Story and Art Forum

I’ve been wearing more frequently as I have been working away. Wasn’t wearing today and as I walked to the office I felt pressure on my sphincter and then I couldn’t stop a large squishy poo coming out. Had to waddle to work and rush to the bathroom. My panties were ruined so I had to throw them away. This may be the start of me needing to wear  fulltime!

“Remember boys and girls!” The cartoon train says breaking the fourth wall and looking directly at you. “Your body will tell you when you need to go. All you need to do is listen to it!” You can’t help but roll your eyes.  Beside you, another adult dressed like a toddler lets out a bored yawn. This is painful. This is cringey. This is torture. This is…immigration. This strange new country that you’ve moved to supposedly has riches beyond belief and the opportunity for anyone to live the life of a billionaire, but it has some decidedly strange customs when it comes to “adulthood”.   In this place, growing up isn’t something that you just age into and you have to prove you’re ready for every right they give you starting from the bottom. Bottom. Poor choice of words. You and over a dozen other newcomers have had to get diapered up “just in case” and watch a potty training video meant for children. That way you can’t claim ignorance if you have an accident and the local government can claim you were well informed of the risk. All you have to do, all anyone has to do is make it through the day in this adult daycare without helplessly pissing or shitting yourself and tomorrow you’ll get to prove you can do things like color inside the lines and read picture books all by yourself. And so on and so on until you’re a full adult citizen. Easy? Right. Right.  Easy. But SOOOOO boring. As far as potty training videos, it’s pretty standard. Cartoon narrator talking about potty training (ooooooh that’s why it’s a train) spliced with tastefully angled live action shots of the potty being used and being ready to leave diapers behind at the next station, while the narrator drones on about listening to your body and going potty as soon as possible. The weird thing is there are no actual children depicted anywhere in the video. That’s a good thing, actually. You don’t want to have to watch preschoolers piss in a pot to get a green card. What draws your attention is the models in each of the shots. All of the potty usage is done by puppets instead of people and anything involving diapers or changes is modeled by people that look more like you.  “Big kids go potty on the toilet.”  You watch something that looks like it’s related to Bert and Ernie being placed on a toilet. “That’s why they’re big kids.” “Babies go potty in their pants. That’s why they wear diapers.” You see a twenty or thirty something getting their onesie unsnapped on a changing table, revealing a soaking wet diaper. You reason this has to be specifically made for temporarily embarrassed toddlers such as yourself. The reasoning behind these sorts of live action shots is so that the little kids can see people who look like them doing what they’re about to do.  It’s supposed to be relatable.  Presently, the only people that look like you- the only people you can relate to- are sucking their thumbs and about to have their pissy and shitty pants changed. “Are you potty trained?” the narrator asks from the T.V. screen. You giggle despite yourself and blush. You haven’t been seriously asked that question since kindergarten.  No. You don’t think of yourself as potty trained. “Potty trained” implies you’re a little kid and a chance that you’re going to forget or have an accident. You’re not potty trained. You’re just fully continent. Fully competent. An adult. It’s a grueling thirty minutes. You’re pretty sure videos like this were what was used before water boarding was decided to be more humane,  but eventually the video ends and you’re allowed to stand up off the carpeted floor and stretch. You raise your arms towards the ceiling and let out a groan, covering up the crinkle under your clothes.  Your stomach gurgles and you put your hands on your tummy.   Speak of the devil your body is telling you need to go to the bathroom. No problem. You listen to your body, and just like the video says, you go potty as soon as possible. You bend your knees, stick out your bum slightly, take a deep breath and push. As a bonus you feel the front of your diaper start to get wet too. You’re peeing AND pooping. Real multi-tasking going on here! Just like the smiling potty train told you to, you listened to your body and went potty as soon as you were able to. You smile and sigh, clearly pleased with yourself. You’ll be out of here in- Uh oh… Well, fuck. (Fin)  

I've said it before....waking up in a luxuriously warm and wet diaper is the best way to stat the day.  It's actually disappointing when I have to take it off.

