Masculinity 2033 Chapter 15

Chapter 15

“Are you a man,” Gray asks. “Or a broodmare?”

The women of the resistance have gathered around you. They stare down, waiting for your answer, and it should be easy, right? You can see yourself reflected in their mirrored sunglasses, the look of uncertainty on your face. The thing is, you don’t even know what it means to be a man anymore.

Still, when in doubt, always tell women what they want to hear. “A man,” you say in your high, soft voice.

“Good,” Red says. “Good answer.”

“I’ll do whatever you need me to do.”

“You are a so brave. For now, do nothing. Await for further instructions.”

Red gets you up, they start to hustle back into the building. “There’s a clean exit back here,’ Red says. “No cameras. Remember this, though, you are being watched. Now that you have The Queen’s attention, her agents are watching your every move, looking for any signs you will be less than an ideal consort. Do not research The Resistance. They will see. Do not talk about the Resistance. They will hear. If anyone asks you about the Resistance, defer.”

“How?”

Red stops and looks down at you, as if in shock. “You’re an airhead,” she says. “Use it.”

Airhead. It annoys you. Ever since you got your tits and went blonde, people treat you like you lost 20 points off your IQ. Of course, you will admit you can be a little more scatter-brained than before, but airhead? You keep your mouth shut. It’s pointless to argue with women once they have their minds made up. She opens the clean exit, and bright sunlight floods into the room, stinging your eyes.

Red hands you your sunglasses, and you slip them on. “You should start to spend a lot of time looking at wedding stuff.”

“Wedding stuff?”

“It’ll improve your fitness score as a potential consort if you seem like you are obsessed with getting married.”

****

You sit down in your chair, legs crossed, smart pad in your lap. You type wedding dresses into the search engine, frowning. You don’t care at all about getting married, have no interest at all in wedding dresses and– wow, you think as the first dress appears, and, well, it is incredible. Not for you, you don’t think. A little too sleek and understated, though you would look good in it. You keep searching. Dress after dress. Some you Pin, and then more dresses and more dresses… Actually, you are astounded at how incredible some of them are, true works of art, and just when you think you may be need a break, you find a website that lets you upload a headshot, enter your dimensions and see yourself in the dresses, and it’s one dress after another after another all over again.

It’s dark when thirst and hunger finally break the spell and you are able to put down your tech. Your eyes ache, you’re thirsty, a little dizzy. It almost feels like you are coming down from an incredible high, crashing to what feels like it’s going to be a hellacious low. You make a smoothie and go back to your tech, now looking back at the dresses you pinned, the ones you love the most. The power bar is red, almost down to zero, so you plug in your smart pad and scroll through the dresses with a flip of your long nails. No. None of the ones you Pinned are the ONE. They are all pretty, but they aren’t the ONE. Each Pin leads to other pins, and you start clicking and clicking and--

You gasp. You’ve found your dress. This is your dress, the one you never realized you wanted and needed until you saw it, and then it was love at first sight.

You want to start looking at bridal makeup, hair, but you have to be on set in the morning, so you force yourself to look away, to put it away until tomorrow. Right now, you need to practice your lines.

You fall asleep reading, and your dreams are filled with images from your fantasy wedding, and you in your dress, the one that was made just for you.

****

Part II

You and Ian put on a show during your photo-op vacation. There is no expectation a boy hide his soft curves at the beach, and the bikinis your handlers chose for you leave nothing to the imagination. You’d kept yourself in good shape. You’re an actress, after all. With a beach vacation coming up, though, you lost an extra seven pounds and hit the gym extra hard to make sure you had an Ian-worthy bikini bod. All that extra sweat, the nights going to bed hungry, they’ve all been worth it. You know you’re sexy, and the paparazzi have been everywhere– at the airport, the hotel lobby and, especially, the beach. Pictures of you in your bikinis have been popping up on websites everywhere, getting so many likes and comments and—it’s too much.

You wonder if The Hive Queen is looking at these pictures, what she thinks of your legs, your skin, your smile. Yes, she is a terrible oppressor and all that, of course, but knowing that the Queen herself is into you? It just affirms how special you are. It makes you feel– happy? Yes. Happy. What makes you feel unhappy, what frankly pisses you off, is that she might pick some other boy.

Not that you really want to marry her—who wants to marry an alien? You don’t want to marry her. You just want her to want to marry you. You just wish you could tell your besties, or Brandi, or a random person on the street. Keeping the secret is driving you insane! It’s almost enough to ruin the fact you ARE being seen with the hottest actor in the world, and everyone knows about it. Everyone.

In public, Ian is attentive and sweet. She opens doors for you, holds your hand. You love being seen with her, but as soon as you get to the privacy of your rooms, it’s like a director shouted “cut” and she turns cold, distant, regards you with no more interest than she would a table lamp.

Your agent has floated the idea that Ian might be interested in arranging a Hollywood marriage with you. She’s actually into other women, says she finds boys boring. You find yourself thinking about what that life might be like– adored in public, envied for being the wife of a hugely successful– and wealthy– woman, yet ignored and neglected at home.

It doesn’t seem so bad, somehow.

***

An unexpected knock on the door. You’d been looking at table settings for your ever-more expansive and extravagant fantasy wedding. Your heart instantly starts to race. Who could it be? No one ever just drops in. You get up, creeping toward the door, trying not to make a sound, and when you get on your tiptoes to look through the peephole all you can see are the chests of what are obviously two Hive agents. You freeze. Terrified. Your mind reels.

They must have found out about the Resistance. They’re here to arrest you. You’ll be sent for counseling, brainwashed– or worse. You glance toward your windows, think about making a run for it, call Brandi, see if she can help you get away.

Knock. “Katherine?” One of the agents. “Katherine Rose? You are not in trouble. We are here to deliver a special invitation.”

The words do not calm you. Your heart pounds even harder, but now you are worrying about your outfit: a baggy t-shirt and leggings. It’s not cute, pretty. You don’t want anyone to see you dressed like such a slob, and you have no idea how your hair looks. Still. These are agents. You open the door and look up at the Hive agents. One of them holds a long stem rose. The other, a cream-colored envelope. “May we come in?”

“Of course.”

They step into your apartment, and one closes the door. “Miss Katherine Rose,” one of the agents says, kneeling and holding the flower toward you.

“The Queen Mother requests your presence,” the other continues, handing you the envelope.

“The Queen? Me?” You say, acting as shocked and surprised as they would expect you to be.

“All of the details are included with your invitation,” the kneeling one says as she stands. “Congratulations.”

With that, they turn and leave. “Congratulations?” You call after them. “For what?” Of course, you know, but it pleases you how convincing you were. You’re a great little actress, and you know it. You smell the rose and do a twirl. The Queen! It’s so exciting. You open the invitation, read over the stiff little card.

You have three days. You wonder when you will hear from their resistance, what their plan is, what they will expect you to do. Do they really have a plan to throw down the Queen? The Hive?

You’ll just have to wait. Three days! At least you're on set two of those days. If you had to sit around for two days thinking about this, about how amazing and unbelievable your life has become for three days, you’d go insane. In the meantime, you do something you think they’d expect you to do, and you Google “The Hive Queen.” Now that you’re doing it, you’re surprised you’ve never looked up anything on The Queen before now.

The first hit is Hivepedia. There’s a picture of The Queen, and she is even more handsome than Ian. She has this look total confidence, an aura of power. Your chest aches at the sight of her, your cheeks grow hot, and you think, we’d look really good together.