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  1. This was a request from KarenGranger, which I tried to get done in exactly one month, but I've now barely missed (in my time zone). Bummer Thanks for reading! *** “TJ, move that sawhorse over here.” “Yes, sir.” TJ Masters easily hoisted the frame – you never drag it – and set it where his dad had indicated. Tony Masters was an extremely diligent builder and craftsman; it was why he was one of the most sought-after contractors in their town. More specifically, by the type of people on the east side of town who could afford to add extra wings to their already-enormous houses. TJ had been working for his father for as long as he could remember – stirring paint and washing paintbrushes as a child, sorting tools and accessories in elementary school, and now, joining his dad at work sites, a position he’d earned by precision, hard work, and virtually never making mistakes. Needless to say, TJ and Tony didn’t live in the same neighborhood as the people they worked for. Tony kept his margins low, but he almost always only worked one job at a time, so, despite his wealthy clientele, he wasn’t exactly pulling in seven figures himself. So one of the most important rules on worksites for TJ was to keep his mouth shut. He was there as a worker; he kept his head down, completed the list of tasks for the day, cleaned up after himself, and left, taking care not leave any boot prints on the property. TJ didn’t really mind. He liked the work, and he wasn’t much of an extrovert, anyway, so when they did end up working at one of his classmate’s houses, it was neither awkward nor distracting. Until today. TJ never knew where they’d be going when they started a new job; he never needed to. He’d just get in the truck with his dad and start work when they got to the house. Today, they pulled onto the grounds of a newer house on the edge of town. Tony parked the car around back and explained that they’d be renovating the pool house. TJ hopped out and started unloading the truck, barely paying attention to the giant house or its inhabitants. On his third and final trip out to the truck, TJ caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and before he could stop himself, he looked. And nearly dropped the armful of lumber he was carrying. Strolling out of the back door was Robbie diSantos. Robbie – TJ didn’t even know what his full name was – had just started at TJ’s high school at the beginning of their senior year a couple of weeks ago, and TJ had been instantly smitten. TJ didn’t exactly have an expansive vocabulary, but even if he did, the first word he would use to describe Robbie was cool. Robbie just made everything look so effortless. The clothes he wore were cooler than anything TJ owned, but not in a pretentious way. His hair fell perfectly, but it didn’t even look like he used any product. He was the kind of person who seemed like he didn’t care about any of the everyday drama of high school, and he was all the more impressive for it. Robbie was carrying a book and a glass of something. He settled himself into a pool chair and slipped in his earbuds, apparently not even noticing the Masters. “TJ! Grab that band saw!” TJ blinked and stumbled into motion, ashamed of his juvenile, doe-eyed daze. He doubled back to pick up the band saw and ducked into the pool house, forcing himself to avoid the windows, so as not to keep peeking out toward the pool chairs. So now, TJ had spent the past 3 hours measuring, sanding, and cutting lumber. He’d been working long enough that his dad now trusted him with entire projects, rather than giving one instruction at a time. In this case. He was adding a wall the pool house to partition off a small closet, which he would then fill with shelves. It was simple work, but required precision, and TJ knew that Tony expected the closet to be finished by the end of the day. Focusing on the work helped TJ keep his mind off Robbie for the most part. But every so often, when he turned the saw off or moved newly cut two-by-fours from the table, he’d find himself glancing out the window, semi-consciously hoping to catch a glimpse of his classmate. As noon approached, Tony signaled to TJ that it was time for a break. TJ finished his current task, took of his noise-cancelling headphones, and grabbed a sandwich and bottle of water from the cooler. “Grable’s called, and our stone shipment came in earlier than expected,” Tony said without preamble, between bites of sandwich. “I’m gonna head over there and pick out what we need for the walkway and patio.” “Yes, sir,” TJ replied, already knowing what the next orders would be. “By the time I get to Grable’s, look over the product, load it, I won’t have time to get back here and do anything -” The quarry was an hour and a half away “- so Roy’s on his way to get me. I’ll take the trailer to Grable’s and leave the truck here with you. You finish the closet, clean up, and meet me back at home.” “Yes, sir.” TJ nodded. On one hand, he was oddly honored that his dad trusted him enough to leave him alone at a job site on the first day. On the other hand, did his dad have to abandon him at this particular job? Not that TJ would ever argue with his dad at work. They were there to be efficient and professional, not to engage in family spats. So TJ simply finished his lunch, brushed off his jeans, and went back to work. Tony passed over the keys to the truck before he left, but otherwise, didn’t offer any further instructions. TJ kept working, keeping his headphones on to protect from the noise of the saw. The work and the blazing sun outside warmed the unfinished pool house. Barely even thinking, TJ grabbed another water bottle from the cooler and downed it in between cuts. He’d been working for about another hour – the frame of the wall was in place, now he just had to hang the drywall and shelves – when he felt the first signals of fullness from his bladder. It was just enough to make him aware, but not enough to make him worry. The drywall and the shelves wouldn’t take long. He t grabbed the drywall sheets propped against the wall, then nearly dropped them when he turned back to the table. “Hey.” Robbie stood in the doorway, holding a bottle of Powerade. He looked completely unperturbed, as usual, and TJ scrambled to match Robbie’s level of aloofness. He set down the drywall and pulled down his headphones. “Hey,” he replied, praying his voice wasn’t shaking as much as it felt like it was, “what can I do for you?” The corner of Robbie’s mouth quirked up. “Besides the literal work that you’re already doing?” he teased. “Nah, man, I just know how hot it is out here, so I thought I’d bring you some electrolytes.” “Oh!” Instead of gratitude, TJ only felt stupid for not realizing that the drink was meant for him. “Thanks. Thanks, man. That was really nice.” Robbie grinned, keeping eye contact long enough to make TJ’s stomach flutter as he handed over the chilled bottle. “Just shout if you want more. It’s nasty out today.” Compelled by both a desire to show gratitude and a genuine need for more hydration, TJ had already unscrewed the cap and was taking a gulp. He swallowed quickly and attempted a smile, knowing full well he’d never take Robbie up on his offer. TJ downed the entire Powerade before he even knew it. The near-icy drink felt amazing on the hot day, and drinking it so quickly prevented TJ from relishing the fact that Robbie had technically given him a gift. Mostly. The sugar from the drink provided a nice burst of energy while TJ hung the drywall. It was simple work, but time-consuming, as TJ carefully made sure that all the corners aligned perfectly. Safety first, his dad always said, emphasizing quality construction, but aesthetics are a close second. Reaching up to secure the top of the wall, TJ felt an urge from his bladder. He grunted involuntarily and pressed his thighs together. Stupid! he mentally chastised himself. He knew the rules – you don’t leave before the work is done, no matter what. Drinking the extra water bottle and the Powerade had been a terrible decision. TJ grimaced as he stood in front of the closet, quickly assessing how much work he had left to do. The drywall was finished, so he just had to cut and hang the shelves inside. He had all the specs, and since all the shelves were identical, he wouldn’t have to worry about setting up different measurements. “Hey!” The greeting from the window (well, the hole in the wall where the new window would soon be installed) was overly loud, considering TJ didn’t actually have his headphones on at the second. He jumped, then awkwardly tried to disguise the movement by turning to find Robbie smiling at him. “How’s it going?” Robbie asked casually. He looked around at the alterations to the room. “It looks good!” TJ smiled shyly, but only for a second. Sensations from his bladder nagged him, and he hoped his face wasn’t too noticeably red. Well, beyond the existing redness from the heat and the work. “Thanks,” he murmured. “I should be done in about an hour, so you won’t have to deal with the noise too much longer.” “Take your time.” Robbie winked, and this time, TJ was sure his blush was visible. Robbie had walked away, but TJ’s face heated up even more as dozens of thoughts careened around his head – Robbie was flirting with him, he must look like a mess, he had to pee, but he couldn’t until he finished the job… Clenching his jaw, TJ returned to the work table. His nerves were firing overtime, which was not helping his current situation. Just finish the job. Snatching the pressboard with far more force than necessary, TJ mentally scolded himself. He couldn’t let his own poor choices impact the quality of his work – his dad’s work. TJ took a deep breath and clenched his abdominal muscles. Not trusting himself with the band saw just yet, he decided to hang the brackets in the closet. That way, as soon as he had the shelves cut, he could place them, clean up, and leave. Measuring, even though he knew exactly where the studs are, TJ braced himself before each precise shot of the nail gun. The power of the tool still jarred his entire body, but he managed to hang all the brackets without losing control. Allowing himself a brief smile, TJ returned to the saw. All he had to do was cut the pressboard and place the shelves, and he was done! (And clean up, but he wasn’t planning on that taking that long) TJ grabbed the first board, measured, marked, then measured again. He continued the process until the shape of all 4 shelves was precisely delineated. He took a deep breath, positioned his safety goggles, and turned on the band saw. And immediately turned it off again. TJ let out a low groan and bent forward. The vibrations from the saw had caught him off guard, and he’d lost a quick, hot leak. He had to stop and cross his legs to help control the pressure, and he reflexively glanced toward the window to make sure Robbie wasn’t watching. He wasn’t, not that it made TJ feel much better. The immediacy of the desperation passed after a few moments, but TJ felt his heart beating in his throat. He stared plaintively at the saw, as if begging it to go easy on him. Taking a deep breath, TJ straightened up slowly. He squeezed his thighs tightly together, then grabbed the first piece of pressboard and turned on the saw. TJ clenched his jaw so tightly, he thought he might crack a tooth. He could practically feel the liquid vibrating in his overfilled bladder, but he kept his focus trained on the saw, never wavering in the straight lines he was cutting. Unconsciously holding his breath, TJ finished the last cut, ending up with 4 perfectly identical shelves. He gratefully turned off the saw, but the sudden cease in vibrations shocked him into leaking again. The teen whined softly and shoved his hand between his legs. He couldn’t even think about the actual process of getting to a bathroom; he just had to finish this job without making a mess. And without Robbie seeing. TJ pressed tightly through his jeans, his breath hitching. He really shouldn’t have drunk that Powerade. The thought of the Powerade made TJ look sharply over at the window. Thankfully, Robbie was still nowhere in sight. TJ knew he didn’t have much time, so he gave his crotch another squeeze, then stood up and grabbed the stacked boards. He slid the top shelf in, careful not the scratch the wall. The second and third shelves were placed easily enough, but TJ was tall enough that the last shelf required him to bend down. He did. But then he couldn’t get back up. Even the slight bend necessary to help his long arms reach the bottom brackets put too much pressure on TJ’s bladder, and he felt another forceful leak soak into his underwear. He shakily placed the last shelf, then shoved both of his hands between his legs, clenching as tightly as he could. His jeans were awkwardly bunched in his hands, and he didn’t have as comforting of a grip as he wanted, but he couldn’t let go. Tears sprung in TJ’s eyes. He tried to force himself to think of the work he still had to do, but any task-related thoughts were immediately crowded out by the simple biological fact that he couldn’t do anything else right now. He just had to pee. His only remaining clear thought was that he couldn’t have an accident in the pool house. Half-blind with desperation and tears, TJ stumbled out the side door, hands between his legs, and around the side of the building. He barely made it around the corner before he totally lost control. TJ whimpered as he started to actually wet himself, urine pouring over his hands and down both his thighs. His jeans darkened rapidly, and he could hear the splattering of his accident on the dirt below. TJ fought to catch his breath. The relief was spectacular, but not nearly as overwhelming as the shame. He couldn’t…he didn’t… Pressing his lips together, TJ tried to force himself to stay quiet. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried, but his current cycle of humiliation and self-contempt was forcing sobs against the back of his throat. Seconds or minutes or hours later, he was finally empty. Shaking, TJ stood up straight and wiped his hands against the remaining dry material on the back of his jeans. He sniffled and dragged the back of his hand under his nose, but made no move to return inside. Chest heaving, TJ tried to string together a plan. He still had to clean up inside, but if he did that quickly, then drove right home, he could still make it before his dad got there, and- “Hey!” TJ’s heart stopped. No no no… “I wanted to see if y-“ TJ was facing away, so he didn’t yet see Robbie’s face, but it was pretty obvious what had happened. The sobs he’d been holding back seemed to intensify, ripping at his voice box. “Hey,” Robbie repeated, his voice impossibly gentle, “Are you…can I…” TJ desperately wanted to respond, to somehow assure Robbie that it was fine and that he’d just finish cleaning and be on his way, but he couldn’t open his mouth without crying. Instead, he tried to breathe deeply, calming himself enough to do literally anything other than just stand there silently in piss-soaked jeans. Still out of TJ’s line of vision, Robbie inhaled audibly. “I’ll leave if you want me to, man, but can you just tell me if you need help? Like, do you need me to get anyone? Call anyone?” Grateful for the yes-or-no question, TJ shook his head. Robbie’s gentle, non-judgmental offer was calming, and TJ was able to breathe more easily. After another few silent seconds, he was able to speak. “I’m fine,” he said, his voice low and scratchy. “The closet is finished, so I’ll just clean up inside, and then we’ll be back tomorrow to-“ “Are you kidding me?!” Robbie sounded so affronted that TJ finally looked up. Sure enough, Robbie looked utterly baffled by what TJ though was a pretty simple statement. “You…” Robbie was all but sputtering, and TJ couldn’t figure out what had him so worked up. “You don’t have to do anything else! Just…why would you think you have to keep working??” TJ frowned slightly. “I haven’t cleaned up yet. I haven’t finished. I have to finish the job for today.” Robbie glanced down at TJ’s dark, sopping jeans, and TJ felt his entire face heat up. “TJ, it’s…it’s fine, man,” Robbie insisted. “You’re coming back tomorrow, just leave it.” TJ shook his head and looked down again. “My dad…” He stopped, not wanting to make it sound like his dad was overly demanding. He wasn’t, it was just… “I have a job to do.” TJ glanced back up to see some of the indignity melt off of Robbie’s face. “You do you, man,” Robbie said, sounding a bit sad. “I know you and your dad do great work, and I don’t want to make it seem like I’m telling you how to do your job. But seriously –“ Robbie stared at TJ earnestly, and TJ had to look away, still intensely aware that he was standing in a puddle of his own urine. “- the bathroom is just off to the right through the back sliding door. I’m sorry no one told you where it was before.” TJ was already shaking his head before Robbie finished, leaving the other teen bewildered. “Oh, no,” TJ murmured. “We don’t use client bathrooms. We don’t enter any space unless we’re working in it.” He said this as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, like he was explaining the First Amendment to someone who had never heard of the United States. Robbie’s eyes darkened, and TJ nearly recoiled from this unexpected show of emotion. Robbie was so chill, so relaxed – what had TJ done wrong? “What kind of classist, regressive, The Help bullshit is that?” Robbie spat. “Did you…did someone tell you that? Like, is it literally a rule around here?” “We…” Now TJ really felt awful. He’d wet his pants like a child, he still hadn’t finished his tasks for today, and now, he’d somehow made the coolest, most attractive boy in the whole school mad at him. “We just…my dad always said that we don’t want to track in dirt or dust or anything. We want to respect the clients’ homes. It’s…we don’t want to…” TJ’s face flamed again as he trailed off and stared back at the ground. The rest of the rule was “We don’t want to make any unnecessary mess,” but TJ had clearly broken that statute. Robbie sighed, his feature softening again. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I didn’t mean to yell.” TJ glanced up and found Robbie looking at him sincerely. “You and your dad can work however you want,” Robbie swore, “but I…I promise, my family and I, we don’t care about dirt or shit like that. And definitely not over…over your well-being.” TJ averted his eyes, blinking rapidly. “I…” Robbie’s voice was softer than ever. “I just wanted you to know that.” Eyes shining, TJ dared to lift his gaze, but didn’t say anything. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?” TJ shook his head and managed a weak smile. “Like I said, I’ll just clean up inside. We’ll be back tomorrow to work on the walkway and patio.” Robbie smiled, gently, encouragingly. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” He inhaled, as if he was going to say something else, but then just ducked his head and turned away. TJ let out a long breath. His mind was already moving ahead to the clean-up job, the drive home, and the long shower he was going to take. But somehow, the horror of the afternoon wasn’t quite as suffocating as it had been ten minutes ago. He whispered, even though Robbie had already walked away. “See you tomorrow.”
  2. Sapphire3619

    malefemale The Aftermath of the Snow

    It is the end of the semester, so I have a ton of things that I don't want to do before break, so I wrote this instead. I wrote it fast and sloppy, so I'm sure I missed some fairly ridiculous mistakes! *** Cami rolled her eyes. “No one in this whole state knows how to handle snow,” she lamented. Damien, her somewhat impromptu companion, shrugged good-naturedly. “Donna wanted milk, too, right?” “Yes, skim,” Cami clarified, reaching for a carton of eggs. The grocery store was, as expected, packed, with people scrambling to buy necessities before the storm hit. In fact, it was already snowing outside, and Cami had resisted when her mother, Donna, had requested a trip to the grocery store. Dr. Donna Patrick was a professor of international relations at the university. She lived 20 minutes or so out of town, in a large house that befit her academic rank. Her daughter, Dr. Camille Patrick, was a clinical psychologist and was in town for her mother’s yearly end-of-semester celebration. It was finals week at the university, and Donna, with her children grown, had developed a habit of inviting students to her house for a meal at the beginning of winter break. Mostly, she got students who lived close by, but occasionally, she got one like Damien, who would spend the night after the dorms closed. Damien was a junior who had first met Donna the previous spring semester in her popular intro course. Even in a class of 150 students, Damien stood out with his superior writing and thoughtful, critical answers in class. This semester, he had taken Donna’s advanced seminar, and Donna had gotten to know him even better. She knew he was a transfer student and that he wanted to go to law school. She’d been pleased when he accepted the invitation for the end-of-the-semester party. Because the dorms closed the last day of finals, Damien had agreed to say overnight at Donna’s house. Donna had explained that her husband, a professor in the chemistry department, was at a conference and would be back the following day for the party, but her daughter, Dr. Patrick (“Call her Cami”) would be in town. Cami was a few years older than Damien’s older sister, so he didn’t mind idea of sharing a house with the two women for a night. Damien had followed Donna to her house to find that Cami was already there. Introductions were made, but then the discussion turned quickly to the weather. Over Cami’s objections that no, Mom, there was really plenty of food in the house, no need to venture out, Donna decided that a trip to the grocery store was necessary, and that Damien should accompany Cami, just to be safe. Neither Cami nor Damien particularly minded having to spend time with each other, despite having just met. They were both outgoing enough that conversation wasn’t a problem. On the drive into town, Cami got to know the young man and his interests, and Damien asked about Cami’s experience in grad school and her current practice. Now, however, both were feeling ever so slightly more tense. Cami knew the roads were getting worse and didn’t want to waste time. She was doing her best not to take out any of her anxiety on the innocent student. Little did she know that Damien was working to suppress his own anxiety. He, too, was eager to get back to the house. His bladder was getting full, a sensation he really didn’t enjoy. Realistically, he could have used the restroom in the store, but it wasn’t an emergency, and he’d rather help Cami out with the shopping to speed things along. By the time they wound their way through the crowds and made it to the registers, the lines were all a half-dozen people deep. Damien drew in an unexpectedly harsh breath, but thankfully, Cami didn’t hear him. He knew he could just go. He could run to the bathroom and be back before Cami even reached the register. But the anxiety was already making him illogical, and he chose to stay where he was. “I suppose we’re part of the problem!” Cami was saying. “We’re being the kind of people who act like they’ve never seen snow before!” Damien managed a grin. The line was moving at a decent pace – at least the checkout employees were prepared for snow, apparently – and he knew he could make it back to the house. It took another 15 minutes, but eventually, Damien and Cami headed toward the exit, bags in hand. As they reached the door, however, Cami groaned. The storm had hit. Fat, heavy snowflakes coated the air, sticking to everything they touched. The cars in the parking lot already had a layer of snow, and the roads were no longer black but gray, lined with tire tracks in the rising snow. “Uuuuuuugh,” Cami moaned as they trudged across the parking lot to her car. “Mom better have wine waiting for me when we get back.” Damien gave a half-laugh. “We’ll be back, soon, though,” he said, more a question than a reassurance. “Ehhhh,” Cami shrugged, closing the trunk after putting in the last bag. “With the snow falling like this, the highway probably isn’t going to be much better. I’m guessing it’ll take us at least twice as long to get back.” Damien’s face fell, but Cami didn’t see as she slid into the driver’s seat. “Aaaaand, we have to stop for gas,” she sighed, seeing the illuminated signal on the dashboard. Cami pulled across the parking lot to the adjacent gas station. Damien looked around, but the station building was no more than a single-person kiosk. There was no public bathroom that he could use while Cami filled the car. His mind started slipping. He hadn’t had to go that badly, but nerves made his situation so much worse. Well, nerves and other things… Filling the car only took a few minutes, and Damien tried to use his last vestiges of rational thought to convince himself that he could make it through the drive home. But when Cami finally made it on to the highway, those last vestiges evaporated. Traffic had been slow enough in town as cars tried to avoid skidding through intersections, but on the highway, away from the buildings and signs, the view was almost entirely white. Snow swirled around the car, which Cami had moving at barely 30 miles an hour. Damien did some quick math in his head. At this rate, it would take them nearly an hour to get back to Donna’s house. He unconsciously turned toward the window, trying to hide his growing panic from Cami. Cami kept the radio off, focusing on the road. Although it was still daylight, visibility was terrible, and she and the other drivers kept their lights on. She drove for about 20 minutes in silence, going barely 10 miles. She knew the atmosphere in the car was tense, but she didn’t want to waste any energy trying to make conversation. Besides, Damien seemed to be OK with the silence. Until he wasn’t. At an undetermined point on the highway, Cami became aware of uneven breathing from the boy next to her. He was almost whimpering, his breaths sharp and shaky. Cami risked a quick glance sideways, but couldn’t determine anything, other than the fact that Damien was almost entirely turned toward the window. “Damien?” she asked cautiously. “You doing OK?” Out of the corner of her eye, Cami saw Damien press back into the seat. When he answered, his voice was…different. Nervous, definitely, but more…robotic, almost. “I need to go to the bathroom,” he said dully. “Please.” “Oh!” Cami couldn’t hold back her shock. Damien hadn’t said anything before, and even driving slow, he should be able to make it back to the house, right? “That’s OK,” she said, keeping her eyes on the road. “We’ll be back to the house soon enough.” She wasn’t sure what else to say. The only other exit between here and the one for Donna’s house was residential, so it wouldn’t have any public bathrooms to use, and it wasn’t like she could pull off the side of the road in a blizzard. Surely Damien knew that. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Damien did know that. But Damien wasn’t really thinking logically. He wasn’t thinking much at all. His movements were twitchy and uncontrolled, and after another 10 minutes, he let out a whine and shoved his hand between his legs. “Damien?” Cami asked again, more worried this time. “Are you OK?” “I don’t know if I can hold it,” Damien respond in the same flat voice. It was as if he was reading from a script, responding in a way that most college students wouldn’t. Looking down at the speedometer, Cami pressed her lips together. She really wasn’t comfortable going any faster. “You’ll be OK,” she said. “You can make it.” “I don’t know if I can.” Damien’s voice had a small tremor now. “I don’t want to have an accident.” Cami was truly bewildered now. He sounded childlike, or like an adult’s impression of a child. She risked another glance to the right – Damien’s legs were twisted tightly, hands buried between his thighs. He certainly looked like he badly needed the bathroom, but Cami couldn’t imagine a nearly grown man not being able to hold it for another 20 minutes or so. Cami kept driving. She was going as fast as she thought was safe, which wasn’t very fast at all. A few miles from their exit, Cami hard a small whine and then a hiss of breath as Damien sucked in air forcefully between his teeth. She didn’t know what talking would do at this point, but she still felt the need to ask. “Damien? How you doing over there?” “I-“ Damien’s voice was definitely shaking now. “I just peed a little bit in my pants.” “You’re OK,” Cami replied, automatically. She’d softened her own voice, as if she were talking to someone much younger than Damien. She didn’t want him to feel bad, but she also definitely didn’t want to have to clean pee out of her car. “We’re almost there,” she promised, which, while geographically correct, wasn’t quite temporally accurate. “Look, there’s our exit. Just another 10 minutes. You can do it.” A plaintive sniffle was all she got in response. She pulled off the highway, and peeked over at her passenger while stopped at the top of the exit ramp. Every muscle in Damien’s body seemed tensed. He was bouncing arrhythmically in the seat, seemingly not in control of his own body. As Cami turned, Damien felt the wetness of his underwear pressed against his skin. As tightly as he squeezed, he couldn’t make himself feel in control. Jeans weren’t the best for holding yourself, and he leaked again. “I…” he stammered, as if the words were being pulled out of him by force. “I had an accident again. M-my pants are wet.” “Honey, we’re so close,” Cami pleaded, abandoning all pretense of social correctness. The boy was in pain, and she wanted to comfort him. “Just hang on a few more minutes, OK?” “I’m…trying,” Damien answer, voice strained but still emotionless. “I’m trying not to pee my pants.” Oddly, but thankfully, the road to Donna’s house was clearer than the highway. A plow must’ve just been by. Cami took advantage of the comparatively good conditions to speed up a little. She made one final turn, the only sound in the car Damien’s hitched, desperate breathing. “There’s a bathroom in the basement,” Cami informed him. “Just off the garage. You can go in there.” “I’m going,” Damien squeaked, and Cami wasn’t even sure he’d heard her. “I’m having an accident and I can’t make it stop.” Cami hit the garage door button as she turned into her mom’s driveway. “Just one more minute, Damien, we’re here!” Pulling into the garage, Cami stopped as fast as she could. Damien was already unbuckled and fumbling with the door. He kept a hand pressed between his legs as he stumbled into the house. Cami puffed out her cheeks and sighed. She checked the passenger seat and didn’t see any wetness. She took that as a good sign and hoped that Damien was able to make it to the bathroom. Stretching out of the car, Cami gathered a few of the bags from the trunk. In the basement, the bathroom door was shut, so at least Damien had made it that far. She headed up the stairs, ready to confront her mom with some very important questions. In the bathroom, Damien had slammed the door behind him, but the sight of the toilet had been too much. As soon as he set foot on the tile, his bladder relinquished its tenuous hold, spilling urine around his tight grip. Twisting his legs together and bending forward at the waist, Damien scrabbled at his fly, but it was drenched in pee and his fingers kept slipping off. Heat coursed down his shaking legs, soaking into his shoes and socks. Damien felt lightheaded. He swayed on the spot, but didn’t fall. Several voices babbled in his head. I’m peeing in my pants…Did you have an accident?...Did you have to go potty?...I couldn’t hold it, sir…What kind of freshman can’t stop himself from wetting his pants? A pale puddle expanded around Damien’s feet, soaking into the bath mat. His head spun as he looked down at the streaks of pee still snaking down his jeans. He felt the stream of urine expelling from his bladder through his saturated boxers. He was whining softly, aimlessly. He had a huge accident all over his professor’s bathroom. He didn’t know what to do. Meanwhile, Cami had made a second trip down to the car to get the remaining groceries. She saw the bathroom door was still shut, but she knew that Damien had gotten his pants a little wet in the car, so she figured he didn’t want to come out just yet. Upstairs, Donna had come to the kitchen and was starting to put things away. “Hey, sweetie! How bad were the roads? Where’s Damien?” Cami set the bags on the counter and fixed her mother with a pointed stare. “Soooo…is there anything you know about Damien that you want to tell me?” Donna drew her head back, astonished. “Nothing that fits with the tone you’re asking me in!” she answered honestly. “What happened? Where is he? Is he OK?” Cami cringed. “He’s not hurt…” she equivocated. “But on the drive back – which took forever, by the way, I can’t believe you made me go out in this – he started acting really weird. He had to go to the bathroom, and apparently, he had to go really bad.” “Poor kid,” Donna sighed, definitely not understanding the full extent of the issue. “That must’ve been embarrassing.” “No, Mom,” Cami insisted, “it was way more than that. He was…I don’t know, narrating or something. Any other college kid would try to play it cool or laugh it off or not say anything at all, but Damien…he was describing what was happening and how he was wetting himself.” “He wet himself?!” Donna exclaimed. “Yes,” Cami rolled her eyes. Donna wasn’t a psychologist – she wasn’t focusing on what Cami thought was the important part. “And he’s still in the bathroom downstairs.” Donna frowned. “I’ll go get his bag. Poor kid. Thank God no one else is going to be here until tomorrow.” Donna was a great mom, Cami thought, and of course she’d take care of Damien, but Cami could tell – this was more than just an unfortunate accident. When Donna came back with Damien’s things, Cami followed her downstairs. Donna knocked gently on the bathroom door. “Damien?” she called. “I have your things out here, in case you need them.” There was a pause, and then the door opened slowly. Cami held back a gasp. The 20-year-old in front of her bore scant resemblance to the cheerful young man she’d met just hours ago. His eyes were red-rimmed and tear-filled, and there was nary a dry spot on the front of his jeans. Damien tugged unconsciously at the bottom of his hoodie, pulling it downward. Not that covering his crotch could do anything to distract from the drenched stretches of fabric all down both of his legs. “I…” his eyes were glassy and his voice, though definitely scratchy, had the same blank quality that Cami had heard in the car. “I didn’t make it,” Damien said, blinking. “I…I had to go so bad and I c-couldn’t get my pants undone in time and I h-had an accident on the f-floor.” Donna tilted her head sympathetically. Cami definitely felt the same, but she kept her body language neutral. “It’s OK, Damien,” Cami said softly. “It was a long ride back, and you tried really hard.” Damien flinched and looked down at the ground. Making a mental note of the boy’s reaction, Cami decided that now wasn’t the time for excessive comfort or encouragement. “We brought your bag, Damien,” Donna cut in, holding out the duffle bag. “You can get cleaned up and changed. There are clean towels on the rack in there.” Damien looked up just enough to take the bag. “Thank you,” he mumbled. He paused for a second, then turned and walked back into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Both women stood silently for a moment before Donna let out a very low whistle. “Woooooooow.” She turned back toward the stairs, and Cami followed. “I don’t know what I expected when you told me the kid had an accident, but that wasn’t it.” Her words weren’t judgmental – just stunned. Cami understood completely. It wasn’t even that Damien had apparently lost all control in the bathroom; it was the continued blankness in his voice, like he was being compelled. There was still emotion there – the unconscious attempt to cover his wet pants, the shaking voice – but the way he spoke throughout the whole ordeal indicated…something. “Can you do anything?” Donna asked as they reached the top of the stairs. Cami pressed her lips together. “You know I can’t force anything on him.” “I know, I know,” Donna waved her hand, mildly irritated at her implied lack of understanding. “But can you do anything?” “I’ll try.” Cami shrugged. Damien certainly needed some sort of care, and she had plenty of experience working with teens and young adults in her practice, but if Damien kept up this robotic narration, then there just wasn’t a lot she could do. Downstairs in the bathroom, Damien stared blearily down at the giant puddle. He heard himself whine softly and realized that his lower lip was trembling. He could barely think, but he knew that he had to clean up. Himself and the bathroom. In a fog, Damien reached for a towel. He dropped it into his mess on the floor, then started to strip off his wet pants. Several drops of urine squelched from the denim with the movement, spattering noisily onto the tile and making him cringe. Every part of him felt dirty – his hands, his feet, certainly his legs and crotch… The towel was sufficiently sopping by the time it absorbed his accident. Damien looked dazedly around the bathroom before deciding just to heap all the wet clothes in the corner. He finally turned on the shower. Upstairs, Cami listened for the sound of the shower while she finished putting away the groceries. She ran through Damien’s behavior in her mind, trying to decide what she would say to him if given the chance. The shower ran for about 15 minutes. Donna had retreated to her study to grade papers, feeling it was best not to overwhelm Damien. Cami set herself up at the island in the kitchen, working on her computer. After a few more minutes, Damien stepped into the kitchen, hair wet and duffle bag in his hand. Cami didn’t look up at first, not wanting to make him feel trapped, but when he stopped at the side of the island, she raised her eyes. Damien’s eyes were no longer blank, and his skin had regained some color, but the blankness in his face was replaced with complete shame. “I…” Even his voice was back to normal, though quiet. “I think I should leave.” Cami gazed at the young man, even though he wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were down, seemingly fixed on the countertop. She took a breath before responding. “If you want to go, of course you can,” she said. “But please know that you’re welcome to stay.” Damien still couldn’t look at her, so she put every ounce of honesty she could into her voice. “Damien, no one here is mad at you or judging you for what happened. It’s not your fault. We won’t tell anyone, and we don’t have to talk about it ever again if you don’t want to.” Damien inhaled shakily and grabbed his left arm, wrapping himself in a half hug. “If you do want to leave,” Cami pleaded, “at least wait until the roads are a bit better. I’d really rather you didn’t drive in the snow, and I know Mom wouldn’t like it either.” Damien looked out the window, where fat flakes were still falling copiously. His shoulders fell – Cami was right. As much as he wanted to escape, trying to drive anywhere right now was a terrible idea. Besides, he didn’t actually have any place to stay. He’d only thought as far as getting out of the house. Cami was still looking at Damien; he could feel her gaze, but he couldn’t meet it just yet. “I…I put the…things…in the washing machine,” he explained, just for the sake of having something to say. “I hope that’s OK.” “Of course.” Cami smiled encouragingly. Damien didn’t respond, but he also didn’t move. “Damien, can I get you something? A snack, or some hot chocolate?” Cami offered. “We weren’t gonna have a big dinner with just the three of us, but-“ “I’m sorry.” Cami stopped at the quiet interruption. Damien’s voice was stretched and raw, and his eyebrows were drawn together. He looked like he wanted to say more, but he struggled to compose himself. “Damien…” Cami reached her hand across the island. “You have nothing to apologize for. I promise it’s OK.” Damien shook his head and finally looked up. To Cami’s surprise, he smiled sadly. “It’s not,” he said, shrugging. “I know it’s not, and-“ He raised his voice slightly, preempting any argument from Cami. “-I want…you deserve an explanation.” Ever the professional, Cami kept the pity she felt out of her face. She respected Damien enough that she didn’t bother telling him that he didn’t owe her anything. Shifting from foot to foot, Damien pulled out one of the bar stools and pressed himself up onto it, letting his duffle bag drop to the ground. He fidgeted a bit, trying to get comfortable in a decidedly uncomfortable situation. For her part, Cami kept quiet. “Donna told you I’m a transfer student?” he began, and Cami nodded. “I started at…another school as a freshman.” He clasped his hands together on the counter, steeling himself. “I didn’t know a lot about college, I guess. I just wanted to have fun and do well and make friends. So I decided to rush a fraternity.” Cami felt her chest tighten. Even if she hadn’t witnessed the young man have an accident, she knew enough to know that this wasn’t going to be a pleasant story. “For this place-“ Damien seemed determined not to give any identifying details. “-they would assign each new guy to an active brother. There was group stuff, too, but basically each brother who wanted it would get one or two recruits that were…well, he could do what he wanted with them.” Damien was winding his fingers together, intertwining his joints. “The guy I was assigned to…he…I didn’t get it at first. He had me and this other recruit kneel for a long time, which was pretty standard, I guess, but then he…he kept giving us water. I thought it was weird that he wasn’t giving us booze, but then I figured maybe they were being more careful not to get freshman drunk so they wouldn’t get in trouble. “It was the other guy first. He started kind of wiggling and stuff, even though we both knew we weren’t allowed to talk, but the brother…he was, I don’t know, watching for it, I guess. So he said ‘What’s wrong, recruit?’ and the other guy said that he had to pee, and the brother just told him to hold it.” Shuddering at the memory, Damien took in a deep breath. “I just…I didn’t know what was going on. I didn’t know people could just be like that. I thought for sure that he’d let us go to the bathroom, but he didn’t. And I know…” Damian hunched he shoulders, ashamed. “I know the other guy and I, we could have just, like, stopped, or got up and walked out, because there were two of us and only one of him, but…we just didn’t know. We thought this was normal, and we didn’t know each other at all, so we didn’t know what each other would do.” Cami had heard it all before, of course. Almost everyone who had ever been abused blamed themselves for not doing more to get out of the situation. She opened her mouth to tell Damien this, but his story wasn’t over. “So the other guy finally peed himself, and then the brother kept us there until I…I had an accident, too. I thought maybe I’d get…maybe he’d be proud of me or something, I don’t know, if I held it longer, but it didn’t seem to matter. And then I thought that, OK, he made us both pee our pants, we’ll move on to the next thing, but we just…that was it.” A tear slipped down Damien’s cheek, but he didn’t seem to notice. “We had a whole week. Every free minute we had was supposed to be with our assigned brother, and all weekend. So that’s all we did. He would just make us drink a whole bunch and not let us use the bathroom. And he…it wasn’t just peeing ourselves. He wanted…he wanted us to talk about it. So he’d ask ‘What’s wrong?’ or ‘Do you need something, recruit?’ and we’d have to say that we had to pee or that we were going or stuff like that. If we didn’t answer or if we said something he didn’t like, he’d use the wooden paddle on us. So we had to…describe…everything.” Cami didn’t say anything, but she pulled a tissue out of her purse and passed it across the counter. Damien sniffled and wiped his nose. “We tried so many things.” Damien’s voice was like gelatin, thick and shaking. “And we never knew what he was going to do. Sometimes, we’d ask to go to the bathroom, and he would let us, but then he’d block the toilet and wouldn’t let us use it. Sometimes he’d act real mad that we had an accident, calling us babies saying that he could never let recruits in the fraternity who couldn’t keep their pants dry. But then sometimes…” Damien crumpled up the tissue and swiped at both of his eyes, but he was crying freely now. “Sometimes, he’d, like, comfort us, and say it was OK and we tried really hard to hold it, and he wasn’t gonna get mad as us for having a l-little a-a-accident.” Cami’s jaw was clenched so hard, she thought she’d crack a tooth. This was the Stanford Prison Experiment on steroids. This was the height of sadism. Although it definitely explained Damien’s odd narration earlier, it hurt to hear what he’d been put through. “At first, I just thought it was weird,” Damien continued, “but after a few days, I was so tired and sore and embarrassed that I started to cry, and then I couldn’t stop, and this other guy and me, we were just so tired and we never knew what to expect.” Drawing in a raggedy breath, Damien shrugged again, brushing off the hard part of the story. “I didn’t pledge, obviously. I don’t think the other guy did, either, but I don’t know. I barely made it through the semester. I was just hazy and off and confused. My GPA tanked, so I dropped out. I did online classes in the summer and fall before transferring here last year.” Damien finally looked up. His eyes were red and glistening, but the tears had stopped falling for now. “I really am sorry about today. I’m sorry I was weird and just kept saying weird stuff. I…I couldn’t stop myself. It’s like I knew it wasn’t the same and I wasn’t back in the frat house, but I didn’t know, because it was the first time since…” He trailed off and sniffed again, lowering his head. Cami gave him a moment before she decided it was her turn to speak. “I’m so sorry he did that to you,” she said simply. “No one deserves that kind of treatment.” Damien nodded in acknowledgement. “Damien, please believe me when I say you have nothing to be sorry for. You didn’t do anything that was hurtful or on purpose, and Mom – Donna – and I just want to make sure you’re OK.” Picking distractedly at his nails, Damien nodded earnestly. “I’m fine,” he promised. “I went to therapy and stuff, and I know all that, and it helps. I’m just…” He paused, lip trembling again. “I’ve been really careful since then, so I wouldn’t have to feel like I…like I was gonna wet my pants, so then today was just…” He hesitated before glancing up at Cami. “I was scared,” he admitted. “It’s not like I think you or Donna are gonna be mean to me, but I didn’t know, and it’s not like it’s OK to have an accident in a stranger’s car, anyway.” “Damien, I know you don’t know me,” Cami acknowledged, “and I know that just trusting that everything is going to be OK probably isn’t going to happen. But I promise you that you’re safe here, and Mom and I will do whatever we can to take care of you.” Damien’s mouth curled upwards, almost imperceptibly, but then he frowned. “If…” His voice caught, and his face flushed. “It’s still OK if I say here?” “Of course,” Cami assured him. “Then…” Damien gripped his hands together. “I might…” He looked up, embarrassed, but Cami’s face was open and encouraging. “When…that week at the frat house,” Damien murmured quickly, “I…I started having problems for awhile, and it stopped, but after today, I don’t know…” He took a deep breath, trying to loosen the tight feeling in his chest. “Imightwetthebed,” he mumbled, then glanced up again, trying to read Cami’s face at this last admission. Cami felt her heart constrict with overwhelming sympathy, but she just smiled gently. “That’s not a problem, Damien,” she promised. “If it happens, it happens. We can help you clean up.” Damien let out a deep sigh, his whole body sinking in relief. “Thanks, Cami.” He straightened his shoulders, looking exhausted. He rose off the bar stool and bent down to grab his duffle bag. “I think I’m gonna go to my room, then.” Cami smiled and reopened her laptop. “Sounds good. We’ll call you when it’s time for dinner.” Nodding, Damien smiled a bit sheepishly and walked out. Cami inhaled deeply and gazed out the window. The snow had tapered off a bit, unlikely to do any more damage today.
  3. Sapphire3619

