Diapers Never Lie (Epilogue – 01/24/21)

[MinnesotaWriter]

This story is now finished, so congratulations, new readers, you'll be able to finish without needing to wait for any further updates from me. There are, however, some things you should be aware before you begin.

For first time readers, you should know that this story is a part of another one that I'm currently writing, All My Mother's Rules, covering the backstory of Lisa. The stories can be read in either order. You can start with this one first, or, if you choose to start with All My Mother's Rules, you'll be re-directed back to this story when necessary. 

A note from me to avoid some confusion. Lisa changes her name from Annabelle to Lisa at the conclusion of this story. (I've removed that name twist and kept her name as Lisa throughout when I've updated and posted the story elsewhere. I'm leaving that element here with this note so there isn't any confusion about her character).

Synopsis: Annabelle, a teenage girl with a troubled past and trouble with keeping her pants dry, must confront what has been done to her if she is to begin a new life, one that she hopes will allow her to eventually be free from diapers.

Content warning: This is a messed-up story. If profanity, violence, and references to suicide are off-putting, you probably shouldn’t read it.

-----

Chapter 1: Therapy Session

Present time

My legs wobbled slightly as I followed the therapist down the hospital hallway and into her office. Even though a month had passed after the incident, standing for any length of time quickly tired me out, and walking was so much worse. To be fair, I had been offered a wheelchair, but I had turned it down. It wasn't as if I was too embarrassed or prideful to use the wheelchair, but the thought of being constrained... well, that just wasn't going to happen. Not now. Not again. Not ever.

My therapist, Miss Amanda, said the room was private. I wasn't inclined to believe her. There was one of those one-way windows installed on the wall. She said it was only used for other clients, like if there was a parent or guardian that needed to be involved. I don't have any of those, well, at least not anymore.

Though tiny, the room wasn't so small that it felt constraining. The room was muted, with only few splashes of color. A light-brown leather couch with a couple of bright, plush pillows sat along the wall opposite the fake window. The far wall had a large, flatscreen TV inside of a wood cabinet.

"Annabelle, you can take a seat over there," Amanda said, motioning to the couch with her hand.

The therapist took a seat herself in a swivel chair that was next to the far end of the couch. The binder Amanda was carrying remained closed. I wondered what it said about me in it. To be more accurate, I worried about what it said about me.

In the first few days after the incident, I had talked a lot. Maybe I'd said more than I should have. Probably. But I had thought for once that I would have been believed. I'm still not sure if they do, or, if this therapy session is some sort of test or trick to discover what actually took place. I'm sure the transcripts of those initial interviews are in her binder. There's no way they would have let Amanda begin her first day as my therapist without providing her with that information. I tried to remember everything I had told them. It's not as if I hadn't been truthful, but I wasn't certain yet that I wanted to reveal any more than I already had.

I fidgeted on the couch, but that was more due to my nerves being uncomfortable, not my bottom. It would, however, be inaccurate to describe the couch itself as comfortable, even if I didn't happen to be uncomfortable sitting on it. There are few benefits to being incontinent but having what is essentially a portable pillow for your butt is one of them. So, while the cushioning in the couch may have been lacking, the padding in the diaper I had taped on beneath my dress more than made up for it.

Amanda opened the binder and began to peruse it silently without saying anything. I didn't get it. Was this some kind of trick into getting me to talk? All I knew about therapists was from what I'd seen on TV, which is to say, I didn't know much. Well fine. Staying silent was my modus operandi so why should I give a shit?

A few minutes passed before Amanda looked up from the binder to talk to me.

"Do you understand why we are having this conversation?" Amanda asked.

Because some judge is worried that I might be a danger to society. That isn't what I said to Amanda though. I just shrugged nonchalantly.

"Let's start by talking about how you're feeling right now."

Talk about my feelings? Since when has anyone given two fucks, let alone a single one, about my feelings?

"I... um... I... I don't know."

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Everything made sense in my head. The thoughts and words flowed seamlessly together. I knew exactly how I felt right now. Despite my ongoing efforts to repress those thoughts, Amanda's innocuous question had brought them forward again.

I'm lonely after being in the hospital for a month with basically no visitors besides the doctors and nurses who have been caring for me. I'm embarrassed because even though I'm fourteen, I've never been able to move on from needing to wear diapers. And I'm confused, because a month ago I wanted to end my life, and now I want to live, but I have no clue as to what the future could possibly look like for me.

But it all became a jumbled mess the moment I began to speak. I closed my mouth, shut my eyes, and curled up in a ball on my couch. Maybe going to juvie instead of this wouldn't be so bad after all.

With my eyes closed and my mind all wrapped up in my own thoughts, I didn't notice that Amanda had taken a seat on the couch until she was sitting next to me with her arm tight around my shoulder.

"You know what, why don't we do something different. It's only the first session after all."

I opened my eyes and nodded, though I didn't turn to look at her.

"Do you like to play videogames?"

"I don't know."

"Annabelle, you need to help me out a little. I'm sure you know if you like video games or not. And if you don't, that's OK. We can find something else to do."

How I am supposed to explain to her that I had never been allowed to play videogames? Well, besides that one time. I felt really embarrassed.

"But I don't know if I like them."

"Why not?"

"I.. I wasn't allowed to..."

