diaper dimension The Biggest Little - Hiatus

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Hi,

I'm new to writing and would like to improve.
Please let me know any mistakes I made or if you have any suggestions.

Thanks!

The story contains depictions of mental illness, self harm, eating disorders, and suicide. Completely understand if you are not interested.

Chapter One.

“And a little’s hot chocolate too. My little sweetie loves her hot chocolate. Isn’t that right”. The woman glances down at a little too ashamed to meet her gaze. 

“Five thirty five ma'am.” I’ve been told numerous times I need to smile. I’ll probably need to add one to that counter after today. I don’t get why. When I’ve been shopping I don’t care if the poor soul on the other side of the counter fakes a smile or not. I would be more concerned if they smiled for real.

Pressing the button for little hot chocolate, I reach to grab the already made milk shake commonly called a Frappuccino, handing it over. Scratching my thigh with my other hand. I’ll deal with it on my break.

Another down, far too many to go. Seven minutes till I can take my fifteen. 

“Excuse me!” an amazon with angry eyes bluster at me. Rudely interrupting my day dreaming.

“Yes ma'am?” From experience I can already tell this is a lost cause. A small sigh escapes me before I return eye contact.

“I CLEARLY ordered a DOUBLE shot and this is a SINGLE!” Shouting less than a foot from my face.

“I’m so sorry ma'am, let me make you another”. The customer never cared that the sincerity was fake. They just wanted to be right and for me to feel bad.

Opening up the order history on the machine (I’m sure it has some more marketable term, but I’ve never cared to learn it). Yep. Coffee, cream, strawberry syrup, and a double shot of espresso. I change it to a triple and add the order to the queue.

“That will be out shortly ma'am. I’m sorry for the mix up” This time I do smile, although more accurately it would be called baring my teeth.

My name is Amy, I’m a 24 year old college drop out and currently a human punching bag. My name tag says barista and my skill set says I’ve at least mastered object permanence, but make no mistake, a punching bag is who I am. 

A tablet and a phone app could handle everything I do and better, but it’s not as satisfying yelling at your phone. You can’t make a tablet cry, or at least make an attempt to. As anyone who has held a similar position for more than a day is far too jaded to do something as degrading and dehumanizing as to show an emotion in front of a customer.

My pet theory is someone at corporate ran the numbers and for the low low cost they call wages, it’s more profitable to staff all the stores with people who couldn’t find anything else and who are still stubbornly wanting to eat food, than just have customers order off an app and deal with the blow back and lost sales from customers being required to manage their own emotional states. 

Thus punching bag Amy is born. Sure there is some more PR friendly term for it, but that doesn’t change what it is.

I hand Karen her coffee while avoiding eye contact. 

Her name probably isn’t Karen, but somethings from the little’s dimension do carry over. Don’t ask me to name the nations or major events, but the small touches stick. Mostly from the unfortunate littles who get stuck here. Out of all the slang and cultural references, Karan is by far my favorite. I’m astonished we didn’t come up with it first.

Five more customers handled with little fanfare except for one screaming little and soon to be spanked bottom. Two minutes till my fifteen. I grab the counter top, bit dizzier than expected.

Fuck it. “Charley, I'm taking my fifteen.” I turn and leave, not bothering to look at the indignant wastes of space lined up on the other side. What gall I must have to dare take a break when they need their fix.

I carefully make my way back to the oasis known as the break room. Sure it smells a bit off, and there is some mold in that one corner, but it just adds character. The far wall has a white board covered in poorly hung health and safety notices, there is a couch that is permanently stained with something. I can never quite describe the smell right, like a pair of gym socks that have ascended to nirvana mixed with an old book that was stored in a sewage plant. The dilapidated employee cubbies that we dare never to touch to the left, and lastly the holy grail to the right. The most sacred of all spots. The door to a single occupancy bathroom stall with a mostly working latch. My heart skips a beat at the sight of it.

