The Mule 10

“Can I see?” Ethan asked, his voice tinged with nervousness.

The woman paused, a slight smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Not yet,” she replied, shaking her head. “We're not done yet. You'll see when we're finished.”

Ethan's heart sank at her response, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of anguish. "We're not done?" he muttered, his face contorting with disappointment. "Haven't you already done enough?" he asked, desperation creeping into his voice.

"No," the woman replied with a firm tone of voice. "The groundwork has been completed. Now I’ll build up your new look."

Ethan's perfectly arched brows furrowed in confusion. "What look?" he demanded; his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "And for what purpose?"

The woman's lips curved into a slight smile. "A look that matches the pictures I was sent," she explained, sounding frustrated. "Your face has the perfect shape, and your lips are now perfectly full. But there's still more work to be done on your hair and eyelashes."

"Or, you know," Ethan suggested, desperation creeping into his voice. "You could just go into the other room for a few minutes while I make a run for it. I'll take the blame if I get caught. I'll say I overpowered you or something."

The woman furrowed her brow, unimpressed. "And how do you propose getting past the man guarding the door?" she retorted.

"Look, I'm an American citizen, and I've been kidnapped," Ethan retorted, his voice straining to sound intimidating. "Do you have any idea what kind of charges will be filed against you once I'm found? You don't want to mess with the US government."

For a moment, the woman froze, her face contorting with indecision. But then she shook her head, dismissing Ethan's words with a flick of her wrist. "If people come asking questions later, I'll deal with it then," she replied calmly. "Right now, I'm more concerned with what will happen to my family if I upset the people who hired me."

Ethan opened his mouth to protest, but the woman cut him off with a booming voice that made him jump. "Stop, please," she commanded, her tone brooking no argument. "No more, or I'll send that text message. You don't want that, do you?"

Knowing that he had failed in his attempts to persuade the woman to help him, Ethan bowed his head in frustration, feeling utterly defeated.

"Okay," the woman said, her voice softening. "Let's get you to the bathroom, so we start on your hair."

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Ethan slumped in the chair, feeling utterly exhausted as he glared at the woman standing in front of him. It was impossible to tell how much time had passed, but it felt like an eternity. After their final argument, there had been little conversation between them, apart from a few terse commands.

"What now?" Ethan asked, sensing that his ordeal was almost over. He had just had his hair blow-dried and styled, and he couldn't help but feel a small glimmer of hope that the worst might be over.

"Now you get dressed," the woman replied, starting to pack up her equipment.

"I'm already dressed!" Ethan retorted petulantly, feeling the strangeness of his puffy lips as he spoke. The numbness had subsided, leaving him with a peculiar fullness in his mouth and a tightness across his entire face.

The woman chuckled at Ethan's pouting expression before shaking her head. "I can't argue with that," she said. "Perhaps I should have said 'get changed'."

"Get changed for what?" Ethan asked, his mind feeling as numb as his face as he blinked a few times, adjusting to his heavy fluttering lash extensions that had taken the woman nearly two hours to individually attach.

"I don't know," the woman replied, motioning for Ethan to stand up. "They didn't tell me."

Ethan stood his ground, his defiance palpable as he glared at the woman. After enduring the trauma of being assaulted with needles and the hours of discomfort he had endured having his lashes done while the smell of bleach filled his Botox-filled nose, he had reached his limit.

(See image 20)

A Mexican standoff ensued as the two of them locked eyes, each refusing to back down or look away. That is, until the beautician reached for her phone, tilting her head to one side in a threatening gesture.

With a heavy sigh, Ethan slowly lifted himself to his feet, his Botox-filled face contorted with disgust. He couldn't believe how far he had come from the confident, self-assured man he used to be, and he hated himself for it.

The woman's voice was tired and monotone as she instructed Ethan to go to the bedroom and get dressed. "Your undergarments and outfit are in the closet," she said before adding, "I'll be in shortly to do your makeup."

Ethan's mind was in turmoil as he shuffled out of the room. Anger and frustration battled for control, but he knew he had to keep it contained, if not for his sake, then for Ava's.

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Ethan gazed into the mirror in front of him, running his freshly manicured nails along the smooth satin material, his face frozen in a stunned expression, and not just because of the vast amounts of Botox pumped into it. The sight of his pink-tipped talons dancing along the shimmering fabric was a disturbing sight, nowhere near as disturbing as earlier when he had first seen his bloated, transformed face, framed by extended, blonde highlighted hair, but disturbing nonetheless.

For the first time in his life, he was wearing a dress - the very symbol of femininity! But to make matters worse, this wasn't just any dress, it was one he recognized - not immediately, as the shock of opening the closet to find the shining gown had sent him spiralling into panic. Only after squeezing his hourglass figure into the body-hugging garment and slipping his feet into the dangerously tall high heels that accompanied it, did he make the connection. It dawned on him as soon as he saw the completed look staring back at him in the mirror. He was wearing the outfit Emiliana had worn the night he met her!

The realization hit the feminized man like a sledgehammer to the chest, stealing his breath and nearly buckling his knees. Tottering over to the bed, he hardly even noticed as the woman from earlier entered the room. As she began working on his makeup, defining his eyes, and making his lips pop, Ethan barely registered her presence, lost in thought as he tried to make sense of what was happening.

He had always felt guilty for having left Emiliana so suddenly all those years ago, but he had been put in an impossible situation. It had been too much pressure for his young shoulders to bear. At the time, running away had seemed like his only option.

"Come with me," the young woman declared, reaching out to grasp Ethan's long, impeccably manicured hands. With no resistance left in him, Ethan allowed himself to be lifted up onto his high-heeled feet and led back over to the full-length mirror hanging on the wall. As his thoughts lingered on the past, the woman positioned Ethan in front of the mirror before stepping aside to give him some space.

For a moment, the image staring back at him didn't seem to register as himself. But then it clicked, and rather than reacting dramatically with screams of despair or collapsing in a heap, Ethan simply stood there, staring at his reflection in stunned silence.

(See image 21)

Ethan stood there like a stunning statue on his seven-inch platform pumps, his left leg exposed through the slit of his shimmering one-strap gown. Traumatized by his current situation, he couldn't help but get lost in thought.

As he pondered, he struggled to comprehend how his past actions could possibly warrant the cruel and twisted punishment he was now enduring. Why was Hector so infuriated? Ethan had heard of men being protective of their younger sisters, but this was beyond extreme. From his blond highlighted hair framing his dramatically made-up face to his feet teetering atop ankle-breaking pumps, he was dressed identically to Emiliana on that fateful night when he had approached her in the nightclub. In fact, as much as he didn’t want to admit it to himself, with his impressive rack and voluptuous curves, he may have even looked better than her.