Bumping along the crumbling asphalt, the dilapidated bus roughly jostled its world-weary passengers. Mark sighed slightly, trying not to attract attention, his hands cradling his growing stomach unconsciously. It’s not like he cared about the parasite growing within him, it’s just that being this pregnant had loosened all his joints, and it made the bumping of the bus that much more unpleasant.
The only other person in skirts and a bonnet on the bus was sitting in one of the other few seats designated for women, in other words, nowhere near him. Women conversing in public was technically not illegal, but that didn’t stop the Overseers from stopping you or “correcting” your behavior if they felt like it. The woman never looked up from her hands demurely resting in her lap. Whoever she was, she was well-behaved. He wondered what errand had convinced her husband to allow her to leave the house.
Jacob had easily believed his “wife’s” lie that Mark needed to buy more fabric for new curtains and proudly handed over a bus token and note of permission, glad his “wife” was finally reliably behaving like a proper woman. Mark’s husband was confident that he had tamed his “wife” and as he should be. Mark had worked hard at the feminine facade ever since he realized the way he had been trying to resist was futile. That’s not to say resistance itself was futile; Mark just had to change how he resisted.
It had been so much easier when he was a child. As soon as he’d realized he was a boy he had told his parents and had asked to be called Mark instead of Marcy. He was lucky they were so understanding and supportive. He grew up as a boy and went on puberty blockers when that time came. He was happy then, back when he was able to be himself.
He schooled his face into proper blankness after he realized his sorrow was showing, tipping his head down to use the bonnet as a shield against prying eyes. Public emotion from someone who seemed to be a woman would attract unwanted attention. Swallowing hard he fought back tears, remembering the last time he saw his parents. The Overseers had shoved them into a van, hands zip-tied behind their backs. For his own part, Mark had been bodily hauled away, crying, kicking, and screaming (at least until he had been slapped and beaten enough to shut down in fear of his own life). He knew he was being sent to a Re-education Center for Young Women and that his parents were under arrest for child abuse, medical endangerment, and brainwashing a child. He had hoped they would be safe, that he would see them again.
He never did.
The Reeducation Center did its best to brainwash Mark and all the other “students” into behaving like proper women. They gave him the good, pious name of Mary. All the “students” were given good Biblical names, even if they had never changed theirs. He didn’t remember much from his time there, other than fear and always being tired and hungry with no idea when the next correction would be inflicted. Fighting back in even the smallest ways did nothing other than cause more pain. He quickly learned to give them the mask they wanted to see because there was no chance of freedom if he was stuck in the Center, or worse, sent away to wherever they sent “women” who couldn’t be reeducated. The government was never clear on what happened to those people.
Daily, he cursed his fair skin, blue eyes, and blond hair. If only he could have been another race or, at the very least, ugly. If either had been the case, he might have gotten away with being consigned to labor on one of the Health Mind Farms until he died from lack of medical care. Farm work paid exactly enough for you to live at the farm, but that was it. Still, it felt like a far kinder life than what awaited Mark.
Once his hair had grown out enough to be braided to hide under the bonnet, and the breasts and hips on his body had grown and widened with the lack of suppressors, the Reeducation Center started the work of finding a husband willing to accept a wife so broken they ended up at a Reeducation Center. It had to be an upstanding Christian man with a firm hand, able to keep his wife in line and pregnant, making new white citizens for the good of the country. Mark, because he refused to ever think of himself as Mary no matter what he was forced to respond to or say out loud, hoped and even prayed to the oppressor’s God once or twice in desperation that the Center wouldn’t find a man willing to take him, but he knew in his heart of hearts his genetics had cursed him.
Jacob, a wall of a man with a permanent scowl, came to the Center, looked Mark over, and signed a paper committing to Mark’s care. They were now husband and wife, you may now rape the bride. That’s all it was, rape and abuse if Mark said or did anything Jacob disagreed with, and Jacob seemed to disagree with most things. The first day, Mark had tried fighting back, but he had no chance physically against that mountain of a man. Jacob couldn't care less about Mark as a person, because he wasn’t one. He was a wife. He had no voice, no vote, he wasn’t even allowed to leave the house without a permission note.