Grabbing my bag off the floor I push the door and sit on the porcelain throne in one smooth motion. Opening up the diet app on my phone I try to convince myself that I don’t need anything till I get home. Besides I had that cookie with lunch yesterday and that put me over, I’ll just be under today by the same amount. That’s what we call logic.

Thoughts of food aside, it’s time to deal with my other maladaptive coping skill. You know if they really don’t want kids to try this they should spend more time talking about how badly it itches and that bandages and ointments are expensive, and less on the dangers or pain. Kids always think they are invincible, but broke and itchy, those are things to fear. 

Undoing the wrap on my thigh I look at how this morning’s job is holding up. Barely a trace, just a pencil line. Damn. I don’t want to sound vain, but for how much that hurt, it could at least look a bit more intimidating and bleed for more than 5 minutes. Dismissing the need to do more, I put on more ointment and reapply the warp. Still itches.

Opening a zero calorie sport drink I pop in my ear buds and spend the rest of my break fantasizing about tonight. We all have secrets we plan on taking to the grave. For some it’s the time they were unfaithful, for others it’s just how much they lost gambling, for me it’s diapers. 

For a society so obsessed with maturity (and weird way of showing it), wearing diapers is seen as worse than a drug habit. Drugs cost money and are for grown ups. Diapers, well they still cost money, but the thought is that someone else would be buying them, and the target demo is a bit younger than the average coke fiend.

So this particular secret is kept to my fantasies and Friday nights. My roommate Alex goes out on Friday to the latest movie with her friends and stays out after. My one guaranteed time of solitude. My one time for relaxing and enjoying diapers. Well protective garments from that section of the grocery store. Getting real diapers in my size has always seemed too risky. So I’m stuck with the least diaper-like diaper that is still possibly a diaper. I’m a bit jealous of littles sometimes, although only for a bit. I hate dealing with customers during the day, the idea of going home with one of them is enough for my stomach to drop below my feet.

Like all good things, my break too has come to an end. I walk back to the counter with the gait of one ascending the steps of the gallows.

The rest of my shift was agony. The customers weren’t any worse than normal (That would be an accomplishment at this point), it was just the waiting that sucked. I guess it’s better to be impatient with anticipation than just inpatient. 

As I turn the keys in the lock I shut off all thoughts of work. For the next day and a half (fucking schedule) it’s completely up to me. As for the evening, I already have plans I’ve gone over a hundred times today in my head. I finally got a bottle. It’s too small and was made for a little, but it’s mine, and I can’t express how happy I am about it.

[BabySofia]

Great start! 

[Moon3ye]

Interesting start I am curious where this will lead.

[Sofi]

What a great start. I really hope she gets a loving mommy soon. ?

[Guilend]

I absolutely love it ? 

[lebeau13]

I was wondering while you were writing

“Yes mama?” From experience I can already tell this is a lost cause. A small sigh escapes me before I return eye contact.”

did you mean to say mama or ma’am. Cause if she is calling everyone mama then she needs to be adopted right away for being immature.

[Guilend]

3 minutes ago, lebeau13 said:

I was wondering while you were writing

“Yes mama?” From experience I can already tell this is a lost cause. A small sigh escapes me before I return eye contact.”

did you mean to say mama or ma’am. Cause if she is calling everyone mama then she needs to be adopted right away for being immature.

I think it’s an autocorrect problem lol

[Guilend]

I’m actually excited to see what happens next. 

[TestAccountPleaseIgnore]

Thanks everyone for reading and point out typos. I struggle with spelling and sometimes miss the obvious mistakes.
This chapter is a bit short. I'll try to finish the next soon.

Chapter 2

Getting off the bus I carefully walk to the apartment complex. Hands out to my sides for balance.

I always feel a sense of comradery with people on the bus (At least the ones who aren’t shouting and can’t be detected by smell alone at 50 meters). Here we all are, stuck on underfunded public transportation. Reducing traffic and emissions, saving money, and most importantly; completely ignoring one another while packed in like sardines. My heart fills with just an ounce of pride.

