The soft beeping of a nearby machine pulled me from oblivion. Somewhere in the depths of my mind, a voice nagged at me to open my eyes, to wake up so I could see what the rest of my life would look like. But my eyes remained tightly shut, my lids too heavy for me to lift. The pain medication made my body dense, impenetrable, as though my limbs were made of iron, the weight holding me down against my will. I was lost in a sea of darkness as I waited... and waited... and waited... my curiosity repressed as I waited for the powerful drugs to pass through my system.

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime of darkness, the weight on my body relented, allowing me to gain some control of my movements again. I opened my eyes, squinting as the florescent lights buzzing above me blinded me with their vibrancy. The stiffness in my body told me that time had passed but how much, I wasn't sure. I glanced out the small window beside my bed and saw that it was late evening. I had slept most of the day away.

It took me a few moments to remember the Awakening Ceremony, but the aches in various parts of my body reminded me quickly enough. I felt the weight of a thousand stones pressing on my chest. Some of the pain was physical, the aftermath of my medical procedures, but most of it was the result of an intense anxiety I felt for the things to come. The ceremony was over, but the most difficult part of the process was just beginning.

I was a married woman now, considered the possession of a man I had yet to meet. What would he be like? Would he be young or old, cruel or kind? Would he like me, or would I be nothing more than a possession to him? My mind raced with questions I had no answers to.

One problem at a time, I thought, pushing my worries aside. For now, my main concern was seeing what I looked like after the surgeries. I needed to take a moment to prepare myself for my new body, to come to terms with the new version of "me" before I could even consider tackling the challenges of matrimony.

In the past, I've seen women who had come out of the coma looking the same as they had when they went in, save for a new hair color or more padding in certain areas of their body. But I'd also seen others who were unrecognizable after the surgeries, their faces and bodies no longer matching the names I had once associated them with. I wondered idly which group I would join when I next saw myself and gave a slight shiver at the idea.

I searched the hospital room and spotted a full length mirror tacked to the whitewashed wall. I leaned forwarded, then hesitated. Was I was really ready to see how I looked? If I was altered beyond recognition, if it was a stranger staring back at me from the looking glass, there would be a sense of finality. It would mean that my old life was gone for good.

I shook my head and let out a sigh. I wasn't sure if I was ready for the reality of my new world to sink in, but what good would it do to wait? Ready or not, I needed to see for myself how much of my old self remained, to accept the person I was now, whether I liked who she was or not. And it was better to do so while I had the privacy in case the result was more than I could bear.

I sat up groggily in the small hospital bed and stretched my rigid limbs, stopping short when several IV's tug at my forearm. The cords were hooked up to medical equipment, most likely pumping medicine into my body to help mask the pain of any reconstructive surgeries that occurred. I fought the urge to yank the IV's out of my arm at the idea.

I threw off the thin, twill blanket that covered the lower half of my body and stood carefully on trembling legs. I treaded carefully toward the mirror, my body shaking from the effort. I was careful, taking it one step at a time, one foot in front of the other, my eyes trained on the ground so I didn't fall in my unstable state. Nervous anticipation nearly consumed me. I wanted to run to the mirror and get this painful experience over with, but I forced myself to walk slowly, afraid I would fall.

When I made it to the mirror, I took a deep breath to steady myself. Then, heart thumping in my ears, I lifted my gaze and looked at myself in the glass.

My eyebrows furrowed as I gazed at the woman before me. Some of the features staring back at me were ones that I recognized, but others were new. My nose was red and swollen, and seemed narrower than it was before. My eyes were now a lighter shade of brown than I was accustomed to, closer to a hazel hue instead of the rich chocolate tone they had once been. It was hard to tell under the folds of the oversized hospital gown, but my waist seemed to be slighter and my breasts a little bit larger.

Though it was still a shock to see these infinitesimal changes in the reflection staring back at me, this was the extent of the modifications. My long, dark locks were still intact, the general outline of my body was the same as it was before, and most of my face seemed unaltered. Overall, my appearance seemed very much the same.

I studied my body meticulously in the mirror, searching for signs of any other changes and relearning every inch of myself. Once I overcame the initial fear of my altered appearance I let out a sigh of relief that most of my old self remained unchanged, thankful that I was able to recognize a semblance of the woman I once was looking back at me.

Something caught my eye in the mirror, a mark on my body that wasn't there before. On my left hand, in the place of a wedding band, there was a dark tattoo wrapped around the base of my ring finger. I examined it curiously, intrigued by the elegant "M" written in scarlet ink in the center. It letter was surrounded by tiny black hawks midflight, their outstretched wings making a loop around my finger. This was the symbol of the man who chose me to be his wife, the government's way of keeping track of bound women. This tattoo would let the world know who I was now, who I belonged to for the rest of my life.

I rubbed my forefinger over the brand, mentally running through a list all the single men in Grayson with the last name "M", wondering which one the mystery man could be. I was so absorbed in examining the ink that was now permanently embedded onto my skin, that I was startled when the door of the hospital room abruptly opened and a man walked inside.

"Good. You're awake," the male doctor said with a friendly smile. He took a seat on the swivel chair in the corner of the room and motioned for me to sit on the bed in front of him. "I'm your surgeon, Dr. Winthrop. The cosmetic procedures went smoothly, but there are a few things that we must go over before I can release you," the doctor said, glancing at my medical chart.

"You may feel some pain over the next several days," he said, scooting forward to examine my sutures while he spoke. "That's to be expected after any surgery. But this should not prevent you from consummating your marriage with your husband as soon as possible. In fact, we have forced your body into ovulation to increase your chances of conceiving a child right away."