My voice trailed off into a stutter, and I felt Amanda's hand rubbing my shoulder.

"Why weren't you allowed to play videogames?"

The laughter started with a brief giggle, but I couldn't get it under control. In a few seconds I was laughing so hard that I was crying. This situation wasn't supposed to be funny, but the absurdity and irony of it was more than I could deal with. I gave a better explanation to Amanda a minute later when I finally managed to compose myself.

"She said video games caused kids to be violent. You know, Columbine and all that stuff."

"I don't think there is much truth to that," Amanda said. "Humans started being violent long before video games were invented. I'll get the Wii set up and we can play for a bit, OK?"

Curious, I peaked over Amanda's shoulder as she knelt next to the TV cabinet and got the gaming system plugged in. My excitement to give it a try overpowered my cynicism that this was just a ploy Amanda was using to get on my good side. I mean, I knew that the cynic in me was right, but I wasn't going to pass up this opportunity.

Amanda handed me the two remotes – Wiimotes, she called them. It was such as stupid pun that it made me giggle again. She started a bowling game on the Wii. Just another thing I'd never done before. After a few gutter balls to start, and one time where I threw the bowling ball backwards and scared all the Miis into jumping, I began to get the hang of it and even managed to pull off a couple of strikes.

But the fun was over as quickly as it began. Amanda turned off the TV and placed the controls back in the cabinet. I knew she would be expecting me to be more talkative this time around, but I still wasn't ready for that.

"Can I slip out to the restroom?"

Amanda gave me a look. I guess her binder did have all my medical information in it as well.

I shuffled my feet. Couldn't she just let me get away with saying I needed to go to the restroom? Why did I need to specify that I needed to do it to change my diaper?

"To change myself," I added.

"Can you wait until we're done?" Amanda asked, clearly feeling like she didn't want to interrupt the momentum she had gained from our gaming session.

Why does everyone always assume that having a diaper on means that I can wait forever to go to the bathroom? Like, do they not get that it can be uncomfortable sitting in a wet or messy diaper, or that it will leak or smell if I wait too long?

"Well, it might leak."

That threat of having to deal with urine all over her couch was more than enough to get Amanda to give me permission to go to the restroom.

I grabbed my backpack and slipped out into the hallow to a restroom that was a few doors down. It was a one-person family restroom, always nice for times when I need to change a diaper. I took a seat on the toilet without bothering to raise the lid. I slid my shorts down to my ankles and pulled my ankle-length dress up to my waist. The wetness indicator on the diaper had barely changed.

I still hadn't gotten quite used to the new brand of diapers I switched to when I arrived at the hospital. They were more absorbent than I was accustomed to, so sometimes it was hard for me to determine if I needed to change myself without actually taking a look at the diaper.

I decided that I didn't need to change myself quite yet. The diaper was slightly wet, but it will more than make it through the rest of the therapy session without any leaks. But the trip to the restroom served a second purpose. It gave me a mental break that I desperately needed. I figured I could at least take my time. It's not like Amanda knows how long it takes to change a diaper.

This past month hadn't gone like I had imaged it would. Sure, I had escaped from her, but in my imagination, that had always been the moment where everything in the universe finally fell back in order for me. While I couldn't deny that my life had improved slightly, this still wasn't the life that I dreamed of.

I paced back and forth across the restroom. It only took me four steps to go from one wall to the other. I already knew the question Amanda was going to ask when I returned. It wasn't so much that the truth was a problematic answer, but that there was so much to say that I didn't know where to begin.

Amanda was seated in the swivel chair and reading through the binder when I returned to the therapy room. Without saying anything, I took a seat on the far end of the couch from her.

"Annabelle, are you ready to begin?"

No. I'm not at all ready. But does that matter? Not one bit. I stared at my hands as I picked at one of my fingernails.

"Annabelle," she said again, sounding a bit impatient.

I kept on ignoring her.

"Annabelle, look at me. You need to be treating this seriously. You did tell the judge that you agreed to do this."

I didn't agree to do shit. When presented with a choice between going through therapy or being sent to juvenile detention, was there really, actually, a choice to be made?

"Would you rather just get right to the point?" Amanda asked, gently, but firmly.

I relented and nodded silently, waiting for Amanda to continue.

"Let's talk about why you tried to kill your mother."

 

[keith60]

where is the rest of this story ?

[Kaleros]

Interesting start, I wonder what Annabelle will tell her therapist.

[widowmaker]

A very interesting start.  So many questions yet to be answered.  I look forward to your next chapter.

[MinnesotaWriter]

23 hours ago, keith60 said:

where is the rest of this story ?

Patience, young grasshopper.

22 hours ago, Kaleros said:

Interesting start, I wonder what Annabelle will tell her therapist.

No hints, but Annabelle has a lot that she needs to say.

22 hours ago, widowmaker said:

A very interesting start.  So many questions yet to be answered.  I look forward to your next chapter.

Yes, there's a lot that needs to be answered. And those answers will be coming relatively quickly in the story. The next chapter is going to take a bit of a peek into the past.

[kerry]

A really fascinating opening, Minnesota. I look forward to more.

[Guilend]

I'm definitely interested in reading more. 

[Little Andrea]

Interesting start, I’m eager to see where this goes.

[Bonsai]

So Annabelle is guilty of attempted murder, but also a victim.