My heavy breathing echoes down the stairwell as I finally make it to the 4th floor. My thigh throbbing in revenge. 

Approaching our door I fumbled my keys out of my pocket.

“Fuck”. Bending over my vision gets a bit blurry. I overdid it today. I can’t help but feel a tad happy and sad at the accomplishment.

Opening the door with the keys in a death grip I am assaulted with the sounds of some interchangeable TV drama.

“Hey! How was work?” Alex asks enthusiastically from the couch. Any more up beat and I would be offended.

“I thought you were going out tonight” I reply in a much more reasonable tone.

“Margaret’s sick and we didn’t want to go without her. You know how much she loves rom coms and was really looking forward to this one”. In anyone else that level of sincerity would come off as phoney, but I know Alex really does mean it. She’s tried to include me a bunch of times, but more social interactions isn’t really my cup of tea.

“That sucks” Moving past the couch to my room I’m stopped as she grabs my arm. 

“Everything okay? Did you get yelled at again?” A ting of sadness evident in her voice. Avoiding eye contact I try to think of a lie. I can’t very well say that I’m upset because she’s home.

“It’s fine. I’m used to it. Just tired. I’m going to lie down”. Trying to shake her arm off, she pulls me to the couch.

“Have a seat. I bought some ciders for us to try and was going to order some food later, your pick and my treat. You know I could mention your name at work if you want me to.” She’s been trying to get me to switch jobs ever since she started her new one. A project manager at some tech company. Even their website sounds like a parody.

‘Providing enterprise software solutions that synergizes industry leading experience with groundbreaking cloud technologies’. I’ve watched sci-fi with more convincing word salad.

For as much bitching as I do, I really do appreciate her. Beyond being my roommate, she’s my childhood best friend and at one point roommate college too. Although that only worked out for one of us.

Being around her is like reading news stories about child prodigies. I’m not angry at them for their success, I’m angry at myself for the comparison.

“Fine! At least let me take a shower first” With a heavy sigh and more than a little stumbling I make my way off the couch and to my bedroom door.

Being a jaded cynic comes with a few innate perks. One, you will never fall for whatever the stupid fad of the month is. Two, a wardrobe of dark colored t-shirts and jeans works just fine for any social occasion, and if you keep it up long enough will become expected. Three, being at least outwardly calm in a panic. You can’t really be above it all while shrieking with terror.

So what had me, queen of the cynics, frozen like a deer in headlights? The sight of a spotless bedroom. My bedroom. The bedroom previously best described as the cave of a particular grungy bear that got hit by a tornado.

Gone was the unsorted pile of clothes and towels tossed haphazardly on the floor and furniture.

No more was the leaning tower of dishes, buttressed by drinking glasses and a novel I swore I was going to read more than two years ago.

Vanished was the ever present and yet ever changing allotment of spiders and insects. 

The conjoined musk that is at once reminiscent of a men’s urinal in a particularly popular sporting arena from my attached bathroom; locked in a forever fated duel with laundry from an overseas voyage without a washroom, and just a hint of medical waste cheering from the sides. All replaced with a sterile citrus.

This was not a cleaning, but an eradication.

Even so, the destruction of the culmination of my laziness and poor hygiene was not what paralyzed me with fear. For it was my bed. The pristinely made bed. One which would have mathematicians weep tears from the sheer beauty of it’s geometric perfection.

The bed which prominently displayed all that which should stay hidden.

They say when you die that your life flashes before your eyes. I know this to be false, because at this moment nothing is going through my head except for fragmented thoughts and incomplete rationalizations, depressingly hoping, praying that there is some way to rewind time.

Like the glow of an old tv with its plug pulled, so too did the lights in my eye fade away as I could not comprehend what was before me.

My diapers, however poor quality they may be. The box of wipes and container of powder. Resting on top was the new bottle I had spent the day fantasizing about.