    malefemale Study Session

    Hello! I hope you're all having a wonderful start to summer (or winter, depending on where you are). Somehow, it's nearly July, so I thought I'd throw down another story before the entire academic summer goes by without me writing anything. Enjoy! *** “I’ll just be in the library.” “I know.” “I’ll have my phone with me.” “I know you will.” Amber looked back and forth at the slightly odd exchange between Fletcher and his roommate, Louis. She’d come over for a study session with Fletcher, but Louis was acting more like an anxious parent, leaving his child without a babysitter for the first time. Like the two men, Amber was a first-year law student. She’d moved to the city by herself to start law school, so she didn’t have any built-in acquaintances. Luckily, the intense scholarly demands of law school made it easy – even necessary – to build academic relationships, and, within the first few weeks of the semester, Amber had found herself in a study group with the men of Apartment 11H. Amber had instantly gravitated toward Fletcher. He was smart, kind, and, overall, quite different from the daddy’s-money, fourth-of-their-name type guys who seemed disproportionately represented in their class. When he’d suggested a one-on-one study date, Amber hadn’t hesitated to say yes. Louis, on the other hand, was nothing like his roommate, at least in Amber’s opinion. While Fletcher was easygoing and quick to smile, Louis was just…big. More than once, Amber had thought of Louis as a troll or ogre or something. Not because he was particularly ugly or brutish, but he was definitely a man of few words. Physically, he was huge – nearly six and a half feet tall and built more like a competitive strongman than a lawyer. He was the last person Amber would label as “friendly,” and he never seemed to respond to any of her conversational overtures. He really just came off as a jerk. She was convinced Louis hated her. Maybe he hated everyone. So it was all the more bemusing to see him speak to Fletcher as if being in separate buildings was somehow concerning. “We’re just going over our contributions for Legal Writing, so I shouldn’t be more than two hours.” Louis hoisted his bag over his shoulder and put his hand on the doorknob, but still seemed reluctant to leave. “Sounds good, man,” Fletcher responded. He smiled at Amber. “Make yourself comfortable,” he said, gesturing toward the couch, “I’m just gonna grab my laptop.” Amber smiled back, but Fletcher was already headed down the hallway. When Amber turned, she nearly gasped – Louis had stepped away from the door and was standing uncomfortably close. Before Amber could react, he shoved a piece of paper into her hands. “Here’s my number,” he muttered, clearly not wanting Fletcher to hear. “Text me if…if Fletcher needs anything.” Amber quirked an eyebrow, but Louis sounded completely earnest. “Um…okay? Am I missing something? Why wouldn’t Fletcher text you himself?” She was unnerved by Louis’s behavior, but she, too, kept her voice quiet. Louis hesitated, then shook his head as if physically trying to shake off the intensity of his demand. “Fletch wasn’t feeling too well last night,” he said, not quite meeting Amber’s gaze. “I just want to be able to help if he gets sick.” The oddly intense moment was broken by the sounds of Fletcher returning from his room. Before Amber could even open her mouth to ask more questions, Louis was already out the door, calling “See you later” to his roommate. “Ready for a deep dive into Torts?” Fletcher grinned, apparently unaware of Louis’s surreptitious plea. Amber mirrored Fletcher’s movements, taking out her laptop and notes, but she wasn’t quite ready to focus on emotional distress or assault and battery. “So…how long have you and Louis known each other?” she asked, feigning nonchalance. “Lou?” Fletcher didn’t even look up as he rifled through his notes. “Since college. Freshman year.” “And you both ended up here?” Amber pressed gently. Fletcher half-shrugged. “We both knew we wanted to go into law, so we helped each other study, and we both got in.” Which left Amber with no more immediate avenues for questioning. This was the top law school in the state, so it wasn’t exactly a mystery as to why both men decided to accept their offer of admittance. But she wasn’t ready to let the subject drop just yet. “He said you weren’t feeling well last night,” she said, slightly less casual. “Are you OK to study?” Fletcher’s hesitation would have passed without notice, had Amber’s question been completely innocent, but she definitely caught the half-second pause before Fletcher brushed off the question. “Oh, yeah,” he answered, physically waving away the question, “I must’ve eaten some leftovers that were too old or something. No big deal.” He looked up at Amber and grinned. “Ready for some Garratt v. Dailey, or do you have any more questions about my roommate?” Called out (albeit kindly), Amber felt her face flush. “Sorry. Just a little overeager to get to know people.” That part, at least, was honest. Being new in town wasn’t easy. Chill as ever, Fletcher moved on without teasing Amber any further. Amber chose to believe that the subject was dropped. The two of them settled in, poring over case law and prior statutes. Fletcher was naturally smart, but Amber had a knack for law and reason. Together, they were an excellent match for studying, both helping each other understand the breadth and intricacies of one of the less-entertaining L1 courses. After about an hour, Amber sat back and rolled her neck. “Ugh. This is great, but I can only take so much case law at one time. Is the bathroom down there?” She pointed down the hall. “Yeah, second door on the left.” Amber smiled in thanks, stretching her arms overhead as she stood up. She went to the bathroom, pleased with how the study date was going. Yes, they were learning a lot, but she was also enjoying her time with Fletcher. Their conversation was easy, and she really felt like he could be her first real friend here. If only his roommate wasn’t so unpleasant… Amber washed her hands and walked back out to the front room. She saw Fletcher leaning forward, elbows on his knees, clenching and unclenching his fists. “You OK?” Amber asked, more concerned than she would have been, had she not heard Louis’s warning. Fletcher sat up, an inscrutable look replaced almost instantly by a tired smile. “Ready for some more work,” he claimed. “That’s what we signed up for, right?” “Ha!” Amber couldn’t help but nod in agreement. Fletcher was right – they both knew law school would be exhausting. She mentally chastised herself for being paranoid. They returned to their pages and pages of judicial decisions and precedent. Amber was laser-focused, taking copious notes, both digital and hand-written. She was determined to do well on their next exam. For another half hour, Amber talked through the required readings, not noticing that Fletcher was contributing less and less to the conversation. “So, using Summers v. Tice, pharmaceutical companies have been held liable for in-“ Amber cut herself off at the sound of a clattering pen. She looked up to see Fletcher’s pen on the floor and its owner’s hand shaking. “Fletcher?” It took Amber a second to fully drag her focus from the definition of intentional action, but when she did, she saw that Fletcher’s skin had taken on an ashen tone and a sheen of sweat. His hands were trembling, and he made no movement to reach for the dropped pen. “Fletcher?” Amber repeated, her voice rising. “Are…are you OK? Can I…” Fletcher inhaled, his breath shaky. “I…” he breathed. “I think I need to lay down.” “OK!” Amber, an experienced babysitter, automatically adopted a cheerful-yet-calm tone, as much to try to keep herself from freaking out as anything else. “Do you want to just-“ She gestured toward the couch, but Fletcher cut her off. “I think…I should go to me room,” he ground out, sounding very much like he was using every last ounce of energy to speak normally. He leaned forward, and Amber stood up help him off his feet. He didn’t argue as she braced her hand under his elbow. She could feel him trembling even under the obvious tension of his muscles as he worked to hold himself upright. They shuffled toward the bedroom in silence. Amber’s thoughts ricocheted around her mind, a mix of trying to understand what was going on and trying to decide what to do In Fletcher’s pleasantly tidy room, Amber helped guide him toward his bed. With a shaky hand, Fletcher reached down and drew back the covers before dropping onto the bed with what was probably considerably less grace than he would have liked. “Can I…” Amber watched as Fletcher drew the covers up to his chin, his eyes already closed. “Can I get you anything?” “No,” Fletcher breathed, not opening his eyes. “I’m just gonna rest.” The last words were all but slurred, murmured in a weary exhale. Amber was nearly convinced that he was asleep before he finished speaking. She stared down at him for a second before slowly reaching into her pocket. She stepped out of the room before pulling out her room. Even though she was certain Fletcher was asleep (or at least incapable of stopping her), she still felt weird texting a grown man’s roommate in front of him to – what, tattle? Give a medical update? Regardless, Amber was unnerved enough by Fletcher’s sudden crash that she knew her best option was to follow Louis’s orders. Hey, it’s Amber. Fletcher got all shaky and he’s in bed now. Idk what else to do. The response dots appeared within seconds. I’m coming back now. 15 minutes. Stay with him and let me know if anything changes. If Amber had been expecting comfort, this wasn’t it. She could practically feel Louis’s worry through the words on the screen. Clearly, Louis wasn’t surprised by her text – what was going on here? Of course, she didn’t expect to know everything about Fletcher just a few weeks into the semester, but whatever this was seemed pretty important. Drawing in a breath, Amber straightened her shoulders, put her phone back into her pocket, and walked back into Fletcher’s room. The details didn’t matter right now; if Fletcher needed to be watched over until Louis returned, then that was what she would do. There was already a chair next to Fletcher’s bed, one she hadn’t noticed before. It wasn’t odd, exactly – plenty of people had chairs in their rooms – but, in light of the past 10 minutes, Amber wondered if this chair was explicitly for Louis to watch over Fletcher while he slept. Amber settled herself into the chair. For the first thirty seconds, she sat up straight, staring at Fletcher’s sleeping form without blinking. After a half-minute of even breathing, though, she decided that Fletcher didn’t need quite that level of attentiveness and relaxed her posture a bit. Ten minutes later, as Amber was mentally planning what she would ask Louis when he returned, Fletcher started to move. Amber sat upright, one hand already gripping her phone. She didn’t speak, not wanting to wake him, but she watched Fletcher writhed slightly, leaning his head back and forth. After a minute, his eyes opened, wet, red, and scared. “Fletcher?” Amber said softly. “Fletcher, it’s OK.” Fletcher’s head turned on the pillow just enough so that he could look at the source of the voice. Instead of relaxing upon seeing Amber’s face, however, he teared up more. All of Amber’s forced-logic calm evaporated. “What’s wrong?” she asked, trying to keep her voice from squeaking. “Fletcher, what do you need?” Instead of responding, Fletcher just moaned. Well, it was kind of a moan. A weak, pained sigh that Amber correctly took to mean he couldn’t speak. “It’s OK,” Amber repeated, wholly unsure if that was true. “You’re OK.” Fletcher whined quietly, pitifully. It was as if he’d been tranquilized, and the only part of his body he was capable of moving was his head, which he was shaking back and forth slowly. Amber was now on her feet, staring down at her miserable classmate. He gazed back up at her, silently pleading. But she could tell for what. “Are you hurt?” she asked, knowing the question was futile. Clearly, if Fletcher was capable of moving or speaking, he would have by this point. He was only whining though, looking increasingly distressed. “I’m sorry,” Amber pleaded, totally at a loss. “Louis is coming, he’s on his way.” Fletcher’s eyes widened for a second, but then his face crumpled, and he actually started to cry, tears streaming sideways from the outer corners of his eyes. “Fletch!” This time, Amber did gasp at the sound of Louis’s voice from the hallway. “In here!” she called, relieved. She took a step back as Louis strode forcefully into the room, not quite sprinting. He didn’t even look at Amber; he just stepped next to the bed and looked down at Fletcher, assessing the situation. “It’s OK,” Louis promised, in a voice more gentle than Amber would have ever thought possible. “You’re OK. I’m here.” Fletcher’s whine was different this time – broken instead of desperate. Tears poured down the sides of his face as he gazed up at his towering friend. Louis reached down and stroked Fletcher’s hair, then abruptly turned toward Amber. “I’ve got this. You can go.” Amber didn’t hesitate; she walked out of the room and shut the door behind her. She made it all the way to the front room before she slumped on the couch, experiencing an adrenaline crash disproportionate to the actual length of the event. Back in the bedroom, Fletcher was still crying, though not as hard. “It’s OK, man,” Louis soothed. “It’ll be OK. She doesn’t know. She didn’t see anything.” Fletcher squeezed his eyes shut, pressing out another stream of tears. Louis sighed. There was only so much comforting he could do. Now, he had to focus on more functional things. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said softly. Louis pulled back the blankets to reveal the wet patch that he already knew would be there. The stain glistened around Fletcher’s lower half, and Louis could have kicked himself. If he’d just been a few minutes earlier… “It’s OK,” he repeated, gently easing Fletcher to a sitting position. “We’ll just get you cleaned up, and then you can go back to sleep. I’m here.” Supporting most of Fletcher’s weight, Louis guided his friend to the connected bathroom. It wasn’t quite a well-honed system, but neither was this the first time the duo had done this particular dance. Louis tried to speed things up this time, though, knowing the speed of Fletcher’s crash meant that he was going to need even more rest. Instead of a full shower, then, Louis just propped his roommate up on the shower chair, stripped off his wet clothes, and wiped him down with a soapy washcloth. Back in the bedroom, he situated a towel-wrapped Fletcher on the chair by the bed while he changed the bedsheets. The whole process took only about ten minutes, but Louis was exhausted by the time Fletcher was back in his clean, dry bed, asleep before his head hit the pillow. Drained, Louis gathered the wet sheets in his arms and exited the room, closing the door behind him as quietly as he could. He didn’t bother to sigh when he saw Amber still sitting on the couch. She straightened expectantly when he walked out, but he didn’t acknowledge her at first. He just walked past to put the sheets the in washer. Amber heard the washing machine start, then the sound of water in the kitchen – Louis washing his hands. She waited patiently. At first, she’d stayed because she was too overwhelmed to move. Then, after she’d had a minute to collect herself, she decided that she wanted answers and had steeled herself to stay. Now, seeing Louis in front of her, she wasn’t quite as sure about that decision. The hulking man sat down at the opposite corner of the couch. After a second, he shifted slightly so that he was turned toward Amber. He didn’t speak, but he stared, silently daring her to ask her questions. Amber drew in a deep breath. “Is…” she started. “Is he…” Louis’s stare was harsh, protective. Amber knew that if she asked the wrong question, she wouldn’t get any answers at all. She pressed her lips together, trying to sort out the thoughts and emotions of the afternoon. Finally, after a few more seconds of silence, she opened her mouth again. “Did I hurt him?” Louis paused, then visibly relaxed, if only slightly. “No,” he sighed. “You actually did really well.” Relieved, Amber slumped back into the couch. “Good.” She looked back up at Louis. She still wanted to know more, but she didn’t want to press too much. “If…is there anything I could do next time? Maybe to prevent…” She trailed off, not knowing what exactly it was she’d be preventing. Louis hesitated again, considering his answer. “I don’t know,” he finally said. “It’s…Fletch doesn’t always appreciate suggestions to slow down and take it easy.” Amber mulled that answer for a moment. So whatever it was that had happened was somewhat perpetuated by stress and hard work. Louis was telling her that she could keep an eye out for Fletcher pushing himself, but ultimately, it was up to Fletcher to decide whether or not he would relax. “So you’ve known him for a while, then?” she asked, switching tactics. Louis nodded, apprehensively, anticipating where this line of questioning was going. “Has he…always…” “Look,” Louis stared at Amber, not bothering to let her finish eking out a question. “I’m not going to give you details. It’s up to Fletcher to decide how much of his own personal information he wants to share.” “No, I-“ Amber held up her hands, fending off the not-entirely-inaccurate implied accusation. “I know.” Louis sighed again. He knew this was bound to happen, eventually. (Well, not quite this.) He’d tried to talk to Fletcher about pacing himself and what to say to classmates if they ever noticed anything, but neither of the roommates had been prepared for just how strenuous law school was going to be. He knew Amber was unlikely to be satisfied with no explanation at all, but he also knew that he didn’t want to share anything without Fletcher’s permission. “You take care of him.” Amber’s matter-of-fact statement interrupted Louis’s stream of consciousness, and his first reaction was pure defensiveness. “I don’t…” he sputtered, desperate to protect his roommate. “I’m not a nurse. He’s not an invalid.” And yet, even as he spoke, Louis was unsure of how much weight his words would carry. Amber had only known then for a short time, and she’d just seen Fletcher collapse and cry, and, even if she hadn’t seen it, she had to have figured out that he had an accident. “We’re friends,” Louis insisted sincerely. “We met in college, and we were friends, and when…when things started happening, I wanted to help.” He looked up at Amber, tired and deflated. “That’s all.” It was easily the most emotion Amber had ever seen from Louis, not that that was saying much. She felt for him; he clearly cared deeply for Fletcher, and, whatever the two of them were dealing with, it wasn’t her place to know just yet. “OK,” she said after several moments. “OK.” She reached for her bag, but turned back to Louis as she stood. “Tell Fletcher…” she said quietly, “tell Fletcher I hope he feels better soon. And tell him I’ll send him my notes once I get them all organized.” Louis nodded slowly, too tired to stand and see her out the door. “And…” Amber paused, hoping this next bit came out right. “I won’t…I won’t tell anyone. Anything. Please don’t worry.” Louis seemed to melt into the couch, nearly delirious with relief that he hadn’t hoped for. Amber gave him a small smile, then walked out the door, each leaving the other with opinions quite different than how they’d began the afternoon.
  4. Sapphire3619

    female Her Favorite Student

    This was a request from @sandiego78. I don't do a lot of female wetting, but I *do* do a lot of hurt/comfort! Enjoy! *** Stella Bettio stumbled, breathless, into the classroom at the end of the hall, sliding into her seat just as the bell rang. Panting, she initially stared down at her lap, but then shyly looked up to see an encouraging smile from Miss Heston. Cherice Heston was only in her second year of teaching English Literature at Linville High School. She definitely felt more confident than she did in her first year, but she still didn’t feel completely settled and authoritative. There were still plenty of things students did and said that could catch her off guard. Still, Cherice loved her job, and loved getting to know her students, and Stella was one of her current favorites. Stella was an 18-year-old senior, tiny but strong. Yes, she was a good student – quiet, a trait always appreciated by English teachers – but Cherice had developed a close relationship with Stella over the year. A short woman herself, Cherice had recognized a fellow gymnast in Stella the first day of classes. When Stella took to stopping by Cherice’s classroom after school to discuss the finer points of The Handmaid’s Tale, Cherice was eventually able to work gymnastics into the conversation and got confirmation that, yes, Stella had trained at a very high level for a very long time. It had taken months for Cherice to get more of the full story, and when she did, it was told in an almost casual way. Cherice had formed her hypotheses, of course, mistreatment of young girls in intense training situations being so common, unfortunately, but she knew that she wasn’t entitled to Stella’s story. It had been a chilly afternoon in late November, just after Thanksgiving break, when Stella had calmly mentioned some of what her former coach had done to her. Cherice had started to say how sorry she was, but Stella had just very deliberately moved onto another part of the conversation, making it clear that she wasn’t up for a dialogue. She’d mentioned a few more things over the following weeks, but only ever as one-offs, horrific tidbits thrown into otherwise standard conversations. Cherice came to understand that pretty much no one in the entire school knew what Stella had gone through and that Stella was sharing exactly as much as she was comfortable with. So Cherice continued to welcome the student into her classroom after school, where they would chat over a jigsaw puzzle (Cherice loved puzzles and always kept one in her classroom – at least 1000 pieces – for her students to work on if they needed a break). Cherice was determined to provide the kind of support that Stella needed, even if that meant shutting up and not asking any questions. So it didn’t cross Cherice’s mind to ask why Stella was almost late to class, not that she’d ever call her out on it, anyway. She just proceeded with her lesson – they were in the middle of Last of the Mohicans – leading the class in a discussion of colonialism. In her seat, Stella could barely pay attention to the information. She never cut it so close getting to Miss Heston’s class, but today, Señora Cortez had kept her after class for a few extra minutes to talk about the AP Spanish exam. Of course, it made her feel bad that she was almost late to English, but more importantly, she had missed her midday bathroom break. Stella shifted in her seat, settling in as much as the old, hard desk would allow. English was her last class before lunch, and because she had the latest lunch period, she couldn’t always wait until then to use the restroom. Because the Spanish and English classrooms were in the same hallway, she’d developed a habit of going to the bathroom between those two classes, taking a quick pee before going to Miss Heston’s class. Today, she missed that chance and was now sitting nervously in her desk, frantically trying to figure out if she’d be able to make it the whole 50 minutes of class. Under other circumstances – that is, if her bladder was exactly this full, but she wasn’t at school, and she wasn’t aware that she’d just been denied a regular opportunity to use the bathroom – Stella would have almost certainly been fine. But now, the anxiety of being in class (even though she sat in the back) was causing her need to spike, and she was uncomfortably desperate. And they were only five minutes into class. Stella tried to focus. She genuinely liked Last of the Mohicans; Miss Heston would occasionally give them quiet reading time in class, and she’d play the soaring, violin-heavy score from the movie adaptation with Daniel Day-Lewis. Stella knew that a lot of her classmates got bored with the excessive descriptions of nature, but she liked being able to picture the vast settings. Today, however, she couldn’t do it. She rarely participated in class discussion, but she was almost always attentive, listening to her classmates' comments and questions. She often bring up her own ideas after school, during her visits to Miss Heston’s classroom, but today, all of her attention was on her bladder. Her thoughts were sliding, careening toward a dark place as class went on, and she couldn’t control them. The remaining rational part of her brain as telling her that she was 18, not 8, and that needing to pee wasn’t a moral failure. But the deeply-ingrained part of her that said that she had to hold it or else was becoming more powerful. And more terrifying. Cherice tried not to look at Stella too much as she taught; she didn’t want to draw attention to the girl. But Stella was clearly uncomfortable, at best. She hadn’t looked up from her desk once, and she looked tense and fidgety. Cherice was starting to worry. In the back of the room, Stella wound her fingers together under the desk. There was still a half hour left in class, and all she could think about was getting to the bathroom. Well, more accurately, all she could think about was not having an accident. Stella was slipping. With every second that ticked by, she was drawn further and further back to her old gym, her coach standing on the mats, alternating between booming shouts and unnerving growls. Then, in private lessons, his voice would flip to low and silky, a voice that 8-year-olds should never hear. She always wanted to please him, to make him happy, yearning for those instances when he would look genuinely pleased and proud of her. Of course, those moments were few and far between, and she spent much more time feeling like she did now – sweaty, tense, and scared. She hated that feeling and thought she’d gotten past it, but here she was, a senior in high school, sitting in class with her favorite teacher, utterly unsure of whether or not she’d be able to make it to the end of class with her underwear dry. Stella’s shifting took on a more obvious quality, and Cherice realized that her student had to use the restroom. The teacher’s thoughts raced as she tried to balance teaching with her concern for Stella. She was convinced that calling Stella out, asking her to go on some errand or something, would only embarrass the girl and possibly damage the trust in their relationship. Perhaps should could think of some excuse to let class out a few minutes early… “…but if Magua is the bad guy, then how are we supposed to understand the impact of colonialism?” another student was asking. Cherice blinked, grateful for her familiarity with both the class and the source material. “That’s a great question,” she replied, risking another glance back toward Stella, who still hadn’t lifted her head, “and many people don’t actually stop to consider anything beyond just a single ‘bad guy’ in a story…” Stella was only vaguely aware that Miss Heston was talking and certainly wasn’t internalizing any of the lesson. She desperately wanted to hold herself, to shove a hand between her legs. There was no doubt that such an action would have made it certain that she’d last until the end of class, but she just couldn’t do it. What are you doing?! Filthy girl! Get your hands away from yourself! Shuddering at the unbidden memory, Stella clenched her hands under her desk. She was definitely shaking now, and perilously close to being too lost in her old trauma to even focus on the implications of losing control of her urine in a high school classroom. Dirty brat… Up front, Cherice would have sworn she saw tears in Stella’s eyes. She wanted to help so badly, but hadn’t been able to think of a reasonable solution. She couldn’t let the class go early, because some of the students weren’t going to lunch, and she’d get in trouble if she let them loose in the hallways, and she’s already dismissed any thought of singling out Stella and letting her leave (not that Cherice had been able to think of a good lie as a cover for that story, anyway). All she could do was hope that Stella could hang on for the last few minutes of class. Glancing at the clock, Cherice started to wind down the discussion. She hated the thought of cutting off curious and engaged students, but she didn’t want to end up in a situation where the class ran over. She wanted to make sure the students – well, Stella, obviously – could stand up as soon as the bell rang. There were just five minutes left in class, and Cherice could tell her plan was working. Most of the students were shuffling at their desks, making the kind of unsubtle movements that meant they wanted to start packing up their things, but hadn’t gotten permission just yet. Cherice refrained from sighing in relief as she finished answering one more question. “I think we’ll stop here for today,” she said authoritatively with three minutes left before the bell. Instantly, the noise in the room amplified as students started openly picking up their things. Cherice allowed herself a small smile. She’d made it, she’d- “Oh my god!” A burst of noise, different than the general sounds of shuffling, arose from the back of the room. Cherice’s stomach dropped as she saw a bunch of eyes fixed on the still-seated Stella. Pale yellow liquid streamed down all sides of Stella’s chair. The girl stared at her desk, not quite oblivious to the snickering of her classmates. “What the hell?” “Miss Heston, can you…” Another girl gestured unnecessarily toward Stella’s trembling form, a disgusted sneer on her face. Cherice couldn’t speak for a several seconds; she just slowly walked toward the back corner of the room, pushing her way through the smirking, murmuring students. “That’s enough,” Cherice finally said, raising her voice more than she would have liked. “Please line up by the door – class is almost over.” A few students didn’t move right away, but thankfully, the bell rang seconds after Cherice finished speaker, and that was enough to urge the class out the door. The last student, actually looking sympathetic instead of amused, shut the door behind him, muffling the sounds from the filling hallway. Stella’s heart beat so hard, it almost hurt. She wasn’t sure if she was still peeing or not. She hadn’t even really noticed when she’d started – all of a sudden, she’d actually been having an accident instead of barely holding back. Her head spun. It had been a long time since she’d been in front of an authority figure, soaked in pee, but the sensation took her right back to childhood, and she felt like a giant band was being squeezed around her chest. In the relative quiet, Cherice took a step toward Stella. The girl hadn’t moved. She looked positively frozen in place, every muscle in her body clenched, and her breaths were so shallow, Cherice was worried she’d pass out. “Stella…” Cherice whispered, taking another step. Stella twitched at the sound. Even though her head was down, Cherice could see the fine sheen of tears in the girl’s eyes, held in place by sheer will. Or terror. Cherice stood for a second, hand half reached out. She wanted nothing more than wrap the girl into the tightest hug, holding her as long as necessary, but Stella looked utterly petrified, and Cherice knew enough to know that touching her right now would probably make things worse. “Stella,” she said again, even softer. “You’re safe. It’s OK.” Stella quivered from head to toe, but didn’t jerk back, so Cherice slowly and quietly sat in the desk in front of her, facing backward toward her student. “Stella,” she repeated, voice low and soothing. “I promise you’re safe here. No one is going to hurt you. No one is going to get mad. I’m not mad,” she promised earnestly. Stella still didn’t look up, but she looked ever so slightly less tense. “You can stay here as long as you want,” Cherice continued, keeping her voice low and even. “I don’t have a class this period, so you’re safe here.” Finally, cautiously, Stella raised her eyes. Her chin still trembled, and the look she gave Miss Heston was one of pure supplication, silently begging for reprieve, for forgiveness, for mercy. Even as her heart broke, Cherice maintained eye contact, gazing at Stella with every bit of reassurance she could manage. “I promise,” she soothed. “I’m not mad. It’s OK.” Stella stared for another second, and then her face crumbled into quaking, painful sobs. She cried like she was releasing years of bottled up shame and terror through a drinking straw, like she had too much anguish to let out in an orderly fashion. Cherice leaned forward as Stella collapsed onto her desk. The teacher reached out and stroked along the back of Stella’s head, gently running her fingers through the girls hair, whispering reassurances while she cried. “It’s OK, sweetheart, it’s OK. You’ll be OK, don’t worry.” Stella’s entire body heaved as she cried into her arms. For an indeterminate amount of time, teacher and student sat in a half-embrace, the only sound in the classroom Stella’s sobs. “I’m sorryyyyyyy,” she wept, her voice muffled against the desk. “I didn’t m-mean toooooooo!” “Shhhhh,” Cherice whispered, still brushing her hand along Stella’s hair. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, Stella. It was just an accident.” Stella cried a little bit harder, feeling the wetness all through her underwear, the fabric of her skirt chilly and sticky beneath her. She’d completely peed herself in high school, in the middle of class. All of her classmates had known what happened, and, as far as they must be concerned, it was for no reason. It’s not like she even asked to go to the bathroom, or was doing anything important. She’d just been sitting in a regular class and decided to pee in her chair like a belligerent toddler. “Please breathe, sweetie,” Cherice pleaded. “It’s going to be OK.” Leaning into Miss Heston’s gentle touch, Stella felt a shiver of release go through her body. She was exhausted from crying and from humiliation, and she knew she was almost all cried out. She inhaled deeply, listening to Miss Heston’s repeated reassurances. With one final sniffle, Stella sat up and looked at the kind, earnest face of her teacher. Stella could tell that Miss Heston wanted to fix things. She probably felt like it was her fault somehow, that she hadn’t done enough to make Stella feel safe, and Stella felt an extra layer of guilt for making her teacher worry. Cherice didn’t speak right away; she let Stella take a few minutes to compose herself (as much as one could while sitting in a puddle of their own making). She did, in fact, want to fix things, but only at Stella’s own pace. “I’m sorry,” Stella finally mumbled, wiping the back of her hand across her nose. “Oh, honey…” Stella shook her head, cutting off Miss Heston’s consolation. “I…” she stammered, “I know that you would have let me have a hall pass, and I’m not, like, scared of you or anything.” Cherice frowned sympathetically. She was at least pleased to hear that Stella hadn’t thought that she would have been denied permission to use the restroom, but she knew that the girl’s trauma ran deeper than that, anyway. Stella looked like she wanted to keep talking, but gulped instead, trying to steady herself. “Honey, is there anything I can do?” Cherice asked, filling the silence. Stella shrugged and wiped at her eyes. “It’s not your fault,” she said, not exactly answering the question. Cherice sighed. She correctly assumed that Stella’s accident was related to what her old coach had done to her, but she wasn’t sure why or how. She figured by now that Stella wasn’t going to offer any more information about her abuse, at least not at the moment, so she decided to try a different tack. “What was different today, honey?” she asked. “I don’t think you’ve ever had to go to the bathroom during my class before.” Stella’s eyes re-watered. The acute humiliation of wetting herself as a senior in high school wasn’t going to go away any time soon, and she had to take another few breaths before she could answer. “I…” she whispered, feeling young and a bit silly, “I usually go after Spanish, but Señora Cortez wanted to talk about the AP exam today, and I didn’t want to be late.” Cherice nodded, grateful for a distinctly solvable problem. Granted, her pending solution would have made a much bigger impact before the girl had an accident in class, but still. “I’m sorry that happened, Stella,” she said quietly. She paused to let her sympathy sink in before offering her suggestion. “If that ever happens again,” she began cautiously, not wanted to actually suggest that Stella would ever be at risk for peeing on herself again, “you can go to the bathroom. You can be late to my class, and I won’t write you up.” Stella bit her lower lip. “Everyone will know,” she whispered. “If I come in late, and you don’t write me up, everyone will know that you’re giving me special treatment because I…” Inhaling, Cherice thought quickly. She patted Stella’s hand and stood up, walking briskly to her own desk at the front of the room. She rifled through a stack of papers until she found the envelope she was looking for. “Here,” she said, handing it to Stella, “keep this with your supplies for my class. It’s a note from the administration, to me. If you ever have to be late again, you pull this out, and we’ll act like you were running an errand for me.” Stella looked up, eyes shining with tears again. “Yeah?” “Yeah,” Cherice promised. “I don’t think you’ll ever have to use it, but we have it, just in case.” Stella sniffled again, taking the envelope. “Thank you,” she whispered. Cherice smiled and held out her hand. “Ready to get cleaned up, honey?” she asked. Glancing down briefly, Stella nodded. She rose to her feet, but started shaking when she saw the full size of her mess. This time, Cherice didn’t hesitate before wrapping the teen in her arms. Stella whimpered against her teacher’s shoulder, still trembly from the emotional demands of the past hour. “You’re OK,” Cherice murmured, holding Stella tightly. “You’re OK.” Stella nodded deliberately, standing up straight, letting Miss Heston release her. The teacher smiled encouragingly, and Stella smiled shakily in return. “I’ll clean up here,” Cherice promised. “You just go take care of yourself. Come get me if you need anything.” Stella nodded again and headed to the door, looking to make sure the hallway was empty before sneaking out to her locker. Cherice watched for a moment after Stella left, then turned back to the puddle on the floor, knowing that the mess she was about to clean up was nothing compared to the mess that Stella had to face in her own mind every day.
  5. Sapphire3619