Her therapy is private, but she’s coaxed to do it (her obligations and the level of leverage that the therapist has on her isn’t totally clear).

Intriguing!

 

I guess this will be centered on the relationship with her mother, that, once again in MinnesotaWriter stories, appears as the real monster.

I’m starting to wonder about how much of the mother character in the two stories will be autobiographical stuff.

 

[MinnesotaWriter]

On 9/30/2020 at 1:42 PM, kerry said:

A really fascinating opening, Minnesota. I look forward to more.

On 9/30/2020 at 2:39 PM, Guilend said:

I'm definitely interested in reading more. 

On 9/30/2020 at 5:04 PM, Little Andrea said:

Interesting start, I’m eager to see where this goes.

Thanks! Should have updates out to both my stories this weekend.

On 10/1/2020 at 11:12 AM, Bonsai said:

So Annabelle is guilty of attempted murder, but also a victim.

Her therapy is private, but she’s coaxed to do it (her obligations and the level of leverage that the therapist has on her isn’t totally clear).

Intriguing!

 

I guess this will be centered on the relationship with her mother, that, once again in MinnesotaWriter stories, appears as the real monster.

I’m starting to wonder about how much of the mother character in the two stories will be autobiographical stuff.

 

That's spot on about how the story is being setup.

As far as inspiration for it goes, nothing autobiographical. I had a great upbringing. I've found that /r/raisedbynarcissists/ is always interesting to explore and there was an short film released about a decade ago that also serves as a bit of an inspiration (bonus points if anyone guesses what that is).

[WBDaddy]

1 hour ago, MinnesotaWriter said:

there was an short film released about a decade ago that also serves as a bit of an inspiration (bonus points if anyone guesses what that is).

That wouldn't happen to be "Redemption", would it?  

[thedman]

2 hours ago, WBDaddy said:

That wouldn't happen to be "Redemption", would it?  

My bet is you are right on the money with that guess

[MinnesotaWriter]

8 hours ago, WBDaddy said:

That wouldn't happen to be "Redemption", would it?  

5 hours ago, thedman said:

My bet is you are right on the money with that guess

Bingo

 

[MinnesotaWriter]

Chapter 2: In the Beginning

Six years earlier...

My younger sister is everything that I’m not. It’s as if after the stork delivered me, my parents made a list of all the revisions they wanted and put in a request for her. She’s only about a year younger than me, but you might not know that based on how our parents treat us.

She’s confident and outgoing. I stutter every time I get nervous. She gets good grades. I’m already a reading level behind her. She’s feminine and graceful. I’m lanky and awkward. She was potty-trained before her second birthday. I’ve almost never gone a day in my life where I haven’t wet or messed myself.

I couldn’t fix all of those things, but as I pulled on a pair of plain, pink, cotton panties, I felt as if I could at last bring some sort of equilibrium to our relationship.

Today is Thanksgiving, and a bunch of relatives from out-of-town will be arriving at our house less than an hour from now. It has been a couple years since I’ve last seen my cousins, and the experience is one that still centers in my nightmares. That was the summer before I’d started kindergarten. While even at that age I was aware of the differences between myself and my sister, I hadn’t fully grasped how unusual it was for a girl who had just turned five to rarely be able to make it to the toilet in time. Needless to say, my cousins, who are all my age or older, tormented me relentlessly, aided and abetted by my sister.

That was the beginning of my education that I was different. And different isn’t good. Different is weird, embarrassing, awkward, and humiliating. Different makes you stand out. Different paints a bright red target on your back for the kids who are normal. Different lets them know who they can get away with picking on and who they can’t.

So that is why I was terrified of having to wear pull-ups around my cousins again. For months, I had begged, and begged, and begged my parents to let me go back to panties on Thanksgiving. Their response was always the same. I couldn’t start using panties until I showed that I could go to the potty consistently without having any accidents. I tried so hard. I really did. But the best I could get in the weeks leading up to Thanksgiving where two separate days where I had been able to keep my pull-ups clean the whole day long.

To my good luck, one of those dry days had been yesterday. When mommy came to check on my diaper this morning it was wet, but that wasn’t a surprise. I begged her incessantly to let me wear panties since I had gone without having an accident the whole previous day. She relented and had grabbed some unused panties from a package up on the top shelf of my closet.

I’d put the panties on a few minutes ago. It had been almost a year since I had last been allowed to wear them. They were the feeling of freedom. There wasn’t any padding resting on my bottom. I could walk without any fear that it would look like I was waddling. And, best of all, no one could accuse me of being a baby.

My younger sister, Elaine, knew better than to tease me directly in front my parents, but when they were out of sight, anything was fair game for her. We didn’t share the same bedroom, but that didn’t stop her from barging in while I was getting dressed, or, even worse, getting changed by mommy or daddy.

“Good morning baby,” she said, peeking her head through the door.

“I’m not a baby!” I shouted back, raising my voice partly to convince her and partly to convince myself.

Elaine didn’t look particularly convinced. To prove it to her, I pulled down my leggings enough to show the panties I had on.

“See! I’m not wearing pull-ups.”

-----

My cousins arrived thirty minutes later.

I wasted no time in making it abundantly clear that I was a big girl now. I didn’t care that it wasn’t appropriate for me to be flashing my cousins with my panties. It was the only argument I had to prevent them from calling me a baby. So, I made sure all my cousins saw that I had panties on at least once, if not twice or more.