Only one thought remains in my mind as the darkness takes me. 

I hope my death is swift and soon.

Edited August 15, 2021 by TestAccountPleaseIgnore
Updated the end of the chapter

[Guilend]

This has definitely gotten interesting. I wonder how her friend is going to take things now the diaper is out of the bag ???? I’m so excited. 

[TestAccountPleaseIgnore]

I updated the end of the last chapter.
The flow wasn't really good. Plus Amy is too dramatic of a character to have so little fanfare about such an important event.

[Guilend]

I love the edit. It’s much better. 

This is like a dream story for me ❤️

[Guilend]

Do you have a set day you will be releasing new chapters or are you posting them whenever you can write them? Just curious because I really love the first two chapters and that cliffhanger is killing me ????

[TestAccountPleaseIgnore]

I don't have a set schedule or anything. More like when I have the time and willpower.

I finished an outline of the story before I started writing chapters, so hopefully it should be smooth-ish sailing.

I finished the third chapter this afternoon, and am currently trying to proof read it, as well as add anything that it is missing.
 

[TestAccountPleaseIgnore]

Chapter 3

“Amy! Amy! Please be okay!” The desperation in her voice is touching, if a tad annoying.

Fainting sucks. Take it from an expert. My particular brand of poor decision making means I am more than a little familiar with the process. I have a few critiques of popular culture’s idea of fainting.

One, it’s not taking a nap. You don’t wake up hours later feeling like you just got out of bed. It’s more like restarting a phone. Only truly off for a second or so, but it can take time to boot up.

Two, you are confused as shit. No romantic “What happened” daintily asked to the love interest you swooned on. More like being woken up by a fire alarm. You are in a panic, and can’t find your pants.

Three, it hurts. Bodies don’t faint for no reason, and whatever caused it will come back in force. Best case scenario, you are exhausted with a wicked headache. Realistically, add on whatever you hit while falling as a minimum.

Up until this point I had been lucky and only fainted alone. Well lucky for my privacy, unlucky for my health, but of the two I value the former, clearly. There is a reason I take showers sitting down now, and it’s not because I enjoy the feeling of wet tile on my ass.

“My roommate fainted and hit her head!” That would explain the worse than usual headache. Let’s try opening the old eyes and see how we are fairing.

Blurry. As. Shit. 

Well fuck, it’s going to be hard to bluff that everything is fine, when I can’t even see how many fingers someone is holding up.

“No blood, she’s breathing”.  Some indecipherable static replies. She must have put it on speaker.

“Amy, I’m going to raise your legs. Just stay calm.” 

My groan in response must at least count for proof of sentience.

As I rapidly blink to regain sight, my legs are hoisted in the air as Alex kneels next to me 

In any other situation I would be making more than a few crass jokes about this position. Hell, if I was more certain of my ability to speak coherently I would do it despite the situation. However, I don’t need Alex thinking I have brain damage on top of everything else.

“Okay, legs are elevated”. I can just make out the phone to my side. See, I’m fine. Vision came back in no time. Now to deal with the rest of this.

As soon as I begin my attempt to sit up (with a heavy emphasis on the word ‘attempt’) the phone replies with prophetic timing “Good. Keep her calm and still and pay attention to her breathing”. With a free hand, Alex pushes down on my chest. So much for that plan.

“EMTs are already dispatched. Do you want to stay on the line till they arrive? Or are you comfortable handling it till then?” 

Amy looks down at me with caring eyes. I can mostly meet her gaze.

“I think we will be okay” she replies as she reaches for the phone.

“Okay. Call back if anything changes.” As she hangs up her attention turns back to me.

Oh what I would give for a good distraction right about now. Neighbors banging on the walls, an alien invasion, even a phone call would do. 

“Alex, I’m fine. Really. We can cancel the EMTs”. At least it sounds like only half my mouth is filled with a towel.