    malefemale Shame and Suspicions

    This turned out long. Maybe not the longest I've ever posted here, but definitely up there. Thanks for reading! Happy belated New Year! *** It’s not that Mandy was eavesdropping, exactly. “Eavesdropping” implied some sort of sneaking or subterfuge; Mandy just happened to pay attention to conversations that happened around her locker. “Senior lock-in is the best night of the year!” Cassie insisted, sounding every bit like the blonde cheerleader she was. “It’s more relaxed than prom, and way cheaper, because you don’t have to rent a tux!” Out of the corner of her eye, Mandy saw Ethan give a hesitant half-smile. “It sounds cool,” he acquiesced. “I’ll think about it.” Cassie put her hand on Ethan’s arm, a move that Mandy had seen melt much stauncher men. “It’ll be such a good way to get to know everyone!” she wheedled. “You don’t want to be the guy who just came for senior year, and then no one remembers you!” Ethan pulled out his textbook, not meeting Cassie’s wide-eyed gaze. “It’s so chill!” she promised, sensing an opening. “Literally, you do whatever you want! There are quieter rooms with card games and stuff, and then the gym has sports and is really loud, but then the choir room is for people who want to sleep, so you don’t even have to stay up all night if you don’t want to!” Gathering her own supplies for her next class, Mandy knew Ethan was done for. If he didn’t give in now and agree to go to the lock-in, Cassie would have the entire cheer squad on him by lunch time. Any feasible excuse would be futile. He had to work? Cassie would personally find an underclassman to replace him. Didn’t want to buy tickets? Cassie would talk to the principal and get them for free. Literally anything to get the cute, mysterious new guy to come to the first big senior event of the year. “I’ll…” Ethan trailed off as he turned from his locker to see Cassie’s oddly persuasive smile. He exhaled softly. “Yeah, OK.” “Yay!!” Cassie leapt and clapped her hands together, looking for all the world like Ethan’s capitulation was the best thing that had ever happened to her. “I’ll make sure Mrs. Schaeffer has a ticket in your name in the main office!” The warning bell rang, and Cassie turned and skipped sideways down the hall, still chattering excitedly as she went. “You won’t regret it! It’s such a fun night! I’m so excited!!” Ethan rolled his shoulders back, looking bemused. Mandy closed her locker and stared appraisingly at him. “So what’s your deal?” she asked bluntly, never one to pass up a chance to get more of a story. “Huh?” Ethan blinked, as if he’d just realized Mandy was there. “Why were you so against the lock-in? And why did you let Cassie talk you into it?” Ethan straightened, then shrugged one shoulder, projecting casualness. “I didn’t want to miss work, but I guess I can get a sub,” he said smoothly. Tilting her chin up, Mandy narrowed her eyes. “I’m sorry.” Ethan had been looking behind him, nervous about getting to class on time, but he turned back at Mandy’s apology, confused. “Oh, it’s no big deal,” he said, shrugging again. “Like I said, I’ll get a sub…” “No,” Mandy shook her head, her face deliberately nonchalant. “I’m sorry I made you lie.” She stood just long enough to watch a look of alarm cross Ethan’s face, then turned to go to class. *** On Friday, the night of the lock-in, Mandy pulled her car into the school parking lot at about 7:30. There was no strict start time for the lock-in – some seniors actually just stayed after classes – but everyone had to be there by 8, when the doors of St. Benedict High School were locked. Then, the seniors had more or less free run of the school (no teachers’ lounge, no chemicals from the science rooms) until 1 PM the next day. There were snacks for the night, a continental-type breakfast, and then a big pizza lunch before everyone had to leave. Many students came already wearing sweats or pajama pants, while others had a change of clothes in their backpack, along with a toothbrush and any other items they deemed necessary for an enjoyable night: playing cards, extra snacks, movies for the rooms that had TVs set up, etc. For Mandy, her most important extra item was her camera. She was the head of the yearbook committee, since the school was too small to have a newspaper, and she took her job very seriously. Mandy wanted to be a reporter more than anything. She wanted to tell the truth, expose cover-ups, and give people as much information as possible, so they could be fully informed citizens. She wanted to get stories from the people who experienced them, not pundits talking on TV. Like many high school students of her generation, Mandy was irritated at the way she felt her generation was portrayed in the media. Between the cost of college (and the increased competition for many schools), stagnant wages, and school shootings, Mandy thought that it was well past time for younger people to have a voice, and she wanted to be part of that voice. And her desire to learn and share the truth had only grown more urgent since last school year. Just a few weeks before the summer, there had been a shooting at Belden High, which was about an hour and a half away from Mandy’s town. She didn’t know anyone there, personally, but St. Ben’s had played them a few times in various sports, and all of the students had been understandably shaken at something happening so close to home. Mandy more than most. In the weeks after the shooting, Mandy had obsessed over the thought that someone had to have known that the killer was angry, violent, and had access to a gun. Surely people knew by now that it could happen anywhere, that no one was safe. She knew, of course, that not every angry student was a shooter, and that there wasn’t a single set of behaviors that defined every killer, but she was still determined to notice things. Not just potential shooters, though – Mandy wanted to truly pay attention in her senior year and see who was in need, who was struggling, who needed encouragement around the school. She wanted to figure people out. And her current target was none other than Ethan Lane. Mandy looked around as she entered the cafeteria, where everyone had to gather for attendance and reading of the rules before the night began, but she didn’t see Ethan. Setting her things down on a chair, she mentally ran over what she knew about the transfer student. Ethan had shown up on the first day of school, tall and quiet. Because their class was comparatively small – only about eighty people – the presence of a new student in their senior year was pretty big news. However, though Ethan wasn’t exactly unfriendly, he wasn’t exactly forthcoming, either. When asked where he was from, he’d say something like “Oh, we moved around a lot, and now my mom got a job here.” When asked about his interests, he’d give a few generic answers, then say something about how he never really had time to do clubs or sports, because they moved so much. He didn’t talk much overall, so it’s not like his vague answers were overly suspicious, but Mandy had made it her mission to notice and understand, so… Ethan knew none of this. His only goal was to get through senior year without drawing too much attention. Even though spending the night in the school building didn’t sound at all appealing to him, he’d made the quick mental calculation while under Cassie’s persuasive gaze that not going was more noteworthy than going. And thus, Ethan found himself pulling into the school parking lot just before 8 on Friday night. He’d prepared, and he had a mental game plan – he’d just hang out with the class for a while, maybe watching a movie, maybe just chatting in the cafeteria, and then he’d feign weariness and find somewhere to sleep. Ethan steeled himself as he walked through the doors. He showed his ticket to the teacher at the check-in table, then scanned the room to see if there was some unobtrusive place to sit down. Cassie, surrounded by friends, waved him over enthusiastically, and Ethan had to settle for decidedly obtrusive instead. From her seat, Mandy watched Ethan intently. He looked uncomfortable, but not necessarily any more so than was warranted by the fact that he was the sole new kid walking into an overnight event. Still, she wanted to keep an eye on him. As Miss Lockwood, the AP English teacher and senior class advisor, stood to welcome everyone, Mandy slid out of her chair and sidled across the room to get a seat at Ethan’s table. The class was respectfully quiet as Miss Lockwood read through the rules – no alcohol, obviously, no sex, no destruction of school property, and no leaving before 1 the next day without explicit parental permission. She kept her words, short, however, and soon enough, the room erupted with friendly excitement. Some students sprinted off the find TVs, another group barreled toward the gym to start a dodgeball tournament, but Cassie and a handful of her friends stayed at their table. “So, Ethan!” Cassie grinned. “We’re so excited you decided to come! We’re so happy to have you in our class, and we can’t wait to get to know you better!” Ethan smiled. “I was actually hoping you could tell me more about all of you and the school,” he said smoothly. “You were right, Cassie – this is the perfect opportunity for me to learn everything the rest of you already know.” Cassie beamed, proud that her suggestion had been taken seriously, but Mandy was skeptical. This seemed like another ploy for Ethan to keep from having to talk about himself. “Here, before we get started…” Marisol pulled a bunch of bottles of Mexican sodas (all school-approved, of course) out of her bag, straight from her visit to her grandmother over the summer. “I brought plenty, so drink up!” Without even asking, she passed one to Ethan, who hesitated. “Don’t worry,” Marisol promised, winking, “there are no worms or weird, illegal herbs in them. It’s just like regular soda, just more flavorful.” “They’re great, Ethan, you’ll love them!” insisted Cassie. “Mari brings them every time she visits her family.” Ethan gave a half-smile and twisted the top off, having again decided that acquiescence was the way to go in this situation. He took a sip; the drink was really good, very fruity. It turned out to be a doubly strategic choice – as long as he had a soda, he could keep the bottle near his lips and use it as a chance to pause before answering any questions, often using that pause to quickly think of a way to deflect the conversation back to the other students at the table. It was an effective system, and Ethan barely had to speak over the next hour and a half, as Marisol kept replacing his empty bottles. Eventually, someone pulled out a pack of cards, and the table split into smaller groups, playing spades, hearts, and poker. It was a good way to pass the time, and Cassie had been right; it seemed like a pretty chill night. After far too many rounds of cards, with most people switching games at least once, and Ethan still not having to answer any detailed questions (much to Mandy’s consternation, as she’d very carefully kept within earshot of him), Cassie suggested heading to one of the TV rooms to relax and watch movies. Texts were sent, and it was determined that most of the group would head to the second floor religion classroom, where a Matrix marathon was currently going on. Ethan obediently followed the group upstairs; it was just after 11 now, and he’d promised himself he’d make it until midnight before “going to sleep.” Luckily, it was quiet in the classroom, save for the sounds from the movie. Ethan let out a breath, grateful to be further released from the demands of conversation. Settling into a desk, Ethan half paid attention to the screen, while Mandy fully paid attention to Ethan. He hadn’t said anything particularly strange or incriminating, but he still looked…off. Like he didn’t want to be fully involved, or like he was just waiting to be somewhere else. Mandy was partially right, at least. Ethan was more than ready to be somewhere else. He kept surreptitiously checking his phone as the movie went on, and finally, at 12:02 (he’d decided exactly midnight would be too suspicious), he shifted sideways. “I’m pretty tired,” he whispered to Cassie. “I think I’m gonna go find somewhere to sleep.” There were a few whispered protests, but Cassie shushed them. “I promised him we wouldn’t make him stay up all night!” She turned and smiled at Ethan. “Good luck – it’s always weird trying to sleep for real in a place that’s not meant for sleeping. We’ll see you in the morning!” Ethan visibly relaxed, grateful to have been released. “Yeah, see ya.” He slunk out of the classroom, carefully shutting the door behind him, but he didn’t head to the choir room. He hadn’t actually said that he was going to sleep in the designated room – just that he was going to sleep. Most of the teachers knew to clean out their rooms before senior lock-in, and others just kept their doors locked altogether. Ethan knew that Señora Garcia, the Spanish and Latin teacher, had a couch in her room and was relieved to find both the door open and no one else inside. He pulled his hoodie tight and curled up on the couch, proud that he’d made it to his self-assigned deadline. And deliberately ignoring the nagging sensation in his lower abdomen. Mandy, having faked a trip to the bathroom, watched Ethan step into the Spanish classroom. Hoping she wasn’t being too obvious, she glanced through the narrow window on the door and saw him sink onto the couch in the back of the room. Mandy sighed, mentally chastising herself for being paranoid. Ethan really did want to sleep. And for nearly three hours, he did just that. The school wasn’t huge, but it was big enough that the noise from the gym didn’t carry all the way around the building, and none of the TV rooms had the volume overly loud. Yes, it was slightly disconcerting to sleep in a dark school, but not so much that Ethan was unable to do so. Before 3 AM, however, Ethan awoke and spent a few seconds being confused before remembering that yes, he was in school overnight, and yes, he had just been sleeping on Señora Garcia’s couch. Once those realizations were complete, one more piece of awareness fell into place, and Ethan’s confusion was quickly replaced by terror. There was an awful, full feeling deep in his abdomen – one that he had directly planned against. Trying to remain calm, Ethan pulled out his phone. 2:53 Damn. There were still hours left. Ethan silently ran through his options, and managed to convince himself that he could just go back to sleep. This could be one of those weird times where it felt like he really had to pee, but then it didn’t actually get worse for a long time. He flipped over so he was facing the back of the couch and curled up, closing his eyes. He forcibly tried to fall asleep (which, of course, is a terribly ineffective way to fall asleep) for a half hour when an uncomfortable jolt from his bladder made him cringe and roll over. Now, Ethan was breathing hard. He knew what was going to happen, but he still tried to convince himself that he had options, that this wasn’t going to end horribly. Ethan sat up, pressing his thighs together. He rose and tiptoed toward the door, opening it as quietly as possible. He didn’t hear any noise coming directly from the hallway, so he stuck his head out to look around. He could hear distant noise coming from the gym, but he didn’t see anyone in the second floor hall. He carefully shut the door behind him, still trying to make as little noise as possible. The boys’ bathroom was on the other side of the school, so Ethan crept down the hallway, warily looking out for any classmates. Other than the noise from the gym, the school was eerily quiet. The main hallway lights were off, as were most classroom lights, and the safety lights gave off an odd glow, lending an uncanny feeling to the whole endeavor. Ethan walked slowly, rubbing his thighs together. As he approached the opposite wing, he began to breathe deeply, trying to convince himself that this would work. But as he pushed open the door to the restroom (empty, thank goodness), he knew his hopes were futile. He felt his pelvic muscles contract, and, even as he pulled himself free of his sweatpants, nothing happened. He clenched his teeth and bore down, but not one drop of urine escaped his exposed member. Ethan groaned and shoved his dick back in his pants. Stupid Mexican soda, he thought, though he knew he, not the soda, was to blame. Another wave of desperation rolled through his bladder, and Ethan gripped between his legs, thoroughly furious at his body’s lack of cooperation. He pressed his groin for a few seconds until the most immediate urgency passed, then tried to think of what else he could do. There was another bathroom on the third floor. Maybe, he told himself, it would be completely quiet up there, with no lingering noise from the gym, and he’d be able to relax enough… Back in the hallway, Ethan looked around again. He still didn’t see anyone, though he saw the flickering light, presumably from a TV, in the history classroom a few doors down. Deciding to be extra careful, he went the opposite way toward the main stairwell. The gym noise was more pronounced by the stairs, but it did diminish as he climbed up to the third floor. There seemed to be no one at all upstairs, which was both unnerving and relieving. As he turned left toward the bathroom, Ethan’s bladder spasmed, and he felt a leak slip into his underwear. He choked out a sob, then threw a hand over his mouth to muffle any noise. He shoved open the bathroom door, but his heart was already racing. The thing about school bathrooms is they all look pretty much the same, and as soon as Ethan set foot in the room, his muscles locked up completely. Frantically, Ethan once again stood in front of a urinal, pointing his dick at the bowl, but nothing happened. Despite the sheer volume of liquid inside of him, his bladder would not release. “Come ON!” Ethan leaned forward and pounded his fist against the wall, to no avail. Panicked tears prickled his eyes. His heart continued to race, and he feared he would pass out if he stayed in the bathroom. Stumbling out the door, hands pressed between his legs, no longer bothering to scan the hallway, Ethan shuffled forward, completely out of options. He couldn’t use the restroom like a normal person, no, and he couldn’t ask to leave, not that he’d make it until he got home, anyway. He leaked again, warm and glistening through his sweatpants, as if to underlie his mental calculus. Stupid Mexican sodas! Shuffling forward, Ethan frantically tried several doors before he found one that was unlocked. He tripped forward, barely pushing at the door to close it behind him. In the last part of his brain not consumed with terror and desperation, he realized that he was in the chemistry lab. Ethan lumbered about halfway across the room before lurching against one of the lab stations. He slid around the side of it, as if blocking his lower half from view of the door would somehow make this situation better. “No, no…” Ethan couldn’t help but whining as his leaks became more frequent. He was scared, he was angry at himself for getting into this situation, and he was in pain. Before he could think anymore, though, Ethan’s muscles gave out, and hot liquid gushed down his legs with almost mocking force. Ethan sagged against the chemistry station as he wet himself, hanging his head in defeat. This was always what was going to happen, of course, and he’d known it from the minute he’d woken up on the couch. His lower lip trembled, but he didn’t cry. The unfamiliarity of standing in a dark chemistry classroom at 3:30 in the morning served as a buffer to the worst of the humiliation of having an accident at age 18 in a technically public place. The trickling sound of his accident seemed to echo through the empty room, and Ethan tensed with shame. The feeling of physical relief was nothing compared to the fury he felt at himself for allowing this to happen. Out in the hallway, Mandy crept up the last stair and looked around. Still paranoid, she’d been making periodic checks of the Spanish classroom since Ethan had gone to sleep. When, at her last pass, she’d peeked in and seen him gone, she let herself get a bit nervous. She’d done a quick scan of the remaining “group” rooms, and, having come up empty, decided to search the third floor. She glanced around the hallway and noticed one door slightly ajar. The chemistry lab. Mandy’s heart rate spiked, and she tried her hardest to remain rational as she slowly stepped toward the unlatched door. Just because the new kid, the one who wouldn’t give a straight answer, was in the chemistry lab in the middle of the night, when nearly every member of the senior class was literally locked in the building, didn’t mean he was doing something cruel, right? Mandy paused outside the lab and listened. There was definitely someone in there; she could hear irregular breathing. She straightened her shoulders, took a deep breath, and pushed the door open. Ethan’s head snapped up. He was standing about halfway across the room, half hidden behind a lab station. He looked horrified at being discovered, and Mandy felt her palms beginning to sweat. “What are you doing in here?” she demanded, trying to keep her voice from shaking. “N-nothing,” Ethan stammered, doing nothing to ease Mandy’s fears. “You’re not supposed to be in here.” Mandy took one step forward, reaching into her back pocket for her phone. “The door was open,” Ethan said, frozen by Mandy’s movement. She couldn’t see him, she couldn’t come any closer. “You shouldn’t be in here,” Mandy repeated, walking a bit closer, one step at a time, like she was in a wedding processional. “I just…wanted to see…” Ethan had no excuses. His brain was muddled and frantic, and all he wanted was for Mandy to stop moving toward him. He couldn’t tell, but Mandy was just as frantic. Ethan’s erratic behavior was all but confirming her suspicions. Each student looked in terror at the other, eyes wide, both petrified at what they thought was going to happen. “You’re not allowed…” “I didn’t mean anything…” “Ethan, what are you doing?” “Please stop…” “I can’t let you…” “No, please…” “You don’t have to do this…” “No, nooooo…” But Ethan’s pleas did nothing, and with one last forced step forward, Mandy stood in the aisle, staring directly at her classmate, finally able to take in the full scenario. The safety lighting in the chemistry room was dim, but enough for Mandy to see Ethan’s soaked pants and the giant puddle on the tile floor. “Oh!” she gasped. Her stomach flipped with relief, confusion, and secondhand embarrassment. She’d been so, so wrong. Ethan dropped his head, eyes welling with tears too numerous to hold back. His knees shook, and he braced himself against the lab station to keep from collapsing into his own mess. “I…” Mandy gaped in the silence, ashamed of her own paranoia. “Ethan, I’m sorry.” Ethan didn’t respond. Couldn’t respond. Mandy spoke again, compelled to explain herself. “I was scared. I was being unreasonable. I had convinced myself that you were, I don’t know, making a bomb or something, or hiding guns up here.” She saw Ethan’s shoulders tense and felt even worse. “I’m so sorry,” she repeated, voice small. “Ever since the Belden shooting, I’ve been super nervous about anything out of the ordinary. It’s stupid.” Mandy stared, but Ethan’s head was still down. She thought she saw a tear drip off his chin, and she wondered if she should just leave. She was just about to turn away when Ethan spoke. “It’s not.” Mandy leaned forward, unsure if she’d head correctly. “What?” “It’s not weird,” Ethan repeated, a bit louder, then sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. He finally looked up at Mandy, and the broken, knowing look on his face took her breath away. “It’s not weird to be scared.” Mandy allowed the weight of his words to wash over her, and then she knew. “You were there.” Ethan paused for a second, and another tear slid down his cheek. Then he nodded. “Oh, God.” Now Mandy felt even worse. Not only had she suspected a classmate with no real reasoning, she’d suspected a survivor. Mandy’s heart ached, but her intense curiosity and search for the truth kept her speaking. “Is that why you didn’t want to come tonight?” Ethan’s shoulders slumped. He’d told himself that this was exactly what he didn’t want to happen; he didn’t want anyone at St. Ben’s knowing where he’d come from, why he’d transferred. But now, standing in wet pants at nearly 4 in the morning, keeping his story bottled up didn’t seem like the best idea. He rolled his neck back and forth. “Kind of,” he finally answered. “I… I was in the bathroom when it happened. You know, you hear these awful noises, and you don’t let yourself realize what they are right away, because how could there be gunshots, you know? Even though that’s a thing now,” he added bitterly. “It was at the end of the school year, so, you know, we didn’t go back, and my parents were already looking for places to move, so I wouldn’t have to go back there, but then over the summer…” Ethan paused, embarrassed but compelled to continue. He took another deep breath. “We toured a few schools over the summer, because we wanted to make sure I felt comfortable in the building and the staff understood what had happened, but then at one, I had to go to the bathroom, but when I got in there, I just…couldn’t.” Ethan felt his face burn with shame at the admission, even though he’d already very obviously wet himself. He couldn't explain any more, even though he was pretty sure Mandy still didn't understand. She'd think it was just anxiety, PTSD or something, but it was more than that. He physically couldn't go in school bathrooms, and he hated himself for it. After a few seconds, realizing there was no more to that particular bit of the story, Mandy spoke up. “So you just…never go at school?” Ethan shook his head miserably. “I go right before I drive here, and then I just don’t drink anything, or not much of anything, during the day, so I never have to.” “But…” Stunned by this new information, Mandy tried to understand. “…how were you planning on making it through the lock-in? It’s 17 hours!” If possible, Ethan’s face fell even further. “My mom spoke to Miss Lockwood and got permission for me to leave at 8 AM,” he explained. “I thought I just had to make it til then.” “And then Marisol brought the sodas,” Mandy filled in, everything clicking into place. Ethan nodded, and a fresh batch of tears fell from both eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry I scared you.” “Oh –“ Mandy couldn’t help but reach toward him. “Ethan, no. Please…it’s not your fault.” Ethan blinked rapidly, futilely trying to clear the tears out of his eyes. Between his accident and his confession, he was exhausted and out of all ability to control his emotions. “Look…” Mandy reached out again. “Ethan, let me help.” Sniffling, child-like, Ethan looked up. “Where’s your bag?” Mandy asked, quietly taking control. “Did you bring extra clothes?” Ethan shook his head, crestfallen. “I…I didn’t think I’d be staying.” “That’s fine,” Mandy soothed. “I’ll sneak into the drama room. There’s bound to be something in there. Stay here,” she ordered. “I’ll be back soon.” In the silence left by Mandy, Ethan sniffled deeply. Disgusted, he stepped out of his puddle and grabbed some paper towels from the cleaning station to clean up his accident. It was an obnoxiously big puddle, and by the time he was wiping up the last of it, Mandy slipped back in the lab. “Here.” She laid a few options on the table, none of which were as bright or sparkly as Ethan had feared. “I…” Ethan stared at the pants, knowing they didn’t solve all of his problems. He looked back up at Mandy, imploringly. “I can’t stay,” he murmured. “What…what if I have to go again?” Mandy tilted her head to the side, thinking. She knew better than to try to convince Ethan that it would be fine. “Does Miss Lockwood know that you went to Belden?” she asked. Ethan nodded. “OK, then let me talk to her. I won’t tell her what happened!” Mandy insisted quickly, seeing Ethan’s anxious reaction. “I’ll just tell her that you’re uncomfortable being here. I’m sure she’ll let you go.” Mentally, Ethan warred with himself for a few seconds, but the fear of having to pee again won out. “OK,” he whispered. Mandy left to seek out the senior advisor, and Ethan quickly stripped off his sticky, cooling pants and underwear, reeling from the events of the last 45 minutes. He slipped on a pair of gray flannel pants, silently sending an apology to the arts department. A few minutes later, Mandy returned, smiling softly. “Miss Lockwood said it’s fine,” she explained, and relief hit Ethan like a bucket of cold water. “She said she’d meet us downstairs to let you out the side door. You just have to promise to text when you get home.” Ethan could only nod, nearly lightheaded with the consolation that he didn’t have to stay any longer. Mandy was already walking toward the door, narrating soothing words. “No one will see us. Most everyone is asleep by now, and the ones that aren’t won’t be anywhere near the side door. Don’t worry.” Downstairs, Miss Lockwood smiled encouragingly at Ethan and made no comment about the pants balled up in his arms. She unlocked the door, then respectfully stepped aside. “Are you going to be OK?” Mandy asked, staring up at Ethan earnestly. Ethan looked out toward the parking lot, the sense of impending comfort and freedom already easing the tightness in the back of his throat. He looked down at his unlikely rescuer. “I will be.”
  6. An original short story I decided to write. Simple young female unintentional desperation and wetting with humiliation. She is 14 so if that or any of the other is not your thing, turn back now. There is no sexual content in this fiction. ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ My first day of high school was pretty average I guess. Mostly just met our teachers, got our school IDs and textbooks and whatnot. Did I make any friends? No, but that’s okay. I can worry about that later. Right now I just want to get home after a quick pee break that I really need right now. I make my way to the bathroom but instead I'm met by caution tape over the women’s restroom door with a sign saying “closed for maintenance”. “Crap!” I mutter, frustrated as I bounce in my spot. What the hell, they were just fine when I walked by them before my last class an hour and half ago! A janitor comes out with a mop bucket and sees me standing there. “Sorry kid, someone thought it would be funny to put firecrackers in the toilets.” He says, as he walks by. “Excuse me.” Great, just great. My average day got worse. I groan as I leave the school and just head straight for the buses. Fine, it’s whatever, I should be able to hold it until I get home. Hopefully. I sit down at a bench, cross my legs, and hug my backpack in my lap. Thankfully the bus doesn’t take too long to come. Bus 363 stops in front of the curb and I quickly get on and find a seat near the middle. I curl up against the window, set my bag on the seat and try to not think about my almost full bladder. As the seats fill up, another girl decides to sit next to me. I turn my head to look at her. The first thing I notice about her is that she has much bigger boobs than I do. Not that I’m jelly or anything. I’m perfectly fine with my… a cups. Yep. “You don’t mind if I sit here, do you?” She looks over to me as she set her bag down at her feet. I shake my head no. Her clothes are more fashionable than my red shirt and jeans. She has a really pretty sparkly light blue sweater and white pants. Her boots match her top, and my old converse shoes have fresh gum stuck to the bottom. I lift my foot up and try to scrap it off on the floor. My bladder aches in pain as the bus starts moving again and I shift in my seat. “I’m Sarah Chester.” She introduces herself as she sways her long strawberry blond hair behind her head which was beautifully styled compared to my boring short brown hair. Wow, are we already on a last name basis? “Allie.” I reply. “Oh, I think you were in my homeroom!” Her face lights up. “Oh, cool.” I say, not so enthusiastically. It’s not that I don’t want to try to make friends with this girl, it’s just I have to PEE SO FREAKING BAD that I literally can’t concentrate much on a conversation right now. Every bump in the road makes this stupid bus bounce which is only making my bladder scream. She stops talking for a few minutes, probably because she thinks I hate her. I shove a hand between my legs and wiggle them. I hope Sarah doesn’t notice, but of course she does. “Are you okay over there, Allie? You look… uncomfortable.” She asks, concerned about me. “Um... yeah I’m fine.” I give a sheepish smile without making eye contact. You’re not going to get a lot of info out of a shy girl, especially about her bathroom needs. Sarah shrugs and turns away for the moment. She keeps talking about her school day every couple minutes but I could only give short answers. I can’t think about anything other than how much I urgently need a toilet. “Oh my god, I can’t believe how much homework-” Sarah stops mid-sentence when a loud popping sound came from outside the bus. I jump in my seat, startled from the sudden noise and I immediately start to leak in my pants. It took every ounce of my strength to stem the flow as I grab my crotch and hold myself tightly with my legs crossed. I feel a small wet spot under my hand. “What the HELL was that?!” She says loudly as the bus wobbles and pulls over the to side of the road. This isn’t happening… this is NOT happening. Dammit, now what? The bus driver stands up. “Tire blew out, guys. Sorry but it looks like we’re going to be here a little while.” He says over the intercom before he begins calling someone over the radio. “No.. please no.” I mutter as tears began slowly welling up in my eyes. I continue holding myself. On a scale of 1 to 10 on how badly I need to pee, I am at a solid 9 and it’s only climbing higher. 14 year old me starts crying in her seat because she’s about to have an accident in her pants. Sarah looks over to me, and places a hand on my shoulder. “Wow, are you okay, what’s wrong?” She looks down at my lap and her mouth opens as she seems to have put two and two together. “Oh no. That’s not good. Are you going to be alright?” I take a deep breath. “I don’t know…” I reply softly, my voice cracking from desperation. Sarah wraps her arm around me and supports me with her other hand. “Don’t worry, Allie, you’re going to be okay. Just hold on tight!” Yeah, what do you think I’m doing? This is so embarrassing! I hate that I have to hold myself like this. Everyone that looks my way will know I really have to pee but if I remove my hand I’ll wet my pants for sure. Having Sarah there makes me feel better, emotionally at least, but I can’t help but think I’m just putting off the inevitable. Every minute feels like an hour, and every minute I feel like I'm going to lose it completely. I clench my eyes shut as tears flow down. Sarah hugs tighter. “Do you want me to see if I can get something for you to pee in?” I couldn’t reply so I just shrug. Pulling my pants down and peeing in a bottle on the bus is not what I had in mind but at this point I feel like I don’t have much of a choice. In the back of my mind, I’m positive that I’m not going to make it home without having an accident but I can't think like that. I can't pee my pants, I just can't! I cry as the pain from my bladder grows stronger. My body shakes with desperation. Sarah asks around for a bottle or anything. Thankfully she didn’t give any details, but it still got people to look our way. I felt stares. I look up and saw the boy in the adjacent seat glancing at me. I turn my head away and shot from a 9 to a 10. I begin leaking more in my pants every couple seconds. I place my hand on Sarah’s shoulder and she turns to me. “Sarah… I’m not going to make it.” I confide in her and began sobbing. She hugs me again and pulls her backpack up to the seat. “Allie, it’s okay. I’ll block the view.” I’m so glad she does, because right at that moment, I can’t hold it anymore. My bladder gives up and pee gushes out, drenching my jeans. Relief comes quickly, as does utter humiliation. I close my eyes tightly and drown out the world around me as I wet myself like a little girl. I don’t believe it. This is a nightmare. I can feel my pants soaking with pee with my hand still tightly clutching between my legs as it flows under me. “Stop staring at her, asshole!” She shouts. I could feel her pushing her bag closer to me. As I finish peeing my pants, I hear some guys outside the bus talking. I look out the window and saw they had changed the tire already before I look over to Sarah. “I’m sorry, I can’t believe this happened.” My voice still shaking from the sheer embarrassment. I look down at myself. I had completely flooded my jeans from my crotch, all the way down my legs and into my shoes. A large puddle is underneath my feet. “Don’t apologise. It’s not your fault. It’s just an accident.” I felt her hand on my shoulder once more as she hugs me again. This time I hug back. I want Sarah to be my new friend. Maybe a best friend. “Sorry about the delay folks, we’re back up and running now.” The bus driver announces over the intercom before sitting back down. Sarah kept me blocked from peering eyes as the bus drives off. “Thank you Sarah.” I look to her and smile. “Can we be friends?” I ask, hopeful. “Definitely.” She smiles back. I start to feel much better now. Still embarrassed. But at least i made a new friend. I just hope I can get home before my parents so I don’t get a talk. ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Thank you for reading if you got this far. Please let me know what you think.
  7. Sapphire3619

