Groom Wars

3. Fickle Love

The idea of royalty settling so close to us had caused non-stop gossip among my sisters. As I tried to finalize my newest song, "I'm With You" to upload it to my YouTube channel where I had fifteen thousand subscribers, Sofia and Mia, who felt a bit too comfortable around me, were lounging on my bed and chatting.

"Do you think they'll be handsome?" Mia asked.

Sofia said, "Father said they weren't bad-looking, which means they're probably hot. I wish we could go, but we're too young. You will tell us what they look like, won't you? Take a picture with them for us." She was lying on the bed and playing with one of my stuffed teddy bears. He had snow-white hair and a red bow tie. A seven-year-old me had named him Kodi, but I had outgrown playing with him and kept him for decoration.

I told Sofia, "They're human like you; look at your reflection in the mirror and you'll see them. Eyes, nose, ears, and all." I muttered a curse as I listened to "I'm With You" through the headphones clamped over my ears. The last section with drums was slightly off tempo. I would have to get Forrester to redo that. We were so close to finishing. Forrester.... I would never see royalty the same way again. I had never really liked upper society. I liked them less after Forrester's story. Many of the boys who had gone to our school were the sons of business owners or royalty, and they were the ones that had spread rumors about something being wrong with me down there and that I was impotent. When I went out, some of the more affluent girls in our city glanced down there, chuckled, and moved off.

Luckily, my mother was an artist and had managed to sculpt a prosthetic penis for me that, if we attached some yellow liquid to it, I could zip down my pants and pretend to pee in public. But it had taken five years for her to perfect it, and by then, I was sixteen, and the rumors had already spread. Even if I used the urinal next to the boys or changed with them— after I had chest surgery—they continued to stubbornly spread their lies.

Since one couldn't sexually transition in Canada (it was illegal and not performed), they had to leave the country and get surgery outside our nation.

Recent bills passed by the parliament, approved by King Victor, restricted female travel rights to combat an issue where women would go on vacations with families, then flee and seek refuge in another country. As punishment, the majority of women here wouldn't be allowed to leave as long as King Victor remained in power. But according to my documents, I wasn't a woman, so I wasn't subject to such restrictions.

As I dwelled on the subject, I remembered having my chest surgery in America. I had been scared. That part of my body had been a daily reminder of my womanhood, and when I had gotten them removed, I had known there was no turning back. For some time after, I wasn't sure if I was male or female. Even now, I wasn't entirely sure what I was. Even if our king was overthrown and women's rights were restored, I would already have gotten my breasts removed. All I had left of them were the faint scars and nipples. I did miss them from time to time. However, most days, I didn't necessarily feel like a woman or a man. I was simply me.

My sisters sometimes went without food to keep a slim, attractive figure. Similarly, my father monitored my diet and exercise routine to ensure that fat didn't creep onto me and ensure I maintained a muscular yet androgynous figure.

I didn't have a woman's dainty figure. I had defined abs, and sometimes, if I restricted my salt intake as my father had me doing now, my face lost some of its roundness, and the cheekbones became more prominent. It became the sort of face that was more off-putting, masculine like Eve's. It was hard not to compare myself to women and men when I knew I didn't fit in either category. I was an anomaly. A glitch in the matrix. I was not big enough to be considered a handsome guy. Nor small or dainty enough to be considered a beautiful woman. I wallowed somewhere between. Somewhere cursed and hideous.

I was the type of girl no man nor woman would ever love, and that was alright because I would never love anyone either.

Sofia leaned against the back of my chair; I hadn't heard her leave the bed. "Why are you such a downer today?"

"I'm not."

She said, "Take a picture with them please."

I released a lengthy sigh. "Fine."

She kissed my cheek. "Thanks. Love you."

"You only say you love me when I do something for you."

"Do you like it?"

"Yes."

She walked back to the bed and lay down with a massive smile on her face.

***