That afternoon progressed normally at first. I went to the bathroom three times without needing any reminders from mommy, not that she and daddy hadn’t stopped reminding me, but each time they told me I was already on my way to the bathroom.

The adults had sent us to the other room to play, something to do with us being too rowdy and loud while they tried to watch the football game on TV. We sat on the floor in a large circle, playing a game of Uno. I only had three cards left in my hand, include a “+4”. I was waiting eagerly for my next turn. My sister was seated to my left, and a cousin had just played a reverse card, changing the direction to clockwise. I had a hard time keeping my hands still as the play moved around the circle. Elaine only had one card left. This was going to be so, so much fun. It was just about to be my turn.

My mind registered the feeling of warmth and wetness in my panties a brief moment before it came to the realization that the fact that I was peeing myself was the cause of that sensation. I froze in shock. How did this happen? I had been so careful?

Elaine was the first to notice. And she was so giddy about it. Her eyes lit up and a cruel smile stretched across her face.

“Annabelle peed herself. Annabelle peed herself.”

My sister’s sing-song chanting got the attention of the rest of my cousins, who joined in.

“Annabelle peed herself. Annabelle peed herself. Annabelle peed herself.”

I raced to my bedroom as they followed and shut the door behind me. I was surprised by the accident, but did I have any reason to be? It didn’t make sense. At some point in every kid’s life, they wet themselves for the last time, and every time after that they make it to the toilet without any issue. And yet, for me, that last accident never came. I’ve never been able to seize the momentum of a dry day escape into the land of toilets and big girl underwear.

I heard the door open.

“Annabelle Mary Lee, what are you doing hiding in here?” Mommy asked.

I didn’t need to say anything. I’m sure Elaine or one of my cousins must have tattled on me. And even then, the massive wet spot on my leggings told mommy everything she needed to know.

“You stupid bitch. Why the hell did I let you wear panties?”

I didn’t respond. I looked down at mommy’s feet rather than up at my face. I cringed as she walked toward me, turning my face to the side in anticipation. But mommy grabbed my wrist instead and half-dragged me out of the bedroom, down the hallway, and into the living room.

All my aunts, uncles and cousins were lounging on the couch, watching some pop-star performing during the half-time show of the football game. They didn’t notice me at first when mommy pulled me into the room, her hand still gripped firmly around my arm. But once they did, the whispers started.

“Look at her pants.”

“Did she really pee herself?”

“I told you she wasn’t actually potty-trained.”

Mommy practically dragged me to the center of the room, right in front of the TV.

“Listen up everybody. Listen up. Annabelle has something she needs to say,” mommy said, turning to look down at me.

“Annabelle, why don’t you tell everyone how old you are?”

My mumbled response was incomprehensible, but the laughter that followed from my relatives was crystal clear.

“Stop muttering. Speak up. We didn’t hear you.”

“Eight.”

“You want to tell everyone what you just did in your pants?”

I emphatically shook my head sideways. The tears were already beginning to flow.

“I’ll do it for you then. Annabelle’s pants are wet because she just peed in them, because even though she is eight years old she’d rather do that than go to the bathroom like a big girl.”

Tears rolled down my face, going across my cheeks before following down to the floor.

Then the laughter came. Laughter, laughter, and more laughter. From every corner of the room they were all laughing at me.

“Mommy… please…”

“Please what? You were the one who said you were a big girl this morning. You told me you could keep your panties dry.”

Everyone kept laughing, except for an aunt and uncle, ones I hadn’t ever met before, who had hadn’t brought along any kids of their own. They stood by themselves in the far corner, scowls on their faces.

Another trickle of pee leaked out involuntarily, splattering on the floor and drawing gasps from my audience. Daddy gave mommy a look, and then whispered in her ear.

“So disgusting,” daddy said, as he grabbed me from underneath both my arms and hauled me away to my bedroom.

The spanking began without the usual lecture. At least daddy had been in such a rush to get it started that he hadn’t bothered with grabbing a paddle and was instead using his bare hands. Not that it still wasn’t painful. I thought that by now I should have used up all my tears, but I must have found another reservoir of them, because the tears kept flowing without any pause until the spanking concluded.

After the spanking, daddy laid me down on the bed. Back to pull-ups for me. I tried to be not too upset about it. That was the status-quo after all. Panties were just the exception.

But he wasn’t holding a pull-up in his hand; he had a diaper instead. The type with the Sesame Street characters I use at night or in the car when we went on long road-trips. I squirmed away and jumped off the bed, but daddy grabbed me and placed me back on the bed. He held both my legs in one hand so I couldn’t move.

“You have three seconds to stop or your bottom is getting another spanking. With the paddle this time.”

He won. I knew that threat wasn’t a bluff. Though the tears had stopped, I still sniffled as daddy taped the diaper on me with a well-practiced efficiency. It was bad enough to have to wear a pull-up around my cousins, but a diaper. I could already hear their taunts ringing in my ears.

Once I was off of the bed, I started to walk to the dresser to grab a pair of jeans, something that would hopefully hide that I was wearing a diaper.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m getting dressed.”

“Dressed? You already are dressed.”

The implications of that statement were immediately clear.

“Daddy. No. Please. Everyone will see it.”