New story just dropped just in time for Halloween: "Binge and Purge", an ABDL centric re-imagining and retelling of the Strange Case of Dr. Jeckyll and Mr. Hyde.   CW: Death.    This isn't very graphic, but it is VERY DARK (and I'm saying that).   http://subscribestar.art/personalias http://reamstories.com/personalias http://personalias.adult

Chapter 31 – What Was Left Elisa knew before anyone said it. The office had been dying for weeks, although nobody had used that word. At first it had happened quietly enough to pretend otherwise. Meetings disappeared from calendars, people who normally complained about everything stopped complaining and began closing their office doors instead, and conversations developed a habit of ending whenever somebody from senior management walked past. Then the desks started emptying. Not all at once, which somehow made it worse. One here, two there, then an entire row with dark monitors and chairs pushed neatly underneath desks nobody would sit at again. Coffee mugs disappeared from the kitchen cupboards. Someone removed the dying palm from beside the printer. The photographs from the summer party vanished from the wall, leaving pale rectangles where the frames had protected the paint from years of sunlight. By Monday, entire sections of the office had gone dark. Two thirds. That was the number everybody knew, although Elisa wasn't entirely sure where it had first come from. Approximately two thirds of the Finnish organisation would be gone by the end of the restructuring, but the company itself would continue. That second part had been repeated so often that it had begun to sound less like reassurance and more like a threat. The company will continue. Elisa's meeting was at eleven. She arrived at ten fifty-seven and found three people waiting for her: one member of the board, somebody from HR, and a lawyer she had met twice before and disliked on both occasions. There was a folder on the table in front of the empty chair. The folder made the rest unnecessary. Still, they went through it. The ongoing criminal investigation had caused significant financial and reputational damage. Several contracts had been terminated, credit arrangements were being renegotiated, and the Baltic operations were effectively paralysed. The company needed to reduce costs rapidly if the remaining business was to survive. Elisa listened and nodded at appropriate intervals. She had sat on the other side of conversations like this before, although never quite this one, and she knew how much effort went into making every sentence sound as though nobody had actually decided anything. Her role was being eliminated. That wording interested her. Not you are being fired. Not even we no longer need you. The role itself was apparently disappearing, as though somebody had opened a window and it had simply wandered outside. There would be a severance package. She would receive the details in writing, and her system access would remain active until the end of the day so that she could complete the necessary handover. The woman from HR folded her hands on the table. “Do you have any questions?” Elisa looked down at the folder. “No.” The woman seemed surprised. “None?” “No.” There was nothing in the folder Elisa couldn't understand. She had spent eight years understanding documents considerably more complicated than this one. The board member cleared his throat. “Elisa, I want you to know that this isn't a reflection of your performance.” “I know.” “You've been an enormous asset to this company.” Elisa almost smiled at that. Asset seemed appropriate. Assets could be bought, sold, written down and eventually disposed of when they were no longer sufficiently useful. “I understand the situation,” she said. “We're genuinely sorry to lose you.” This time she did smile, although she doubted it was a particularly pleasant one. “I'm sure.” The lawyer looked down at his papers, and the meeting ended less than two minutes later. Clearing her office took longer than Elisa expected, not because there was much in it but because there was so little. Eight years of early mornings and late evenings, budgets built and rebuilt, acquisitions, forecasts, board presentations, flights taken before sunrise and calls answered during dinner had apparently left remarkably little physical evidence behind. Two notebooks, three pens, a phone charger, a pair of black shoes beneath the desk and a framed photograph from a conference in Stockholm that Elisa didn't particularly like but had somehow kept for six years. At the back of the bottom drawer she found a packet of almonds that had expired in October. She turned it over in her hand. Aino had still been working here in October. Elisa dropped the almonds into the bin and put the photograph in her bag. She had almost finished when she noticed the empty rectangle beside the door. Her nameplate had already been removed. For some reason, that annoyed her more than losing the job itself. Perhaps because somebody had done it while she was still sitting in the