“No you're not. This isn’t a game Amy or something I can look the other way about. You are going to lie there and relax till they arrive, and then you are going to the hospital. I will sit on you if I have to, but you are not moving. Got it”. 

Alex is rarely commanding, but when she goes for it she really hits a home-run. The last time I remember her like this is yelling at a friend who was going to drive after drinking. In the end everyone in the group gave her their keys, including some who were just nearby at the bar. She’s scary like that.

Needless to say, any jokes I had come up with instantly evaporated when faced with the fire and brimstone coming from Alex.

With nothing to do but look around and wait for my execution, I remembered what caused this in the first place.

“Um, about what happened. I can explain. Err” Good job brain. Real convincing. “You see, um.” I am interrupted because I can find a suitable lie (as if one exists).

“Just stop. I’m not mad at you, and it can wait. Let’s focus on some small talk, just in case you have a concussion”. 

Well that doesn’t give me many answers. ‘I’m not mad at you’ can range from ‘you did absolutely nothing wrong’ to ‘I do not hold you accountable for your actions’, and the second one is very concerning given what she saw.

“You know you don’t have to do that for concussions. That comes from before we had CT scans to check for brain function. Really there is nothing wrong with me taking a nap”. Damn it, saying I want to take a nap is not going to help my case regardless of how valid my point is.

“Do you want to take a nap?” The motherly tone is a little less than subtle given the subject matter.

“No. I was just saying that I could”. A nap does sound really nice, but I’m going to hold onto whatever shred of dignity I have left, damn the consequences.

“How about some music? They should be here in a few minutes”. With a weak nod from me, she plays some classical on her phone.

With nothing to do and my exhaustion steadily building I do close my eyes. Not going to sleep so that dignity is still intact.

A loud banging wakes me up from my not-nap. “Emergency Response! Please respond”.

“Stay still” Alex warns as she gently lets my legs down and goes to the door. 

I have seconds to work with, and one chance. I need to hide the evidence on my bed before the EMTs see everything. 

With the grace of a swan crossed with a ninja (read elderly drunk), I roll onto my chest and push up onto my knees. The world sways back and forth as my vision loses color, but I press on. For king and country (Or stubbornness and shame).

Getting on my feet is out of the question, so I crawl over to the bed and throw the edge of the comforter up with all my heart. Hopefully it will cover, or at least obscure.

I can’t tell if I succeeded because I immediately fell on my face with a crash. 

“Amy!”  Alex yells in alarm. At this point my credibility is already zero. I don’t think it can go negative.

By the time my daze is subsiding I am grabbed with a pair of hands far larger than Alex’s.

“Woah there. Let's take it easy. My name is Mike. It’s Amy, correct?” I’m laid down on my back.

“Yes”. The weakness in my voice depresses even me.

“Okay. It seems you fainted, is that right?” Mike asks while still holding me down.

“Yes, and she hit her head while failing” Alex oh so helpfully replies.

“Alright Amy. We are going to grab some quick vitals and your blood sugar. Just relax and we will do all the heavy lifting”. Fuck. Even with my excently lying skills (Trust me, they are usually better), there’s not a good way to cheat an actual medical test. At least not without a lot of prep.

The other EMT comes over with a blood pressure cuff and blood sugar test kit.

“Ow!”. You know for as much as I cut myself, that little kit really hurt.

I’m stopped from bringing my finger to my mouth as the cuff is wrapped around my arm.

“That looks pretty low. What have you had to eat today?” Well I’m screwed.

“Um, I skipped breakfast and had a protein bar for lunch, but I was going to eat a big dinner”. Wow, I’ve heard children sound more convincing that the cat was the one who drew on the walls.

“Okay. We have some apple juice in the ambulance, that should make you feel a bit better”. No way in hell was I getting in an ambulance. Just need to show I can handle this and we should be golden.

“I think we have some in the fridge”. Maybe? I certainly would never buy some.

