across, providing a dim glow.

It seemed like more of my life was getting pushed aside — my clothing, my car... even my name was proving increasingly difficult to hold onto. At least, in public.

I sighed and scrolled through my messages, seeking some distraction. Henry’s text was still unread from earlier.

“Hey Scott. I saw you read my message. I know you must be going through a lot right now. But you’ll always be the same old Scott to me. We can grab a beer like we always used to. Just be normal for a bit. No pressure. Be good to see you. H.”

I swept a strand of hair back behind my ear. Henry sounded just the same as he ever did. And God knows, after the day I’d had, I needed to feel normal. I scrolled up to his previous message. Axis were trying to prevent anyone from talking about what had happened to me. And yet here he was. He was risking something by doing this. Just like Lauren and I were. Just like Hartwell.

“Hey...” I started to type, then deleted it.

“Hi Henry, thanks for checking in. Maybe we could meet. That might be nice. Will let you know later.”

I hesitated for a moment, then pressed ‘Send’ before I had a chance to think about it too much. I’d talk to Lauren before committing to anything.

“Honey, the food’s here!” I heard her call from downstairs.

“Be right there!” I called back. I stood up, checking my appearance in the mirror. Grabbing the hairbrush from the vanity, I ran it through my hair a few times. I picked up my phone, holding it tightly, as I made my way back downstairs.

* * * * *

I set my empty plate down onto the coffee table in front of me. “Uh, I ate too much,” I groaned, leaning back against the sofa and placing a hand on my stomach.

“Someone was hungry today!” Lauren said, smiling at me from the opposite sofa. She set her own plate down. “I don’t know where you put it all.”

“Yeah, I’m surprised there’s room, with all the other stuff I’ve got going on in here.” My hand slid lower across my abdomen.

Lauren’s gaze followed my hand down, then quickly looked away as if embarrassed. She reached for her glass of water.

“I wonder when we’ll hear back from Doctor Hartwell,” I said, bringing my legs up under me on the sofa.

“Hmm, I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s the last we hear from her,” Lauren said, taking a sip from her glass.

“Why do you say that? She seemed like she genuinely wanted to help,” I said.

“Scott, you saw how she reacted when she thought her research might actually have worked,” Lauren sighed, running a hand through her hair. “She’s probably busy trying to replicate the effects, just like Axis were.”

“Come on, Lauren, I don’t think that’s true,” I said.

“We just need to keep anyone who has anything to do with Axis at arm’s length. Especially now we’re getting legal advice,” Lauren said. “If they catch wind of what we’re up to, our whole case could fall through before it’s even begun.”

“You know, not everyone who works at Axis is bad,” I said. “There’s some good people there too. People like me…” I grazed my fingers against a bare leg.

“It’s not about good or bad, Scott,” Lauren said, getting to her feet. She brushed a few crumbs from her top. “It’s about staying safe.”

“I know, I get it!” I replied sharply. My phone buzzed on the sofa beside me. I picked it up, glancing at the screen, seeing that Henry had texted again.

“Maybe we could grab a bite to eat tomorrow. How about the Boathouse at twelve?”

“Everything okay?” Lauren asked, as she started to collect up the plates and left-over cartons of Chinese food.

“Yeah, fine,” I said, placing the phone face down beside me on the sofa. “So, uh, what time do you need to be there tomorrow?”

“They want me there at eleven,” Lauren said, pausing for a moment. “So I’ll have to get the nine forty-five train, I think.”

“I can drop you off at the station if you like?” I said, looking up.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. I mean, why not? It saves you paying for parking all day,” I said, shrugging.

“Thanks, honey,” Lauren said, smiling. She walked through to the kitchen area. “Do you want me to keep any of the leftovers?” she called over, as she began to load the dishwasher with our plates and glasses.

“No thanks, I’ll explode if I eat anymore.” I glanced over my shoulder for a second, then reached for my phone. I turned it over and quickly tapped a reply to Henry.

”I’ll be there.”

* * * * *