Today is my 18th birthday, a significant year representing young adult-hood and independence. Ironically enough, I’m not even close to freedom.

The knife feels heavy in my hands as I sit in front of this mirror. Chris is out with Jack, probably working on his techniques. I didn’t even see him this morning. When he comes back, soon it will be by turn. I doubt anyone will acknowledge this “special day” of mine. I’m sure The Society knows all our background info and realizes this is my “coming of age,” but my present will just be another day of training. I try to look into the mirror and see if I look older. I try comparing myself to that barely 17 years old girl that walked in here. With each cut I make, with each strand that floats into my lap and onto the floor, I recall complaining about my weight, thinking I was heavy. The image in front of me is strikingly different, and yet I’m still dissatisfied with it. In a different way, of course. My stomach is undoubtedly flat, my entire core strengthened beyond the norm for a girl my age. The exercise regimes rid me of any notions of being overweight. Now…I looked like a monster. My face, once holding some roundness that gave me dimples when I smiled, was thinned out. My cheekbones were distinct in my face. Jack called it elegant and high-class. I called it looking emaciated. My arms were sickeningly muscular. Not bulky, but all was defined. It was masculine. My chest, which I had always been self-conscious of, had shrunk slightly. This was something I was happy with. When I was running, it didn’t hurt like it used to. I knew I appeared larger because I had lost all my weight, but it was okay. My hips had expanded, still growing despite lacking perfect nutrition here. My thighs were large with muscle, the fat once there replaced. And now my hair. I smiled as I cut the last strand for an even cut. What was once down to the middle of my back now reached my shoulders. My transformation was complete, and on what a day indeed.

I was 18 years old, and never 17 again. I was changed.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

Ah, he was back.

“Good morning to you, too, Chris.” I joked as I turned, pointing the knife at him in a joking way. His eyebrows were furrowed as he looked at me and my new haircut.

“I’ll never understand girls…” I heard him tell himself as he pulled off his training shirt. I grabbed the towel sitting on the vanity in front of me and tossed it over to him.

“So what were you working on that you had to get up so early? I wasn’t even awake when you left, and God knows I’m the one who’s usually up first.”

Chris was toweling himself off, wiping the sweat from his face down to his neck and shoulders with slow, practiced movements. It was routine. Except for the time, of course.

“I really don’t know. Jack let himself in and got me up. I figured I’d be nice and let you sleep, especially considering what day it is.”

Huh, I guess he did remember.

“Well thank you so much for your generosity. So what do you think of my new “adult ‘do’?”

“Hmm…” He pretended to scrutinize, throwing the towel over his shoulder and tapping a finger to his chin, stepping closer to examine me. He motioned with a finger for me to stand up, so I sighed and did so. His finger turned in circles and I got the message.

“Geez, all I wanted was an opinion.” I told him in fake exasperation as I turned around in a circle before him. As I made it back to my starting point, Chris was closer than I thought. He reached a hand up, playing with one of my short locks as the breath in me was caught.

“I think it suits you better than long hair. You were hiding behind it before, but now I can see you.”

I took in a shaking breath and hoped he didn’t notice. I was 18 years old, legal in many aspects. I still couldn’t drink alcohol, but I could vote. Read mature content. Have sex willingly and it not be statutory rape. Not that I wanted to.

Wait.

The 17 year old wouldn’t want to embrace this adulthood. I was changed. I’d been here almost a year and there was reason to it. I was supposed to just accept everything that happened. Everything happens for a reason, right? Was it fate? Destiny? Some higher power that put me in this place and let me recognize who I really was?

I knew one thing: it didn’t really matter. Because I wasn’t the girl who did only what was commonly accepted as right. I wasn’t the girl that didn’t do what was really right for herself and may have hurt others in the process.

I was 18 years old, and I was going to do what I thought was right.

My shallow breathing evened out. I came to terms with myself. There was no use wishing for what wasn’t there, no use living in the past. I had to embrace what was here and now, just like Jack had always told us. It turns out he wasn’t so crazy after all.

“I think you’re right. I’m eighteen now. Not a 17 year old girl.” I whispered, and his eyes flashed up to mine from where they had been playing with my hair. I dared a step closer, our chests brushing as I leaned in and hugged him. The one who had been the enemy for years. The one who tormented me not only during the day, but at night in my dreams as well. The one my best friend would have been in a relationship with had we not been stolen to this place.

But there was no escaping it. We were here, probably forever. Or at least until we were able to move higher in the organization and go out and find others to put in what had been our shoes.

His warm arms wrapped around me tightly, happy to see that I was finally giving him physical (literally) proof that we were okay with each other.

I had goals to achieve. I would become strong enough to see the outside world once more. If it meant staying affiliated with these people, that was fine. They had awakened the real me, and I owed it to them. I would show them my worth, and gain a little in the process. But right now, I would enjoy this moment. The first moment in my new life.

I was 18 years old, and finally content.