    He's Doing So Well

    I actually started writing another story yesterday, but I decided the scenario was too similar to one's I've done before and the chaptered one I plan to do next, so I decided to go with this one. Hope you like it! *** “Oh, Logan!!” Logan held back a sigh, and instead pasted a smile on his face, poising his notepad in front of him. Based on the tone of Mrs. Haskins’ voice, he already knew what she was going to say, and it wasn’t going to be her order. “How’s Jada doing, honey? How’s your mom? Has your dad been able to make it up there to see them?” “They’re doing OK,” Logan answered, starting his patented vague update. “The doctors say Jada’s numbers are going in the right direction.” “That’s wonderful!” Mrs. Haskins beamed. “We’re all praying for her and your family.” “Thanks, Mrs. Haskins.” Logan paused for just a second, for politeness. “Can I take your order?” Having fulfilled the societally-mandated duty of checking up on Logan’s family, Mrs. Haskins and her friend ordered a couple of club sandwiches and fries. Logan noted the meals down carefully and took the order back to the grill. Of course, it wasn’t just at work that Logan had to answer near-identical questions about his family. Ever since 10-year-old Jada had been diagnosed with leukemia, it seemed like every adult in town – at school, at the diner, at the grocery store, wherever – wanted to stop Logan to express their sympathies and ask how Jada was doing. Logan understood, but when the diner was busy, he just wanted to do his job. Now nearing the end of his senior year in high school, Logan had worked at the Silver Spoon Diner for almost two years. It was owned and run by Mike and Joanne Neeley, a local family who regularly hired high school students to work as servers. It was a small but busy place, with one long counter and a few tables and booths. Logan took orders, served food, poured drinks, and generally helped keep things moving, especially on weeknights like the current Wednesday. It was just before 8:00, and it was just Logan, Ned the dishwasher, and Trey, the Neeley’s youngest son, working the grill. Trey had just finished his junior year at college and was home for a few weeks before starting his summer internship. Having been raised in the diner, Trey (and his siblings) always helped out when they were home. Logan didn’t know Trey too well, but the young man seemed nice enough. At least he didn’t make constant comments about Logan’s family. He just let Logan do his job, which was all Logan really wanted, at least for a few hours per week. But it was a small enough town that Logan could never really escape well-meaning people who wanted to ask questions and express their support. Logan set drinks down in front of Mrs. Haskins and her friend. As her turned away, he heard Mrs. Haskins mutter yet another common refrain of the past few months. “He’s doing so well. His parents are lucky to have him.” Logan closed his eyes briefly as he rounded the corner. “…doing so well…lucky…” Adults said it all the time these days. And with every person that comments on how well Logan was holding up, how wonderful it was that his parents didn’t have to worry about him, Logan’s soul calcified just a little. At 18 years old, Logan was plenty independent and mature for his age. He loved being an older brother, and he doted on Jada. When she’d been diagnosed, Logan had naturally made the unspoken decision to help however he could. As their mom had moved 4 hours away to be with Jada at the children’s cancer ward, and their dad had taken on extra work to help pay for expenses, it turned out that Logan’s best option for helping was to take care of himself – keep working, getting himself to school, and continuing to cover his own expenses, so he didn’t have to ask anything of his stressed parents. He’d Facetime with Jada at least once per day, to try to cheer her up. He hadn’t been able to visit her yet, since he worked every weekend, but he always made time to respond to her texts. So yes, Logan’s parents were lucky to have him. He was well aware of that. And the pressure to remain helpful and unobtrusive was drowning him on dry land. But Logan couldn’t afford to drown or breakdown or otherwise stop. He was graduating in a few weeks, and he’d already been accepted to an out-of-state college, prospects that were overwhelming enough for any high school senior. With his sister’s cancer and his parents’ completely understandable tension, Logan barely even knew where to look. Instead, he just kept his head down, studying for his finals and working. As long as he kept busy, he could handle the pressure impinging on him from all sides. “Order up!” Logan blinked his eyes open and stepped up to the counter in front of the grill to grab Mrs. Haskins’ sandwich platter. He smiled as he placed the food down, then walked out from behind the counter to check on the customers in the main lobby. It was one of those oddly busy weekday nights, when a steady stream of customers comes in at just such intervals that Logan never really got a break. Now, with the sun setting, Logan noticed for the first time that he had to go to the bathroom. Logan frowned unconsciously. The feeling of fullness low in his abdomen felt both unwelcome and out of place. He hadn’t had a spare second to think about his body’s needs until right this second, but now that he was aware of how long it had been since he’d visited the restroom, the sensation became an unavoidable irritant, like a rock in his shoe that he didn’t have time to remove. The bell above the door rang, signaling the entrance of another customer – a small group of girls from Logan’s school. Logan’s smile was automatic as he grabbed a stack of laminated menus to take to their chosen booth, but as soon as he turned away, his face fell. Under other circumstances, Logan would’ve just called to the manager (Trey, currently) that he was taking a quick break, but with only one server and one person to work the grill, Logan didn’t feel comfortable leaving the floor empty of workers. So he just kept working, for the next hour, keeping up with the steady flow of customers – seat, answer questions about his sister, order, food, check, clean up – all the while, feeling a growing sense of unease with the weight of his bladder between his hips. Any time he wasn’t actively interacting with customers, in those brief seconds as he walked between tables and the kitchen, Logan’s mind reeled. His need was a problem that he couldn’t solve, and therefore, was an issue his brain couldn’t seem to process. In between service activities, he felt sick and whiny, like an overtired kid. He clenched and unclenched his fists, trying fruitlessly to release the increasing tension from his body. But there was still work to be done, not overwhelming, but constant. Nominally, the diner closed at 10, but like most locally-owned places, the Neeleys would stay open as long as there were customers. With each jangle of the door, Logan felt his chest grow tighter as the frustration of not being able to take a bathroom break pulled his psyche like an overstretched rubber band. All of a sudden, it was 9:45, and Logan was cleaning up the middle booth in the front. He heard clattering of dishes from the back, and he blinked, as if waking from a dream. He looked around to see that the dining room was empty – the table he was cleaning had been the last one. Logan let out a long exhale, bracing his hands on the table. The brief moment of relief jolted his bladder, and he reflexively pressed his thighs together. After regaining his composure, he finished wiping down the table and lifted the basin of dirty dishes. He just had to deliver the basin to Ned in the back, and then he’d finally be able to pee. “Everyone gone?” Logan jumped slightly at the sound of Trey’s voice when he pushed through the swinging door to the back. “Um, yeah,” he answered, clenching his pelvic muscles tightly to make up for the shock. Trey nodded, scraping off the grill. “I won’t lock the door just yet, but we can start closing down. Can you roll some silverware for tomorrow?” “Sure.” Logan had responded without thinking, his habit of obeying authority and being helpful practically mechanical at this point. Before he could even consider backpedaling and asking for a break (not that he would ultimately do that, but he would’ve considered it), Trey had already turned away, going to scrub down another part of the kitchen. Logan felt his lower lip start to tremble, and he bit down hard. He felt awful and strained, but quickly became irritated at himself. This was his job; he was being paid to work until close, and that included helping set up for the following day. Logan continued his way to the dishwashing station, setting down the basin next to the sink. Ned was almost finished with the last batch – he’d be able to finish what Logan brought him within minutes and be done for the night. Logan cringed with inadvertent jealousy, but he didn’t say anything. He just reached around to the basket of clean flatware on the shelf. At least Ned kept each utensil in a separate section, so Logan wouldn’t have to dig around to fine one each of knives, forks, and spoons. Grabbing a package of napkins, Logan situated himself behind the front counter, so he could keep an eye on the door. Rolling the flatware into napkins was a mindless job, and he could do it quickly, but at this point, he couldn’t stand still. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, occasionally rubbing his thighs together, and frequently, nervously looking behind him to make sure that neither Ned nor Trey were somehow staring at him. They weren’t, of course, but Logan’s nerves were frayed and his bladder was full, and logical thought wasn’t a strength of his at the moment. Just as he was finishing the last few flatware bundles, Logan heard Trey come out from the back. “It’s 10. I’m gonna turn off the outside signs and lock the door.” Logan could have cried tears of joy at Trey’s pronouncement. At least he wouldn’t have to serve any more customers. He’d just finish these last rolls, and… “Ned, you can go when you’re finished back there. Logan, can you double-check the ketchup bottles on the table, and then you can be done, too?” Logan’s stomach clenched, and he felt a strong surge from his bladder. He shoved his hand into his crotch behind the counter without even checking if Ned could see him. He wanted to whine. He wanted to writhe. He just wanted to pee, damnit! As the obedient, rational part of his brain was saying “Checking the ketchup bottles will only take a few minutes, and no one else is here, you can go as soon as you’re done,” the emotional, overwrought part was moaning in unintelligible agony. But still he moved, setting the basket of rolled silverware on the kitchen counter and heading out to the front of the diner to check the condiments on each of the tables. He heard Ned call good night, but didn’t respond. By some minor miracle, none of the ketchup bottles were low enough to require refilling. Logan slumped with relief at the last table, grabbing between his legs again for reassurance before he headed to the bathroom. He rounded the corner down the hall, nearly crying with exhaustion. He couldn’t believe how long he’d been holding it, and he was so grateful to just be done. He grabbed the door handle… Clunk. Locked. Trey had already locked the bathrooms for the night. Logan had an accident right then and there. Just a little one, a brief, completely uncontrollable gush of urine that he felt soak right through his underwear and black pants. He instantly shoved his hand between his thighs, gripping tightly against the warm, wet fabric. Breathing hard, Logan stayed hunched over, clenching tightly for several seconds. Somewhere in the very back of his mind, he knew that he could just ask Trey to open the bathroom, and he’d be fine. But he wasn’t listening to that part of his brain right now. He couldn’t. His desperation overtook every cell of his body. He could handle everything in his life except having to pee so badly he was forced to hold himself like a child. Choking on unshed tears, Logan hobbled out the door into the parking lot. He’d just drive home, he’d be able to pee at home… But he couldn’t move. His keys were in his pocket, but he was leaking again. He was standing right next to the driver’s side door of his car, but he couldn’t move. Both of his hands were pressed against his dick, and he couldn’t move, or he would lose all control. Whining and panting, throat raw from repressing sobs, Logan wound his legs together stubbornly. His refusal to give up was matched only by the utter futility of his efforts. Logan let out a moan as the last of his defenses crumbled and he began to fully wet himself. He felt like his insides were collapsing. He was swallowed by the moment, caught in a whirlwind of wordless shame, hot liquid coursing down his legs. He could only whimper, brokenly, painfully, as urine forced itself from his body. Every breath Logan took was shaky. He couldn’t tell when he actually stopped having an accident because he was trembling so badly. “Logan.” Blinking tears out of his eyes, Logan looked up to see Trey, standing in the middle of the parking lot, staring at him concernedly. “I…” Trey had walked out as Logan was wetting his pants, too late to do anything about it, but definitely in time to see the unmistakable trails of wetness shining under the streetlamps. Seeing a teenager have an accident was bad enough, but hearing Logan’s cracked, anguished voice, only able to rasp out a single syllable nearly broke Trey’s heart. “Come on inside and change,” Trey offered, the keys already in his hand. “I…I can’t…” Logan was trembling visibly. “You still have your school clothes, right?” Trey knew that Logan came to work straight from school, and he made the correct assumption that he didn’t wear his polyester work pants in class. Logan nodded mutely. “Just come change inside,” Trey insisted, gently but firmly. He turned and walked back to open the diner before Logan could attempt to say anything else. Vision still blurry with tears, Logan pulled his own keys out of his pocket, hands shaking. He was drained and defeated and all sorts of other feelings that he couldn’t name if he’d tried. He pulled his backpack out of the car and headed back inside. The lights were on, and the door to the bathroom was propped open, but Logan didn’t see Trey anywhere. Head down, he slunk into the bathroom, unable to stop the shuddering feeling in his chest. With the bathroom door closed behind him, Logan slumped down onto the toilet. For the first time, he made no effort to hold back the tears coursing down his face, but he did try to keep the sound of his cries to a minimum. He couldn’t take it. He knew that there was nothing he could do now but change and go home, but the shame of peeing his pants was unbearable, at least for now. Logan wept and sniffled for a few minutes, just long enough to get through the worst of his misery. As soon as he could piece together a coherent thought, he inhaled deeply and wiped his face across the back of his arm. The rational, demanding part of his brain was telling him that Trey was generously keeping the diner open, and he couldn’t make him wait any longer. He stripped off his gross, sopping pants and underwear, ran some wet paper towels up and down his legs, and slid on his jeans from school, swallowing disgust that was bordering on self-loathing. Rolling up his wet pants as best as he could before shoving them into his backpack, Logan washed his hands, then cautiously opened the bathroom door. He knew he should than Trey, but a bigger part of him was hoping that the college student wasn’t there, so Logan could just sneak out and go home. As he stepped out from the hallway, though, Logan saw Trey sitting at the counter, two plates in front of him. He looked back over his shoulder and smiled gently at the puffy-eyed teen. “Here, man.” Trey gestured toward the plates. “You look like you could use some pie.” Logan hesitated, torn between not wanting to offend Trey and desperately wanting to just go home. “Peanut butter’s your favorite, right?” Trey encouraged. Logan’s stomach growled audibly, giving him away. Shoulders slumped, he hoisted himself onto the stool next to Trey. The two young men ate in silence for a few moments, and the creamy peanut butter pie really did make Logan feel better. During his long, break-less shift, he hadn’t gotten the chance to eat, either, even though the Neeleys always encouraged them to help themselves, taking at least bites here and there when it was busy. Logan heard Trey draw in a breath beside him, and his momentary relaxation evaporated. “So, Logan-“ “I’m sorry,” Logan interrupted, softly but nervously. “I didn’t mean to…I just…” “Hey!’ Trey shook his head, face etched with pity. “Don’t worry about it, Logan. It was just an accident.” Logan flinched at the word and stared down at his plate, too embarrassed to speak any further. “No, I was going to ask-” Trey gazed sincerely at Logan “-how are you doing?” Confused, Logan looked up. Trey had just said that it was an accident; was he asking if Logan was sick? Trey did his best to keep his face neutral, even though he practically ached with sympathy for the broken teenager sitting next to him. Logan was so lost that he couldn’t even understand someone being concerned for him. “It occurred to me,” Trey went on, shoving another forkful of pie into his mouth, “that everyone in here for the past few weeks has asked about your sister or your mom or something, and that’s great,” Trey swallowed, keeping his voice light, “but I haven’t heard anyone ask how you are.” Logan’s shoulders tensed upward, and he poked at the last bite of his pie with his fork. “So I figured,” Trey continued, correctly assuming that Logan wasn’t quite in a place where he could describe his own feelings yet, “that if no one is asking how you are, then maybe you’ve somehow gotten the message that you’re not allowed to not be OK. Or that somehow everything else matters more than how you’re feeling or what you need.” This last comment struck Logan like a finger to the sternum, pointed and personal. Of course he should have known better, how stupid did he have to be to let himself get to the point of- “So I figured,” Trey repeated, interrupting Logan’s rambling thoughts, “that I should really tell you that that’s not true.” Trey paused here, staring meaningfully at Logan, so that the teen could feel his gaze, even without looking up. “I can’t even imagine how hard it must be.” Trey’s voice was gentler, now. “With your sister being sick and your parents worrying about her, and you’re worried about her, and it’s your senior year, so you’ve got all of that regular stuff, and then you’re working and basically taking care of yourself, too.” Hearing it out loud – and from someone else – was like stepping out from a steam room for Logan. He could breathe, he could see, he could be seen. Trey watched as tension visibly melted from Logan’s muscles, but the teen still didn’t speak. “Anyway,” Trey bit down on his last bite of pie. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m sorry I haven’t asked before. And I know I’m only here for a few more weeks, but I’m here if you ever need anything, and I know Mom and Dad are, too.” Logan had put his fork down, knowing he wouldn’t be able to swallow over the lump in his throat. Trey reached over and patted Logan on the shoulder. He was a hugger, himself, but he didn’t know Logan well enough to be sure that would be helpful. Logan exhaled, deeply grateful for the reassurance, but the breath turned into a wide yawn. He covered his mouth, embarrassed, but Trey just grinned. “Not to sound too much like my mom, but it’s late, and you have school tomorrow,” Trey chided. He stood from the stool and picked up the plates. “I’ll take care of these; you go home and get some rest.” Logan slowly slid from his stool, feeling sore, like he’d finished a long workout. The skin on his legs felt stiff, and he knew he’d have to shower and do laundry when he got home. Despite Trey’s reassurance (and the delicious pie), the consequences of peeing his pants threatened to creep back over Logan. “Hey!” Trey said bracingly, reaching out to clasp Logan’s shoulder again. “You good? Do you need me to stay?” Logan raised his eyes to look at his earnest coworker. Trey really meant it; he could tell. And that was enough. It wouldn’t fix everything, of course. Logan still had a lot to face over the next few months, but it was enough for tonight. It was enough to assure him that Trey understood, that Trey didn’t blame him for his accident and wouldn’t tell anyone about it. It was enough to take just a tiny bit of the burden off of him, enough so that Logan could have the strength to make it home and clean up. Logan flashed the barest of smiles at Trey, and Trey nodded in response before heading back to the kitchen. Sighing, Logan walked back out to his car, exhausted but feeling steadier than he had in months. Maybe he wasn’t doing “so well.” But he was doing what he had to do.
  8. Sapphire3619

    Tears of a Clown

    “Wyatt.” Wyatt Clarkson turned at the sound of the familiar voice, still laughing from the story he’d just finished telling. “Hey, buddy!” he greeted Bella Graham, the tall girl standing behind him. “Time to go?” Bella nodded. She didn’t smile, but Bella rarely smiled. Her facial expression really wasn’t an indicator of her mood, as Wyatt well knew. He wasn’t bothered by Bella’s resting bitch face, or anything else about the somewhat intimidating high schooler. If there was one word to describe Bella Graham, it was “fierce.” As a senior in high school, the18-year-old was nearly 6 feet tall and broad-shouldered. She played a sport a season – soccer, swimming, and softball – and had a generally grim, take-no-shit demeanor that cowed both opponents on the field and in the pool and peers in the hallways of school. It wasn’t that Bella was mean; she was just quiet and unexcitable. But a 6-foot-tall girl with an unsmiling face was automatically assumed to be cold and unfriendly. Wyatt knew better, of course. He and Bella had known each other their entire lives. They grew up in the same apartment complex, and their parents participated in a nanny share. They’d gone to all the same schools and, even though they took divergent social paths, they’d remained friends. Today, during one of her rare breaks between sports seasons, Bella had offered to drive Wyatt home after a shared Key Club volunteering event downtown. Grateful for the ride, Wyatt bid a quick good=bye to his friends and followed Bella to the parking garage. Briefly, he noticed that his bladder was reasonably full, but the drive out of the city and to their suburban apartment was only about 45 minutes, so he wasn’t too worried. Wyatt didn’t worry about much. He had always been a cheerful child and had blossomed into a pleasant version of a stereotypical class clown in middle school and high school. He frequently spoke in silly voices and accents, but he was so friendly and unflappable that he escaped most of the annoyance that others would have garnered. Teachers appreciated the fact that he wouldn’t interrupt class with his antics, and friends knew him as a reliable source of a laugh in stressful situations. “Thanks for the ride, LB,” Wyatt said cheerfully as he climbed into the front seat. “Anytime, pal,” Bella replied, the corner of her mouth quirking up at the nickname. Since they were young, Wyatt had christened Bella with all manner of odd permutations of her full name. He couldn’t pronounce “Isabella” as a child, and he took to coming up with silly pet names – ‘Za, Patti LaBelle, and, the one he ultimately settled on, Liberty Bell, now shortened to LB. Bella never minded. As intense as she was on the field (and in the pool, and, well, in general), she had a definite soft spot for Wyatt. There was an affection borne of 18 years of shared experience; Bella felt more comfortable around Wyatt then she did around pretty much anyone else. His humor and easy smile was a welcome break from the intimidation she usually elicited from others. Wyatt certainly wasn’t intimidated by Bella. If anything, he was in awe of the skilled, respected girl – woman – his friend had grown into. He was sure Bella could handle anything and make it look easy. Like now. Almost instantly, they had pulled into traffic. It wasn’t entirely unexpected, of course, being rush hour downtown, but there was apparently some construction that was compounding the usual gridlock. Most drivers would be irritated, Wyatt thought, but Bella looked completely unruffled. Objectively, the traffic should have been much more nerve-wracking to Wyatt, but his inherent good nature kept him from getting too worked up. Instead, he kept up a steady chatter of entertaining stories, the kind that amused Bella without really requiring her participation. But the traffic was relentless. Even with a few clever self-imposed detours, it took them 45 minutes just to get to the bypass, when it normally would have taken 15. Wyatt checked the clock and tensed when he saw the time. They should have been home by now, but they were just pulling onto the highway. He really had to pee, now. Not just “wow, I have to go,” but “if I don’t go soon, there’s going to be a problem.” Without even noticing, Wyatt had stopped storytelling. Bella, who was used to quiet, didn’t really find this strange. Without even noticing, Wyatt had started jiggling his left leg. Bella, who knew that he wasn’t a fidgety person by nature, did find this strange. After a minute or so, with no real sounds but the general whoosh of the car speeding along the freeway, Bella finally voiced her concern. “You OK there, pal?” “Mmm?” Wyatt blinked and looked over at his friend. Her mild look of confusion was enough to make him realize that he was bouncing his knee up and down in a terribly obvious manner. “Oh, I-“ Wyatt started to make some joking excuse, but an unexpected surge from his bladder cut him off and forced him to jerk his thighs together. “Wy?” Bella was verging on legitimate worry now. Wyatt inhaled deeply as he regained a sense of control. Without the immediate feeling of desperation, he managed a smile. “No worries, LB,” he tried to assure her. Bella arched an eyebrow, and Wyatt couldn’t help but grin. He should’ve known better than to try to lie to her. They knew each other too well for that. “It’s fine, Bells,” he promised. “I just have to pee. I thought we’d be home by now, but it’s no big deal.” Bella winced sympathetically. “Sorry, Wy,” she said. “Not too much longer.” Wyatt laughed good-naturedly. “Thanks, mom. I’m completely unfamiliar with the geography of my own city, so I had no concept of how far away we are.” Bella punched him lightly on the shoulder. She was grateful, at least, that Wyatt wasn’t in trouble enough to lose his sense of humor. They were speeding along the bypass toward the main highway; now that traffic was moving, they should make it back home in good time. Wyatt kept bouncing his knee; the movement helped keep his muscles engaged and his need at bay. But without the sublimated embarrassment of trying to keep his full bladder a secret, he was able to relax a bit and resume conversation. Twenty minutes went by smoothly. Wyatt’s need was definitely urgent, but they were close to home. As long as he could keep his legs pressed together, he’d be fine. On the highway, Bella rounded the last curve before their exit. She put on her turn signal to indicate the move to the off-ramp, then gasped softly. The exit ramp was almost entirely full – two lanes of backed-up cars, waiting at the light at the top of the overpass. Bella applied the brakes as gently as she could, so as not to further jostle Wyatt, but the unexpectedly quick stop still jolted him enough to leak for the first time. Wyatt grunted and paused for a half second before shoving his hand between his legs to ease the pressure. Bella pressed her lips together as she pulled to a stop at the back of the line. She glanced over at Wyatt and saw a fine sheen of sweat on his temple. “OK, Wy?” she asked with the slighted bit of hesitation. She didn't know how to make him feel better. As hilarious as Wyatt was on a daily basis, he never made jokes about accidents or wetting, a habit that went back to their childhood. Bella had taken longer than most to stay dry at night and had cried copiously the first time she'd woken up to a wet bed when Wyatt was sleeping over. They'd only been 7 at the time, but Wyatt had hugged her and promised that it was OK and that he'd never laugh at her for something like that. Wyatt smiled sheepishly, his fist still pressing down between his thighs. “Are the whites of my eyes yellow? ‘Cause I feel like I’m at a point where even Mr. Vinson would let me have a hall pass.” “We’re almost there,” Bella said in an attempt to be reassuring, but Wyatt grimaced. He knew what a long exit ramp line at this time of day meant. Since the city had grown over the past decade or so, the population of the suburbs had exploded, and the existing civil planning layout of the city hadn’t been able to keep up. To get to their apartment complex, they had to make a left onto the big road running parallel to the highway, which meant they had to make a specific right into the left turn lane in the cross road from the exit ramp. There was only one left turn lane to accommodate the traffic coming from both directions on the highway, and the lights further south on the parallel road created more congestion, so even a green left-turn signal didn’t mean there would be room for anyone to turn. Under normal circumstances, up to 10 cars could make the turn during each light cycle. During peak times, like now, each light cycle averaged maybe 2 cars. And Bella and Wyatt sat at the very bottom of the exit ramp. They had to make it onto the cross road before they could even join the snail’s-paced left turn lane. At the very least, Wyatt was looking at another 20 minutes before they could get past the light. And Wyatt didn’t have 20 minutes. The painful pressure in his lower abdomen seemed to impossibly intensify with the knowledge that he had to wait. He’d only meant to hold himself for a few seconds (well, he hadn’t really intended to have to hold himself at all), but now, he couldn’t move his hand for fear of losing it. The car inched forward, silently. Wyatt continued to squirm, mentally cursing Bella’s dislike of the radio. He couldn’t bring himself to speak, and the silence only seemed to highlight the rustling sounds of his fidgeting. The minutes dragged on, and Wyatt’s situation deteriorated. He’d started leaking again, purely out of need, despite having as tight of a grip on himself as he could through his skinny jeans and relentless twitching of his legs and writhing of his hips. He felt terrible for making such a scene. Not that he wasn’t used to making scenes, of course, but those were all scenes of his own making, for entertainment purposes. The stark difference in circumstances tore at Wyatt; he wanted to throw himself out the passenger door. Bella kept stealing glances at her imperiled friend as they finally reached the light at the top of the exit ramp. Wyatt’s face was crumpled in humiliation, and the visual made Bella’s stomach twist. Throughout high school, she’d found herself believing that Wyatt had actually lost the capacity to feel shame; his exploits were so brazen, and he never so much as blushed. Now, he looked like he was about to cry. Though neither of them had said anything, they’d both been running over several contingency plans, all deemed impossible. There was a gas station on the left (there was too much traffic coming in the opposite direction to make the turn into the parking lot), a mall down the road (at this point, the mall would be too crowded to find a parking spot and get inside with any sense of dignity), and a Burger King on the right (no way could they cross over 3 lanes of traffic to make the turn). They were stuck in their current lane – the only option was to keep going. In the passenger seat, Wyatt twisted his hips, feeling another leak. His shoulders slumped; his jeans were definitely damp beneath his hand. Brake lights shone in front of them once more, and Bella stopped the car. At the rate they were going, they were still at least 3 light cycles from making the turn. Wyatt tried to suppress a moan, but it ended up coming out as a squeak. He saw Bella glance over at him, and he paused. “…I’m not gonna make it.” If Bella hadn’t had the radio off, she wouldn’t have heard Wyatt’s nearly-whispered concession. She didn’t know what to say. She wanted to contradict him, tell him it was going to be fine, but she knew him well enough to know that his tone of voice was painfully serious. “Wyatt…” Even if she’d been planning on saying anything else, she would have stopped at the oddly overwhelming sound of liquid on fabric. Wyatt squeezed his eyes shut. The lack of visual input prevented him from seeing Bella’s aghast look, but shutting down one of his senses only seemed to highlight the mortifying feeling of heat spreading down his thighs as he lost control. His dreadful skinny jeans didn’t leave much room for flow, and urine quickly soaked all the way around his thighs, pooling in his lap and on the seat beneath him. He could feel the car moving forward again, briefly. They stopped all too soon, and Wyatt felt piss drip past his knees. The patter of urine dripping onto the car mats echoed in the quiet interior. Realistically, Wyatt knew that it hadn’t been forever – it hadn’t even been a full traffic light cycle – but it felt like he was wetting himself for ages. Well, any amount of time was really too long to be wetting yourself in the first place, he thought morosely. As Bella inched the car forward yet again, Wyatt’s stream tapered off. He finally opened his eyes, breathless with humiliation. “I…” he stammered. As uncomfortable as he was, the thought of sitting in continued silence was even more aversive. “Isabella, I’m so sorry,” he said softly. “I really didn’t…God, I feel so stupid…I’m sorry, I’ll-“ His voice caught, and he had to stop to compose himself. Bella didn’t speak, and the silence was suffocating. “I feel so stupid,” Wyatt continued, his voice softer than Bella had ever heard it. “I thought…I’m sorry, I’m such an idiot, I promise I’ll get your car cleaned. I’m so, so sorry…” Unable to go on, Wyatt tried to blink away the tears pooling in his eyes. After a few moments, during which they managed to pull to the very front of the left turn lane before the light turned red again, Bella opened her mouth. “Why don’t you ever call me Bella?” Wyatt finally turned his head to look at his friend, dazed. “What?” “Everyone else calls me Bella,” she continued. “But even when you’re not calling me LB, you use my full name. The teachers call me Bella, all my friends call me Bella, even my parents call me Bella. Why don’t you?” Wyatt furrowed his eyebrows slightly. Bella glanced over at him, her look confirming that she actually wanted an answer. “I…” Wyatt paused for a second. “I’m not your other friends,” he said simply. Bella caught his eye again, and he flicked his eyes downward. The evidence of his accident stared back at him, so he settled for looking at the gear shift. “We’ve known each other forever,” he went on. “Not a whole lot of people have been friends their whole lives, and definitely not like you and me.” He shrugged, a natural reflex to minimize the emotion of his words, borne of being a teenager. “I guess my names for you are my way of reflecting that. Of saying that we’re not just regular, old high school friends.” “Exactly,” Bella declared, and her tone of voice made Wyatt look up again. To his surprised, she was smiling. Well, as much as Bella ever smiled, anyway. The bemused look on his face made Bella exhale, a brief snicker. “We’re not like other friends, doofus,” Bella said affectionately. “We’ve been friends forever and we’re going to be friends forever and you don’t have to apologize to me, especially for something that’s not your fault.” Wyatt snorted derisively, half-shrugging. His heart warmed with Bella’s proclamation of loyalty, but the pressing feeling of wetness all around his lower half prevented him from being able to fully shake off the acute throes of mortification. “Wy, it’s really not your fault,” Bella insisted. “Traffic’s a bitch. It could’ve happened to anyone.” “Not you.” Wyatt’s reply was matter-of-fact, not bitter. Bella raised an incredulous eyebrow as the light changed and they finally made the left. “Wy, you know I peed the bed until I was 10. You’ve seen me puke after practices.” “That’s…” Wyatt sighed. “It’s not the same, and you know it.” He hated how he felt – so ashamed and out of control. “Puking after a brutal soccer practice and wetting the bed as a kid aren't even close to pissing yourself in broad daylight as a legal adult.” “It’s just me, Wyatt,” Bella said earnestly. “I know it sucks, but I promise, I don’t care. No one is ever going to know.” Wyatt looked up and gave Bella a sad, rueful smile. “I know you don’t care, Liberty Bell,” he assured her. “But that makes it worse.” Bella’s face twisted in confusion. They were two minutes from home. “You’re so put-together, LB,” Wyatt said, his voice wistful and admiring. “And I know we’re friends, but we’re like characters in a play. You’re the warrior princess, and I’m the court jester. The fool. The village idiot who can’t even-“ Wyatt cut himself off, unable to re-vocalize his accident. Bella sighed deeply before speaking. “Wyatt, you know I’m not good with words like you are, but I’m gonna try. First, I’m not a warrior princess. I’m a high school student, just like you. I score goals and runs; you make people laugh. Why is one better or more valuable than the other?” She looked sideways at her friend, but his gaze was fixed on the door handle. “I know I can’t make you feel better right now, but I can’t let you honestly believe that you’re not awesome and brilliant. You’re probably my favorite person in the world, and I’m so lucky to have you in my life.” Bella finished her speech just as she turned into the apartment complex. The car remained quiet as she maneuvered around the parking lot and pulled into her spot in front of their building. She looked over at Wyatt as she turned off the ignition. Wyatt stared at the door for another moment before raising his eyes to meet Bella’s. “Those were some pretty good words, there, Bells,” he said, his gently teasing tone clearly grateful. Bella smiled slightly and nodded, acknowledging Wyatt’s acknowledgement. “Want me to pull closer to your door?” Their respective apartments were close, but she didn’t want him to have to walk farther than necessary in his wet pants. Wyatt shook his head, still abashed. “I’ll be fine,” he answered. “Want…want me to come by tomorrow to take the car in to get cleaned?” Bella knew better than to pity her best friend. She dug in her purse and handed him her spare keys. “Just text me before you come get it, OK?” Wyatt attempted a smile as he took Bella’s keys. “Thanks, LB,” he murmured, the words coming out meeker than he intended. He opened his mouth as if to say something else, then pressed his lips together, gave Bella a grateful look, then turned and pulled himself out of the car. Bella let out a long exhale as she watched her best friend walk toward his apartment, slightly hunched over. Her heart ached for his awful experience, but she’d known him a long time. He’d be making her laugh again before she knew it.
  9. Sapphire3619