The cuff is starting to hurt, I try to flex the muscles in my arm, hoping it will raise the number.

“Amy, you are getting in that ambulance and going to the hospital. This isn’t up for discussion”. Alex sounds tired of my scheming. 

Yeah, it was a long shot anyways, but you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take right. I’m sure this was the context that was originally said in.

The cuff is really hurting and then finally releases. At least that’s done. Now to see the damage.

As both EMTs look at the gauge, Mike nods to the other one “You get the stretcher, I’ll stay here”.

While actively holding me down with one hand he pulls out his radio “Dispatch this is unit 3, preparing for transport.” “Acknowledged unit 3.” 

It’s official, I’m done for. Making a break for it at this point will just get me chased by the cops (I could totally make a break for it, this is clearly the only reason I haven’t).  

It’s eerily quiet as Mike takes out a tablet and starts filling some form I can’t see. Alex is packing her purse and pacing around.

The stretcher finally arrives. It has wheels on the bottom and straps that I don’t like the look of.

As it is lowered down next to me, both EMTs grab me and place me surprisingly gently on top.

As soon as I am settled they start to do the straps.

“Hey! I’m not going to run. Those tests pretty much prove I can’t”. Not really helping my overall argument, but whatever. This seems like a possible goal in comparison.

“Sorry, it’s company policy. Insurance reasons”. No going around that then. Can’t reason with insurance.

They raise the stretcher and I can finally see the result of my heroic action. The comforter is barely folded on the edge. Everything is in plain view. It’s a cruel cruel world where so much pain and sacrifice can lead to so little reward.

Draping some flimsy and scratchy blanket over me, I’m wheeled out of the apartment.

I really hope none of our neighbors see this (Of course they do).

[Guilend]

Yay

I love the new chapter. It’s about time she gets help. Eating disorders are not a joke. At least she has a caring best friend that seems to have what it takes to help her. 

[TestAccountPleaseIgnore]

I wasn't sure what level to detail to go with for this chapter.
I want a fairly realistic tone and pacing, but if this is too slow, please let me know.

Chapter 4

The ride over to the hospital was rather anticlimactic. The few requisite protests were quickly shut down from Alex’s stern looks and the mention of the phrase “Involuntary transport” from the EMTs. They didn’t even bother with the apple juice, although I don’t want to think about how I would drink it while laying down with my hands at my sides in a moving vehicle.

I’m kept awake by the building terror, which comes to a crescendo as we pull up to the back of the hospital. Of course due to the stupid heartrate monitor, everyone else is keenly aware of this fact too.

My self image as an ice cold badass is quickly melting.

Alex squeezes my hand reassuringly. As much as I hate to admit it, it helps. I squeeze back gently as I try to get my breathing and heart-rate under control (I fail).

 

Most peoples’ experience with hospitals involve a lot of waiting rooms and subpar coffee. When you go directly from an ambulance to the ER it’s quite a bit more hectic. As soon as we get through the doors (two sets, feels a bit like an airlock, or a prison) there is a small crowd waiting.

 

Alex gets taken aside by a nurse, presumably to get information, but it could be just to keep her out of the way. 

 

One of the EMTs hands over a tablet and starts trading acronyms back and forth at a speed that would make most stockbrokers head’s spin.

 

I’m pushed down a corridor of thankfully mostly empty rooms. The few glimpses I see as I move my eyes past are not pretty. For as callous as I appear to be, I don’t do well with the sight of other people hurt (even something as minor as blood, which I am more than accustomed to on myself). 

 

Upon arriving in an empty room, I promptly lifted off the stretcher on the waiting bed.

 

Like a pit crew at a race track, nurses scrambled over me. My shirt is cut down the front (I would normally say something, but it’s a work uniform, so as far as I am concerned, that moment was the best all day) as sticky pads with wires and goo are placed all over me (feels like I am being groped by an octopus made out of electronics. I’m sure that’s someone’s fetish). A blood pressure cuff is wrapped around my arm and hooked up to a machine that starts trying to squeeze the life out of me. A plastic bracelet slipped around my wrist. Finally a clip is placed on my finger, that makes everything yell at me if I move too much.