building. Perhaps because she had spent years making herself difficult to remove, and someone had apparently needed less than eleven minutes. “Elisa.” She turned and found Mikko standing in the doorway with a bottle of whisky in each hand. For several seconds she simply looked at him, then at the bottles, then back at him. “Mikko.” “Elisa.” “Why are you carrying whisky?” “Evidence disposal.” She waited. Mikko lifted one of the bottles. “Juhani's.” That explained the label. Elisa knew enough about whisky to recognise that she was looking at something offensively expensive. “Where did you get those?” “Storage.” “What were you doing in Juhani's storage?” “Looking for things that belong to me.” “Did you find any?” “No, but I prefer to focus on the positives.” Elisa picked up her bag. “Put them back.” “I can't.” “You can.” “The police might confiscate them.” “The police have shown remarkably little interest in alcohol so far.” “You don't know what they'll take next. Three boxes went yesterday.” “Documents, Mikko.” “Exactly.” “Whisky is not a document.” “Not with that attitude.” Despite herself, Elisa smiled. Mikko noticed. He was good at noticing things, which was one of the reasons he had lasted as long as he had. He knew when to speak, when to stay quiet and, perhaps most importantly, when not to ask the next question. “So,” he said, lifting the bottles slightly, “I think we should destroy these before they fall into the wrong hands.” “They are currently in the wrong hands.” “That's hurtful.” Elisa walked past him towards the lift. Mikko followed, still carrying both bottles. “You haven't even heard my proposal.” “I've heard enough.” “We've just been fired.” “My position was eliminated.” “You've been fired.” “There is a distinction.” “Only if you're the person writing the press release.” Elisa pressed the lift button. Mikko leaned against the wall beside her, one of the bottles resting against his chest. “Mine too, by the way.” Elisa looked at him properly for the first time and noticed the cardboard box sitting outside his office farther down the corridor. “Oh.” “Yeah.” “When?” “Nine thirty.” “I'm sorry.” “So am I.” The lift arrived, but for a moment neither of them moved. Mikko had been here almost as long as she had. He knew where things were buried—not literally, Elisa hoped, although that was becoming increasingly difficult to rule out. He knew which contracts had never quite made sense, which payments had required an extra signature and which questions made Juhani suddenly interested in the person asking them. So did Elisa. They had both been very good at surviving here. Aino hadn't been. The thought came before Elisa could stop it. She stepped into the lift, and Mikko followed. “There are glasses in the executive meeting room,” he said. “No.” “And ice.” “Why do you have ice?” “I planned ahead.” Elisa turned to look at him. For some reason, that was what did it. A laugh escaped her, small and completely inappropriate, and Mikko's face broke into a grin. “There she is.” “Fuck you.” “Whisky first.” The first glass tasted terrible. Elisa frowned at it. “This is awful.” Mikko looked genuinely offended. “That bottle costs hundreds of euros.” “That doesn't make it good.” “It objectively does.” “That isn't how taste works.” “That's exactly how expensive whisky works.” They were sitting in one of the smaller executive meeting rooms, with the bottles between them and the office visible through the glass wall. Somewhere down the corridor drawers were opening and closing as somebody else packed away the remains of a career. A printer started unexpectedly, produced several pages and fell silent again. Mikko had found ice. Elisa had decided not to ask where. “You planned this,” she said. “I anticipated possibilities.” “You brought glasses.” “I found glasses.” “You brought ice.” “I also found ice.” “In the freezer?” “Yes.” “Where ice is normally kept.” “Exactly.” Elisa took another sip. It remained terrible, although possibly slightly less terrible than before. Mikko raised his glass. “To unemployment.” “Don't.” “To restructuring.” “Worse.” “To Juhani.” Elisa looked at him. Mikko considered this for a moment and corrected himself. “To Juhani being somewhere very far away from us.” “That I'll drink to.” Their glasses touched. For a while neither of them spoke. The silence surprised Elisa by not being uncomfortable. Most silences made her want to do something with them, but this one seemed to belong naturally between two people sitting in the remains of a company that had just decided it no longer required either of them. Eventually Mikko leaned back in his chair. “What are you going to do?” “I don't know.” His eyes moved immediately to her. “I've never heard you say that before.” “Say what?” “I don't know.” “I say it.” “When?” “When I don't know something.” “So never.” Elisa took another drink. “I'll find something. My CV is current, I have contacts, and there are several people I can call next week.” “Of course your CV is current.” “Isn't yours?” “My CV thinks I still enjoy cycling.” “You don't?” “I sold the bicycle in 2022.” “You should probably update that.” “I was hoping nobody would notice.” Elisa laughed again, and this time it came more easily.  