    malefemale The Crash Site

    It feels like ages since I've written anything! I thought I'd try something with characters a bit less blatantly sympathetic than I usually make them :) Enjoy! ************************************************************************************************************************************** Ruth Bindle stared through the windshield and ground her teeth. Carter Worthington balanced easily on his crutches on the sidewalk, chatting with friends as if he had all the time in the world, not like Ruth was waiting to drive him home out of the goodness of her heart. After another minute, Ruth punched the horn impatiently. Carter lazily turned his head toward her and rolled his eyes. Looking back at his friends, he said something that Ruth couldn’t hear, but she was sure it was nothing complimentary. He paused to listen to their laughter a moment too long, just to show Ruth that she couldn’t order him around, then hopped over to the car and opened the door. “What’s the rush, Bindle?” Carter smirked. “We both know you don’t have any social engagements to get to.” Ruth sniffed haughtily as she put the car in drive. “I have to drop my acceptance response to Dartmouth at the post office. If I want to get it out today, we have to get there by 3:30.” Carter cringed ever so slightly. “You gonna drop me off first?” “Not since you kept me waiting, no. The post office is on the other side of town; if I take you back, I might not make it in time.” Carter shifted in his seat. “Fine. Just make it fast.” Ruth glared in his direction, but didn’t say anything. She knew plenty of girls would relish the chance to drive Carter around, but Ruth had the misfortune of living next door to him. Their mothers were old friends, so when Carter had totaled his car 3 weeks prior, it was never seriously considered that anyone else would drive him to and from school. Carter’s accident had been way worse than his current blasé attitude would indicate. He’s spun out on some late-January black ice while driving home from grabbing dinner after basketball practice, wrapping his Benz around a utility pole. Despite a broken ankle, three fractured ribs, multiple facial lacerations, and a concussion resulting in a 3-day coma, Carter somehow managed to return to school just as much of an arrogant prick as ever. Ruth had worried about Carter while he was in the hospital. Though they all but avoided each other now, they’d grown up together, attending the same schools their entire lives. She’d even considered pitying him when he hobbled out his front door earlier that day to return to school for the first time since the accident, his face still marred with scabs and bruises, his crutch-aided gait far more awkward than his typical athletic saunter. But then, he’d slid into the car without so much as a “Thanks for doing this,” instead opting for a caustic remark about her hairstyle, and Ruth concluded that she didn’t feel bad for him at all. She only hoped that his leg healed and the insurance check came through before she had to spend too much time with him. Now, later that afternoon, Carter sat in the passenger seat, earbuds in, deliberately not looking at Ruth. Though, Ruth thought, sneaking a glance in his direction, “sat” was a bit of an overstatement. Carter was shifting back and forth, constantly adjusting position. Ruth wondered how long it had been since Carter had been a passenger in someone else’s car instead of driving himself. Of course, Carter’s discomfort had nothing to do with his place on the right side of the car. He had to pee. Carter’s first day back at school had gone about as well as he would have hoped for. Teachers went easy on him, their eyes full of sympathy at each glimpse of his yet-unhealed face. Girls leaned in eagerly at the lunch table to hear his every description of the accident, and his teammates were more than willing to help carry his books and help him get around. But there had been one part of the day that Carter hadn’t planned on. How was he going to use the bathroom? He didn’t have the balance yet to stand at the urinal, and situating himself in the stall would likely take more time than the break between classes would allow. And he wouldn’t even consider letting his friends help with that. So here he sat, in Ruth’s car, trying not to squirm too noticeably. He was sure he could make it until she took him home, but it wasn’t going to be an easy trip. Ruth and Carter remained determinedly silent as they made their way across town to the post office. Ruth didn’t say a word as she opened the door to run her acceptance letter into the branch, but she did leave the car running so Carter wouldn’t freeze in the cold February afternoon. Carter took advantage of her absence to grasp at his crotch. He still wasn’t quite at his limit, but the cast on his right leg prevented him from sitting in a position sufficient for holding. He squeezed himself for a few moments, adding a sense of control to his bladder to get him through the rest of the ride home. Ruth returned in a minute, still silent as she pulled out of the parking lot. She was no longer paying any attention to Carter whatsoever, so she didn’t notice when his breathing increased. Carter’s heart rate had spiked as soon as Ruth had turned out of the post office. She had turned left. Left could only mean one thing. The route she was taking back to their street would take him past the spot of his accident, a road he hadn’t driven down since the crash. The buildings along the road blurred together as Carter’s eyes unexpectedly filled with tears. He unconsciously gripped the armrest, his knuckles white. They were only minutes away. A low whine escaped from Carter’s throat. Misinterpreting the sound, Ruth scoffed. “For God’s sake, Carter, you’ll get home 15 minutes later than you expected. Relax.” Carter barely heard her. The site of his crash was less than a half mile ahead, and his mind flooded with images from that night. The snow. The streetlights. The spin-out… “No…” Carter whimpered, “No no no…” Stunned by the fear in Carter’s voice, Ruth snapped her head around to look at him, and was greeted with the sight of Carter’s pale, sweaty form, clutching desperately at his seat belt, eyes squeezed shut. “Shit!” Ruth cried, pulling into a strip mall just past the location of Carter’s accident. She threw the car into park and turned toward her classmate. “Carter!” she called, trying to urge him back to reality. “Carter!” But Carter was too far gone, lost in all-to-real images of his car revolving out of control, slamming into the utility pole – the screeching tires, the splintering wood, the crunching metal. Ruth grimaced worriedly. “Come on, man,” she pleaded. Still clinging to his seat belt, pressing his body against the seat, Carter didn’t open his eyes. “No no no…” he trembled. “Carter, it’s OK, you’re…” Ruth’s voice broke off with a gasp as she stared at her passenger. A dark stain had blossomed on Carter’s lap, spreading outward across the crotch of his gray sweatpants. He wasn’t just having a panic attack; he was actually peeing his pants. Floored and flustered by the sight of an 18-year-old boy having an accident in front of her, Ruth straightened. Then, without a second thought, reached out and slapped Carter across the face. Carter yelped at the contact, shuddering with shock. He turned to glare at Ruth, but was stopped with a sudden awareness of his surroundings. He was in Ruth’s car, not his own. The car was stopped, not spinning. It was light outside, not dark. And he was peeing in the seat. Carter inhaled sharply, but was powerless to stop the ill-timed release of his bladder. Still shaking with residual adrenaline from the flashback, his muscles wouldn’t respond to his mind’s desperate pleas to stop the accident. He couldn’t so much as move his legs together; all he could do was watch helplessly as he soaked through pants, urine seeping into the fabric beneath his legs. Ruth could do nothing but watch in astonishment as Carter Worthington, athletic god of their high school, continued to wet himself all over the seat of her car. Head down, Carter’s breathing and heart rate finally slowed in time with the diminishing trickle in his lap. For a moment, the car was utterly silent. Ruth let out a deep breath, releasing the worry and utter shock of the past few minutes. “Are you…” “Fine,” Carter snapped, trying to mask his mortification. Ruth clenched her jaw and shifted the car into drive. “Fine, then.” Carter finally let go of his seat belt, fruitlessly trying to regain some semblance of dignity. He forced a smirk, glancing sideways at Ruth. “I bet you’re loving this,” he sneered, forcing back a tremor in his voice. “You can add ‘nurse for the pitiful injured’ to your list of community service activities.” At these words, Ruth slammed in the breaks, stopping before they were out of the parking lot. “Oooooo-kay,” she hissed, squaring her shoulders. “Let’s get one thing straight.” She glowered at Carter, whose cheeks flushed with frustration and embarrassment. “I am not enjoying one second of this,” Ruth continued venomously. “If I had my way, I wouldn’t have to so much as see the back of your head until graduation. I’m not loving having to drive you around, I’m not loving your snarky, ungrateful insults. I can’t. Fucking. Stand you,” she clipped out, punctuating each word with a pointed finger. “You’re a terrible, selfish person. I thought that having a near-death experience would have given you perspective, but no. You’re still just as much of an asshole as you were before!” Carter grunted, but couldn’t think of a response. He was acutely aware of the weight of his mess, pressing down on his legs. “I’m sure you have no concept of the idea of human decency, but I agreed to drive you because it’s the right fucking thing to do,” Ruth ranted. “It makes things easy on your parents, and it’s not physically any burden on me. Mentally, though…” she fumed. “Point taken, Bindle,” Carter interrupted darkly. “Save your feminist rants for the debate team. I just want to get home.” “Gladly,” Ruth snapped. Both teens, unbeknownst to each other, trembled on the drive home: Ruth, with indignant frustration at Carter’s presumption, and Carter with anxious humiliation. As she reached Carter’s house, Ruth turned into his driveway rather than stopping in front, as she had that morning. “What are you doing?” Carter asked, mildly incredulous. Ruth rolled her eyes exaggeratedly. “I’m pulling around to the back, so you don’t have to go up the front path where everyone can see.” Her expression was annoyed, but her tone was gentler than it had been so far. Carter flushed at the unexpected kindness as Ruth parked behind his house. He grabbed his crutches, but didn’t reach for the door. He inhaled deeply. “I do it on purpose,” he mumbled. Eyebrows raised, Ruth looked quizzically in his direction, glancing down at the wet stain on his pants. “You…what?” Carter followed her gaze and his cheeks darkened even further. “No, not…” he stammered. He breathed again, trying to steady himself. “Being an asshole. I do it on purpose.” Ruth kept her face skeptical. “So you deliberately treat people horribly?” Carter tensed defensively. “Yes, Bindle,” he muttered. Part of Ruth really didn’t want to let the conversation continue, but her curiosity at Carter’s admission won out. “Why?” Carter sighed sharply, annoyed that Ruth didn’t seem to understand. “Because!” he cried, “It’s all I have left.” Ruth rolled her eyes again at this apparent exaggeration. “You’re right, Carter. All you have in this world is your shitty attitude,” she remarked, dripping with sarcasm. “Damnit, Ruth!” Carter snapped. Ruth blinked; it had been years since he’d used her first name. “I lost a lot in that crash! I lost my car, I can’t play basketball, I might not be able to play baseball in the spring, which means I’m not hanging out with my teammates after school…” he trailed off, unable to keep projecting his fear as anger. “So I hang on to, you know, how I acted before,” he went on, softly. “So I can pretend that not everything has changed. So no one treats me like everything changed. I still act like a…” “Arrogant prick?” Ruth supplied. “I was gonna say jerk, but thanks for the vocabulary,” Carter grumbled. Ruth exhaled slowly, closing her eyes to gather her thoughts. Carter’s explanation made sense, but she didn’t want to get sucked into pitying a guy who treated her (and plenty of other people) like crap, no matter his excuse. “Whatever, Carter. I can handle it.” she replied. Carter slumped forward. He wasn’t sure what he had expected from Ruth, but he wasn’t a share-your-feelings type of guy, so he’d kind of hoped for a more sympathetic response. “Yeah, well…” he gulped. “I’m sorry for…you know…” he looked again at the large, dark patch on his pants, blushing. Ruth softened slightly at this partial apology. “Don’t worry about it,” she responded. “You were obviously having a flashback of some sort. I didn’t think before driving you past where you crashed. I’m sure it was just a one-time thing.” To Ruth’s dismay, Carter shivered noticeably. He pressed his lips together, hot tears filling his eyes. “It’s…it’s not…” he whimpered shakily. “Carter?” Under other circumstances, Ruth would have been far more skeptical of his reaction, but she didn’t think Carter was near a good enough actor to fake the trembling chin he had now. “It was just an accident…right?” Bright red spots stood out on Carter’s pale cheeks. “I…when I was…” he took a deep breath, not entirely sure of why he was still talking. “After I woke up in the hospital,” he began, “I wanted to prove that I was fine, that I could just go home. So one day, when my parents weren’t there, I had to…” Carter seemed unable to utter any words that directly related to urination, not with his own piss still soaked into the pants he was wearing. “I thought it would be fine, so I got up and tried to walk to the bathroom.” Ruth didn’t interrupt; she just stared at Carter, incredulous that he was still talking. “But I got dizzy,” Carter continued, face still red. “And I slid down against the wall.” He stopped, keeping his eyes down. “Couldn’t…” Ruth murmured, captivated by this show of vulnerability. “Couldn’t you call one of the nurses?” Carter shook his head slightly. “They heard me fall, but by the time they got in the room, I was already…” A tear slipped down his cheek at the humiliating memory. He cleared his throat forcefully. “So they just…waited for me to…and then helped clean me up,” he finished, trailing off into a whisper. “Carter…” Ruth spoke softly, understanding how belittling it must feel for someone like Carter to wet himself in front of people. “I know it’s embarrassing, but the first time, you had just woken up from a terrible car crash. And this time, you weren’t even really aware. It was like a panic attack or something.” She looked at Carter earnestly. “You’re already getting better physically, and you’ll learn to deal with driving down that road. This isn’t something you have to worry about.” Carter’s face fell even further, crumpling into near-sobs. He knew Ruth was trying to help, but she still didn’t know the whole story. In for a penny… “I wet the bed,” he mumbled. “Almost every night since the crash.” Ruth barely recognized the slouched, tear-stained young man sitting next to her. Maybe the crash had affected Carter more than she admitted. “Hey,” she spoke soothingly. “Carter…” She started to reach for him, but held back. “It’ll be OK,” she insisted. “Remember, you’re only three weeks out from a life-threatening set of injuries. You’re bound to have some psychological wounds, too, but those will heal, just like your ankle and your ribs and the cut on your face.” Carter shrugged, unsure of how to conclude this wildly uncomfortable conversation he’d started. Ruth sighed. “Look,” she said pointedly. “I’m not gonna pretend that I can fix this for you, or that I particularly relish the idea of helping you.” Carter snorted. “So glad we’re having this talk, then.” “But I understand how hard this must be for you,” Ruth continued, ignoring him. “So, in acknowledgement that you have quite enough to be dealing with for the time being, I hereby promise not to yell at you for your attitude. You can be a dick to me as much as you want, if that makes you feel better.” It was an unconventional gift, but Carter looked up shyly. “And you…” he hesitated. “You won’t…” Ruth’s face was a mix of exasperation and amusement. “Of course I won’t tell anyone,” she promised softly. “I’m a decent human being, remember?” Carter tried to smile in return, but the combination of his flashbacks and his accident proved too exhausting. He reached for the door and clambered his way out of the car. “I’ll come over later to clean…” Ruth waved him off. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll wipe down the seat myself.” Blushing, Carter nodded. “Thanks, Bindle.” Positioning his backpack and crutches, he hobbled to the backdoor, drained but impatient to change out of his wet, sticky clothes. Ruth watched him close the door, then sighed heavily as she turned the car around. She didn’t trust Carter’s gratefulness to last very long, but she intended to keep her promise of enduring any insults and attitude without complaint. It wasn’t like she expected them to become best friends after this or anything; Carter was probably going to go right back to acting like she didn’t exist, doing his best to act like this afternoon had never happened. And Ruth didn’t really mind. Because she would always have the memory of Carter Worthington, wetting his pants, right in front of her.
  10. bazinga

    malefemale Accidents

    There is nothing worse than being desperate to pee when in a bus with two million people after a camping trip. Okay, maybe not two million. But still, Callum knows that being in a bus with his campmates with his situation is really bad. He's been holding his pee for a little over an hour now, and his need has steadily increased to the point where he just can't stop fidgeting. He bites his nails and squirms in his seat, trying to alleviate the need to release his bladder. His thighs are trembling and he squeezes his muscles constantly. He can hold it though. He's a sixteen year old teenage boy - he has to hold it. "Are you okay?" Callum hears someone say, and he flinches. "Woah dude, chill." It's Liam, one of the young camp counselors. "You don't look so good." "I'm fine," Callum squeaks, willing his legs to stop trembling. He doesn't want to seem weak in front of Liam, he's 19. "My stomach just hurts a little." That's not a complete lie. His abdomen is throbbing and aching and all Callum wants to do is pee, goddammit. "Whatever you say, Cal." Liam says, popping a piece of gum into his mouth. Callum curls in on himself and puts his earphones in, hoping that the sound of music in his ears is enough to get him to fall asleep and lessen the desperation even just for a little while. - When Callum wakes up, he notices two things. One, his need to pee has worsened, and he finds himself discreetly squeezing his crotch - And two, the bus has stopped moving. His breathing rate increases. "Liam?" He squeaks, removing his hand from his crotch and tapping his shoulder. "What's going on?" "There was an accident a few miles away. A bus kinda toppled over, so now the streets are blocked." Liam replies, looking at his phone. Oh no, Callum thinks. This is not good. This is not good at all. He looks out the window, and sure enough, there are piles and piles of cars in front and behind the bus, and they're stuck on the middle of the highway. Even if Callum decided to man up and tell the driver to pull over, he wouldn't be able to. He had no options. He had to hold it in. "Dude, you're like, really pale," Liam says, rubbing Callum's back. "Do you feel sick? Do you need a plastic bag or something?" "No," Callum manages to gasp out, squirming heavily. He feels himself leak a little and tears well up in his eyes a bit. He knows he has to tell someone soon. "I just - I just really really really need to pee like I've been holding it for so long and I feel like I'm gonna pee my pants and I'm so embarrassed and-" "Hey!" Liam continues rubbing Callum's back. "You're okay. Just breathe." He does. He breathes heavily for a minute before a huge wave of desperation hits him and he is forced to double over and squeeze his crotch with both of his hands. He leaks a bit more and looks at Liam with wide, tearful eyes. "Liam I really need to bathroom," he says (as if it wasn't obvious enough). "Please please please do something I don't wanna have an accident-" "Okay. Breathe." Liam repeats, trying to calm him down. "Can you hold it?" "Not for much longer," Callum whimpers, trying to stop himself from leaking any more. "I'm going to talk to the driver, okay?" Liam asks, and Callum nods. While Liam talks to the driver, Callum does the most animated "potty dance" in his seat. He crosses his legs, squeezes his thighs, then crosses them the other way. He squirms and digs his lower body in his seat while bouncing his legs up and down. His hands are permanently squeezing his crotch, and the tears in his eyes threaten to spill over. He feels mortified, and all he's focused on is getting to a toilet. And fast. "Cal?" Callum's head snaps up and he find himself looking at Liam's disappointed face. "There's really nothing he can do," he says, rubbing the back of his head. "There are no places to pull over. But the traffic is speeding up, and we'll be back in around twenty to thirty minutes. Do you think you can make it?" Callum nods, trying to preserve some of his dignity, but to be completely honest, he's not even sure if he'll make it in five minutes. "Okay, you're okay kiddo. Try to distract yourself." Liam says. - Ten minutes later, Callum is more desperate than ever. He can't stop fidgeting and shaking and whimpering and squirming and oh god he's so embarrassed. He's glad he's seated at the back, but he doesn't think he can handle this anymore. "Liam I need the bathroom," he keeps whispering. "I know, kiddo. I know." Liam doesn't know what to do at this point honestly - he feels bad for Callum. He rubs his back, trying to calm him down. He keeps comforting him until fifteen minutes later, he feels the bus begin to slow down. "Cal, we're at a gas station. Can you stand?" Liam asks softly. Callum looks up, his eyes shiny and wide. His hands are in between his legs and he slowly shakes his head. "I think I'm gonna have an accident." He whimpers. "Shh, it's okay. C'mere," Liam offers his help by helping him stand up and Callum removes one hand from his pants and ties his jacket around his waist. They rush out of the bus (Callum waddles) as quick as they can, avoiding the knowing glares from the other kids on the bus. Callum stops occasionally to cross his legs, and Liam gets a sick feeling in his stomach because Callum might not make it. Liam's right. Callum stumbles on his own feet roughly thirty seconds after, and he doesn't get up. Liam rushes over to him, and he already hears the loud sound of a sixteen year old's bladder being released and the sound of gasps coming from the kids who are watching them. Callum feels humiliated. His jeans are beginning to chafe and he hasn't even stopped going - his bladder is screaming for relief and it hurts. 2 minutes later, his stream slows down, then it stops - and Callum promptly bursts into tears. "Get inside. All of you." He hears the other camp counselors say to his campmates and Callum wants to throw up. He feels a hand rub his shoulder and he cries even more, embarrassed beyond anything. "Shh, you're okay, Cal. Just breathe. One of the other counselors is getting your clothes, okay? Don't worry. You'll be fine." Liam continues to say soothing words to the distraught teen until his sobs begin to subside into small whimpers and sniffles. "'M wet," Callum mumbles, voice shaky. Liam lifts him up from under his armpits and places his arm around him. "Let's go to the bathroom." They do. Callum's jacket and entire lower body is soaked - so when the other counselor brings his bags in, he has to change everything. Even his shirt got kinda wet. After he changes, they go out. He honestly feels completely mortified. He feels like he's never going to live this down, he's a high schooler, for crying out loud. He sees the bus and barely registers the tears running down his cheeks and the arms around him again. "Callum, breathe, please? You need to calm down. Don't worry, okay? No one's gonna laugh at you. It's not your fault." Liam rubs his arm, trying to get his breathing steady. "It's okay." Callum nods. He gets back on the bus and sleeps the rest of the way back, his head on Liam's shoulder. He feels absolutely humiliated, but he realizes that this situation could've been worse without any help. He feels okay after that. • hey there this is my first time ever writing omo fics so pls be gentle :):):)
  11. Sapphire3619

    malefemale The Spirit of Christmas

    Happy holidays! I came up with a vaguely Christmas-related story; it is cheesy and corny and all other means of food-related adjectives :) Enjoy! ******************************* Grayson flinched at the loud knock on his bedroom door. “Get up!” Colonel Martin Buford, Grayson’s maternal grandfather, shouted through the door. “It’s almost time to go to church!” Without hesitating, Grayson leapt from his bed to get dressed. He knew by now that the Colonel didn’t tolerate dawdling. Grayson squirmed a bit as he pulled on his lone, black suit. He had to pee. Maybe, if he got dressed quickly enough, he’d have time to use the bathroom before they left for the Christmas Eve late-night service. It had been nearly 10 months since Grayson, now 16, had moved in with his grandparents, Martin and Regina. Grayson hadn’t been overly familiar with the Bufords, but his father wasn’t in the picture, so after his mother died, her parents became Grayson’s legal guardians. Grayson swallowed hard as he thought about his mom. Katrina Buford had raised Grayson on her own for his entire life. Her parents didn’t approve of their youngest daughter’s “lifestyle choices” (that is, getting pregnant out of wedlock) and, therefore, didn’t make much of an effort to be part of their youngest grandson’s life. Such seclusion from her parents didn’t seem to bother Katrina too much. She had a good job and good friends, and Grayson had been an easy baby who grew into a sweet, joyful young man. But just after Grayson’s 14th birthday, Katrina found a lump in her breast. She fought the disease for over a year and a half before slipping away on a cold March afternoon, holding Grayson’s hand. Grayson had been devastated, of course, but Katrina had worked hard to prepare him for life without her, and he was determined to make her proud. With his naturally cheerful and friendly disposition, he was sure he could work out living with his grandparents. It didn’t take long for Grayson to realize that cheer and friendliness were not valued traits in the Buford household. Martin, who insisted on being addressed as “Sir” or “Colonel,” had no patience for any kind of glee or revelry. He ran his household with ingrained, militaristic precision. Lateness, excessive noise, and any form of untidiness were not tolerated. The introduction of a teenage boy into Martin’s carefully controlled life was a wildly unwelcome intrusion. While Regina had learned long ago how to seamlessly adhere to the Colonel’s expectations, Grayson had no such lessons. Grayson had spent a few weeks trying to be helpful and pleasant, but the Colonel repeatedly rebuffed Grayson’s attempts at building a relationship. Soon enough, Grayson figured out that it was best to just remain unseen, and he started keeping to his room as much as possible. Now, dressed in the same suit he’d worn to his mother’s funeral (the Colonel insisted on their best clothes for Christmas services), Grayson opened the bedroom door and went downstairs. He could feel pangs coming from his bladder, and he prepared to ask the Colonel for permission to use the bathroom before they left. Martin and Regina were waiting at the foot of the stairs. The Colonel was, naturally, wearing his old yet immaculately-kept dress uniform. “You forget how to fasten buttons, boy?” Martin grumbled. Grayson flushed and looked down at his suit jacket. “No, sir.” “Then I don’t know what took you so damn long,” the Colonel huffed. “Get in the car.” Flinching, Grayson hung his head and trudged behind his grandfather. He wasn’t sure why they had to leave two hours before the service started, but he knew better than to argue. Grayson squirmed in the backseat of the car, trying not to make too much noise. Despite all his attempts to be functionally invisible over the past months, the Colonel had only grown angrier. It was as if Grayson’s mere existence infuriated him, and the initial grunt and orders had morphed into screams, belittlement, and the occasional smack. When they reached the church door, Grayson cleared his throat. “Sir?” he asked anxiously. “May I…may I use the restroom, please?” The Colonel’s eyes darkened. “We are in church, young man,” he declared darkly. “This is a place of prayer. You will join us in the pew, and you will pray. I suggest asking the Lord for forgiveness and asking Him for strength to grow into a true man of God.” Grayson could do nothing but nod. “Yes, sir,” he replied softly. The Colonel turned on his heel, and Grayson gloomily followed him to a pew near the altar. Grabbing Grayson’s arm, Martin steered the boy into the pew between himself and Regina, leaving no room for escape. Grayson bit his lip as he sat, clenching his thigh muscles slightly. The Colonel and Regina both bowed their heads in prayer. Grayson followed his example, but his only prayer was that he could make it the 3 hours until the end of the service without wetting himself. Over the next 2 hours, Grayson’s bladder slowly filled, and so did the church. The extended Buford family – Grayson’s aunts, uncles, and older cousins – filled the rest of the pew to his left. Though the Colonel didn’t exactly encourage familial closeness, he had long insisted on family attendance at church services. Most of his 4 older children and their children led their own lives, barely interacting with the Colonel, but they still showed up for late-night service on Christmas Eve. At the very end of the first pew sat Carl, Grayson’s oldest cousin, and his wife Tiffany. Despite his grandfather’s humorless example, Carl had attended West Point and entered the Army, eventually attaining the rank of Major General. He and Tiffany had no children of their own, but it still tugged at Carl’s heart to see Grayson shifting uncomfortably in the pew, sandwiched closely between Martin and Regina. Grayson really was trying not to squirm. Out of everything he did wrong (and it really seem like everything he did was wrong to the Colonel), public display of desperation had to be the worst. For some reason, any seemingly improper bathroom habits enraged Martin. A week after moving into the Buford’s well-kept home, Grayson had had a nightmare about his mother and ended up wetting the bed. Grayson shuddered at the memory, made all the more potent by the volume of urine currently straining his bladder. He had apologized, of course, and was already cleaning the mess himself, but the Colonel had been livid. It was the first time Martin had truly scream at Grayson, calling him every variation of weak and useless under the sun. Grayson had been crushed. He’d secretly hoped for – needed, really – someone to comfort him and tell him it was OK. Instead, the Colonel had shouted until his face turned purple, telling Grayson in no uncertain terms just how repulsive he found the boy. After that morning, the Colonel imposed strict bathroom rules. Though Grayson tried his best to control his bladder, making the most of the comparatively free restroom access at school, the rigid rules and schedule caused a few more accidents, both at night and during the day, each one leading to greater wrath from the Colonel. Now, sitting on the old, wooden pew, Grayson wanted nothing more than to avoid such a scene. He didn’t even want to think about irate the Colonel would be if Grayson lost control in church. After two long hours, the lights dimmed and the service began. Grayson could barely pay attention; his bladder ached, and it took all his focus to keep from holding himself openly. Though the Colonel gave every appearance of paying complete attention to the minister, he was keeping a close eye on his fidgeting grandson. Grayson’s eyes watered with effort as the service went on. Beads of sweat crept down his back, but he was determined to hold on. The minutes seemed like hours; he could feel small leaks seeping into his underwear, almost by osmosis through his desperately clenched thighs. Forty-five minutes into the service, the ushers handed out thin, white candles. The lights went out completely, and congregants gradually passed the flame along, slowly lighting each person’s candle. Grayson’s hand shook as he accepted the light from the Colonel, then turned to pass it to Regina. He could feel his bladder on the very brink of exploding. At the minister’s gesture, the congregation rose to their feet. Grayson inhaled sharply; he was certain he couldn’t withstand a change in position. From his own standing position, the Colonel poked Grayson sharply, glaring daggers, signaling his irrefutable order to the young man. Grayson bit his lower lip hard, trying unsuccessfully to stop it from trembling. The candle was flickering wildly in his hand. He clenched his thigh muscles painfully as he slowly rose to his feet, but it wasn’t enough. The combination of gravity and uncrossed legs was too much for his taxed bladder, and Grayson started to leak copiously. Tears filled his downcast eyes. He tried to squeeze his legs together, but he couldn’t stop a trickle from making its way down his leg. The Colonel stared daggers, the muscles in his jaw rippling with rage. Grayson tried with all his might to stay still and stand up straight, but the tiny stream of urine started to pool on the hard floor. The dancing points of candlelight reflected off the liquid. Eyes blazing, the Colonel snatched Grayson by the arm. With a speed and ferocity that belied his age, he dragged the shaking teen down the aisle of the church and out to the lobby. As soon as the doors closed behind them, Martin threw Grayson sideways. The young man stumbled, but kept his feet. “What the hell are you thinking, boy?” Martin hissed. Grayson tried to stand at attention, but couldn’t find his voice to answer. He’d managed to stop the flow of piss, but he knew it wasn’t for long. The Colonel took a menacing step toward the shivering boy. “I said,” he grumbled. “What the hell are you thinking?” Grayson opened his mouth to attempt an answer, but was stopped by the back of the Colonel’s hand flying across his face with a resounding crack. Gasping audibly, Grayson’s head was whipped aside with the force of the smack. Before he had time to recover, the Colonel grabbed him by the lapels and pulled him in close. “You think you can embarrass me in front of my church community?” Martin’s voice was all the more terrifying for its lack of volume. “You think you can besmirch the house of the Lord?” “N-no, sir…” Grayson whispered, but Martin wasn’t looking for an answer. “You pissed yourself like a damned infant!” Martin growled, spraying Grayson with saliva. “I’ve had it with you and your insubordinate delinquency!” With a grumble, the Colonel shoved Grayson violently against the wall. The impact momentarily stunned Grayson, who lost another leak down his leg. Martin didn’t notice, though; he had drawn back his hand, preparing to strike his grandson yet again. Grayson’s eyes widened in fear, but he didn’t move. Suddenly, a large hand wrapped firmly around the Colonel’s wrist. “That’s enough, Martin,” Carl’s voice was gravelly and firm. He kept a tight grip on his grandfather’s arm as he locked stares with the old man. “What do you think you’re doing?” Martin snarled. “This isn’t your business.” Carl stared back, radiating quiet rage. “You will not lay another hand on that boy.” “I am his legal guardian,” Martin snapped. “You are guilty of child abuse,” Carl seethed in response. “He’s not yours anymore.” Still shaking with fear and the effort of holding, Grayson gazed in awe at the stare-down between his grandfather and his cousin. “What are you going to do about it?” The Colonel was saying, his wrist still locked in Carl’s grip. “You can’t take him. I’ll stop you.” The barest of smiles flitted across Carl’s face. “You won’t, Colonel. I’m willing to fight for this kid, and you know you can’t physically beat me. And we both know that your claim won’t hold up in court against evidence of abuse. And," he added, a bit brutally, "I outrank you." Martin glared fiercely and grunted in reply. “Go back inside, old man,” Carl growled, finally releasing his hold on Martin’s arm. “We’re done here.” With one final harrumph, the Colonel turned on his heel and strode back through the lobby doors. Carl sighed in relief and turned back to his cousin. Grayson was still pressed against the wall, quivering. “Grayson?” Carl began gently. “Are you OK? Did he hurt you?” “No,” Grayson whispered, not meeting Carl’s eyes. The Colonel wouldn’t let him use the restroom, but maybe, just maybe, Carl would… “P-please, sir,” Grayson stammered softly. “May I-“ “Oh, Grayson,” Carl interrupted sadly. “You don’t have to call me sir. I know I’m in uniform, but I’m not like…” Carl’s voice trailed off at the sound of a defeated whimper from Grayson. “Kid?” It was too late. Grayson had held on too long, and the physical and emotional stress of the night was too much for him. Almost as soon as Carl started speaking, Grayson’s body gave out and he started wetting with abandon. Urine quickly soaked through his pants and fell to the ground, pooling on the tile floor with a soft yet humiliating patter. “Carl? Sweetie?” Tiffany’s voice sounded through the lobby. After seeing the Colonel return to their pew alone, Tiffany had slipped out to find her husband. She saw Carl standing in front of Grayson, who was crying silently. “Hey!” Tiffany breathed as she reached Carl’s side. “Grayson…” But she, too, trailed off as she recognized what was happening. “Oh, honey,” Tiffany murmured, utterly heartbroken at the sight of the sniffling teenager having an accident in front of her. Grayson wanted to sink through the wall and disappear. He was making a mess and breaking the rules, and after Carl had been so nice and stopped the Colonel from hitting him… Warm liquid continued to soak down both legs of Grayson’s ill-fitting suit pants. It briefly occurred to him that he should try to stop the flow, but his body simply wouldn’t respond, so he just kept wetting onto the floor. Tiffany clutched her husband’s hand, horrified at what she was seeing. Neither of them could imagine what terrors the Colonel had inflicted on the teen to lead to this point. The three stood in pained silence for over a minute until the faint trickling sound finally stopped. His accident was finished, but tears kept pouring down Grayson’s face. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, still not quite able to move. “I didn’t want to…” Carl and Tiffany exchanged a glance. “Grayson, honey,” Tiffany said gently. “Why don’t you go to the restroom and get cleaned up?” “I…”Grayson’s voice squeaked. “I don’t have any clean clothes,” he continued miserably. Tiffany drew in a long breath, thinking rapidly. “OK.” She turned to Carl. “Honey, can you go out to the car and get the blanket from the trunk? We don’t have any clothes for you to wear,” she explained to Grayson, “but we keep a big blanket in the trunk. You can wrap yourself in that.” Both Carl and Grayson nodded. Carl pulled the keys from his pocket and headed out to the parking lot; Grayson didn’t move. “Here, sweetie,” Tiffany lightly touched Grayson’s arm. “Why don’t you go to the bathroom, and you can clean up a bit while Carl gets the blanket? I’ll go back inside and grab our things from the pew.” She started toward the lobby doors, but was stopped by a plaintive mewl from Grayson. Turning back around, she saw Grayson’s lip trembling. “Honey?” For the first time, Grayson raised his eyes, looking pleadingly at Tiffany. In his gaze, Tiffany read all the confusion and fear of a young man who had lost all trust in adults, who had no one truly take care of him in far too long. “OK!” she soothed, reaching for her young cousin. “I’m not going anywhere.” She placed her hand on Grayson’s shoulder, guiding him toward the restroom. “I’m right here,” she murmured as they walked. “I’ll stay with you.” Grayson felt like he was crumbling from the inside. His eyes were filled with tears, but it was only with great effort that he kept from completely breaking down into devastated sobs. His head was in a fog; he knew Tiffany was talking, but her voice was little more than an unintelligible buzz. They reached the family restroom, and Tiffany opened the door. “You take off your wet things and I’ll hand the blanket through the door when Carl gets back,” she instructed calmly. Grayson nodded pathetically and closed the bathroom door behind him. Tiffany exhaled deeply, leaning against the wall. After a minute, Carl returned with the giant, fleece blanket from their car, along with a plastic bag. “Is he in there?” Carl inclined his head toward the bathroom, a bit needlessly. Tiffany nodded. “I was going to get our stuff from inside, but he didn’t seem to want me to leave him.” Taking the blanket from Carl, she knocked gently on the bathroom door. Grayson’s hand reached out to grab the fleece and bag. The door shut again, and Tiffany drew her eyebrows together. “Carl, what happened to this kid?” Carl shook his head slowly. “Before you came out, I stopped Martin from hitting him.” Tiffany winced sympathetically. “If he’s whaling on him in church, I can’t imagine what he does at home,” Carl continued sadly. He looked down at his wife beseechingly, but she was already on board. “Of course he can come home with us,” Tiffany agreed before Carl could ask. “I know we can’t let him spend another minute with the Colonel.” Carl let out a relieved sigh. “Thanks, baby.” Nodding, Tiffany started planning the logistics. “He’ll sleep in the guest room, of course. You’re bigger than he is, but I’m sure we have enough sweats and t-shirts to tide him over until you can pick up his stuff from Martin and Regina’s.” Carl leaned down and kissed his wife’s forehead. “You’re the best!” At that moment, the bathroom door clicked open. Grayson slouched in the doorway, clutching the blanket around him with one hand and holding the plastic bag, now full of his soiled pants, in the other. “Grayson?” Carl cleared his throat. Grayson flinched, and Carl’s heart broke. “Are you ready to go?” Grayson’s shoulders slumped even more. He barely nodded and turned silently toward the doors leading back into the church. He couldn’t even imagine how the Colonel would react to him walking into church, pantsless, wrapped in a blanket, but Grayson didn’t know what a viable alternative would be. “Oh, honey, no!” Tiffany cried, reaching out to him. Grayson stopped, bowing his head in apologetic reflex. “You don’t have to go back inside,” Carl explained. “Not if you don’t want to. Tiff and I…you can come home with us.” Grayson raised his eyes, blinking in confusion. “We don’t…” Tiffany’s voice was thick with emotion. “We can’t send you back to Martin if we can help it. We have plenty of room at our place, and we’d love to have you.” Lip trembling, Grayson tried to make sense of what they were saying. He didn’t have to go back with the Colonel? He wasn’t getting in trouble? He didn’t know how it would work, and surely Carl and Tiffany wouldn’t be willing to keep a teenager until he went to college, but…even for tonight… “We want to make sure you’re safe,” Carl pleaded over Grayson’s silent contemplation. “I’m sorry I didn’t do anything until now, but we’ll make it up to you, I promise. Please, Grayson.” The word “please” shattered whatever was left of Grayson’s battered self-control. With a muted, broken sob, he took a step forward and crumpled into Tiffany’s waiting arms, weeping with relief and exhaustion. Tiffany held the shaking teen tightly, rubbing his back and whispering soothing words in his ear. Confident that the situation was under control, Carl quickly stole back into the church to grab his and Tiffany’s things. Coats in hand, Carl and Tiffany walked Grayson out to the parking lot, supporting him from either side. Thoroughly drained, Grayson could barely keep his eyes open. He all but collapsed in the back seat of Carl’s car, clutching the blanket around his half-naked form. Brushing a light dusting of snow off the windshield, Carl climbed in the driver’s seat. Tiffany squeezed his hand, reassuring him that they were making the right choice. As Carl pulled out of the church parking lot, he heard the bells in the tower start to chime midnight. It was Christmas Day.
  12. facade