 

“The doctor will be here in about thirty minutes. Sorry for the wait, but it’s much better to be at the end of the line when it comes to the ER”. Just try to relax in the meantime”. Yeah right. That’s just as helpful as yelling at a panicked person to calm down. It’s never worked.

 

“My name is Elizabeth, but you can call me Izzy. I’m going to walk through everything as best I can. Please let me know if you have any questions.” At least she’s trying. Yelling at the nurses is very unlikely to help, and worse, I would be just as bad as the insufferable customers I have to put up with. I respect the solidarity of public facing positions.

 

“All these wires are for the EKG. It lets us look at your heart. Don’t worry, these come off easily, just take a shower after to remove the stickiness.” A shower. I didn’t know how badly I wanted one till she said it.

 

“The blood pressure cuff is automatic, it’s set to take a reading every five minutes, and will alert us if anything goes wrong” Oh joy. I get to feel like my arm is trapped under a boulder over and over again.

 

“That super stylish wrist accessory is what is used to ID you while here. It even has a barcode to make checking it easy. Pretty cool”. This sounds like the explanation used for littles, but given the average patient, that might not be a bad idea.

 

“The clip on your finger measures the oxygen in your blood. It’s pretty sensitive to movement, but don’t worry about it. No is going to be mad if you want to stretch or scratch your arm” My need to be as undistruptive in public as possible means that I am going to do my statue impression until the fucking thing is off.

 

“Please stay in bed and don’t sit up. I’ll be back in a bit with some IVs”. She drapes another scratchy and flimsy blanket over my chest. What is with medical care and the absolutely worst in blankets? Is the comfort of the blanket inversely proportional to its cleanliness? I would say the obvious answer is cost, except that everything else looks like it came off the set of a science fiction movie.

 

“What about my friend?” As much as I am not looking forward to ‘that’ talk with Alex, some company would be nice.

 

“She’s just talking with another nurse. She’ll be over as soon as they are done”. Hopefully the extent of the talk is strictly limited to me fainting and not what came before it. I’ve been too scared to look up what happens when an Amazon is found with non-little diapers. I don’t want to set off any keywords or other alarms. The rumors are bad enough without having confirmation.

 

“If you ever want to be alone, and don’t feel comfortable speaking up, just let us know. I know that some friends and family can be more than a little overbearing, and I don’t mind playing the bad guy”. That was not where my mind was going, but good to know nonetheless. 

 

Wonder how much of a problem it is if they have a protocol for it. Then again in the context of some of the customers I deal with, I’m surprised there isn’t a specific button or code-word to deal with them.

 

As she leaves the room she pulls the curtain closed. Not enough for actual privacy mind you, but enough to show they at least thought of it.

 

I had almost fallen asleep when she returned with a cart. A paper sheet covered whatever was on top.

 

“Looks like you got the deluxe cocktail this evening. Saline solution and sucrose. The saline is for hydration and will help with your blood pressure. The sucrose is for blood sugar.” She pulls the sheet of the cart, revealing two filled plastic bags and a variety of single use plastic containers.

 

“Which arm do you want this in? I normally recommend your non dominant” No one should be this cheery about needles unless they have a serious drug habit.

 

“Um, left please”. I turn my left arm palm side up, setting off that stupid clip.

 

“Sorry”. Mumbling as I avoid eye contact.

 

“No worries deary. Happens all the time”. She pulls the cart to my left side and takes a seat.

 

“Nice and juicy veins. Makes my job easier”. Rubbing a cotton swab with a cleaner over the inside of my elbow. She grabs a needle connected to some plastic tubing.