The second glass was better. That was probably dangerous. As the afternoon slipped towards evening, the office grew quieter around them. At some point the last person in the adjacent section left without saying goodbye, and Elisa watched the automatic lights switch off one row at a time. Mikko followed her gaze. “Fucking hell.” “Yes.” “Did you ever think it would end like this?” “No.” “I thought Juhani would die at his desk.” “He may still.” “Optimist.” Elisa turned her glass slowly between her fingers. After a while Mikko said, “You were good here.” She looked at him. “I know.” “I mean it.” “So do I.” He laughed. “That's one of the things I like about you.” “One?” “Don't get excited.” Elisa shook her head, but she was smiling. “Juhani knew it too,” Mikko continued. “That makes me feel considerably worse.” “No, seriously. He respected you.” “Juhani respected people who were useful to him.” “Yes.” There was no hesitation in Mikko's answer, and something passed quietly between them. They had both been useful. That usefulness had protected them for a long time. “He once told me you were the best executive in the company,” Mikko said. Elisa raised an eyebrow. “Did he manage to say it without mentioning that I'm a woman?” Mikko paused. “There may have been a qualifier.” “There always was.” “He said you were remarkably ruthless for one.” Elisa laughed. “That sounds like Juhani.” “I think he meant it as a compliment.” “I'm sure he did.” “He really did rate you, though.” It shouldn't have mattered, and perhaps it didn't anymore, but there had been a time when Juhani's approval had mattered enormously. Elisa had worked for it, even while telling herself she hadn't. “I gave this place everything,” she said. “I know.” “I thought I was building something.” “You were.” “Apparently not.” Mikko studied her over the rim of his glass. “You made it work. You stopped half his stupid ideas and fixed the other half after he did them anyway. You knew everybody's numbers, you knew which clients were lying before they did, and when something went wrong you didn't panic.” Elisa looked down at the whisky. No. She hadn't panicked. Something went wrong and Elisa became calmer. Everybody else could be frightened; Elisa would make a plan. “I always knew what to do.” “Usually.” “Usually.” “You were fucking terrifying.” “Thank you.” “That was absolutely a compliment.” “I know.” They drank in silence for another minute before Mikko spoke again. “You know what the worst part is? I knew something was wrong.” Elisa looked at him. Mikko's expression had changed. The pleasant warmth of the whisky was still there, but the humour had gone. “Not this wrong,” he continued. “I didn't know about the laundering. Not like Aino did. But there were things. Payments that didn't make sense, companies nobody could properly explain, and Juhani getting very interested whenever somebody asked the wrong question.” “Yes.” “I just never asked the next one.” Elisa let that sit between them for a while. “Neither did I.” “You did eventually.” “No.” She shook her head. “Aino did.” Beyond the glass wall, another row of lights switched itself off. Mikko looked down at his drink. “Look how well that worked out for her.” Elisa turned towards him. He closed his eyes briefly. “That was a horrible thing to say.” “Yes.” “I didn't mean—” “Yes, you did.” Mikko looked at her, and Elisa realised she wasn't angry. Not quite. The sentence had been ugly, but perhaps that was precisely why it mattered. “That is exactly what Juhani needed us to believe,” she said. “That asking the next question was stupid. That the clever thing was to survive.” Mikko rubbed his thumb slowly along the rim of his glass. “Well,” he said eventually, “we did survive.” Elisa looked through the glass wall at the empty office, at the dark monitors and abandoned chairs and the pale rectangle where her name had been. “Did we?” Mikko followed her gaze. After a moment he gave a quiet laugh without much humour in it. “Fair point.” They did not finish the bottle, although Mikko argued that leaving expensive whisky behind was financially irresponsible now that they were both unemployed. Elisa won. Before they left, Mikko placed both bottles in the middle of the conference table and wrote EVIDENCE WE FAILED TO DESTROY on a sheet of paper. Elisa read it and held out her hand. “What?” “Give me the pen.” “Why?” “Mikko.” He surrendered it. Elisa turned the paper over and wrote PROPERTY OF JUHANI instead. Mikko stared at it. “That's incredibly boring.” “Yes.” “I liked mine.” “I know.” Outside, a thin rain had begun to fall, just enough to make the pavement shine beneath the streetlights. Elisa stood beneath the awning for a moment and looked back through the glass doors. She had expected leaving to feel different. More dramatic, perhaps. Instead, the doors had closed behind her and that was all. Eight years remained on one side of