    A Night to Remember: Part 2

    A Night to Remember: Part 2 For the moment, I was alone in Haley’s room. The muffled sound of her urinating came from the background as I lay on the bed with my head wedged between the pillows, collecting my thoughts. Did I actually… love her? I mean, of course I love my best friend, but was it more than that? No, I just really like her, it’s only a crush. I shouldn’t have these feelings for her, they’re going to ruin our friendship! ...She doesn’t even like girls like that… does she? No, I can’t tell her. Not yet. Not until I figured out how I really feel. No point in risking it. All of these thoughts were running through my mind in rapid succession when suddenly, I heard the door open behind me. I knew it was Haley coming out of the bathroom and I turned over to face her. She looked extremely relieved. For obvious reasons, of course. She also had the laundry basket in her arms, the one I had put my dirty clothes in before I took a shower. “We should probably wash these clothes tonight.” “Yeah...” I nodded with an embarrassed smile. Haley stood at the foot of the bed as I rolled over from laying on my stomach and scooted towards her. “Weren’t you wanting to tell me something?” She reminded me as I sat on the edge of the bed. I crossed my arms over my stomach to subside the butterflies that fluttered wildly inside of me. Or was that my bladder calling out to me? It could have been both. “I was just going to say we should eat something before it gets too late...” I trailed off, not knowing what else to tell her if I couldn’t say what I really wanted to. “Yeah… you’re right… it is after seven already.” Haley pursed her lips to the side and looked as if she was pondering. I hoped she accepted my quick excuse and wouldn’t probe any further. We both got caught in a moment of awkward silence and Haley stood there like she was waiting for me to say something else. It was time to get this over with. “I have to go the bathroom.” I suddenly said, standing up to my feet. “Alright. I’ll go start the washer while you do that, and then we’ll figure out dinner.” She pulled the basket closer to her body and grinned a bit before heading out of the room. I walked into the restroom and shut the door behind me. My new pajamas and underwear slid down with little effort on my part before I let them hug my ankles. I plopped down onto the toilet seat with my legs closed and let out a soft sigh as a slow trickle of urine tinkled out of my opening, merging with the water below me. For now, I decided to put aside my thoughts for Haley and focus on something else. There was a picture hanging on the white painted wall to my left. It was a floral pattern with blue and green colors, surrounded by a wooden frame. The shower was in front of me, with a cream colored cloth curtain and various body washes and hair care products strewn along the edge of the bathtub. To my right was the pedestal sink, it had a more fancy and intricate design compared to everything else in the bathroom. Above it was a standard medicine cabinet with a mirrored door. I stopped glancing around the room when I realized that I finished peeing and located the toilet paper roll hanging off the wall next to me. With only a couple of squares, I wiped myself and flushed the toilet after standing up. Or at least I thought I did. I didn’t see the toilet bowl empty itself, so I tried it again. It wasn’t working… “...What?” I whispered under my breath. I soon realized that the toilet clogged up and wouldn’t allow me to flush it! “No...!” I began panicking as the water filled up close to the brim with all my pee and used toilet paper staring back at me. Frantically, I hunted for a plunger but was unable to find one around me. The toilet water and all its contents began to overflow. My heart was beating quickly. I had no idea what to do as I stood there, watching the yellow water drip over the edge of the bowl. I searched around again and found the towel I used to dry off with earlier that afternoon and wrapped it around the base of the toilet to soak up the water. Though I still needed a plunger, so I went to find Haley. She wasn’t back in her room yet so I darted out into the hallway and smacked right into her as I turned the corner, knocking the wind out of both of us. “Oof!" Haley put her hand to her chest. "Sorry! Didn't see you! It's just I need a plunger but I can't find one." My eyes on the startled Haley, as I’m sure she was having trouble as well. "It's in the laundry room. I'll go get it..." Haley retorted before swiftly walking back in the direction she came from. I scuttled back to the bathroom to wait for her. Thankfully, the toilet had stopped running before it saturated the entire towel. Haley soon came back to meet me at the overflowing toilet and handed me a rubber plunger with a maple wood handle. I took my saving grace from her and attempted to unclog the toilet. I carefully placed it in the water, and it displaced some of the water out of the toilet. Then I began pumping the plunger up and down as it stood straight above the hole. Haley stood there for a moment and witnessed my feeble attempts at removing the blockage. "Oh my god, it's not working!" Frustrated, I began trying to pump it harder, but it was only splashing water everywhere. I wanted to scream. I almost did, but then Haley moved closer and motioned to take the plunger from me. "Here, let me help you." I let her take the plunger from me, disappointed that I failed to use such a simple device. Stepping back, I folded my arms over my chest and let the master do the work. "Sorry, I tried..." My voice shook as I began to tear up. I've made a mess of Haley's bathroom and couldn't even fix it myself. I'm so useless. "It's alright. It's easier to do it at an angle." Haley positioned the plunger so it angled towards her. "Like this." She began plunging and I watched as my urine slowly receded. I sighed with relief as the toilet finally flushed on it's own and filled back with clear, clean water. "There we go." Haley said, placing the plunger next to the toilet before looking over to me. "Thank you... sorry you had to do it. I didn't mean to clog it." I wiped a trapped tear from my eye. "It's not your fault, it does that a lot. Don't worry about it." Haley consoled me and led me out of the bathroom. "Well, after all that excitement, are you still hungry?" She smiled at me as we stood at the foot of the bed. I smiled back, calmed down from my horrific incident of terror. "Yeah, definitely!" "Okay, let's go see what we have." Haley replied, leading me out of the bedroom and out into the main part of her house. It was getting dark outside so the room was faintly lit by early evening sun rays until she turned the ceiling light on in the kitchen connected to the family room. I followed behind her and met her at the refrigerator. Haley opened the freezer and we both peered inside it. "Hot Pockets, Totino's Party Pizzas, beef and chicken pot pies... um...." She lifted up some boxes to look behind them. "And chicken nuggets." She took a pizza out and looked to me as I stood there with my fingers to my lips, trying to decide on what I wanted. "Um... I'll have a chicken pot pie, please." "Alrighty." Haley pulled the box out and set them both on the counter. I decided to prepare my own food while Haley set the stove to the correct temperature for her pizza. Picking up my box, I looked at the back of it while opening the seal for the directions: Four minutes to cook. Alright, no problem there. As I removed the frozen pie from the box and placed it in the microwave behind me, I noticed that the box also had a strange message at the bottom. It read "This original fiction was written by antifairy of omorashi.org.", but it was obviously not a part of the directions so I ignored it and threw it away. "Let me get a plate for that, Maddy, hold on." Haley interrupted as she grabbed one from the top cabinet. "Oh... right, sorry." "It's alright, this way it won't make a mess in the microwave." Haley put the glass plate underneath the pie and I closed it before setting the timer for four minutes. Her food took longer to cook than mine did, needing at least twelve minutes in the oven. While we were waiting, Haley took the opportunity to move the wet clothes to the dryer. We both ate at the dining table in a small alcove connected to the kitchen and discussed boring girl stuff that didn't matter. Afterwards, we washed our dishes and headed back to her bedroom. Haley yawned cutely and face planted herself on the bed. I sat on the bed next to her stretched out body. "Tired...?" I asked, smiling. "Mmm" she replied, her voice muffled by the soft pillow that was covering her face. "I am too, a little." I said, scanning my eyes over her body; her shirt had hiked up a bit and I saw the waistband of her blue cotton panties. Her pajamas accentuated her plump bottom quite nicely. She broke my mesmerization and gaze when she turned over to face me, her hand supporting her head as she lay on her side. "Maddy..." "Hmm?" We locked eyes. There was something about her voice then, and I started to tremble because of it like I had earlier that evening. "Are you sure there was nothing else you wanted to tell me? Or talk about?" A lump formed in my chest and I trembled a little harder. She apparently didn't buy my excuse from earlier. "Yeah... I.. I mean n-no." I tensed up and hugged myself, looking down at my feet. Haley scooted closer to me, and caressed my arm. "Just tell me... we're best friends, you can tell me anything." I wasn’t sure about the best way to tell her my feelings, but I also knew I wasn’t going to weasel my way out of this again if I didn’t tell her the truth. I tried to speak, but the lump in my chest made its way to my throat. Haley began caressing my arm and took my hand in hers, causing light tingles trickled through my entire body. I held hers back and, of course, said something stupid. "Guess." I cringed inside at what I had said, but I wanted to know what she would say. A confused but interested look came about her face. "Um..." She looked down to the bed, contemplating, and I kept my gaze upon her. "You... have a boyfriend...?" Haley asked, looking back up to me. "No..." "Um... you joined a super secret cult?" She smirked a little. I shook my head. "Maddy...." Haley put her hand on my stomach and rubbed it. "Are you pregnant?" "OH GOD NO!" I shouted a little too loud and looked at her, giggling. "Okay okay, didn’t really think so; I just wanted to rule that out." We both fell into more awkward silence for a few moments. "Do you like someone...?" I didn't say anything, but a few seconds later, I nodded my head with subtle movements. "Who?! Tell me!" She sat up quickly and moved in front of me, waiting for the truth that I desperately wanted to tell her. I took a deep breath. "I think… it’s you!" The room went silent again. "What?" "You." I said again. Haley had a surprised look on her face. I couldn't tell what she was thinking then. "Me? Really?" I nodded and let a huge sigh of relief out and she rolled over on her back, looking up at the ceiling. I stared at her, and waited for her response, started to become sick to my stomach and almost left to go donate my dinner to the toilet. "You like me... as more than a friend?" Haley rolled back over to face me again, looking concerned.I looked into her eyes with sincerity, and nodded. She appeared more awake. "Since when?" I shrugged my shoulders, unsure of how to answer her. I was barely able to speak, my body shaking as if it was going to explode. It sort of felt like I always had liked her, but it didn't dawn on me until today. Ever since I saw her on the first day of junior high school, I wanted nothing more than to be her friend. I never thought I could be "cool" enough to hang out with her because she was always popular and... out of my league. “I’m not sure what to say… this is unexpected.” Haley bit her bottom lip, looking down at the bed. I said nothing, entirely unsure of how this would affect our relationship. Though, I believed the worst: This would be the end, she wouldn’t be comfortable around me now, and we’d fall out with each other. I wanted to hope that we’d get through this, but my heart said otherwise. Words were failing to pass my lips, but tears were successfully taking their place. “Why are you crying?” Haley inched a little closer, and looked at me. “I…” “I don’t want us to end.” Haley said nothing, but turned over and laid on her back with her arms crossing her chest. She looked puzzled, probably as confused as I was, or angry. I figured I should leave, I had done enough damage. It was obvious that I should never have said anything. Perhaps I would have gotten over this little obsession of mine, but I just had to run my mouth about things I didn’t understand. “I guess I’ll go home…” I stated, still crying. Haley turned to me again. “Home? Why?!” I hopped off the bed as she spoke. “I don’t know, don’t you want me to leave?” My tears cascaded down my cheeks and my voice continued to break up. Haley just stared at me, looking like she was about to join me with her own tears. “No.” She reached her hand out and grabbed mine, pulling me back to the bed. I didn’t resist, but lay back down beside her. I was even more confused then. “You’re not… upset?” “I am.” Haley still held my hand in hers, and I waited to hear what else she had to say. “I'm upset that you expect our friendship to end over something like this.” She looked at me with concern in her eyes. Her words flowed through my mind as I began to understand what she was telling me. I can't believe I was so foolish. “You don’t seriously think that do you?” She sternly asked before I exhaled a heavy sigh and pondered for a few moments. “Haley… I didn’t want to… think that.” I looked down at Haley’s hand caressing mine. “I just assumed this would… make things weird between us. It’s not like I even know if you… like girls like that.” My eyes started scaling her arm with my eyes until I met hers once again. “You know, it does feel a little weird. But, I guess, it feels… natural at the same time.” Haley intertwined her fingers with mine, and cupped my hand with a firm grasp. Tingles went through my body, electrocuting me with the warmth of her hand. “Natural?” I asked. “Yeah… like, it feels right, but unexpected. You’re right too, I never thought about girls like that. I suppose that’s part of the reason it feels a little weird.” “Oh…” My tears subsided, and I instinctively squeezed her hand. “So what does this mean? I still don’t understand.” I asked her, looking into her eyes. “Hmm… maybe we’ll find out.” Haley put her arm around my shoulder and began pulling my body closer to hers. I wasn’t sure what she was going to happen. I started shaking again as my heart returned to a quick beat. Our bodies touched, her chest flattened against mine and her mouth opened slightly. “Did you fantasize about me in the shower today?” She asked suddenly. I looked down and exhaled, then looked back up to her. I nodded sheepishly, biting my lower lip a little. “So that’s why you were all nervous earlier. You’re so cute.” Haley smiled. I shut my eyes and blushed heavily. She giggled and kissed my lips. If I had been standing, I would have collapsed. My entire body went numb, and I soon realized everything would be okay. “Don’t ever try to leave me again.” She whispered in my ear. I cuddled against her chest and we wrapped our arms around each other. “I won’t” I replied softly. Haley reached over and turned the light off and I fell asleep with my head nestled between her breasts. It was the next morning, and Haley and I sat on her couch in the living room watching some strange television show. The TV was small, and I couldn’t make out what was happening on the screen. The colors seemed to fade in and out and I only saw what looked like two human shaped silhouettes moving around in a random fashion. We were both very interested in it though, and Haley laughed hysterically at it. All of sudden, Haley bounced off the couch and stood in front of me, with her hands buried in between her legs. “Maddy, I have to pee really badly!” She bent her body forwards and started crying. It was weird to see her like this, and she didn’t make any implication before that she needed the bathroom. “Well, go then? Isn’t your bathroom in your room?” I asked, curious as to why she was telling me this. Haley looked around, panicking, before looking back to me. “I’m not sure, I won’t make it! I’m going to wet my pants any second!” She said in a loud tone, bawling with great force. I couldn’t even see her hazel colored eyes anymore. They were pure white. “Come with me, please?!” She asked in a hysterical way. I stood up immediately and wrapped my arm around her. “Of course, I’d do anything for you.” I said, excited as I led her out of the family room. We both ran down the hallway for what seemed like a mile and Haley was doubling over in pain from her full bladder but somehow was able to run as fast as I could. Finally, we made it. We stopped in front of the door door and Haley stood back up and faced me. “Haley? Aren’t you going to go in?” But I didn’t see Haley anymore, she disappeared. Suddenly, I became lonesome and scared. I started to look around for her, but I couldn’t find her anywhere. For a few moments, it was dead silent until I heard a familiar voice next to me. “Maddy, I’m sorry, but we didn’t make it.” It was Haley’s voice, but she sounded very sad and depressed. I looked to where it came from and I saw a gold framed mirror hanging on the wall. On the other side was me, but the reflection didn’t mimic my body. I saw myself with my hands covering my eyes, bawling, and my jeans were soaking up with liquid. As I watched myself in the mirror, I experienced a sensation of warm and wet urine spreading between my own legs. When I looked down though, my pants were dry. I looked back up and saw Haley’s reflection, but not mine anymore. She stared back at me with tears rolling down her face and her pants had became soaked with urine. “I’m sorry we had an accident. It should never have been this way. If only we had more time. Please forgive me.” Before I had time to respond, I collapsed onto the floor. As I lay on the ground, I shut my eyes and started to shake like someone was shoving my body. I opened my eyes and I was back in Haley’s room. Haley was awake and she was hovering above me, looking concerned. Slowly, I came to my senses and awoke. My eyes took a few moments to adjust to the fluorescent light that filled the room. Looking at both of us, I noticed both her and my pajamas were wet. So I arrived at one conclusion: I had wet the bed, again, and peed all over Haley. “...Something happened, Maddy.” She said, looking over herself. I hopped off the bed immediately. “Oh no, I did it again…” Haley stood up and removed the wet bedding, setting them in a pile. The large wet spot that stained the mattress stared back at us both. “I didn’t think this would happen, I’m so sorry!” I whimpered, humiliated at what I did. Haley sat down on the edge of the bed, seeming upset. “Maddy… you didn’t do it.” She stated in a soft voice, looking up to me with shame in her eyes. “But then…” “I woke up, I was peeing. I tried to stop it but it just kept coming out.” Haley explained as she tried to keep her composure. “Oh…” a gentle sigh passed my lips. I didn’t expect to hear that, nor for her to wet the bed. She was definitely doing a lot better job at staying calm than I would have. Though, no matter how well she looked on the outside, I imagined how she was feeling on the inside. I, of course, knew for sure how mortifying it is to have an accident. I sat down next to her and hugged her. “It’s okay…” I tried to console her, laying my head on her shoulder and lightly rubbing her arm. “ It got you wet too, though. I’m sorry.” I looked down, my left pant leg had a small damp spot on the thigh area. Haley’s entire lap glistened with heavy saturation, however. “Just a little… it’s not bad.” I assured her and hugged her tighter before leaning up to kiss her cheek. Haley looked at me and smiled, then kissed me on my lips again. It gave me the same euphoria as it did earlier that evening. I happily completed the loving gesture and it ended with a soft smooch. The sensation of her soft lips lingered on mine and we hugged tightly again. “We better clean your mattress before your parents find out!” I whispered. “Oh my god, I don’t even know how to clean a mattress after…” Haley started to panic, but I stopped her mid-sentence. “I do! I’ll help you! Just get me a sponge, a towel and a spray bottle with water in it.” I instructed Haley. “I think I have all that stuff in my bathroom. Hold on.” She replied as she made a swift trip and came back with the items in a short amount of time, setting them on the bed. “I’ll do this if you want to go ahead and starting washing the sheets.” I know I was able to do that because I did it the previous day. Meanwhile, Haley changed her clothes, putting on clean underwear and a long t-shirt to cover herself up past her waist. I averted my wandering eyes, but I couldn’t help but catch a quick glimpse of her bare, plump bottom while she had it exposed. That image remained in my thoughts as I soaked up most of the stain up with the towel. “Thank you for doing this, I don’t think I could get away with this without you.” She said as she added her wet clothes and the towel I used to the pile. “You’re welcome!” I smiled at her. Haley returned the gesture seeming much more relaxed, then trotted out of the room with the wet things. Utilizing the water and sponge, I diluted and soaked up the rest of the urine stain from the mattress. It wasn’t too much of a hassle, but I had to be quick; it was already after 6:00 am and I didn’t know when Haley’s parents would be awake “Wow, it looks a lot better!” Haley exclaimed as she came back with my now clean and fresh clothes from yesterday. The sight of them made me go back to that embarrassing moment, but it didn’t bother me anymore. “Mhm. It wasn’t that bad of a stain.” I assured her. “I’m just going to tell my mom that we spilled soda on the bed.” Haley said before yawning again and looking to me with a smile. “Good idea.” I smiled back and stayed with her for a little while longer before she went to take a shower. Then I headed back home for more sleep and happy dreams.
  13. Sapphire3619