 

“Close your eyes and breathe deep. It will only pinch.” Bullshit. I kept my eyes open the entire time and it stung like a motherfucker. Needles honestly aren’t too bad, except when they move. She was obviously a pro, but it still creeped me out when I felt a twitch under my skin.

 

“There we go. This piece in the end let’s us connect IVs without having to poke you again. See, both are flowing now. It might be a bit cold, but otherwise it should be painless. You’re almost all done. I just need to draw some blood from your other arm.”

 

I was too distracted by the frozen river that was my blood stream to pay any attention to the blood draw.

 

“Alright, just a catheter to go, and you will be all set”. My brain froze on the word catheter.

 

“What? I can pee just fine”. Please let this be my one win today.

“Sorry, anyone who is a fall risk here gets a catheter. Plus you’re supposed to stay horizontal. Trust me, this is much better than a bedpan.” I’ll take her word for it.

 

She pulled down my pants and panties with the professional detachment that can only come from looking at hundreds of different genitals.

 

Looking up at the ceiling, I started to count the dots on the tiles.

 

Something cold and slippery was applied. I lost count and started over again.

 

A tube starts to make it worm it's way in. I wouldn’t describe it as painful, more like peeing in reverse. A pressure slowly moving into me.

 

The tube finally hits home and I feel my bladder relax.

 

“Bet that feels better. You really had to go”. Let’s keep comments about my bladder to a minimum please.

 

Fuck! My thighs. Out in the open in all their cut and bandaged glory.

 

“I’m just going to take a quick peek at those and then be back to dress them okay.” There was no accusation in her voice, or even pity. Just another part of her job I guess.

 

“Are there any other cuts, bruises, burns, or other injuries?” At least she’s not pointing out the obvious of where they came from.

 

“No. Just the thighs”. ‘The thighs’, like I don’t have ownership of them.

 

It’s probably good that I’m so tired. Trying to fight back would be guaranteed to make things worse.

 

“Alright. I’ll be back in a second to clean those for you. Just sit tight”. Poked, prodded, and stuck with a tube. I am in awe of how quickly my life has collapsed.

 

When she returned she didn't bother to make conversation. The hue of my face makes it perfectly clear how I feel about this. 

 

At least she covered me back up before leaving.

 

As my eyes scan the room for someway out of this nightmare, I spot a camera. Great.

 

Not to tempt fate, but could things get any worse than this.

[Guilend]

I actually love the detail you put into this chapter as well as the previous chapters. You’re a good writer. 

As for the speed I’m liking the speed of everything. It doesn’t feel rushed and let’s us really get to know the characters. 

[TestAccountPleaseIgnore]

Thank You.

I got C's in English through out all of high school and have never shared any writings before, so I am more than a bit wary.

[Guilend]

18 minutes ago, TestAccountPleaseIgnore said:

Thank You.

I got C's in English through out all of high school and have never shared any writings before, so I am more than a bit wary.

You’re way better then I am by a mile. You definitely have talent. 

[Babytom948]

Hospital detours drag a lot ?

[Disk]

Your doing very well, I'm enjoying it. Itching for Alex's response to events though ?

[kerry]

17 hours ago, TestAccountPleaseIgnore said:

Thank You.

I got C's in English through out all of high school and have never shared any writings before, so I am more than a bit wary.

As a longtime English teacher, I can easily say that I have known a lot of A students who could not put a story together this well. ?

[Guilend]

On 8/16/2021 at 7:08 PM, TestAccountPleaseIgnore said:

Not to tempt fate, but could things get any worse than this.

Just read it again and realized I had missed this. Why would she even think this? ? 

now all those rumors will come true and by the end she’ll love that it had because she’s brainwashed into loving it. Oh no. 
 

Really I love that little nugget about the rumors. 

[Jayme]

Interesting chapter. Hospitals give many people the creeps anywhere. I really hate them myself so I know how she is feeling right about now.

I find your writing is beautiful and easy to understand and follow. Please continue sharing with us here as I absolutely love this story so far.