“You should have thought about that before you decided to pee your pants. Now, come on. No more hiding in your bedroom.”

I froze as we got to the end of the hallway. I could hear my cousins just around the corner. They were talking about me. Then I felt daddy’s hand on my lower back. With a strong shove he pushed me forward out of the hallway and into the room.

My cousins didn’t say anything for the first few seconds. This was too easy. Predators don’t expect their prey to just come and lay down in front of them. The situation was just so bizarre, that even with the intent to bully me, they weren’t sure how to do it. The first comment, coming from my oldest cousin, was the most biting.

“Aww. Those are the same diapers my baby sister wears.”

I thought I had run out of tears earlier. I was wrong.

I sat in the corner and began to cry. My unresponsiveness put an end to the game, at least for the moment. They got bored, as kids tend to do rather quickly, and ran outside to play. Even after they left, I remained in corner. Eyes closed, arms hugged around my legs, which were squeezed together in an unsuccessful attempt to obscure the diaper.

Stupid. I’m so stupid. I should have just worn the pull-ups. Mommy wouldn’t have been happy with my accident, but she wouldn’t have punished me like that. And a daddy wouldn’t have put me back in diapers. It’s all my fault.

As I was crying in the corner, the aunt and uncle that I hadn’t met before took a seat to either side of me.

“Well,” my aunt said. “What has you feeling so down?”

I spread my legs far enough apart to make the diaper fully visible. My aunt frowned but didn’t make any comment. Instead, she removed her jacket and set it across my lap so the diaper was fully concealed.

“Who are you?” I asked. I didn’t know a lot about my extended family, especially ones who visit so rarely.

“I’m your dad’s sister,” she said.

“But, why haven’t I seen you before?”

“We… let’s just say your father and I have… some difference.”

Differences? That didn’t make a lot of sense to me.

“This might cheer you up,” my uncle said.

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a Gameboy.

I remembered what my parents always said about videogames. Evil. A gateway drug to violence. No different than devil worship. But now I didn’t know what to think. Here was an adult handing me a videogame like it was something that was completely normal to do. And from adults who weren’t making fun of me for wearing a diaper.

He showed me how to use the directional pad to move the little character from left to right on the screen and how to use the other buttons to jump or run faster. I wasn’t very good at it. In fact, I lost several lives right away before I began to get enough of a sense of the timing to where I could progress further along the level. My mind was so absorbed in the game that I didn’t notice the urges coming from my bladder until it was too late and my diaper had gone from dry to wet.

“Are you having fun?” my uncle asked.

I nodded. I hadn’t even known that there was anything in the world like this.

“You know,” he said. “How would you feel about the idea of coming to stay with us for a while, instead?”

Live somewhere other than with mommy and daddy? I didn’t know what to make of that idea, but my uncle didn’t get time to expound on the thought as daddy approached us and snatched the Gameboy out of my hands. Daddy threw it against the floor.

“I will not have you corrupting my child. Not in my house.”                                                                                            

My uncle looked at his brother-in-law with his mouth gaping open.

“Those aren’t exactly cheap,” my uncle said.

“That’s your problem. You shouldn’t have brought it.”

“Children have always needed to play. This is just a new way of doing it. We weren’t harming Annabelle”

“I. I am the one who decides what happens in my house. Not you.”

Daddy turned to look at me.

“Go to you room. Now!”

I ran off to my bedroom. That wasn’t an order I dared to disobey. But even in my bedroom, I could hear bits and pieces of the heated conversation daddy was having with his brother-in-law. They had moved closer to the front door, and I crept that way to listen in on them, taking care that daddy wouldn’t be able to see me.

“You saw what happened earlier. She keeps pissing herself,” daddy said.

“I did see what happened earlier,” my uncle replied. “I saw a bunch of so-called adults bullying a young girl because of something she isn’t able to control.”

“She’s eight. Eight-year-olds should know how to use the toilet properly.”

“Exactly, and if she can’t, she needs to see a doctor.”

“What she needs to do is stop pissing herself on purpose. I’m not paying to take her to some quack who would have her drugged up with who knows what.”

“On purpose? Are you crazy? What kid would want to do that?”

“What the fuck do you know about children? You don’t even have any kids.”

“You’re really asking what the fuck I know about kids? We’ve taken care of dozens of foster kids. And you know what, they all come from homes like this. With parents who aren’t willing to put in the work to take care of them right.”

“But you don’t have any kids of your own. I wonder why that is. Why should I listen to some faggot who can’t even get his woman knocked up properly?”

“James, don’t,” my aunt said to her husband, interrupting the conversation.

“I’m done. This is the last time either of you will set foot in here. I’ve got a 12-gauge, and I damn well know how to use it. Now get the fuck out of my house.”

The door slammed shut. I was alone again.

[GQLF]

This kind of ridicule and abuse from my parents reminds me of "Redemption", This kind of abuse can only lead to psychosis of both sides, and even rise to killing.

[YourFNF]

Reactionary shitheads. I bet the bastard hits his kid because he would go down in one shot in actual fight.

[kirababy]

Wow.  I know it is a story and all, but wow.   that is so harsh. 

[MinnesotaWriter]

On 10/3/2020 at 5:28 PM, GQLF said:

This kind of ridicule and abuse from my parents reminds me of "Redemption", This kind of abuse can only lead to psychosis of both sides, and even rise to killing.