    malefemale Making a Family

    “Manny, Manny, get up! Sheila made pancakes!” Manny bit back a groan as his 6-year-old sister’s voice pulled him out of unsettled sleep. Groggy, he pushed the corners of his mouth upward. “OK, Livvy,” he croaked. “I’ll be out in a minute.” Olivia beamed and dashed back to the kitchen, satisfied in the way that only an adoring little sister could be with her 16-year-old brother’s sleepy response. With Olivia gone, Manny let out an exhausted growl. He reached for his phone: 7:46 AM. His alarm had been set for 8, which meant that Liv had effectively robbed him of 14 whole minutes of much-needed sleep. But staying with his sister mattered more than sleep… Dragging his feet slightly, Manny threw on some jeans and a t-shirt and shuffled out of his room. In the kitchen, Olivia was already stuffing a forkful of pancakes into her mouth. A curly-haired woman was in the process of setting another plateful at the table. She glanced up at Manny with a hesitant, unsure smile. Sheila Temple was a 35-year-old college professor. She was single and lived in a moderately-sized apartment. She loved her job. Though she liked kids, she’d never had a strong desire to marry or have children of her own. And, as of one week ago, she was the temporary caregiver of Manny and Olivia. Sheila’s sister, Sam, was a typically overburdened social worker. The city had too many children in need and too few foster and adoptive families. Sam had been assigned to Manny and Olivia’s case when a waitress had found them digging through a restaurant dumpster. The responding authorities, understandably, wouldn’t leave Olivia without shelter, and Manny, also understandably, wouldn’t leave his sister. No foster families had immediate space for two minors, and the nearby children’s homes weren’t set up to keep siblings with such a wide age discrepancy. “Please, Sheila,” Sam had begged on the phone. “Just for a little bit, while we find a more permanent place for them, track down extended family. You have a spare room, and you’re a professor of child development, for God’s sake!” Sheila hadn’t acquiesced easily. Yes, she had a PhD in child development, but she’d never been fully responsible for children on a day-to-day basis, much less children who (as she learned) had been chased out of their house by their drug-addicted father’s steak-knife-wielding girlfriend. Sheila was definitely not equipped to support that kind of traumatic experience. And yet here she was, setting a plate of pancakes on the kitchen table for a 16-year-old boy who had barely spoken to her for a week, but who clearly adored and would do anything for the 6-year-old girl sitting across from him. Olivia, at least, seemed to settle fairly well. Manny had obviously done a lot of work to make her feel safe, no matter where they were, so the little girl had taken him at his word when he promised that Sheila was nice and would take care of them. Sheila sighed quietly. Kids were easy, she thought. Teenagers were hard. Not that Manny was difficult, per se; Sheila just wasn’t sure how to interact with the young man. Today, however, that was on the agenda. It was Saturday, and Olivia was going to a Daisy Scout field trip for most of the day, so it would just be Manny and Sheila in the apartment. Manny had the barest of smiles on his face as he listened to his sister’s excited chatter, and Sheila couldn’t help but notice how wan he looked. Was he getting sick? The thought was interrupted by the buzz of the outer door chime. The local scout mother had arrived to pick up Liv. The girl squealed with excitement, wrapped her arms around Manny for a quick hug, then grabbed her jacket and followed Sheila outside. With his sister gone for the day and Sheila gone for a minute, Manny whined softly and rested his forehead in his hands. He was so tired. SO tired. Manny’s alarm hadn’t just been set for 8 o’clock. It had been set for 7, and 6, and every hour on the hour before that, just like he’d done all week. He couldn’t afford to let himself sleep, not in this nice place that was keeping his sister safe. If he slept, he’d wet the bed. Manny didn’t have a long history of bedwetting, but since everything that had happened over the past year with his father’s behavior and the new girlfriend and trying to keep Livvy safe, the stress had manifested into near-nightly issues. It was a big part of what had angered his dad’s girlfriend so much. He and Liv had only spent a couple of nights on the street before they’d been found, and he’d been so scared that he hadn’t slept those nights, anyway. Now, at Sheila’s, he wasn’t staying awake to protect his sister. Not directly, anyway. He was waking himself up every hour to go to the bathroom. He couldn’t wet the bed. 16-year-olds don’t wet the bed, and grown-ups who didn’t even want kids in the first place wouldn’t let bed-wetting 16-year-olds stick around, and that meant either being sent somewhere else – somewhere potentially less safe for Liv – or being separated from his sister entirely. Not an option. So Manny had diligently limited his liquid intake in the evenings and set his alarm for hourly intervals during the night. His system was working, and he hadn’t so much as leaked in bed. But interrupted sleep wasn’t good sleep, and now, Manny was beyond the point of exhaustion. He was so tired, he physically ached. It hurt to keep his eyes open, and he struggled to focus. As much as he hated being away from Liv, he was grateful for the possibility of a relatively quiet day. Maybe just the chance to be quiet and relax would help him feel more rested. Sighing, Manny poured himself a third glass of orange juice from the carafe on the table. Since he stopped drinking long before he went to bed, he’d been waking up very thirsty, and besides, he thought that being full of liquid helped him stay awake during the day. With Olivia safely deposited in the scout mother’s car, Sheila returned to the apartment. She furrowed her brow seeing Manny slumped at the table. “Hey, Manny?” she called gently as she started to clear the table from breakfast. “Are you feeling OK?” “Yes, ma’am,” Manny answered, but his voice was low and scratchy. Sheila looked skeptical, but she didn’t feel like she was in a position to question the boy. She knew she wasn’t a “real mom” or even a foster parent, and anyway, Manny acted a lot older than his 16 years most of the time. He had to, Sheila supposed. Still, she thought she’d at least let Manny know that she didn’t expect anything of him. “Are you sure?” she pressed hesitantly. “You don’t have anything to do today, you know. Why don’t you go back to bed and get some rest?” Manny shuddered at this suggestion and sat up straighter, trying to falsely convey that he wasn’t actually tired. “No, I’m fine,” he insisted. “I thought I’d catch up on some homework.” Unconvinced by the teen’s claim, Sheila nodded nevertheless. “OK. I’ll just be grading papers on the couch if you need me.” She wanted to do more for Manny, she really did. Sheila just had no idea what he wanted or needed, besides the obvious desire to protect his little sister. She did notice that he seemed to like the orange juice, so she refilled the carafe and set it on the table in front of him before going into the living room. Manny collected his schoolwork from the kitchen counter. He valued his education, so he didn’t want the changes of the past few weeks to affect his grades. He had a few chapters to read for his English class and a problem set for algebra to work on, so he settled in at the table got to work. Or tried to get to work. Manny liked English and didn’t automatically dismiss classic novels as “boring,” but the environmental descriptions in Wuthering Heights were difficult to follow in his current, sleep-deprived state. After a half hour of barely making any progress, Manny shook his head in frustration and decided to switch to math. As he closed the novel, he noticed that his bladder was filling. He glanced at his orange juice glass, empty again after his fourth serving. Manny checked his phone; it was just past 9 AM. He decided to work on a few math problems before taking a break. Between the switch in subjects and the mild signals from his bladder, he was feeling more awake, anyway. Manny finished the first two problems in reasonable time and felt a bit better about himself. See? He was fine. He could handle taking care of his sister while still keeping up in school. And keeping the sheets dry in a stranger’s home. It was now almost 9:30, and the third problem was quite a bit more complex. Manny’s attention drifted a bit as he got stuck on a tricky step. Catching himself, he shook his head emphatically, trying to shake off the demanding claws of sleep. He stared again at his worksheet, but the numbers blurred in front of him… …he was breathing easy. It was quiet, the kind of peaceful quiet that wasn’t broken by sirens or the groans of junkies. The colors were soft, and the air didn’t stink of mold and marijuana. It was warm. He was warm. His lap was warm… …it was the localized warmth that jerked Manny out of his unintentional doze. To his utmost horror, he had started to pee; warm liquid was trickling into his lap. Manny couldn’t hold back a strangled cry. He frantically clutched his dick and leapt up from the table. The noise startled Sheila from her grading in the living room. She looked up in time to see Manny hurrying from the kitchen, hand between his legs. She frowned, but didn’t immediately get up, assuming that Manny had just gotten too caught up in his work and hadn’t realized he had to go. In the hallway, Manny stumbled around a corner, bumping into the wall. He was trying to keep his hand gripped in his crotch, but he was still peeing, the wetness creeping down his leg. He lurched through the door of the bedroom, aiming for the bathroom, but his legs weren’t responding like he wanted them to. He felt like he was in a nightmare, the kind where you want to run, but your legs feel like lead. He was just feet from the toilet, but Manny’s exhausted mind and body were no longer working properly. He jerked his torso forward, but his legs seemed rooted to the spot. He could see the bathroom, but he was going on the bedroom floor, hot urine spilling past his ineffective grip. Head spinning, Manny started to cry. He couldn’t process what had just happened – what was still happening. He was still exhausted beyond comprehension. He hadn’t had the energy to get to the toilet, and he certainly didn’t have the mental capacity left to regulate his emotions in the face of such a failure. Back in the living room, Sheila was listening carefully. She was sure Manny had been running to the bathroom, but she hadn’t heard the door shut or the toilet flush. She stood hesitantly. Manny had looked ill; she hoped he hadn’t fallen or passed out. Torn between wanting to give the teen his privacy and her own concern, Sheila ultimately decided to get up and check on him. She still didn’t hear any obvious sounds coming from the bedroom, but as she rounded the corner, she saw Manny standing with his back to the bedroom door. He wasn’t making any noise, but he seemed to be shaking. Confused, Sheila crept closer. “Manny?” The teen inhaled shakily, but otherwise didn’t acknowledge her presence. Slowly, Sheila walked around in front of him. Her eyes widened. A huge, dark stain spread down the front of Manny’s jeans, and he stood in a small puddle that was soaking into the carpet. He look simultaneously blank and terrified, and his eyes were oddly unfocused. “Oh, honey,” Sheila breathed. It was the first time she’d ever used an endearment for him. “Did you have an accident?” Manny heard, but couldn’t answer. His vision swam, and he swayed on the spot. “Ooooh-kay,” Sheila reached toward him, grabbing his elbow. “Manny?” she tried to get his attention. “Let’s get you cleaned up, honey. It’s OK.” Keeping one hand on his back, Sheila guided Manny into the bathroom. Still unsteady, Manny made no move to start cleaning himself. “Manny?” Sheila repeated. She was starting to worry. “Manny, do you need my help?” Manny’s head jerked back as the implications of Sheila’s words were finally enough to catch his focus. “Nnn…” his throat hurt from tears and weariness, and words wouldn’t come right away. “N-no,” he finally stammered. “I can…” Sheila was more convinced than ever that Manny was sick. She’s make sure he got some rest as soon as he got changed. “OK, honey. I’ll grab you some dry clothes.” Manny braced himself against the sink while Sheila went to the dresser. His head hurt, and his mind was still dragging him forcefully into unconsciousness, but he couldn’t sleep. He had to clean up and clean the carpet, and even if he did allow himself to sleep, he had to make sure he peed first and then set his alarm so he didn’t sleep too long… Sheila was handing him sweatpants and underwear. Manny mumbled his thanks and shut the bathroom door to change. He cringed as he peeled off his drenched jeans and decided to take a quick shower, hoping that the water would both clean him and wake him up enough to clean his mess in the bedroom. He didn’t really feel any more awake after showering. If anything, the white noise of the water emphasized his desire to sleep. When he opened the bathroom door, he looked like a zombie shuffling into the bedroom. Seeing Manny’s blank, drawn look, Sheila reached for him. “Come on, Manny,” she pleaded, pulling him toward the bed. “You need some rest, honey, you’ll feel better.” Manny groaned unintelligibly. He couldn’t sleep. He had to clean up and he didn’t have his phone with him to set his alarm… “Yes, honey, it’s OK,” Sheila soothed, gently yet firmly guiding Manny into bed. “You’re safe, just get some rest.” Completely broken, Manny started to cry. He needed to set his alarm, he couldn’t just… “Shhh,” Sheila whispered, running her fingers through Manny’s hair as she eased his head onto the pillow. Her heart ached for the poor, sick boy. Manny’s mind struggled to grasp the last vestiges of awareness. He had to…he needed… But a whole week of only interrupted sleep was far too much to overcome, and Manny was out within seconds of his head hitting the pillow. Sheila stayed for a few minutes, stroking his hair and murmuring softly. When she was satisfied that the teen was resting, she cautiously stood, taking a deep breath. Even in sleep, Manny looked uneasy. Sheila hoped that he would get some good rest and feel better when he woke up. In the meantime, she grabbed some baking soda to spread on the wet stain on the carpet. She’d worry about vacuuming it up later. Before leaving the room, Sheila watched Manny, still concerned. In the few minutes he’d been asleep, he’d automatically curled to one side of his bed, nearly pressed into the wall. For protection or to try to disappear? Sheila wasn’t sure, but it was painful to see. *** To Sheila’s relief, Manny slept for hours. When Olivia returned around 3:30 that afternoon, Manny was still out. Sheila hushed the 6-year-old and explained that her brother wasn’t feeling well, so he was taking a nap. Liv nodded sagely and settled at the coffee table in the living room to color quietly. Just before 4 o’clock, Sheila heard noises from Manny’s room. “Oh! Sounds like your brother’s awake!” she whispered cheerfully to Olivia. Liv beamed and bounced to her feet, skipping in front of Sheila as they headed toward Manny’s bedroom. “Manny!” Liv shouted joyfully, not bothering to knock before barging into the room. Sheila smiled, following, but stopped short as soon as she walked through the door. Manny was standing a few feet back from his bed, a wild look in his eyes and yet another huge, dark patch of wetness down the front of his pants. Before Sheila even had time to process the scene, Olivia had thrown herself in front of her brother, hand out as if to protect him from Sheila. “He didn’t mean it!” she cried, her young voice anxious. “It was a accident!!” Sheila froze, not wanting to seem confrontational. She automatically held her hands up, placating. “He didn’t mean it!” Liv repeated, eyes wide. Behind her, Manny was breathing hard, but he instinctively wrapped an arm around his little sister. Slowly, tentatively, Sheila started to walk toward the siblings. “I know, honey,” she murmured to Olivia. The kindergartner drew back slightly. “Don’t make him leave,” she whispered. Sheila felt like she’d been punched in the stomach. Keeping her hands out, she knelt in front of the pair, locking eyes with the little girl. “Liv,” she began, gentle but serious. “Sweetheart, I won’t do that.” Olivia furrowed her brow, unsure. Sheila didn’t look up at Manny, but she saw his hand tighten on his sister’s shoulder. “I promise, Liv,” Sheila insisted. “I know Manny didn’t mean it, and I would never make him leave – or you – for having an accident.” “I can clean up,” Liv said softly, still nervous. “We’ll make it better.” “Oh, honey,” Sheila smiled sadly. “You don’t have to clean up. I’m not mad, sweetheart, I promise. Everything is fine.” Olivia reached up and grabbed her brother’s hand, instinct driving her to stay close to him. “We’ll fix it…” she whispered. “Liv?” Sheila shook her head. “You don’t have to fix anything. I promise. It’s OK.” Sheila inhaled, knowing that her next request would take a bit of convincing. “I just need to talk to Manny for a little bit, OK?” Sure enough, Olivia frowned, pressing back against her brother. “I’m not mad, Liv, I’m not even a little bit mad,” Sheila promised, “and Manny’s not in trouble. I just need to talk to him to make sure he’s OK and see what I can do to help. OK?” Olivia liked Sheila; Sheila had been nice to her. She wanted to believe the nice woman, but she looked up at Manny for reassurance. Ever conscious of protecting his sister, Manny attempted a smile and nodded. It’s not that he completely trusted Sheila; he just thought that he deserved any consequences, not Olivia. So if Sheila wanted him alone, she’d get him. With Manny’s permission, Liv stepped forward. Sheila smiled encouragingly. “Go finish coloring,” she suggested. “You can show Manny your pretty picture when you’re done.” Like most 6-year-olds, Olivia brightened at this prospect. She nodded happily, hugged her brother one last time, and ran from the room. Gathering her thoughts, Sheila turned back to the wet teen standing in front of her. He was shaking so badly, she could see his t-shirt fluttering around his thin body. “Manny,” she began, trying to put every ounce of sympathy and reassurance into her voice. “I promise I’m not mad, I promise you’re not in trouble, and I promise,” she emphasized the word, “that I’m not sending you away or splitting up you and Liv. OK?” Manny’s lip trembled fiercely and he kept his eyes down, but after a moment, he nodded. “OK,” Sheila breathed. It was something. “Honey, I just want to help you. Are you sick?” Manny’s face crumpled even further. After another pause, he shook his head. At this point, he was quavering so much, Sheila was surprised she couldn’t hear his knees knocking together. “Manny, honey, let’s sit down,” she offered. She put her arm under his elbow and steered him down onto the bed. The wet stain was big, but confined to the half of the bed closest to the wall, where Manny had been curled up. “OK, honey,” Sheila said, sitting next to the boy. “I just want to help. Can you tell me what happened?” The silence seemed to stretch between them, but finally, Manny opened his mouth. “I-“ he stammered, he voice gravelly but quiet. “I tried.” “You tried?” Sheila echoed. “Tried what, honey?” Unbidden tears were leaking out of Manny’s eyes and streaming down his cheeks. “I tried not to,” he cried, almost pleadingly. Sheila pressed her lips together as Manny’s words sunk in. This had happened before. Happened often enough that he had made an effort to prevent it. Prevent it, how? “Manny…” Sheila murmured, trying to disguise her dismay. “Have you not been sleeping, honey?” “I…” Manny could barely control his mouth through all the shaking. “I didn’t want to wet the bed,” he whispered, deeply ashamed of having to say the words, but wanting Sheila to understand that he really had tried. Quickly, brokenly, he explained his system of setting his alarm and limiting his drinks, barely pausing for breath and not meeting Sheila’s eyes. And Sheila’s eyes showed the horror she felt at the lengths the teen had taken to keep himself from having an accident. No wonder he’d wet himself earlier; she was surprised he’d even managed to move on so little quality sleep. “…and I…” Manny’s voice was breaking again as his explanation tumbled out. “I didn’t want to make a mess and ruin your mattress and cost you money and make you mad.” Blinking, Sheila swallowed her awe at Manny’s tale. She fixated on a single comment. “OK, honey, first of all, you don’t have to worry about the mattresses,” she promised, trying to ease at least one of his fears. “All of my beds have mattress covers, even mine. That’s just good sense.” At this information, Manny finally looked up, questioning. “And second,” Sheila went on. “Honey, if you’re worried about wetting the bed, not sleeping isn’t the answer. You need your sleep. There are other options. We can get you things to help keep you dry.” Manny snorted reflexively. “Nobody gonna spend money on baby stuff for a grown boy,” he muttered. Sheila tilted her head sympathetically. “Is that what someone told you?” “Angelina,” Manny answered simply. His dad’s girlfriend. “Those things cost money.” Sheila refrained from making a sarcastic comment about the cost of heroin. “Well,” she said instead. “I happen to have plenty of money. Definitely enough to buy pull-ups for you. If that would help you sleep better,” she added. Slowly, nervously, Manny finally met Sheila’s eyes. He looked younger than she’d ever seen him look. “Really?” Sheila reached up and cupped the young man’s cheek, wiping away a stray tear with her thumb. “Yes, sweetheart. Whatever you need.” Biting his lip, Manny nodded repeatedly. If he couldn’t stop himself from wetting the bed, then surely the next best option was not making such a huge mess every night. Sheila smiled, relieved. “It’s settled then. I’ll go out and pick some up.” She rubbed Manny’s back, comforting. “And I might as well grab some dinner while I’m out. What do you feel like? Mexican? Chicken?” Slightly embarrassed by the positive outcome of the day’s events, Manny shrugged. “Whatever,” he murmured. Sheila stood, understanding that they’d probably reached their limit of conversation for now. Plus, Manny still had to change. “OK, honey. Why don’t you get cleaned up – I’ll change the sheets – and then come out and see your sister’s picture.” Still blushing, Manny nodded and scrambled to the dresser to grab some dry clothes before heading into the bathroom to change. Sheila efficiently stripped the bed, still in awe of what Manny had told her. She was furious at what he’d gone through and devastated at what he thought he had to do to keep himself and his sister safe. While she was loading the washing machine to clean the wet sheets, she heard Manny emerge from the bathroom and join his sister in the living room. Sheila closed the lid of the washing machine to start it and headed down the hallway to the sound of Olivia’s happy chatter. Rounding the corner, Sheila saw Manny kneeling next to his sister, his arm around her shoulder’s as the little girl pointed out her artistic products. Manny looked relaxed and completely engrossed with what Liv was saying. Sheila hung back, leaning against the wall and smiling. Maybe she could do this parenting thing after all.
  14. Sapphire3619

    malefemale The Most Powerful Organ

    It feels like ages since I wrote anything. I have a bunch of ideas, but this semester was more draining than I anticipated. Maybe I'll get back to being excited about writing over the summer :) Anyway, here's my contribution to christening the new site layout! ****************** “Preston? Group is going to start soon. It’s time to make your way to Room C.” Preston Fletcher slowly stared up at the woman standing next to him, best slightly at the waist so her deliberately soft voice would be heard. “OK?” she encouraged, still smiling gently. “Room C is down the hall on the left.” Blinking, Preston got to his feet and started shuffling toward the required room. His face didn’t break from the expressionless mask he wore more and more often these days. “Mr. Fletcher,” Dr. Ward greeted Preston as the teen shuffled into the room. “I’m glad you could join us. Please take a seat,” Dr. Ward gestured toward an empty folding chair on his left. Preston was oddly glad for the instruction. He couldn’t seem to do anything right these days, so following directions seemed to be the safest plan. He lowered himself into the uncomfortable seat, staring blankly at some unspecific spot to the left of his knees. The remaining group attendees gradually made their way into the room and filled in the rough circle of chairs. Most seemed to be around Preston’s age – 18 – though a few could have been as young as 14 or 15. Most were fairly quiet, though a few who had apparently been there awhile chatted with each other. Preston didn’t say a word; he just kept his eyes fixed yet unfocused toward the ground. “Welcome, everyone,” Dr. Ward greeted the group. “We have a few new members I’d like to introduce: Courtney,” he gestured toward a pale girl on the right, “and Preston.” Preston twitched slightly, but didn’t raise his head. He could feel everyone looking at him. They know. Preston cringed and squeezed his eyes shut. Stop, he thought. They know you’re just stupid. You’re only here because you failed at going to college. Something millions of fucking people do with no problem all the damn time, and you couldn’t do it. Preston bit the inside of his lower lip. He wanted to make the voice stop, but arguing with it was getting harder and harder. “Let’s get started,” Dr. Ward was saying. “Who wants to talk about their week?” Kira, a tall girl sitting toward the back of the circle, raised her hand. “Well, most of you know that I had to give my statement against the guy that assaulted me this week…” See? Actual problems. Unlike yours. It’s not about problems…Preston tried to think. Is that the bullshit they feed you hear? You’re so fucking special that you don’t actually have to have anything remotely bad happen to you to have a complete meltdown? “Preston?” Dr. Ward interrupted the bitter voice in Preston’s head. “Do you want to share anything?” Preston’s mouth opened slightly, but nothing came out. Go ahead. Tell them how your parents were paying for you to go to a private college and your classes were easy and your roommate was nice and you’ve literally never had to deal with anything stressful in your entire life. I’m sure they’ll love it. Preston wrapped his arms around his torso and shook his head slightly. Dr. Ward just nodded. “That’s OK. You can contribute whenever you’re comfortable.” Sinking into his chair, Preston half-listened as another boy with an accent started describing escaping a war-torn country as a child. The voice was right; these other people had actual problems; he just hadn’t been able to bring himself to go to class. Really, the whole move to campus had been harder than Preston had anticipated. The freedom and responsibility of it all – having to choose his own food and whether or not to go to classes and who to talk to – had overwhelmed him. Little struggles had started piling up, and he became fearful. He’d managed to survive the whole first semester, but going home for winter break had only made things worse. Everyone kept asking him about college and how amazing it was, and with everyone new person that asked, he felt more like a failure for not loving every second. By the time he returned for spring semester, everything was making Preston nervous. The very idea of going to class became terrifying; he began to build his entire schedule around having as little human interaction as possible. By the second month of the semester, he was barely leaving his room. Preston’s roommate, Drew, had been both perceptive and understanding, and had called in emergency services from the mental health clinic after Preston didn’t leave the dorm for a week, only exiting his room to use the bathroom. Preston’s parents, wealthy and educated, had quickly secured him a spot at a nearby inpatient facility for psychiatric services. Hence, Preston’s current state, sitting on a metal folding chair with a dozen other teenagers with various psychopathological diagnoses, barely listening to a discussion facilitated by Dr. Ward, watched over by a couple of nurses placed around the room. The session was meant to last an hour, if Preston remembered correctly. He’d been inundated with information when he checked in – rules, schedules, locations, staff names – and it was hard for him to remember it all. It was as if everything about him was glitching and shutting down. His brain, his body, his ability to learn and speak. The simplest things were difficult and exhausting, even though he wasn’t in physical pain. He could think about something, like getting out of bed or eating meals, but his body no longer automatically followed through on such plans and desires. You’re so useless, the voice intruded on Preston’s haze. You’re doing this all to yourself. There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re just lazy. Preston inhaled and tried to focus on his breathing, like the initial doctor had told him. But in paying attention to his own body instead of the people around him, he noticed something worse: his bladder was filling. He still didn’t move, but Preston started to try to remember what he’d done that day. It was after 3 in the afternoon, and he couldn’t remember having visited the bathroom since his morning shower before breakfast. He hadn’t drunk that much at breakfast or lunch, but it was enough to make him need the restroom now. Oh my god. Just go, the voice demanded obnoxiously. But Preston didn’t move. People could see him. He…he couldn’t just get up and walk to the bathroom. What if that wasn’t allowed? What if they asked where he was going? He’d have to say he wanted to go to the bathroom. The other kids might laugh at him. And what if Dr. Ward thought he was lying? Just making an excuse to get out of group? Then he’d never be allowed to leave again. For fuck’s sake. This is not the end of the world. Just go. I can’t, Preston answered mentally, honestly. He couldn’t. He couldn’t move. Even if he tried to convince himself to just stand - which he did, briefly – his body wouldn’t obey. He was stuck. As the conversation continued around him, Preston felt a tiny surge in his bladder, and his sphincter reflexively tightened. The muscles of his thighs, however, didn’t budge. He wanted to look up at the clock to see how much time was left in group, but his head wouldn’t turn. His eyes didn’t even stray from the spot he’d been looking at the whole time. Are you fucking kidding me? The voice snarked. Fine. Just sit there and be miserable until the end of the session. Preston exhaled what would have been a whine if his vocal cords weren’t as unresponsive as the rest of his body. Logically, he knew his bladder wasn’t at its limit, but waiting until the end of group would mean putting in some extra effort to hold, and that just…wasn’t happening. Just sit there. It sounded simple enough, but when the bladder was full, it would empty eventually. It was practically instinct to either position your muscles to increase the hold or to get up and find a toilet. It was so ingrained that no one really knew how long between urge and voiding with no outside help. But the way things were going, Preston was about to find out. This has to be a joke. Do you want to piss yourself in front of everyone your first week? No, Preston insisted silently. No, no. Do I have to walk you through this? Are you that stupid? No…I know… You’re not acting like you know! Christ, just hold it! Push your legs together, squeeze your dick, something! Preston’s heart rate had increased, but his body wouldn’t respond to his mind’s frantic begging. I can’t, he repeated, pleading with the voice to understand. What do you mean you can’t? Literally every single semi-intelligent human being knows how to handle this situation. I know, Preston insisted. He wasn’t crying, but his mental conversation with the voice made it sound like he was. I’m trying… You’re not fucking trying! You’re not doing a damn thing! This is the most basic of all human functions, and you can’t even do that. Preston couldn’t answer, not even mentally. He was positively paralyzed. No matter how desperately he wanted to move, to do anything, he just couldn’t. Is this just what you’re going to do now? Wetting the bed wasn’t enough, you have to piss yourself in broad daylight now, to completely verify what a fucking waste of space you are? I’m not…Preston started, but he couldn’t argue. The voice was right. In the first few weeks after winter break, Preston had ended up wetting his sheets twice. The first time was…normal, almost? He’d had a nightmare and was still halfway asleep when he’d started to pee. Luckily, his roommate was already gone, so Preston had been able to drag himself out of bed and get cleaned up without anyone knowing. The second time had been much more disheartening. He’d woken up really full, but his roommate was there with his girlfriend. They were being graciously quiet, especially considering it was almost 11 in the morning, but there were there. And Preston had to pee, bad enough that he had almost instantly started holding himself. He couldn’t just get up and walk past his roommate, hand between his legs like a kindergartener. So he’d waited and hoped that they’d just leave, but they didn’t. They didn’t leave, and Preston just laid there, squeezing himself tightly and pretending to be asleep. He made no noise, not even when his bladder gave out and urine started seeping past his grip soaking his pajama bottoms. It had been another 20 minutes before his roommate left, and another 15 minutes after that before Preston had been able to work up the energy to climb out of bed and take care of his mess. It was soon after that accident that the he’d started hearing the voice in his head. And now, just a few weeks after that episode, he sat in a white-walled room, not nearly as physically desperate as he’d been that morning, but he was mentally flipping out. He felt a leak escape before his sphincter automatically clenched slightly, cutting off the flow for at least a few more seconds. I can’t believe you’re going to be this stupid. You have to want to piss yourself. No person is so fucking lazy they can’t even MOVE THEIR FUCKING LEGS TOGETHER. Preston’s breath started to pick up, the only visible sign of his struggle. He wanted nothing more than to move, but he couldn’t; he was a statue. He felt trapped in his own traitorous body. He wasn’t that desperate. This was a manageable situation, of only he could just clench his thighs, move his hand to hold on, something… But his body wouldn’t listen, and his bladder quickly overcame the slightest of barriers provided by the unconscious holding mechanism. Preston’s breath hitched momentarily as urine started trickling between his legs. ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME??? the voice roared. YOU ARE UTTERLY TERRIBLE!! YOU’RE ACTUAL wetting YOUR PANTS FOR NO FUCKING REASON!!! Blinking robotically, Preston tried yet again to do something to stem the flow, but yet again, not a single muscle in his body responded voluntarily. The cheap, standard material of his issued pants didn’t soak up much, and warm liquid started to pool on the metal seat. Preston could do nothing but breathe, horrified, as his accident started dripping onto the floor. Instantly, one of the nurses was by his side, and Preston was fuzzily aware of rising din in the room. “Preston?” the nurse, a young-ish man asked gently as the voice screamed in Preston’s head. YOU’RE STILL FUCKING PEEING!! WHAT IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS HOLY IS WRONG WITH YOU??? Preston gaped, but couldn’t answer. He couldn’t even move his head to look at the nurse. The only things he was currently capable of, apparently, were breathing and peeing onto his chair. Voices swirled around the room. “Oh, wow, is he wetting his pants?” “Hey, Margo, looks like you’ve got competition for biggest spaz!” “Does this mean we’re done?” This is all they’re ever going to remember about you. You’re the freak that pissed himself in his very first group session. I bet no one has ever been that worthless before. “Preston?” Now Dr. Ward was trying to get his attention. “Preston, can you hear me?” “Do you think he’s catatonic?” the nurse asked. “A reaction to his meds?” They think you’re literally fucking braindead. They think there’s no other possible explanation for an 18-year-old sitting in his own piss. It’s like you’re lobotomized or something. No…Preston tried, but his own thoughts were drowned out by the chatter of his peers, the concerned questions of the attendants, and, of course, the angry berating of the voice. “Damien, can you take him to get cleaned up? We’ll get an evaluation set up,” Dr. Ward murmured. The nurse – Damien, apparently – nodded and carefully took Preston by the arm, guiding him to his feet. Preston was mildly surprised to find out that his legs still worked. Oh, so you CAN move, as long as someone’s holding you like a damn invalid. The thin material of his pants clung to Preston’s legs as Damien walked him down the hall to the showers. He stood Preston past the first curtain of a stall, then stood back expectantly. When Preston made no move to undress himself, Damien sighed quietly. “Preston? Do you need some help?” Nothing. “OK. I’m going to help take your clothes off and clean up now, Preston, alright?” With clinically practiced hands, Damien started to pull off Preston’s cheap, gray clinic gear, delicately navigating Preston’s floppy, unresponsive limbs. Can you get any lower than this? the voice snapped. It’s bad enough that you can’t hold it for 20 damn minutes, but now you’re making this poor, underpaid staffer clean up your mess. “There you go,” Damien said, lifting Preston’s foot out of the wet pants. “Let’s get you in the shower now, OK?” The chilly water made Preston gasp audibly. “OK there, bud?” Damien smiled hesitantly. “Sorry about the temperature, I should have let it…” Damien’s voice trailed off as Preston continued to sniffle. Now you’re crying? Like this all isn’t entirely your fault? You don’t get any sympathy for not making the tiniest effort t- “What does it sound like?” Stunned that Damien’s voice was somehow able to interrupt the ranting voice in his head, Preston finally looked up, meeting the nurse’s eyes. “The voice in your head,” Damien elaborated as he continued to run a washcloth over Preston’s body. “What does it sound like?” “I-“ Preston croaked, his voice harsh from crying and general lack of use. “It’s…” “My sister said that the voice in her head sounded like our grandma,” Damien shared casually when Preston was unable to share. “She was a judgmental old bitch, but she was way harder on Fannie than she was on me. So,” he continued, seemingly oblivious to Preston’s wondrous stare, “when her depression got real bad, the voice that she heard, the one telling her how awful and useless and stupid she was, that voice sounded like Granny Jean.” Damien grabbed the handheld showerhead to rinse the soap off Preston. “I don’t know, man. I didn’t mean to babble. You just looked like someone was tryin’ to tell you something that wasn’t true, so I thought I’d ask.” Preston’s mind was reeling as Damien toweled him off. He wanted to ask more, but his voice still wasn’t working. Damien didn’t seem to mind Preston’s silence, though; he just tucked the towel around the teen’s waist and walked him back down the hallway. In his room, Preston was finally able to move on his own. Well, at least he was able to clutch the towel while Damien reached to pull out a new set of clothes. He was even able to move his arms and legs a little bit, so Damien wouldn’t have to do all the work in getting him dressed. “OK, kid,” Damien said, kneeling to slide slippers onto Preston’s feet. “I think you can stay in here for a bit, if you want, but then Dr. Ward is going to want to have a chat and maybe have Dr. Moon take some blood to see if your meds are causing some problems.” Damien stared at Preston, but Preston’s gaze was locked on the corner of his cot. Damien nodded knowingly and turned to leave. “N-nothing,” Preston rasped. Damien turned around. “What was that, Preston?” Slowly, as if in pain, Preston lifted his head to look at the nurse. “It…the voice…it doesn’t sound like anything. I don’t know. It’s just there.” His lower lip trembled; he’d never told anyone about the voice. The corner of Damien’s mouth twitched up, and he sat next to Preston on the bed. “You know it’s lying, right?” Preston glanced sideways, unsure. “Huh?” “The voice,” Damien explained. “It’s lying to you. All that shit it tells you about how you’re dumb and worthless. It’s not true.” Preston’s eyes filled with tears again. “But I…I w-wet…” Damien clapped a hand on Preston’s shoulder. “Kid, you know what the most powerful organ in the body is?” Preston shook his head. After just demonstrating the weakness of his own bladder, he really didn’t know where the nurse was going with this. “The brain,” Damien said simply. “You can’t do a damn thing if your brain isn’t on board. And just like hepatitis makes your liver not work, depression, schizophrenia, all that, makes your brain not work. So if you’re brain’s not doin’ what it’s supposed to do, then it can’t make your body do anything, even the things that are pretty easy the rest of the time.” A tear slipped from Preston’s eye. He didn’t know if he believed Damien, but he wanted to. And since Damien had started talking, the voice had stopped. Damien patted Preston’s shoulders. “I’m no therapist, kid, just speaking from what I’ve seen, from patients here and my sister.” He rose from the bed. “I’ve gotta go start preparing dinner meds. Dr. Ward should be by soon, OK?” Nodding, Preston wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. His movements still felt slow, as if he was dragging his arm through sand, but at least he was moving. And, if Damien was right, then moving meant that his brain wasn’t completely broken. And if he wasn’t completely broken, then maybe he wasn’t completely worthless after all…
  15. Sapphire3619

