💊 Part 1 💊 Part 2 💊 Part 3 💊 Part 4 💊 Part 5 💊
"Hello, best friend! I really missed you!"
Even though the pink unicorn plushie is being bounced up and down in front of you, the forced baritone voice is most certainly not coming from Honey Horn.
"Come on, cutie butt! Give me a biiiiiiiiiig hug!"
A thumb and forefinger spread the unicorn's front legs wide, inviting you to snatch it between the pink balled mittens that have replaced your hands since you first checked into this clinic. You suckle cautiously on the fat pacifier that is tightly secured to your mouth with the pink leather strap. Something in your muscle memory is prompting you to grab the toy and pull it close. It's not unlike the urge to tic that you've fought your whole life.
You raise your eyes up to the figure dangling Honey Horn before you like a marionette. Her straight, shoulder-length hair is the same brown color as the frames of her stylish glasses. She appears to be in her 30s, and a genuine smile radiates from her beautifully made-up face. This could only be Dr. Amelia.
You lift your arms partway, feeling a sheet of drool slide from the shield of your pacifier onto your white cloth bib, then spare a glance at the two young women who are playing on the floor of Dr. Amelia's office. Emma, with braces on her legs and shaggy dark hair that covers her eyes, is back to absent-mindedly knocking plastic cars around on the rug. Every time she bends forward or crawls, you hear the distinctive crinkle of a diaper under her denim dress. She's stopped paying attention to you completely, resigned to what she believes to be her permanent fate.
In contrast, her blonde companion Daisy seems very interested in you. She pulls at her braid and watches you intensely, suckling her own blue pacifier aggressively. You notice her puffy diaper growing yellow as her stunning eyes drill into your own from across the room. She seems to have lost all self-awareness as she waits for your reaction to Dr. Amelia's strange game.
"Awwww, pleeeeeeeeeease?" Dr. Amelia mimics a childish drawl and nuzzles Honey Horn's snout into your face. The soft material tickles your nose, and you stifle an unplanned giggle as you scrunch up your face and shake your head. "Don't be shy! I'm here to help the doctor make you allllllll better."
You close your eyes, hoping to ground yourself and make sense of everything that's happened to you. You shiver at the feeling of your own sodden diaper squished flat against the floor like a pancake. Your cloth bib, swapped out less than an hour ago for a fresh one, is already heavy with the fluid that drains pathetically from behind your bobbing pacifier. Emma's words dance through the folds of your mind in a childish sing-song, like that of the cartoons that play incessantly in your bedroom.
🎵 We're here forever. We're here forever. We're here forever. 🎵
Before the thought occurs to you to just stand up and leave -- to run out of the clinic and find help -- you realize you've already scooped Honey Horn into your arms. The spit on your bib soaks into the pink unicorn's stuffing, but your plushie feels warm and soft and safe. You glance over at Daisy, whose pacifier is now pumping so furiously in her mouth, you wonder if she could break her jaw.
"Good!" Dr. Amelia claps her hands together in triumph, dropping the fake masculine voice she had used to speak through Honey Horn. Satisfied at your passive acceptance of the toy, she rolls out an office chair from behind her desk and delicately folds one high-heeled leg over the other. The professionalism of the doctor's desk area stands in stark contrast to the bizarre daycare theme of the rest of her office.
"Now then," Dr. Amelia grins, taking inventory of her three pathetic patients sprawled on the floor in front of her. "I'd like to thank our newest patient for joining us. Tics -- especially destructive ones like biting and scratching -- are a challenging problem to treat. My sister Heather is a psychologist. She'd tell you the problem lives in your brain." Dr. Amelia points to her own head with a French-tipped nail, as though assuming you need help understanding where that is.
"I agree," she goes on. A sidelong glance tells you Emma isn't bothering to pay attention, while Daisy remains unshakably fixated on you. "But the brain isn't just living alone in a jar, handing out orders that your body follows. It's hungry for information! Gobble gobble gobble!" She reaches forward and pushes Honey Horn's snout into the crook of your neck, as though your plushie were munching on you. Despite yourself, you gurgle at the ticklish feeling, and let some fresh, sloppy drool bubble out from your pacifier.
"Your brain loves advice! It asks your body for help to make decisions all the time! Everything your brain knows about the world, it learns through your eyes, your ears -- and your head, shoulders, knees and toes!" Dr. Amelia squeezes the tip of your pink jelly sandal, playfully pinching the big toe. "So how do we stop the biting and scratching? We can't just tell Mr. Brain to cut it out! We need your body to help by sending it all the right signals!"
Dr. Amelia gestures around the room, filled with plastic cookware, giant foam blocks, strange books and bizarre toys. "Every object in this room is a medical device, designed to retrain your body on how to talk to your brain! By improving your motor skills, coordination, and muscle control, you'll find that your tics have less control over you! It may eventually help with your bladder failures as well."
Your bulging cheeks turn scarlet, and you shake your head back and forth furiously. You DON'T have bladder problems! You were FORCED into diapers after you checked in!
"Hmm? You don't think so?" Dr. Amelia coos, interpreting your swiveling head as a rejection of her methods. "I think you'll come around! We'll start with something simple..."
She reaches behind her desk and, with a jumbling clatter, presents a giant pink bulb of plastic on a thin handle that resembles a rattle.
"This device is designed to recalibrate your brain's input from vertical motion of the upper extremit -- I'm sorry, that's all doctor talk. The important thing is that you keep it moving so that you hear the noise. As much as you can, for as long as you can!"
Within five minutes, you're left sitting with your legs spread out on the floor, your swollen diaper bulging beneath your pink t-shirt. The handle of the rattle is cupped between the two fat balls of your fingerless mittens. After some coaxing and correction, you burn with humiliation as you pump your arms up and down, practically bouncing on the seat of your diaper as you try to keep the plastic beads in the rattle bouncing and singing.
Up! Down. Up! Down. Up! Down.
Once Dr. Amelia is satisfied that you intend to continue the exercises, she clicks over to the rug to have a private word with Emma. Daisy hasn't taken her eyes off you since Nurse Molly brought you to this room. You try to ignore her as you stupidly shake the rattle, but after a minute, the pretty blonde starts crawling over to you on all fours.
You're not sure what to say or how to greet her, since you both have pacifiers strapped to your lips. It doesn't seem like introductions are necessary as Daisy reaches out a hand and places it on the front of your soaked diaper. You try to squirm away from the uninvited contact, but Daisy only pushes harder. You feel her fingers probe the squishy padding, stimulating you in a strange and unexpected way. You're forced to drop the rattle as she continues moving in, pushing you onto your back and hovering above you on her hands and knees. A thick, creamy string of drool oozes from behind her pacifier, joining your own drool on the front of your bib. You're helpless as she continues to fondle your diaper, her eyelashes fluttering, her suckling growing fast and loud...
"Not again! What are you doing with Daisy?"
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