For sure. We'll get a few more flashbacks along the way that will paint a better picture of what leads up to that point. 

On 10/4/2020 at 10:39 AM, YourFNF said:

Reactionary shitheads. I bet the bastard hits his kid because he would go down in one shot in actual fight.

No doubt. I imagine he has one of those massive lifted pickup trucks too.

[Shotgun Diplomat]

54 minutes ago, MinnesotaWriter said:

massive lifted pickup trucks

Don't paint us all with that same brush. lol.

[MinnesotaWriter]

Chapter 3: A New Beginning

Present time

Telling my entire story to my therapist, Miss Amanda, took five sessions. But I told it to her. Every last detail, no matter how awful or painful it was to dredge back up. I hadn't expected the process to take as long as it did, but every incident I told her about brought up another two that I had long suppressed in the back of my mind. Miss Amanda hadn't talked much and had instead let me tell my stories with minimal interruption. Cathartic wasn't the right word to describe how I was feeling, but there was a relief to being able to verbalize every fucked-up thing that had happened to me and move past it.

The three-hour sessions had taken place once a day, and a couple of days had passed since the last one without any update from her. The attorney that they had assigned to me had said it could take a few days for any decision to be made, but that it was almost certain that Amanda's report would get the judge to agree for me to be released from the hospital.

The attorney had remained coy about what exactly that meant. I assumed it would be foster care, or maybe some sort of group home. My parents had fallen out with basically all of their relatives over the years, for one reason or another, so I didn't think they would have any desire to take me in. Especially since they are all more than aware of my incontinence.

I had spent most of the day lying in the hospital bed and watching TV. There just wasn't much for me to do now that I had finished the therapy sessions as well as the education assessments they had assigned to me.

It had been years since I had last made a concerted effort to get toilet trained. I had completely given up on the idea and had resigned myself to the fact that I'd need diapers for the rest of my life. But now that my recovery was complete, the doctors had said that they thought there might be some ways to treat my incontinence.

I remained skeptical about the idea of Kegel exercises they were having me do. If it was this easy to finally get control of my bladder, why had no one ever told me to do them before? They also had me on a couple of medications. The names were hard to pronounce, but one of them was apparently supposed to make my eliminations smell less.

My incontinence problems only extend to my bladder, not that I hadn't had more than my fair share of messy diapers. But those were almost always a result of circumstances beyond my control, like not being able to -- or not being allowed to -- get to a toilet in time.

I'd switched to wearing pull-ups the last couple of days with some success. I had at least managed to make it to the toilet on a couple of occasions. The nurse said it was a sign of the medications and exercises working, but to me, it felt like being in an environment where I had the freedom to go to the toilet whenever I needed to and wasn't judged or shamed for having any accidents made a huge difference.

"Annabelle, you've got visitors," the nurse said after peeking into my room.

The only visitors I had received were either my attorney or my therapist. This time around it was both of them at once.

"Good news Annabelle," the attorney said. "The judge gave you the all-clear this morning. We're going to get you checked out of the hospital."

"But where I am going to go when I leave?"

"You have an aunt and uncle on your mom's side that you're going to go and live with. They said you might recall meeting them once before," the attorney said. "Normally, we wouldn't release someone to a family that you have barely been around, but, since they have extensive experience with foster children, we felt this would be appropriate."

Uncle James and Aunt Lydia. I did remember them. They had been the lone bright spot on what had otherwise been one of the worst days of my life.

"I'm going to leave with them today?"

"Annabelle, you do get to have a say in things now. If you told me that you were absolutely opposed to going with them, we would try and work something else out."

"They... they really do want to have me come live with them?"

"They really do. They're at the first-floor waiting room right now."

I'd had many difficult choices to make recently. This wasn't one of them.

"Yes, I want to go with them."

"Are you fine if I go and get them now?" the attorney said.

I nodded, and he turned and left the room.

I suddenly remembered the last thing they had said to me on the one day we had met. They'd asked if I wanted to come live with them for a while. The question had left me perplexed for a long time. Who wants to take care of a kid who can't be toilet trained? Maybe want is too strong of a term to use, but it seemed like they were at least willing to tolerate my incontinence.

I fidgeted in the bed as the seconds ticked by. Hope. That's what I'm feeling right now. That's what I'm trying so hard not to feel right now. It's a feeling that's let me down almost every time I've experienced it until I let myself become jaded so as to avoid any crushing disappointment. I knew, intellectually, that my aunt and uncle were here. Attorneys aren't supposed to lie, or at least, not to their clients. The same goes for therapists and nurses. But emotionally, I wasn't prepared – I didn't know how to prepare – for a moment where my hopes actually, really, came true.

But that moment came. The attorney returned to the room a few minutes later, with my aunt and uncle closely trailing behind him. I didn't say a single word. I just leaped up from the bed, sprinted across the hospital room, and flung myself into my aunt's arms so strongly that she nearly fell backward.

"Everything is going to be OK now," my aunt said.

"Annabelle," the nurse said, trying to get my attention. "It's going to be a several-hour car ride to where your aunt and uncle live, so why don't you gather your things and get ready for the trip? I have a couple of things to go over with them."

I nodded. By telling me to get ready I knew she was referencing that I needed to check if my pull-up needed to be changed, and I was grateful she didn't explicitly say that out loud.