the glass, and Elisa stood on the other carrying a canvas bag containing two notebooks, three pens and a photograph she didn't particularly like. Mikko appeared beside her. “You going home?” “Eventually.” “There’s a restaurant around the corner.” “I know.” “Of course you do.” “I've worked here for eight years.” “So have I.” “You asked.” “I was trying to invite you.” “Oh.” He didn't repeat the invitation. He simply waited, hands in his coat pockets, looking out at the rain. Elisa looked once more at the office behind them. “All right.” The restaurant was too warm, and Elisa only realised how cold her hands had become when she wrapped them around a glass of water. They ordered food because Elisa insisted they were not continuing to drink on empty stomachs. Mikko accused her of management, and Elisa reminded him that he had never technically worked for her anyway. “You behaved like everyone's boss,” he said. “I was very good at it.” “That you were.” At first they talked about work because work was easy. They speculated about who would survive the next round, which departments might disappear entirely and whether there would still be a company left twelve months from now. Eventually, without either of them deciding to, the conversation wandered elsewhere. Then Mikko asked, “How's Aino?” Her fingers stopped against the stem of her wine glass. “In hospital.” “I know that. I asked how she is.” Elisa looked at him. Mikko continued eating as though the question had been casual, which meant very little. He could be remarkably patient when he wanted to be. “I don't know.” There it was again. Mikko had enough sense not to comment this time. “She doesn't want to see me.” Mikko continued eating. “I thought you two were close.” Elisa gave a small, humourless laugh. “We were.” Mikko glanced up. She should have stopped there. She knew that even as she continued, but perhaps it was the wine or the whisky, or perhaps losing the job had loosened something else along with it. “We were together.” Mikko's fork stopped halfway to his mouth. For once, Elisa had genuinely surprised him. “Together?” “Yes.” “Together together?” “Don't make me regret telling you.” “I'm not. I just didn't actually know.” Elisa frowned. “Actually?” “I had suspicions.” “You did?” “Elisa, she moved into your apartment.” “That proves remarkably little.” “You started leaving work before nine.” “I did that before.” “No, you didn't.” “I occasionally did.” “Christmas Eve doesn't count.” Elisa looked at him. “And you looked at her differently,” Mikko added. The humour disappeared. Elisa lowered her eyes to the table. “I loved her.” The past tense hurt as soon as she heard it. “I love her.” Mikko didn't react to the correction. Whether that was kindness or simply good judgement, Elisa couldn't tell. With Mikko, the distinction had always been difficult. “Okay,” he said. “I fucked it up.” He waited. Mikko had always been good at silence. He understood that people often filled it for him, and Elisa knew perfectly well what he was doing. She filled it anyway. “I hurt her.” “How?” “I'm not telling you that.” There was barely a pause before Mikko nodded. “Okay.” “I crossed a boundary I had no right to cross. She left, and now she doesn't want contact with me.” “For how long?” “She didn't know.” “And you're waiting.” Elisa looked up. “I'm giving her space.” “That isn't what I said.” “No.” “So you're waiting.” “I don't know.” Mikko studied her for a moment. Elisa disliked that look, not because it was unkind but because it was analytical. She had seen him look at contracts exactly the same way. “I love her,” she said. “I believe you.” “She might come back.” “She might.” Something in his tone irritated her. “What?” “Nothing.” “Don't do that.” “Do what?” “Decide what you think and then wait for me to work it out.” Mikko smiled faintly. “You know me too well.” “Unfortunately.” He took another sip of beer. “Her things are still at your place.” It wasn't a question. Elisa stiffened. “How do you know that?” “I didn't.” She stared at him. Mikko raised one eyebrow. “Now I do.” “Fuck you.” “Fair.” Elisa took a longer drink of wine than she intended. “Yes. Her things are still there.” “All of them?” “Yes.” “Clothes, books, everything?” “Yes.” Mikko nodded slowly. “You're keeping her place.” “No.” “Elisa.” “I'm giving her space.” “No. You're keeping her place.” She turned towards the window. Rain traced crooked paths down the glass while people hurried along the pavement outside beneath umbrellas. “I can't throw her things away.” “I didn't say you should.” “She doesn't have anywhere to put them.” “Then put them somewhere.” Elisa turned back. “What?” “Storage. Rent a unit.” Her answer came immediately. “No.” “Why?” “Because I'm not putting Aino in storage.” Mikko's expression softened slightly. “Not Aino.” “I know what you meant.” “Do you?” Elisa's jaw tightened. Mikko lifted one hand. “Sorry.” She looked down at the table. “It would feel like throwing her out.” This time Mikko took longer before answering. “She already left.” The words were quiet, which