It would have been easier if Jacob was poor, then at least Mark would be expected to work in some capacity and would be able to travel within walking distance for reasons other than shopping and medical appointments. Their God had truly cursed him though, because Jacob was well off enough to support and manage a wife properly. Mark had to find another route to freedom and soon. Something was growing inside him like a cancer and he refused to give that monster Jacob the satisfaction of bearing him a child.
All it had taken was several months of perfect behavior no matter what Jacob did to him, to get the man to start letting down his guard. The man’s ego was exponentially larger than his intelligence, so Mark just played into that. First, Jacob left some scissors out of the lockbox when he left for work. Eventually, he’d relaxed enough to not even put his razor away. Once he found out Mark was carrying his child, his wariness faded even more. Big, strong man had cowed weak, little woman and filled her with his seed. Why would such a subservient creature have any issues with the situation? Jacob fed her, clothed her, put a roof over her head, and ensured she would be fruitful and multiply. What more could a “woman” want?
It had been simple to convince him that the nesting instinct was starting to kick in and the house needed new curtains in the baby’s room. Thank the universe Jacob was so stupid.
It was almost Mark’s stop. After the bus raggedly bumped to a stop, he demurely exited and walked with tiny, graceful steps along the sidewalk towards the home goods store he was supposed to be traveling to, head down, bonnet and skirts hiding him from prying eyes. He didn’t turn to go through the door though; instead kept walking towards the river. While the permission note didn’t explicitly say Mark was allowed to walk to the river and enjoy a few moments of peace, most Overseers would let that slide at least for a minute or two, especially if a woman was clearly pregnant. Some of them even had an ounce of empathy and compassion, not many, but some.
He stood near the bridge by the bank watching the churning grey-brown water, momentarily grateful for the bonnet since it blocked some of the chill wind. There was some ice coating the still water by the shore. The bridge loomed over the water, its safety fencing glinting in the light. Mark’s hands rested on the roundness of his stomach and he felt a fleeting new sadness, this time for the life growing within him. He hated it. He hated its father. He hated the world that had led to its existence. But then it kicked and shifted and suddenly, Mark realized it wasn’t the baby he hated. It wasn’t the baby’s choice to be inside him. That was chance and Jacob and this stupid country and its draconian misogynistic laws. The little lump inside him was just as much a prisoner in this world as Mark was. Neither of them had done anything to deserve the life they were going to have.
If he gave birth to this child, it would grow up with Jacob as a father and a “mother” who wasn’t really one. A boy child would be raised to be as repulsive or worse than his father and the other awful men who forced him into existence. A girl child, however… Mark might as well give birth to a heifer calf. There was no real difference anymore. A girl child would be cursed with manufacturing babies from the time she was old enough to bleed until her body gave out. It would be even worse if it were a child like Mark, one who didn’t fit neatly in boxes.
That final thought slammed a door in his head. He may not have chosen this, but he’d be damned if he was going to bring a child into this hellscape. His child deserved to be free of these boxes made of definitions.
Mark turned and, depending on the slight deference given to pregnant “women,” walked up the bridge’s sidewalk to the center of the span, supposedly enjoying the view. With a side note of thanks that Jacob was so jealous of other men’s eyes touching his “pretty little wife” he had insisted on the most concealing clothing options, Mark took a deep breath and let it out, trying to still the tremor in his gut.
Before he changed his mind, he quickly pulled his bonnet’s tie, ripping it off and giving it to the wind. Then he yanked the tie on his skirts, instantly loosening them, and, after shrugging out of the sleeves, allowing them to fall to the ground. Revealed beneath was close-cropped hair in a decidedly men’s style and some very poorly sewn pants made out of fabric scraps and tied on under his fertile belly. A ratty, very used, men’s shirt covered his torso with the words, “I AM MARK!” written boldly.
He turned to the safety fence and, jumping with every single ounce of power he could muster, the fingers of his right hand barely caught the top. Knowing the Overseers had probably already been called, he scrambled frantically and managed to get ahold of the top with both hands and haul himself up and over. His feet hit the ledge on the other side. He spun around, seeing the long drop to the icy water beneath him. He heard the first sirens start as he launched himself into the air towards freedom. There was no terror in his heart anymore, only peace, and he smiled beatifically as the water rushed up to meet him.
Now they were both free.
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