“There.” Petra yanked the liquid eyeliner away from my upper lip, her hand steady despite the circumstances. “Now your dapper mustache is back. Better? Manlier? I mean, your boobs do sort of ruin the effect. But shit, I don’t have much to work with here.”
I looked at myself in the mirror. The neatly drawn mustache on my upper lip contrasted sharply against the pink lipstick on my full lips. I looked ridiculous. There was nothing masculine about the creature staring back at me. In fact, the little black line somehow highlighted the femininity of everything else. The long, dark lashes framing my mascara-smudged eyes, the delicate curve of my cheekbones flushed with blush, and the lustrous, styled hair cascading past my shoulders. Who the fuck was I becoming?
“Why are you being such a bitch this morning?” I snapped, my voice hoarse. “You used to be my wife.”
“Used to be? Baby...” Her face softened, and she brushed a strand of her chestnut-brown hair behind her ear. “God, I’m sorry I snapped at you when you said you missed your mustache. It just seemed like such a silly thing to focus on.”
I wanted to scream. To shout it wasn’t just about the mustache. It was about everything. The slow, agonizing process of my identity being stripped away, layer by layer, until there was nothing left but a shell of the person I used to be. And Petra, my loving wife, transformed into an accomplice in the hands of a sadistic monster. Instead, I hung my head.
“Please, you gotta realize – I’m in this shitstorm with you. This wealthy sadistic fuck is dangling both our lives by a thread.” She touched my soft, pale cheek.
“I can’t believe this is happening to us,” I whispered.
“I know, baby,” Petra said, her voice softening even more. “But we have to do what he says if we want to survive. You saw what happened to the others.”
I nodded, remembering the two men who’d been killed for resisting. I don’t know what happened to their wives, or if they were even alive. But I knew that I couldn’t let it happen to Petra.
“It’s just that I don’t feel like myself anymore,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know who I am.”
Petra’s eyes filled with tears. “You’re the love of my life, you stubborn, beautiful idiot.” She took a shaky breath. “And I need you to hang in there. We’ll get through this. We’ll find a way out, and things will go back to normal.”
“Not entirely normal.” The smallest smile crossed my face. “You won’t need to chastise me for leaving my beard hairs in the sink.”
“No, but you’ll still leave the toilet seat up.” She breathed a soft laugh, her hand cradling my face.
“God. Hopefully. I mean, what if he decides to keep going and...and he—”
“Hey, that won’t happen. We just have to keep our heads down and do what he says for now. But we’ll find a way to escape, I promise. Just hold on.”
I nodded, hoping that she was right. But deep down, I knew that with every makeup brush stroke, every corset tightening, every hormone injection, I was slipping away. And that even if we left this place, the man I used to be might be lost forever, leaving this imposter staring back at me in the mirror. But I had to hold on. If not for me, then for Petra.
I leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on her lips. “I love you.”
As I pulled back, a mischievous smile played on Petra’s lips. “I love you, too. Although, to be honest, I’m glad you lost the mustache. It was always a bit scratchy.”
I smirked despite the tears threatening to spill over. “You’re a piece of work.”
“And you married me,” she retorted, a teasing glint in her eyes. “So what does that say about you?”
“Tou-fucking-ché,” I smiled. We were a team, as fucked up as it all was. My body might be changing, but with Petra by my side, maybe, just maybe, I could survive this mess.