I pulled the privacy curtain around my bed so I could get changed while the nurse went over some things with my aunt and uncle. I didn't really want to go back to wearing diapers during the day, but given that they said the car ride would be several hours long, the last thing I wanted was to have a leak in their car. That would be a marvelous first impression.

The nurse was going over some details of my treatment with my aunt and uncle. I didn't catch much of what she said, but my ears perked up when she brought up my incontinence issues. I suppose that couldn't be avoided, but I was glad I had the curtain between me and them at the moment.

When I pulled back the curtain, the nurse was handing my uncle a large, cardboard box. I wondered for a second what was in the box, and then realized that it must be extra diapers, pull-ups, and wipes for me. My aunt and uncle hadn't made a big deal about the diaper last time, but it still wasn't a conversation I was looking forward to having with them.

"There's just a few more things we need to go over quick before you leave," the attorney said to me.

The attorney gave me a brief rundown of the expectations they had for me. My aunt and uncle were now my legal guardians, so I had to obey like they were my parents. I would need to avoid getting into any further trouble. And, I would need to start going to a regular school. Since spring is nearly over and it doesn't make sense to have me get started this late in the year, I'd need to wait until fall, when I would be starting high school. Until then, I'd have several private tutors who would be working with me to make sure I was ready academically.

To be honest. I hadn't thought much about school. Kindergarten had been a first-rate disaster. I had only been able to hide my lack of appropriate toileting skills for three days before a leaky pull-up – my teacher hadn't been taking me to the nurse to get changed as much as she should have – gave the game away.

But it wasn't the bullying from my peers or the fact that I was barely learning anything that got mom to pull me from school the next year and begin to homeschool me and my sister. Mom had thrown a massive fit at a reference to evolution in a worksheet I had been sent home with, something that got the blood boiling for my creationist, flat-earther mother. But the school district wasn't going to budge on teaching science, so she decided that she was going to do the schooling for us all by herself.

"You have everything you need?" my uncle asked.

I nodded and followed him out the door, feeling truly hopeful for the first time in my life.

---

About fifteen minutes into the car ride, I finally worked up the courage to ask the question I had been holding in ever since we had gotten in the car. We hadn't spoken since we'd left the hospital. I really didn't know what to say, and they respected my silence. My uncle was driving, but my aunt had taken a seat in the back with me, rather than the passenger seat.

"Did you bring a Gameboy?" I asked.

"No, but I've got something much better," she replied, reaching into her backpack and pulling out a Nintendo Switch.

I hadn't even dared to suspect that I might be given one of these to play with. I held the device gingerly in my hands, so scared that I might break or drop it. Time flew by so quickly on the car trip. I remained engrossed in the game system the entire time. My aunt just watched me play without saying anything, while my uncle surfed between talk radio stations as several ones went in and out of range.

We had been in the car for several hours. I hadn't kept track of exactly how long, but it was now dark outside. But now I needed to go. Badly. Had I just needed to pee, it wouldn't have been a big deal. I'd switched to a diaper for the road trip for a reason, and it was already wet. But I need to poop, and I wasn't sure how much longer I would be able to hold it in. After waiting for about ten minutes, I finally told my aunt and uncle about my need to go to the bathroom.

"I'm sorry, but there isn't anywhere to stop before we get home," my uncle said. "We'll be there in five minutes."

I should have said something sooner. We'd passed a gas station five minutes ago, but I had been too embarrassed – and not desperate enough – to say something at that point. I fought to resist the urge to squirm. With Aunt Lydia seated next to me, it was embarrassing to reveal just how badly I needed to go. But that didn't do me any good. My bowels gave in, and I felt the back of my diaper fill up.

Putting on a diaper instead of a pull-up had been a wise decision. Pull-us aren't really meant for doing number two, and the diaper would do a better job of holding in the smell. I took a cautious sniff. I couldn't smell anything, which was a good sign, but as we drove down the bumpy road, I could feel it smearing all over my bottom.

"We'll be at the house in a few seconds," my aunt said. "The bathroom is the first door on the hallway to the left."

I appreciated how she was trying to help me, but the embarrassment from the messy diaper grew as we pulled into the driveway. I didn't step out of the car when my uncle opened the door for me.

"Don't you need to go to the bathroom?" my aunt asked.

I buried my head in my hands.

"Oh," my aunt said softly, in a tone that suggested that she now realized what had just taken place.

"Let's get you inside so you can get cleaned up."

Aunt Lydia hugged me once we were out of the car. Both her arms wrapped around me until I was in a firm embrace with one of her hands rubbing my back.

"I can help get you cleaned up if you'd like that," she said.

Help clean me up? My heart sped up at that though. Mom's idea of help had been... no, I don't want to think about that right now.

The issue wasn't so much the embarrassment of it. In fact, I had to admit that it would be so much easier and quicker to have someone do that for me. Not being able to see your bottom when you are trying to get yourself wiped clean is the hardest part, after all.

I hesitated because I felt bad for her. I didn't want to put my aunt through this. But, Aunt Lydia wouldn't have offered if she wasn't willing to, right?

"I think... I think I can do it myself."

"I know you can, but if it would be easier for me to help, it really isn't a problem for me."

I was OK with turning down her first offer to change my diaper, but for her to make the offer again meant that she actually was comfortable doing that after all.