somehow made them hurt more.Elisa closed her eyes briefly. “I know.” “I'm sorry.” “I know.” Mikko let the silence remain until Elisa was the one who broke it. “She'll need her things eventually, but she can't take them to the hospital, and I don't even know where she's going afterwards.” “If she comes back for them now, what happens?” Elisa looked at him. “She has to contact you,” Mikko said. “Or she has to come back to your apartment.” That stopped her. Mikko leaned back slightly. “Put everything somewhere neutral. Pay the rent for a while and give her the key. Then she doesn't have to ask you for anything.” Elisa stared at him. “She wouldn't have to see me.” “No.” “She wouldn't have to ask permission to get her own things.” “No.” Mikko took another drink. “They'd just be hers again.” For several seconds Elisa said nothing. She hated how sensible it was. More than that, she hated the immediate relief that came from having a problem transformed into something practical. “Six months,” she said eventually. “I could pay six months in advance. That would give her time to decide what she wants to do.” Mikko nodded. “Sounds reasonable.” “I could leave the key with the hospital staff.” “If they'll accept it.” “They will.” A faint smile appeared on his face. “There she is.” “What?” “You've got a plan.” Elisa almost smiled back. “I always have a plan.” “I know.” For the first time in her life, the words didn't feel entirely like praise. One drink at Elisa's apartment became the next part of the evening mostly because neither of them announced that they wanted the evening to continue. They simply ended up there. Mikko chose the armchair instead of sitting beside Elisa on the sofa. She noticed the choice and suspected it was deliberate. With Mikko, most things were. The apartment felt different with somebody else inside it. Not better, exactly, but less silent. Mikko looked around without appearing to look around. Aino's mug was still in the kitchen. Her shoes remained beside the hallway wall, a cardigan hung over the back of a chair, and several books on the shelf were ones Elisa would never have bought herself. “You really did mean everything,” Mikko said. Elisa followed his gaze. “Yes.” “I can help tomorrow.” “No.” “With the packing.” “No.” “Elisa, I'm capable of putting things in boxes.” “I know.” “Then what?” Her eyes moved towards the bedroom. For a moment she saw the fabric basket at the bottom of the wardrobe: the diapers, pacifiers, soft clothes and other things Aino had shown her because she had trusted Elisa enough to reveal parts of herself she hid from almost everybody else. “Some of it is personal.” Mikko was quiet for a moment. “Right.” “Very personal.” “I understood the first time.” “Good.” He took a drink, then nodded towards the hallway. “I'll carry the boxes.” Elisa looked at him. “Not tomorrow. I'll pack everything myself, and the day after tomorrow you can help me take them to storage.” “And then the key goes to the hospital.” “Yes.” Mikko nodded. “Okay.” The word felt absurdly small for what they had just agreed to. Mikko left shortly before midnight. At the door he put on his coat and checked three pockets before finding his gloves. “You're not walking.” “I know.” “Taxi.” “Yes, Mom.” Elisa stared at him. Mikko froze, one glove halfway onto his hand. “Bad choice of word.” A laugh escaped Elisa before she could stop it. “Go home, Mikko.” “Yes, boss.” “Also incorrect.” “I'm having a difficult day.” “Clearly.” Mikko smiled and reached for the door, but before opening it his expression became more serious. “I meant what I said earlier.” “Which part?” “You were good at your job.” Elisa looked at him. “I know.” Mikko laughed. “Good.” “And so were you.” Something changed in his smile, only slightly. “Sometimes.” Elisa noticed, but she didn't ask. There were probably questions between them that neither of them would ever ask, and perhaps that was one of the reasons they had worked together so well. “Good night, Mikko.” “Good night, Elisa.” He left, and Elisa stood in the hallway until she could no longer hear the lift descending. Then she closed the door and the silence returned. She didn't go to bed. Tomorrow she would need boxes. Small ones for books, larger ones for clothes, something sturdier for the kitchen things. Papers would have to be checked carefully enough to separate Aino's from her own without reading anything she had no right to read. She would need labels, tape and probably bubble wrap for anything fragile. Elisa stopped herself before the list could become more detailed. Tomorrow. Tonight the apartment was dim except for the lamp beside the sofa, and as Elisa walked slowly through it she became aware of Aino everywhere. Not in any dramatic way. That was what made it worse. A hair tie beside the bathroom mirror, a bottle of shampoo Elisa didn't use, two books stacked horizontally because Aino had complained that the shelf was arranged inefficiently. There was a single sock beneath the bedroom chair. Elisa stared at it for several seconds before picking it