My face heated with embarrassment and I nearly fainted at his candor. I had been so apprehensive about what would happen during the ceremony that I had forgotten to worry about what happened after. Tonight, I would be expected to perform all of the duties that being a wife entailed. My husband would take my virginity, and by this time tomorrow, I could have a new life growing inside of me.

The heart rate monitor attached to my index finger began beeping rapidly in response to my increasing panic. I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself, but all I could focus on was how low the sun was in the horizon, the dwindling time counting down the minutes until my wedding night.

Dr. Winthrop glanced at me, then at the monitor. "Are you okay?" the doctor asked, noticing my slightly green pallor.

"Yes, I'm fine," I lied, my stomach doing a nervous slip. I prayed that I wouldn't vomit on him.

With a compassionate smile, Dr. Winthrop reached out and grabbed my hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. The gesture startled me, and my immediate reaction was to look for nearby guards.

"They can't find you here. We don't allow the chaperones in the hospital, for patient confidentiality," Dr. Winthrop explained, sensing my panic at his forbidden touch. I could see the sincerity in his eyes, but that didn't ease my trepidations.

"Mia, I know that you are afraid," he said in a soft voice. "You are not alone. It's very common for young girls to be uneasy about the consummation. But I promise that things will get better with time. When you become more familiar with your spouse and your new life, it will make the process more comfortable. Don't fret. Your situation is temporary."

I knew that Dr. Winthrop was trying to help, but his words only made me more anxious. How could he know what it was like to be a newlywed wife in Grayson? What knowledge could he possibly have about a woman's consummation night? I pulled my hand from his and tucked it behind my back to hide my nervous trembling.

Dr. Winthrop gave me a comforting smile. "Are you ready to meet your husband?"

I nodded reluctantly, too nervous to speak.

He handed me the traditional white garbs that newlywed women wore on their Awakening Day- a silky slip on the inside, and a simple dress with long, flowing sleeves and a small train that flowed behind me as I walked on the outside- and stepped into the hallway to give me privacy.

I took off my hospital gown and dressed in silence, careful to avoid the mirror- I couldn't bear to see the rest of my bare body just yet, the beige skin that would be covered in bright red marks and dark stitches, carved up like I was a piece of meat at the butcher. Instead, I turned my back to my reflection and focused on fastening the buttons of the floor length dress with shaking fingers, the task taking longer than normal in my anxious state.

When I was finished dressing, I joined Dr. Winthrop outside the room. He led me down a long, eerily quiet hallway that seemed to never end. As we passed door after door, I wondered idly what lay on the other side. Were there other girls inside, recovering from their surgeries, waiting to meet their new husbands? Was Charlotte in one of these rooms, or had she already been handed off to her new mate, preparing for her own consummation? My heart ached at the idea.

Finally, Dr. Winthrop and I arrived outside a waiting area. Through a small window in the door, I could see that the room was full of disgruntled and impatient men grumbling under their breath about missing work, or passive-aggressively checking their watches. Dr. Winthrop put his hand on the doorknob, and I pulled up short, my anxiety summiting. One of these men was my husband, the man with whom I would be bound for the rest of my days or until he tired of me, whichever came first.

Dr. Winthrop noticed my hesitation and paused, giving my shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. "His name is James," he murmured, sensing my unease. "He's the Director of the Population Growth Unit and is a very rich, very powerful man in Grayson. You will live a comfortable life with him as your husband."

I gave a small smile. I was grateful to Dr. Winthrop for the information, but my husband's wealth was the least of my concerns. What I wanted to know was if he was kind, if he would allow me to read in the evenings like my father had, if he would make a good father for our children. But I didn't expect Dr. Winthrop to understand those fears. We lived in a world where women were helpless, where we relied solely on a man's affluence for our well-being. In his eyes, I was among the most fortunate women.

Dr. Winthrop was kind enough to give me a few minutes to compose myself. After straightening my gown and taking a deep breath, I gave a small nod, letting him know that I was ready. His wrinkled white hand turned the doorknob and we walked inside, met with dozens of expectant eyes.

"Mr. James Moberly?" Dr. Winthrop called to the waiting room.

A handsome man stood among the horde and strolled toward the doorway. He was tall, well over six feet, and built like a mountain with broad shoulders, and strong, rippling muscles. When he stepped before me, he towered over my small stature. I kept my eyes trained on the floor like a good woman was supposed to, in part because of my lifetime of training, but also because he intimidated me.

As Dr. Winthrop explained my medical procedures to James and handed him a bottle of pain medication for me to take, I dared a peek through my lashes, taking in my new husband. He sported a luxury, tailored suit made of the finest material and a silk tie, indicating his prosperity. His hair was dark like mine and he had smooth, tanned skin, his face clean-shaven except for a sharp goatee. His handsome features gave him an air of youth, but he had to be pushing thirty.

As Dr. Winthrop finished instructing the man on my medication, he indicated toward me and I quickly dropped my gaze. "Mr. Moberly, meet your new bride."

The man reached out a large, firm hand. I placed my palm in his, my arm looking tiny in comparison to his.

"Hello, Mia. It's nice to finally meet you," the man said, giving my hand a strong shake.

"Hello," I murmured, my face heating.

James gave a small smile, but the gesture felt wrong. His eyes remained hard and impassive, his grin pulling at his face in a way that made it seem as though it pained him to perform the motion. The gesture was innocent enough, but as James smiled as me, I gave an involuntary shiver. I wasn't sure what it was, but something about him gave me the creeps. As I left the hospital with James, I felt more desolate and scared than I had when I first arrived. 

Hi everyone! Thanks for reading! What do you think of Mia's journey so far? And what are your first impressions of Mr. Moberly? Don't forget to vote if you're enjoying the story! :)