"I'd like that," I replied.

I grabbed my backpack and followed her into the house while my uncle grabbed the remainder of our things. The bedroom she led me to was so much bigger than what I'd had before. The bed itself was twice as large. There were several dressers, a walk-in closet, a bathroom, and a desk with a computer on it.

My aunt laid out a towel on the bed as a makeshift changing pad. I eased myself gently onto the bed, trying not to make the mess in my diaper any more difficult to clean up.

I held my breath as my aunt un-taped the diaper. Not because of the smell – that, I was used to, though the hospital had me on some pills that were reducing it – but because I wasn't sure of what my aunt's reaction was going to be. I'm sure she has changed diapers before, with as many foster kids as they'd had, there must have been some younger ones that weren't toilet trained yet, but an adult diaper, especially a messy one, is something entirely else.

Not a word about how bad it must smell, or how messy it was. She didn't make a snarky comment about how I shouldn't have messed myself, up or about how good it must feel to get all cleaned up. She didn't rush through it haphazardly like it was a task she wanted to be over with as soon as possible.

No one had ever treated me this kindly before. Tears began running sideways across my cheeks. Aunt Lydia paused, grabbed a clean baby wipe, and used it to wipe off the tears on my face.

"You don't need to cry," she said. "Everything is going to be OK now that you're finally here with us."

That was reassuring, but what did my aunt my when she said "finally?" Then I remembered a comment my uncle had made six years ago the only time I had met them. He had mentioned the idea of having me come live with them. Had they tried to make that happen?

"Do you need another diaper, or would you prefer a pull-up?" she asked, once my bottom had been wiped clean.

"A diaper, those work better at night. I put some in the big section of the backpack."

She put the diaper on as skillfully as she had cleaned me up. Even though I hadn't said anything about baby power, she had taken some from the bag and used it on me as well. Aunt Lydia grabbed my hands and pulled me up off of the bed and onto my feet.

"Thank you," I whispered.

She led me to one of the dresses and opened the top drawer, which revealed an array of pull-ups in different sizes and colors.

"It's not uncommon for kids who've had childhoods like yours to need some protection for accidents, especially at night. So it's something we're well prepared for. I don't know if these pull-ups will work well for you, so if you need us to order something different for you, just let me know."

I didn't know what to say. I still couldn't wrap my head around the idea that someone could handle my accidents, pull-ups, and diapers as if it were no big deal.

"I'll give them a try tomorrow."

I took a breath and asked the question that she had triggered in my mind.

"Before.... you had asked if I wanted to come to live with you, did you and John try to do that?

"We did try to get you to come live with us earlier, but..." she paused. "It didn't work."

I realized that I knew exactly what she was referring to.

[Baby Billy]

I really loved that chapter, when I read the last chapter i thought they would try to get her to come with them,  i guess the people in charge and the parents didn't think anything was wrong with how they treated her.

[Babypants]

Activated charcoal?  It doesn't take long completely to eliminate the odor, although patients do need to be advised that the color of their stool will change, perhaps dramatically.  In my experience, pull-ups deal with messing quite efficiently-- if the leg gathers are well designed.

 

[YourFNF]

I'm glad she's at least out of that fucked up situation and with people who actually care about her. I'm guessing were about to find out how badly cps fucked up or more specifically just how much money and political pressure can get you out of....

[Bonsai]

The hard thing about a storyline where most of the conflict is in the past is to keep the tension also for the future. I mean, we already know that aunt & uncle are good people who raised several foster kids and that from here onwards Annabelle’s situation is likely to normalize... right? 

Or, maybe not (:evil laugh:): maybe the new foster parents look nice at first sight, but then...

[MinnesotaWriter]

On 10/9/2020 at 10:44 PM, Baby Billy said:

I really loved that chapter, when I read the last chapter i thought they would try to get her to come with them,  i guess the people in charge and the parents didn't think anything was wrong with how they treated her.

Thanks! You'll be getting answers to those questions soon.

On 10/10/2020 at 12:19 AM, Babypants said:

Activated charcoal?  It doesn't take long completely to eliminate the odor, although patients do need to be advised that the color of their stool will change, perhaps dramatically.  In my experience, pull-ups deal with messing quite efficiently-- if the leg gathers are well designed.

 

Not actually sure what drugs are best for reducing/eliminating odor. I've looked up some, but it's outside of the things I've actually experimented with. I lended up deciding that it was better just to leave the drug/medicine descriptions vague. I see your point about the pull-ups, though I think it would be safe to assume that Annabelle hasn't always had access to the most high-quality products thus far in her life.

On 10/10/2020 at 9:54 AM, YourFNF said:

I'm glad she's at least out of that fucked up situation and with people who actually care about her. I'm guessing were about to find out how badly cps fucked up or more specifically just how much money and political pressure can get you out of....

That would be a good assumption. No hints, but yes, the next chapter will be taking another peek backwards.

On 10/10/2020 at 10:34 AM, Bonsai said:

The hard thing about a storyline where most of the conflict is in the past is to keep the tension also for the future. I mean, we already know that aunt & uncle are good people who raised several foster kids and that from here onwards Annabelle’s situation is likely to normalize... right? 

Or, maybe not (:evil laugh:): maybe the new foster parents look nice at first sight, but then...

My lips are sealed.