up. The fabric was soft between her fingers, and she folded it automatically, unfolded it when she realised she had done it badly, then folded it properly and placed it on the chair. Tomorrow it would go into a box. She opened the wardrobe. Aino's clothes occupied less space than Elisa remembered. For weeks she had walked past them every morning, sometimes touching them and usually forcing herself not to. Now she let her fingertips move slowly along the sleeves: a sweater, a blouse, the soft hoodie Aino liked wearing at home. Elisa closed her eyes. For a moment it was absurdly easy to imagine Aino in the next room, perhaps sitting cross-legged on the sofa with Bunny tucked beneath one arm, absorbed in something on her laptop and only half listening when Elisa spoke to her. When Elisa opened her eyes again, the next room was empty. At the bottom of the wardrobe sat the fabric basket. She looked at it for a long time before crouching down. Her knees complained as she lowered herself onto the floor and pulled the basket towards her. This was why Mikko couldn't help. Inside were the things Aino had never left lying around when visitors came. Diapers, soft clothing, pacifiers and other small objects that had once embarrassed her enough that she had struggled to look at Elisa while explaining them. Elisa remembered that evening with painful clarity. She remembered wanting desperately to say the right thing and to make Aino understand that there was nothing she could show Elisa that would make her leave. There was a cruelty in remembering that promise now. She reached into the basket and rested her fingers against one of the diapers. The material crinkled softly beneath her touch, and memories came with the sound: Aino sleepy and grumpy, Aino pretending not to smile, Aino curled beneath a blanket with Bunny, Aino trusting Elisa enough to let herself become small. Elisa withdrew her hand. The memories weren't false. That would almost have been easier. There had been love here, and there had been safety too. For a while, Aino really had been safe with her. That was what made everything that followed so difficult to carry. Two stuffed animals rested beside the diapers. Not Bunny. Bunny was with Aino now, and Elisa was glad. She picked up the smaller one and turned it slowly between her hands, smoothing the fur beneath her thumb. Tomorrow it would become something she placed in a box, perhaps beneath a label that simply said bedroom. The thought felt grotesquely inadequate. Elisa brought the toy closer to her face and hesitated before pressing her nose into its fur. Laundry detergent. Dust. Something faintly sweet. And underneath it, perhaps, Aino. She inhaled again even though she knew perfectly well that memory could manufacture things like this. The scent might not have been there at all. It might simply have been something she wanted badly enough to find. She didn't care. “I miss you,” she whispered into the fur. Her eyes filled, and she held the stuffed animal against her face for a little longer before lowering it into her lap. “I miss you so fucking much.” For one dangerous moment, Elisa thought about leaving everything exactly as it was. Nobody was forcing her to buy the boxes tomorrow. The clothes could remain in the wardrobe, the books on the shelf and the mug in the kitchen. Aino's shampoo could stay beside hers, the diapers could remain hidden in the basket, and the stupid single sock could sit folded on the chair until Aino came back for it. If she came back. Elisa could preserve the apartment indefinitely. She could keep Aino's place ready without ever contacting her, without breaking the promise she had made at the hospital. Aino would never even have to know. That thought stopped her. Aino would never have to know. There had been a time when that logic had made too many things possible. Elisa looked down at the stuffed animal in her lap and then reached into the basket again. Her fingertips moved over the soft material of the diaper she had touched before. It belonged to Aino. All of this did. Not to Elisa, not to the apartment, and not to whatever they had once been together. Aino had trusted her with these things, and that trust did not give Elisa the right to keep them simply because letting go hurt. Tomorrow she would pack everything. She would not throw anything away or decide what Aino still needed, what she might be embarrassed by now or what Elisa thought she had grown out of. Every private little thing Aino had entrusted to her would be packed as carefully as the books and clothes. Six months paid in advance. A key delivered to the hospital. No message that required an answer and no reason for Aino to come back here unless she chose to. Elisa swallowed and looked down at the stuffed animal. Then, just once more, she lifted it to her face and breathed in. Afterwards she placed it carefully back into the basket, smoothing one ear beneath her thumb before letting go. Tomorrow, they would become Aino's things again. Tonight, they were still the shape of her absence.