I lay there whimpering and still when she’d finished, traumatized into a state of shock. If I was whimpering, it was only because it felt like it made exhaling easier. The diaper she unfolded and slipped under me was bright pink. It might’ve been one of Natasha’s from earlier this year. A spare. It probably wasn’t.
“There,” the crazy bitch cooed at me. “Isn’t that much better when we accept what’s best for us?” She pulled the diaper up between my legs. One tape after the other, she sealed me into my crinkling prison.
This was it. All of that planning. All of that looking over my shoulder and choosing my words so extra carefully. All of that maneuvering. All of that careful cultivating of relationships. All of my plans.