    malefemale Transpacific Flight

    I wrote this on a request from diaperwetboy101. Usually, I just share requests through messages, but I really like his ideas, and I'm not going to get a chance to post anything else for awhile, so I thought I'd put this up. The length was getting a bit out of control, so it's not much of an ending. Enjoy, and happy holidays! ***** “Molls, where’s my Kindle?” “One sec, Bridey,” Molly grunted in reply as she rifled through her sister’s backpack in the overhead bin. She tried to quell her irritation at her younger sister. Logically, Bridey should’ve taken out the Kindle before she’d handed the backpack to Molly to put up, but the 13-year-old wasn’t quite as accustomed to air travel as Molly was. Molly’s hand finally closed around the e-reader, and she pulled it out to hand to Bridey. The younger girl murmured her thanks, then pressed herself back into her aisle seat so Milly could squeeze by. Liam, Molly and Bridey’s 14-year-old brother, was already nestled into the window seat; on the big 747 plane, the siblings had three seats on the left side, up against the bathrooms halfway back in economy. Molly didn’t relish the idea of sitting in a middle seat for the 15-hour flight from Melbourne to Los Angeles, but, at 18, she figured her responsibility as the oldest sibling was to voluntarily accept the discomfort, rather than arguing with the two younger ones over it. The Rogan siblings were on their way back home from spending a month in Australia with their grandparents, who had moved overseas two years ago for retirement. Now that Molly had graduate and Liam and Bridey were both in their teens, their parents had determined that the kids were responsible enough to accept their grandparents’ invitation to spend part of their summer across the Pacific. The teens had enjoyed themselves; though they’d been to Mexico with their parents, none had ever been to another continent. It was technically winter in Australia, but the late July-early August weather had been mild and cooperative. The three teens, by virtue of their own youth, had adjusted fairly well to the extreme time difference, but now, faced with the prospect of a half-day flight and functional travel back in time (the flight departed at 9 PM from Melbourne and was schedule to land at 5 PM on the same day in California), they were already testy and tired. Sure, the plane was well-equipped with movies and games at each seat, but it was far less exciting being on a flight back to “real life” than it was going the other direction, toward a month of international vacation. So Molly was doing her best to placate her younger brother and sister, or at least keep them from further irritation. Really, Liam and Bridey weren’t bad kids. Liam was quiet and sweet, a modest result of being raised with two sisters. Bridey certainly had a bit of the princess attitude that came with being the baby of the family and a girl, but she admired her two older siblings and was secretly grateful to have been so seamlessly included in their adventures over the past month. All settled into their seats, the Rogans began the modern process of pulling out headphones and arranging their electronic entertainment. After enjoying the novelty of the amenities of a trans-Pacific flight on the way over, Liam and Bridey weren’t quite as keen to stay up the entire time and explore all of the movie and game options on the seat-back screens. They were both planning on staying awake only long enough to check out the dinner service, then try to sleep away a large portion of the flight. Molly looked to her left and right at her younger brother and sister. They seemed to be relaxing a bit after the comparative stress of getting through airport security. She could tell they were both tired, and she hoped they’d both sleep well. Because she wouldn’t. Molly wasn’t planning on sleeping at all. She’d managed to stay awake through a combination of coffee and movies on the flight over and had breathed a huge sigh of relief. She hadn’t fallen asleep, which means she hadn’t wet herself. As much as she hated saying it, or even thinking it, Molly still wet the bed. Well, “still” wasn’t really the right word, because she’d only started a few years ago; it’s not like she’d never been dry at night. Nor did she wet every night – it was a few times per week, and with no discernable pattern. Not that either of those facts were any consolation to the soon-to-be college freshman. Her grandparents had been duly informed of her “little problem,” and thankfully, had enough guest bedrooms that Molly got a room to herself, where she could change into and out of her pullups without her siblings seeing. Liam and Bridey weren’t cruel; Molly just couldn’t bear the thought of her younger siblings finding out that their older sister was a bedwetter. So she had no plans to sleep on the plane. Of course she’d used the restroom in the airport before getting on the plane, and she didn’t intend to drink a whole lot at dinner, but it wasn’t worth the risk to fall asleep. After what seemed like ages, the plane finally took off, headed northeast across the Pacific. The Rogan siblings each chose a movie to keep themselves occupied. Liam and Bridey were already groggy, barely moving in their seats; Molly chose an action film in an effort to keep herself more engaged. Within an hour, the dinner service came around, and the teens chose meals (pasta for Molly, beef for Liam and Bridey). Bridey’s eyelids drooped as she picked over her food; Molly knew she’d be out soon, but she didn’t push. Telling a 13-year-old that they looked tired had about the same success rate as telling a toddler the same thing. Liam weakly smiled in thanks to Molly as she grabbed his tray to hand over to the flight attendant who came around for clean-up. Molly knew he’d be asleep soon, too. She was glad that her siblings would sleep well, but the idea of entertaining herself and staying awake with no help from Liam or Bridey after only an hour and a half was daunting. Bridey’s eyes were closed not long before the cabin lights were dimmer, leaving the passengers in darkness, save for a few still-active screens. The younger girl curled on her right side, away from Molly, her small frame folding easily into the confines of the economy seat. On Molly’s other side, Liam leaned his seat back, also turning slightly to his right, though not quite as coiled as Bridey. Both had the thin, yet somehow effective, airline blankets pulled over their laps. Molly sighed softly. She turned the brightness of her screen down so as not to disturb her siblings. She finished the movie that she’d paused during dinner, then chose another. And then another. It wasn’t even halfway through the flight by the time Molly finished the third movie, and her energy was rapidly diminishing. Aside from a few semi-conscious changes in position, Liam and Bridey hadn’t moved beside her. …maybe just a nap, Molly thought. She hadn’t drunk very much; she didn’t even think she could pee right now if she tried. It was such a long flight. She’d just close her eyes for a bit and relax. Meditate. Inhaling deeply, Molly pulled her own blanket around her body and leaned her head back. Sleep overtook Molly like an avalanche. She didn’t meditate; she didn’t just close her eyes. She was out, fallen into the deepest stages of sleep almost immediately. For several hours, the siblings slept in a row, blissfully unaware of their fairly uncomfortable surroundings. Bridey’s small frame and the innate knowledge that they were sitting with family and thus didn’t necessarily have to abide by the socially-inflicted invisible barriers between seats made sleep a bit more free. They each wriggled and turned, able to position themselves comfortably without fully waking. Eventually, Molly turned on her right side, angling toward Bridey. She drew her knees up beside her, bending into a fetal position. Moments later, perhaps driven by the disturbance from Molly’s shift, Liam rocked sideways, his right hand flopping down onto his sister’s seat. Minutes later, in those exact positions, Molly’s worst nightmare came true. Triggered by whatever terrible betrayal of the link between her mind and bladder had been plaguing her nights for the past few years, Molly slowly began to wet her pants. Urine tickled from between her legs, creating a small stream down the back of her right thigh. Before long, the hot liquid crept onto the faux-leather airline seats, creating a warm, irregular puddle. As Molly’s bladder continued to empty, that puddle grew in size, inching toward Liam’s resting hand. In seconds, the fluid streamed between his fingers, enveloping the palm of his hand in wet heat. Everyone who’s ever seen a movie about summer camp (or who has pulled the prank themselves) knows what happened. The warm liquid around Liam’s hand set off a primal signal in his brain, and he started to have an accident. In an unexpected imitation of his sister, Liam released his bladder into his jeans, a lukewarm stain growing from his crotch. His legs were spread slightly, and urine leaked down the inside of his left leg, pooling slightly on the seat before being reabsorbed into his jeans. For several seconds of overlap, the two elder Rogan siblings both wet themselves in their sleep. And while his sister urinated through her jeans, and his hand sat in her puddle, provoking the emptying of his own bladder, Liam dreamt. He dreamt that he was sitting in his grandparents’ living room with them and his siblings. They were watching a movie, and everyone seemed relaxed. Liam was on the couch, sitting against the left arm. Molly was next to him, on the middle cushion, and Bridey was on the right. In the dream, Liam realized that he had to go to the bathroom. But he didn’t move to get up. Something about the dream made him feel comfortable, and dream-Liam decided that there was nothing wrong with just going in his pants. It was OK, he thought. People did this. It happened. He was so comfy; there was no need to get up. In real life, dozens of social and physical restrictions would have severely inhibited Liam’s ability to release his bladder while sitting on a couch, or prevented it outright. But this was a dream, and almost as soon as he made the decision, dream-Liam started to pee. He glanced down and saw darkness spreading across his lap. It felt good, relaxing – like the most natural thing in the world to be peeing into his pants on his grandparents’ couch. But in the dream, Grandma Maeve noticed the stain on Liam’s lap. “Oh, honey,” she cried sympathetically, getting up from her chair. “What happened, sweetheart?” Roused by Grandma’s words, everyone else in the room looked at Liam. No one laughed, or gasped, or otherwise gave any indication of surprise. They all just compassionate, full of pity for the poor 14-year-old who had wet his pants. Dream-Liam no longer felt comfortable and natural. Now, he felt remorseful, stupid. Overcome with the tender reaction of his family, he started to cry. The dream-crying startled Liam awake with a quiet gasp. He jerked slightly, pulling his hand from the small puddle on Molly’s seat before he had a chance to register it. A soft growl emanated from the back of his throat as he took in his unfamiliar surroundings. He still felt tired, so he wasn’t sure why he’d woken so suddenly. He twisted slightly in his seat… And stopped abruptly. There was something wrong. His jeans were too heavy on his thighs, and they chafed. Breathless, Liam gingerly reached his hand under his blanket, where, to his absolute horror, he was greeted with the feel of rapidly cooling drenched denim. His breaths were shallow, on the edge of hyperventilation. He was still so tired, and he was on a crowded plane, and he’d somehow had an accident. It was so different than the dream. He hadn’t made the decision to pee in his pants, and no one was watching him, pitying or otherwise, but Liam still started to cry. He tried to keep quiet, conscious of the hundreds of sleeping people around him, but he couldn’t stop the tears leaking from his eyes or the shuddery, uneven breaths rippling through his chest. It was this sound that awakened Molly. She rolled onto her back, inadvertently sitting in and quickly soaking the remainder of her puddle into the seat of her pants. The relative warmth of the seat and her pants meant that she didn’t notice the additional wetness right away, but years of bedwetting had conditioned her to immediately check the state of her crotch upon waking. Only this time, she wasn’t in a room by herself, and she hadn’t exactly woken naturally. Instead of her usual hesitant clutch between her legs to examine the fullness (or not) of her pullup, Molly kept her hands from her legs as she simultaneously analyzed several things at once. First, she was still on the plane. Second, she had woken up, which meant that she had been asleep. And if she had been asleep… In the same second that Molly’s hand started to creep toward her lap, she noticed what had apparently woken her: the muted sniffles coming from her left. Any consideration of her own potential wetness was overshadowed (though just barely) by concern for her brother, so Molly tuned toward Liam, albeit while clutching her blanket a bit tighter around her body. “Lee?” she whispered. In the dim, purple nighttime lighting of the cabin, she could see her younger brother trembling, his arms drawn around his torso. Molly shifted slightly in her seat as she gazed at her brother and felt the unmistakable dampness pressing against the back of her legs. She cringed, horrified, but instantly pressed down her own feelings; her brother needed her. Her own problems would have to wait. “Liam,” she repeated softly, a bit worried now. “Lee, what’s wrong?” Liam still didn’t answer, though he whimpered audibly, tilting his right shoulder up toward his ear. Molly was getting anxious. She gently reached out and placed her hand on her brother’s arm. “Buddy, what’s going on?” Liam twitched and drew in a shaky breath. “I-“ he stammered, his voice cracking. “I w-“ He hunched over, hugging himself tighter. “I wet my pants!” he finally gasped in a whisper, squeaking on the last word. Molly’s eyes widened in a way that would have been comical in another situation. She hadn’t had a lot of time to imagine exactly why Liam was upset since waking up, but this never would have crossed her mind. Liam continued crying in Molly’s silence. “I don’t know what happened!” he moaned softly. Molly’s thoughts raced. She had to help Liam – that much was obvious. There were still hours left in the flight; he’d have to change…she’d have to change, too. And if she’d have to change, and if she was really going to help Liam, then she’d have to get up, which meant… “It’s OK, Lee,” Molly soothed, rubbing her brother’s shoulder while quivering internally. Liam only sniffled in response, with no abatement in the tears streaming down his face. “We’ll figure it out,” Molly promised, still keeping her voice low. Liam whimpered in response. “But I’m all wet,” he murmured, his soft voice awash in humiliation. Molly closed her eyes, steeling herself for her next words. “So am I.” Liam blinked, looking over at his sister. He wasn’t quite ready to understand her. “You…did I…?” Molly shook her head. “I h-had an accident too, bud.” Now it was Liam’s turn to widen his eyes. Molly tensed, ready for incredulity, at best, but Liam just said “Do you think there was something in dinner that made us sick?!” Molly let out an unintentional sigh of relief. Liam didn’t know about her bedwetting; of course he wouldn’t think to blame her. He automatically assumed it was some strange coincidence, an unfortunate circumstance that befell them both. “I don’t know,” Molly lied in response. “Maybe.” The knowledge that he wasn’t alone seemed to take the slightest of edge off Liam’s misery, but wetting yourself in public at age 14 wasn’t an easy experience to overcome. “What do we do now?” he asked, his voice still ragged from crying. “We have to change,” Molly replied, hating the idea as much as she knew Liam would. “We can go to the bathrooms and clean ourselves up a bit, and I’ll get some wet paper towels to wipe down the seats.” Even in the relative dark, Molly could see Liam’s face redden fiercely at the plan. “People will see,” he whispered, barely intelligible. Molly squeezed his shoulder, trying to be reassuring, even though she was thinking the exact same thing. “Everyone’s sleeping,” she lied again. “I’ll get the clothes from the backpack, so you don’t have to get up until it’s time to go change.” “OK,” Liam agreed softly, tears still glazing his eyes. He gazed at Molly, silently conveying his gratitude that she was falling on this metaphorical grenade. Giving Liam one last comforting pat on the shoulder, Molly took a deep breath and pushed herself out of her seat. There was no point in delaying the inevitable. She carefully climbed over Bridey, who was still curled sideways in her seat. Molly tried to be as quiet as possible as she reached up to open the overhead bin. The snap of the latch seemed unaccountably loud to Molly, and she felt her cheeks burning in humiliation. She knew anyone behind her would be able to see the big, obvious stain down the back of her jeans. She tried to be quick as she ruffled through her and Liam’s respective backpacks, pulling out the change of clothes they had each thankfully packed. It was only after she reached into her own backpack that she realized that a) she didn’t know how much of his outfit Liam needed – had his shirt gotten wet? And b) she didn’t know if he had packed underwear in his carry-on. Aware of every passing second with wet denim pressing against her lower half, Molly just grabbed the two knapsacks whole and pulled them down. She gestured to Liam to get up, ready to pass his backpack to him as soon as he reached the aisle. Liam stood reluctantly, but stumbled in the narrow space, jarring Bridey as he caught himself on the back of her seat. The two elder Rogan siblings cringed as Bridey whined into wakefulness. “Molls?” the youngest murmured, squinting. Molly could see Liam’s face flush with new embarrassment, and she felt for him. “It’s OK, Bridey,” Molly whispered. “Go back to sleep.” But 13-year-olds aren’t known for their cooperative tendencies. “What’s going on?” Bridey slurred sleepily, not wanting to be left out. “It’s nothing, sweetie, just go back to sleep,” Molly pleaded quietly, but it was too late – Bridey had already turned to look at Liam, who was still standing, awkwardly braced over her, where the wetness down the front of his jeans was glaringly obvious. Now all three siblings were blushing furiously, both for themselves and with residual humiliation for each other. Bridey opened her mouth to ask for an explanation, then thought the better of it. “It’s OK, Bridey,” Molly repeated, with even less conviction. “We’re fine.” Bridey clearly didn’t believe her (neither did Liam, for that matter), but she drew her legs onto the seat so Liam could pass. He did, studiously avoiding eye contact, and grabbed his backpack from Molly, quickly holding it in front of his crotch for the 2 foot walk to the bathroom. Molly watched unnecessarily to make sure Liam got into the restroom, then turned back to Bridey. “It’s fine, Bridey. I promise. Just go back to sleep, sweetie. We’ve still got a long way to go.” Bridey nodded reluctantly, still red, but Moly knew that the younger girl would be unlikely to fall back asleep for a while, at least not until Molly had wiped down the seats and she and Liam had sat back down. Knowing there was little else she could do to explain to Bridey why her two older siblings had both wet themselves, she turned into the other bathroom, pulling the small, folding door shut behind her. In the harsh fluorescent light, Molly slumped against the wall. She finally glanced at her watch, trying to figure out exactly how long she’d been asleep. It’d been about 3 hours, at her count, meaning that they still had over 5 hours left in the flight. Molly supposed she was grateful that at least it wasn’t late enough for the cabin lights were on. Molly didn’t allow herself to sulk for long – she still had to clean the seats, after all. She stripped off her soaked jeans and underwear, quickly running a paper towel under the faucet in an attempt to wipe some of the stickiness off her legs. Even after running over her legs with the cool towel, she felt gross and childish. She knew she didn’t have a chance of truly feeling better until she got home and showered. As she changed, her thoughts drifted to Liam. As far as she knew, he’d never wet the bed before. And she knew it was highly unlikely that anything he ate would cause him to have an accident. And for both of them to wet themselves at practically the same time… Molly drew in a wheezy breath of realization. She’d been on her side, and Liam had been next to her…what if his hand had been on her seat and her…? For the first time, tears sprung in Molly’s eyes. She had no real evidence that Liam had wet himself because of her accident, but it all made too much sense to ignore. She felt terrible. It was bad enough peeing her pants in front of her siblings and a plane full of strangers, but to make Liam have an accident, too? The shame of it all was suffocating. Again, Molly didn’t have time to waste feeling sorry for herself. She couldn’t imagine how she was going to face Liam, knowing what she knew now, but she had to go back out and clean the seats before he got back, so he didn’t have to stand, waiting. Attempting to calm herself with a shuddery breath, Molly pulled up her clean pants and ran her hands under the cold trickle of water from the sink. She balled up her soiled clothes, doing her best to keep the wetness on the inside, and opened the bathroom door. A quick glance showed her that Liam hadn’t returned to their row, so she grabbed a fistful of paper towels, dampened them in the sink, and went to wipe down their seats. Bridey wasn’t bothering to pretend to be asleep and was sneaking questioning looks toward her sister. Molly futilely attempted a smile in return, before deciding it was best to just keep cleaning. Fortunately, there wasn’t much to do; the seats were the fake leather kind, so her mess and Liam’s had pretty much all been reabsorbed into their pants. Still, she wanted to make sure they weren’t sitting in any residual stickiness. As if cleaning your own pee off an airplane seat wasn’t bad enough, Molly jumped slightly when a flight attendant appeared at her elbow. “Is everything OK, miss?” Molly bit the inside of her lip; she felt like every inch of her skin was flaming red with embarrassment. She once again glanced toward Liam’s bathroom to make sure he wasn’t coming out. “I-I’m sorry,” Molly stammered softly. “My…my brother and I…we…we…had…there was an accident.” The flight attendant simply nodded. You don’t fly hundreds of round trips without seeing a few wetting episodes here and there (albeit, usually from children younger than Molly seemed to be). “Are you both alright?” she asked. Impossibly, Molly blushed even harder. “Yes,” she responded. “I just…thought you should know. In case…you had to change the seats.” “We’ll make a note of it when we land, unless you’d like us to try to find you new seats now.” Molly quickly shook her head, wanting nothing more than this interaction to be over. “No, thank you, we’ll be fine.” The flight attendant nodded again, giving Molly a kindly pat on the arm before walking away. Molly exhaled, relieved. She ignored Bridey’s plaintive stare, gathered the wet paper towels, and disposed of them in the bathroom. When she turned around, she saw the opposite door finally open. Liam’s watery gaze met her own. She was sure he’d been crying the entire time, and her stomach twisted with guilt. Liam had his wet pants clutched in a messy ball; his backpack was slung over his shoulder. “What do I do?” his hands jerked slightly, indicating the soiled pants. Molly had left her own messy clothes on her seat with her backpack after she’d wiped off the pee, but thankfully, she’d thought of a plausible solution. “We can use the plastic wrapping from the blankets.” Liam nodded, simultaneously grateful for Molly’s handling of the situation and ashamed that it was necessary. Haltingly, he stepped behind her as she reached past Bridey – still awake, but deliberately avoiding eye contact – to grab the plastic wrapping they’d stuffed in the seatback pockets. The siblings stood next to each other, carefully, abashedly wrapped their pee-stained clothes in thin, industrial plastic before shoving the incriminating evidence into their bags. Beneath her shame, Molly noticed just how tall Liam had gotten over the summer. He was nearly taller than her now, a fact that renewed the lump in her throat. Her brother was growing into a man, and she’d made him pee himself. Molly suppressed a sob as she took Liam’s backpack from him and returned it to the overhead bin, then followed him back over Bridey to their seats. It felt like ages, but it had really only been about 15 minutes since Molly woke up. There were still over five hours left until they landed, and far more until they got through customs and were able to get back home. Beside her, Liam was still trembling and sniffing. He felt the same as Molly – that he was gross and childish and unclean. Heart sinking, Molly put her arm around her brother. “Th-thanks, Molls,” Liam whispered. “Thanks for taking care of everything.” Molly’s stomach was in knots; she didn’t know that she would ever get over what she’d done to Liam. “It’s OK, Lee,” she promised. “Just try to go back to sleep, bud. We’ll be home soon.”
  16. Sapphire3619

    Alone

    I'd like to get a chapter-ed story out next (not this one), but that means finding enough weekends in a row to write it :) For now, I have this little scene to share. Happy [almost] Halloween! *** “Alright, darlings,” Willa Morgan called to the two teenagers. “We’re off to dinner. There’s plenty of food in the kitchen, or you can order a pizza if you’re willing to wait. We should be back before 10.” “Sure, Mom,” 18-year-old Finley responded with a smile, swinging her unrealistically shiny curtain of hair over her shoulders. Hank looked up from his sketchpad. “Could I please play games while you’re gone?” “Sure, sweetie,” Willa replied. “Thanks for asking. I’m sure you can figure out how to get the system working.” Hank thanked Willa and headed back to the den. The cabin was small compared to the Morgan’s massive estate in the city, but it still seemed luxurious to Hank. He liked playing video games – the focus and lack of any real-world implications was relaxing – but he knew that Willa and Geoff preferred to limit video games during “family time.” Back in the kitchen, Willa and Geoff kissed their daughter goodbye and headed out. The cabin was fairly remote, and the closet acceptable restaurant for date night was a half-hour drive away, but they didn’t have any hesitation with leaving the two teens alone at the cabin. Well, barely any hesitation. When Willa had proposed going out the night before, Geoff had questioned whether or not they should stay with Hank. After all, the 15-year-old had only lived with them for a month, and this was the first trip to the cabin they’d taken as a family. The trip had been Geoff’s idea. He’d wanted to give them all a chance to bond and relax before the new school year started. He thought the quiet and relative simplicity of a week out in the country would be helpful for Hank’s transition. To be honest, the Morgans didn’t know a whole lot about Hank’s life before he’d come to live with them. Even the social worker didn’t seem to know. They knew he was originally from a few states over and that he’d been bounced around among various family members, but none of his living situations were what could reasonably be called “healthy.” Willa and Geoff had heard about drugs, alcohol, and neglect, though, to the best of anyone’s knowledge, there had never been any physical or sexual abuse. Through a series of lucky connections and one very concerned teacher, Hank had been placed in the foster care system and ended up moving a few hundred miles away. Willa and Geoff had been looking into fostering for several years. They’d only had one child and wanted to be able to share their considerable wealth, but they knew bringing a disadvantaged child into a completely new environment wasn’t a simple procedure. Willa and Geoff both worked, so they knew they were not equipped to take in a child with substantial supervision or personal care needs. Luckily, and more than a little surprisingly, Hank seemed to be remarkably well-adjusted. He was mature and whip-smart, the kind of smart that seemed out-of-place coming from a kid with dingy, tattered clothes and raggedy hair. The Morgans had provided a haircut and updated wardrobe, and Hank had responded with nothing but politeness and good behavior. He smiled easily and responded readily in family conversations. Willa and Geoff counted themselves very lucky. Now, out at the old but well-kept family cabin, Hank was settled in the den in the back, while Finley remained in the kitchen, engrossed with her phone. Finley wasn’t unkind, but she had the kind of embedded self-centeredness that came with being the beautiful only child of rich parents, despite Willa and Geoff’s attempts to keep from spoiling her. She didn’t enjoy the cabin as much as she used to, and now, a half hour after he parents left, she was bored. Her parents had explicitly told her to stay with Hank, right? He was 15. He’d be fine if she ran out to meet up with some friends. Finley had already made her decision before she knocked gently on the slightly-ajar door to the den. Hank’s eyes flickered over to his glamourous foster sister before refocusing on the campaign. “Hey, Fin,” he greeted her. Finley smiled. She really did like the quiet new addition to their family. She knew some of her friends’ younger brothers, so she was well aware that 15-year-old boys were not, as a group, all polite and unobtrusive. “Hey, kid,” she replied. “I’m gonna run out and meet some friends for dinner. I won’t be gone long. Is that OK?” “Mmm-hmm,” Hank mumbled, his eyes locked on the screen. He knew that Finley was asking him something, but she didn’t seem to be asking him to do anything, so he didn’t put too much thought into assenting. He and Finley didn’t talk much, so he didn’t feel badly about keeping his attention on his game. Likewise, Finley wasn’t really concerned with Hank’s inattentive response. She’d done her job – alerted the young man that she’d be gone – and she’d be back well before her parents, anyway. She grinned at Hank before walking out, shutting the door behind her. Hank didn’t really hear the door shut. He definitely didn’t hear the rattle of the old, loose lock clicking into place. The cabin was several decades old, and the den in the back of the house had been the last on the list for updates. The knob was loose and creaky, and if the door was shut even a little bit too hard, the lock would fall into place, effectively trapping anyone who happened to be in the den. But Hank didn’t know that. He barely even registered that Finley was gone. All he knew is that he was nearly finished with the current mission. He adjusted his position on the floor. He realized he had to pee, as he usually did around this time of night, and he was getting hungry. He decided he’d finish the mission, save, and then get up to go to the bathroom and get something for dinner. Hank squirmed a bit as he finished the mission, pressing his knees together. He saved his progress and turned off the TV, stretching a bit as he rose from the floor. For the first time, he noticed how quiet it seemed. The cabin didn’t have any of the typical traffic and human sounds as the city, anyway, but without the noise from his game, the silence of the house seemed palpable. Hank’s brow furrowed as he reached for the door. But the knob wouldn’t turn. Hank frowned, stepping in closer. He gripped the doorknob harder, but it wouldn’t budge. He jiggled the knob, and it rattled in his hand, but still wouldn’t turn. Hank felt himself starting to sweat. “Fin?” he called. No answer. He tried again, louder. “Fin? Can you help me?” Silence. Hank dropped his hand from the door. He tried to convince himself that there was a logical explanation for the silence…and the locked door…and the apparently empty house… It’s fine he told himself. Willa and Geoff are at dinner. Fin probably just has her headphones in or something. He stepped back from the door, unsure of how to proceed. He had to pee, and he was pretty hungry, but he could wait awhile. He slumped back on the floor and turned on the TV. After another half hour, he turned it off again, listening for any sounds of movement outside the den. The quiet of the cabin was making him nervous, and he could hear a rumble of thunder in the distance. He stood and looked out the window; he could see dark storm clouds rolling in, obscuring the evening summer sun. Hank’s face fell. The storm looked bad. It’s not that he was afraid of storms, but he could tell it was going to be loud and nasty, and he really wasn’t sure if the den was the safest place to be in the cabin. The Morgans had given him a cell phone, but he still wasn’t used to keeping it on his person at all times, so it was somewhere on the other side of the locked door. He walked back over to the door. He tried the doorknob again, already knowing the futility of the attempt. “Finley?” he yelled. No answer. “Willa? Geoff?” Silence. Hank felt his stomach drop. The nerves were accompanied by a surge in his bladder that necessitated a squeeze of his thighs. “Finley?” he repeated, but much quieter. He stepped backward into the den, fighting despondency. No one was coming. No one was home. Hank blinked rapidly. The rain started outside, and he slid down onto the couch. It’s fine, he thought. I can handle this. He felt a familiar emptiness in his chest as he sat in the empty room. He was alone. He’d lost count of how many times he’d been left alone – dropped off at some new house, not picked up after school, or, just like now, flat-out being left behind in a house by himself. Hank breathed deeply as the minutes passed. Some small, logical part of his brain tried to say that there was a rational explanation, that the Morgans really wouldn’t take him out to a cabin just to abandon him. But Hank had been left behind far too many times to allow that part any purchase. He was 15, he was alone, he was trapped, there was a big storm approaching, he was hungry, and he really had to pee. Inhaling sharply, Hank pressed his hand between his legs. He’d already had to go, and the increase in anxiety only served to make his need all the more intense. The storm intensified outside. Hank could hear the rain lashing against the block glass windows high on the wall. Hank knew he should calm down, but he hadn’t been able to release his grip on his dick. He felt overwhelmed, almost lightheaded. He looked around the room for anywhere he could relieve himself without making a mess, but there were no waste bins or even empty water bottles. A hot leak sprung against Hank’s hand, and he doubled over. He couldn’t remember ever having to pee so badly, and he knew he wasn’t going to last long. Slowly, Hank rose to his feet and made his way over to the far wall, off of the area rug. The old hardwood floors were a bit warped with age, but he figured hard floors would be easier to clean than the couch or the rug. If he ever got out of here, that is. Hank peed a little more as he moved, and his breath caught in his throat. Without looking, he knew there would be a visible stain on his shorts. It should have been the least of his concerns, what with being abandoned and locked in a room and all, but the immediacy of excretory desperation had a way of overtaking all other thoughts. Sliding down against the wall, Hank wet even more. He was vibrating with fear and the physical effort of holding, and he hadn’t been able to wrap his head around the fact that he was about to have an accident in his pants. A bolt of lightning lit the den, accompanied by a deafening clap of thunder. Hank gasped and jerked, finally losing his last shred of control. Urine began to flow through his shorts, rapidly expanding the existing stain between his legs. Hank shuddered with failure and fear, repressed sobs shaking his body. His stream of piss surged and waned with each heave of his torso, cruelly mimicking his silent, uneven cries. But still no tears fell from his eyes. He was scared and alone, but he wouldn’t cry. He’d been here before. Well, not having an accident – not for many years, anyway – but alone in a house with no one to help or take care of him. Hank kept wetting, soaking through every inch of the fabric of his underwear and shorts. A warm puddle grew from his butt out past his shoes, pooling oddly on the old, warped floorboards. Another crash of thunder seemed to shake the cabin. Hank was still wetting himself, pee trickling in multiple streams through his drenched underwear and onto the floor. He leaned against the wall, unable to support himself, even in a sitting position. His stream finally tapered off, leaving him with saturated shorts sticking to his thighs and a long puddle underneath him that rippled with each tremor of his body. Hank stared past his knees, his gaze unfocused. The storm drifted past the cabin, and the sound of thunder gradually diminished, but Hank still couldn’t bring himself to move. He was exhausted from worry and trying to hold it, and he didn’t want to think of what he’d have to do now that the Morgans had abandoned him. His shorts cooled and chafed against his legs, and his thoughts swam with ineffectual attempts to convince himself that it was all no big deal. It was just another family that didn’t want him. He didn’t know how long he sat there. The sounds of the storm faded, but sunlight didn’t return, indicating that it was at least after 9. Just as Hank was about to doze off, he heard voices. He blinked rapidly, heart in his throat. “…here, honey?” Willa’s voice sounded mildly concerned as she came down the hallway toward the den. “Willa!” Hank’s voice caught as he called for his foster mother, delirious with confusion and relief. “Willa!” “Hank?” Willa was definitely concerned now. She reached for the den door, and, seeing it shut, guessed what must have happened. With Geoff at her side, she twisted the old lock just so, and the door sprung open. Hank gasped at the sight of his foster parents. He felt like the ever-tightening band of fear wrapped around his chest had snapped, and he choked with relief. He scrambled to his feet, clumsy and gangly, as Willa and Geoff hurried across the room. Willa wrapped her arms around the distraught teen, and Geoff embraced them both. Before she could open her mouth to ask what had happened, Hank let out a keening sob. “You left me!!” he wailed, the words straining against his throat. “Y-you le-ahhhhhh!” Words failed him, and he sagged against the embrace of the Morgans. Willa and Geoff shared a horrified look. In just seconds, they’d figured out that Finley was gone, and Hank had somehow gotten locked in the den. Neither of them had expected the sheer betrayal and anxiety on the teen’s face, though. Willa opened her mouth to correct him, but Geoff spoke first. “We’re so sorry, Hank,” he said gently. “We shouldn’t have left you for so long. We’re here now. It’s OK, I promise.” Hank continued to weep, his face buried against Willa’s shoulder. It had been so long since someone had actually come back for him, since someone leaving didn’t mean them leaving for good. He’d spent the past two hours trying to convince himself that he didn’t care about the Morgans, and especially didn’t care that they didn’t care about him, but seeing Willa and Geoff burst into the den had shattered that delusion. He did care about them, and he desperately didn’t want them to leave him behind. Seeing them left him breathless with relief, a feeling only demonstrable through his current breakdown. Willa and Geoff shared a look over the crying teen’s head and came to the mutual decision that they’d get the full story later. The only important matter at the moment was comforting Hank. “Mom?” Finley’s voice echoed down the hallway. She’d heard Hank’s cries as soon as she walked in the front door and had hurried to the den. Willa raised an eyebrow at her daughter, who paled seeing the emotional tableau in the middle of the room. “Hank…” Finley stammered. “Mom, I…” She took a step forward and sighed. “Hank, I’m so sorry,” Finley apologized, genuinely remorseful. “I didn’t mean to be gone for that long, I swear.” Geoff and Willa both started at the girl, silently demanding an explanation. “I ran out with friends to get dinner,” Finley continued. “I told Hank I was leaving, but,” she continued quickly, seeing her parents stiffen at any implication that Hank was at fault, “he was playing his game, I don’t think he heard me. I wasn’t going to be out long, but then the storm came, and there was a tree across the road, a bunch of trees down, and it took me forever to get back!” Willa sighed, stroking Hank’s hair as the teen cried. She knew her daughter didn’t mean any harm, and they’d been meaning to fix the door to the den for ages. It was an unfortunate series of circumstances, but not really anyone’s fault. “I’m so sorry, Hank,” Finley repeated. Seeing someone so close to her own age sobbing and obviously having had an accident was unnerving, and she felt terrible for putting him in that position. Hank whimpered, but didn’t look up. He was grateful for Fin’s apology, but she was still a beautiful girl, and he didn’t want to make eye contact with a beautiful girl while soaked in his own pee. Besides, he was still shaky and uneasy, and he wanted to stay in Willa’s arms a bit longer. “Fin, honey, why don’t you go make Hank a snack?” Geoff suggested, knowing that neither Hank nor Finley would benefit from her continued presence in the room. Finley nodded, grateful for the excuse to leave but still be useful. Willa kept combing her fingers through Hank’s hair, murmuring assurances, while Geoff kept his arms around both of them. Hank’s sobs dwindled into whimpers, until finally, the tears stopped, like the storm passing away from the cabin and into the distance. “Hank, honey?” Willa murmured when the boy quieted. “Do you want to go get changed?” Hank’s stomach lurched. He’d known, obviously, that there was no way Willa and Geoff could have missed the evidence of his accident, but this first vocal acknowledgement that he’d wet himself was still jarring. He straightened, eyes shining. “I’m sorry,” he squeaked, voice raw and small. “I…I couldn’t get to the bathroom.” “It’s fine, Hank,” Geoff reassured him. “It’s not your fault.” “I didn’t hear Fin say she was leaving,” Hank rambled. “Or I wasn’t paying attention, and I didn’t have my phone, and the door was locked, and no one was here, and-“ “Hank, it’s OK,” Geoff hugged the boy tightly. “It’s all going to be OK.” Hank trembled. He believed Geoff – believed all of them, all of their apologies and reassurances – but he was so tired. He’d spent so long doing everything he could to be unemotional, to take care of himself and not be any burden to whoever he happened to be living with at the time. The events of the past few hours – the storm, the fear, the accident, and the reunion – had dragged him through a maelstrom of emotions that he couldn’t handle, even with his years of practice. “Go get cleaned up, sweetheart,” Willa encouraged softly. Nodding morosely, Hank shuffled out of the den. His shorts were no longer dripping, but they were heavy and uncomfortable between his legs. He was exhausted and shaky, and he didn’t know what to expect now. He collected his pajamas from his room and trudged to the bathroom. Peeling off his soiled clothes, Hank couldn’t put together a coherent thought. He almost felt like he was in a dream, where events were disconnected and time moved strangely. Back in his room, Hank was unsure of what to do with his wet clothes. He had a hamper, but he knew better than to put such soiled things in a closed container. “I’ll take those, sweetie.” Hank looked up to see Willa and Geoff standing in the doorway. Willa held out her hand, and Hank cringed as he passed over his pissed-in shorts and underwear. Willa quickly took the clothes to the laundry room before returning. “Hank, we’re so sorry,” Geoff started. He and Willa stood just inside the doorway and to the left, not wanting to intrude on Hank’s space. Hank stood against his bed, fidgeting awkwardly. “Hank,” Willa asked. “Honey, did you think we’d left you for good?” Hank blinked, ashamed of the tears that had gathered in his eyes. After a moment, he shrugged. “That’s what happens to me,” he whispered. Willa let out a soft, sad sigh. Geoff stepped forward to place a reassuring hand on the teen’s shoulder. “Not here, Hank,” Geoff promised. “We knew what we were doing when we asked you to come live with us. We’re not going to leave you.” Hank ducked his head. He felt so stupid. “I-“ he stammered. “I don’t think you’re bad people,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean to yell at you. I just…” He looked up, pleading. “No one was here,” he went on. “I was scared and I couldn’t help thinking that you weren’t coming back.” Dropping his eyes again, Hank’s voice lowered. “Everyone else didn’t come back.” Willa stepped forward, and she and Geoff wrapped the boy in a tight hug. “Of course, sweetheart,” she soothed. “Of course we understand that you would think that, and we’re sorry that you did. We’re all going to try to be a lot better about making sure you never have cause to think that again.” Hank nodded, too overcome to speak. He was comforted, but still tired from the terrible events of the evening. Geoff rubbed Hank’s back, recognizing the boy’s exhaustion. “Do you want something to eat, bud?” Still quiet, Hank shook his head, suppressing a yawn. “OK, honey,” Willa said, kissing his forehead. “We’ll let you get some sleep. Let us know if you need anything.” She and Geoff hugged Hank one last time, then turned to go. “Can-“ The adults turned around at the sound of Hank’s soft, stammering plea. “Can you leave the door open, please?” “Of course, sweetheart,” Willa promised. She gave her foster son one last smile before leaving him to sleep.