Pamper Probation - Chapter 1: Initiation
By Order of the Matriarchal Court, Danielle Monroe is hereby assigned 500 hours of community rehabilitation service in direct care assistance to an enrolled participant in the Regression Adjustment Pathways Initiative, in lieu of gainful employment.
Danielle day had already been hammered into something unrecognizable, each strike landing with cold, deliberate force. First the courthouse, where the judge’s gavel fell like a final nail driven deep into wood, sealing her sentence without mercy. Then the Reform Center’s front desk where cold laminate counters gleamed under harsh fluorescent tubes that buzzed like trapped insects, a clerk who snapped the ankle monitor onto her leg with the same mechanical detachment she might have used to tag livestock.
The black band sat heavy against her skin, already warm from her body heat, already a living reminder of the five hundred hours she owed this place.
Now she sat in the windowless beige intake room, the air thick with bleach and the faint metallic tang of institutional fear. No windows. No clock. Just her, a scarred metal table, and Intake Coordinator Ellis opposite in starched white scrubs, clipboard poised like a weapon.
Ellis didn’t smile. Didn’t soften.
“You’ll be assigned to Zone D,” she said, turning a page with a crisp snap. “Sitter for a Level Two male. Eight-hour shifts, five days per week, until the five hundred hours are complete.”
Danielle raised an eyebrow. “That’s about…what? Three months?”
“Thirteen weeks, give or take.” Ellis gave the smallest shrug. “Unless your compliance rating drops. Or you mouth off to a supervisor.”
The ankle monitor chirped faintly, like the nagging of a low-battery smoke detector.
Ellis slid a slim folder across the table. “Participant: Corey Lassiter. Twenty-six years old. Enrolled in the Regression Adjustment Pathways Initiative for eight months. Duties include hygiene assistance, feedings, emotional/behavioral regulation, and routine diaper changes.”
Danielle blinked. “Wait… diaper changes?”
The woman didn’t look up. “Yes. Level-Two protocol.”
Danielle scoffed. “But you said he’s 26 years old. That’s an adult!”
“Physically,” Ellis corrected, voice flat. “Legally, emotionally, and behaviorally, he no longer qualifies as an autonomous adult.”
Danielle rolled her eyes, opening the folder.
A photo was clipped to the front page: Corey Lassiter. Short hair. Knees drawn together. Eyes lowered. He wore a cloud-patterned onesie, the kind you’d expect on a toddler, not a man. His posture was passive. Resigned. Like someone already used to being told when and where to sit, eat, and sleep.
“And I’m supposed to—what? Feed him? Change him? Treat him like a giant baby? Pretend this is…normal?!”
“You’re supposed to facilitate his rehabilitation,” Ellis said evenly, “And yes, all of that is a very vital part of it.”
Danielle pushed the folder back, disgust rising in her throat. “Jesus Christ.”
“Would you prefer a Level One assignment?” Ellis asked, tone unchanging.
“I’d prefer a fucking mop,” Danielle snapped. “Or cleaning up trash on a beach. What the fuck is this place?”
“Level Ones are kept in full restraint at all times,” Ellis continued as if Danielle hadn’t said a thing.“No speech. No independent movement. Continuous feeding via tube or high-chair restraint. Most are maintained on rotating cycles of sensory deprivation, mild electrical stimulation, and pharmacological regression aids. Incontinence is not managed, it is induced and reinforced. Accidents are mandatory markers of progress.”
Danielle stared at the wall, pulse loud in her ears.
“Trust me,” Ellis said, the first faint crack of something almost human in her voice, “you’ll be grateful Corey’s a Two.”
Danielle wanted to set the file on fire. “I’m not wiping anyone’s ass, and I’m certainly not changing their diapers.”
“Refusal to perform assigned duties results in non-compliance strikes,” Ellis replied. “Each strike adds two to five hours to your sentence. He earns strikes too. So you might want to hope he behaves.”
Danielle’s head collapsed in her hands as she let out a hefty sigh. “I hate this already.”
Ellis stood, gathering her pen and clipboard with precise, efficient motions. “Then you’ll fit right in.”
The hallway looked like it belonged to a bizarre mixture of a hospital, nursery, and prison all at once. Sterile and bright, but in a correctional sort of way. It had the lingering sense of a holding facility, thinly disguised with pastels and creepy cartoon animals staring down from the occasional wall decals. Wide-eyed elephants with frozen grins, smiling rainbows arching over their heads like mocking halos. The creatures seemed to follow every step, their googly pupils seeming to follow her every step.
The air carried a series of faint, unpleasant smells of antiseptic undercut by the sour-sweet rot of spoiled milk, talcum powder, and something that smelled more muskier and more human. The nauseating cocktail clung to the back of Danielle’s throat with every breath.
Her sneakers squeaked behind Supervisor Hale’s clicking heels. The ankle monitor itched viciously under the hem of her cuffed scrubs, a constant reminder of the five hundred hours ticking down like a sentence she’d already begun to resent.
They reached a three-way junction. Signs in soft block letters pointed the directions:
Left — Block B: Bathing Ward
Straight — Block C: Sissy Ward
Right — Block D: Nursery Ward
Hale turned right without pause. Danielle followed, pulse ticking higher with each step.
Every few yards a heavy door sealed flush with the wall. They had no handles, just biometric pads and small, round observation windows frosted to opacity. Behind them, the faint silhouettes of shapes moved in vague, adult-sized shadows doing things that normal adult bodies didn’t typically do.
From D-2 came the faint clink of spoon against plastic bowl, then a woman’s voice, bright and coaxing: “Open wide for the choo-choo, big boy… all aboard for num-nums!!” A thick, desperate gurgle answered. Frantic, wet swallows, like someone trying not to choke.
Further down, a rhythmic squeaking of springs could be heard. A slow, heavy, deliberate bounce… bounce… bounce…Each descent punctuated by the unmistakable crinkle of thick padding and a small, choked whimper that caught in the throat like a sob trying to stay hidden. A female murmur drifted through the sealed door, patient, almost tender: “Ohhh, another big messy already? That’s number three today, little man! Those prunes and fiber mush are really doing their job, aren’t they?”
No reply. Just a long, shuddering breath that sounded too close to crying.
A sharp wooden crack echoed from D-5. Once, twice, and then again and again as each one was followed by a high yelp that cracked into lisping sobs. “I sowwy!! I sowwy, Miss!!” The woman’s voice was harsh, a sharp contrast to the sweet ones before. “You’re gonna be sorry! Now let’s see how many swats it takes for you to get it right!!” More cracks and cries could be heard echoing down the hall as they strode on.
Danielle kept her eyes forward. The sounds layered over each other now: a mechanical bzzzz from another room, eager muffled babbling underneath it, then a syrupy “Awww, you want your special goo-goos so bad, don’t you??? Better hurry! 10 more seconds and buzzy goes ‘bye bye’!!”
Danielle tried not to react. She tried to ignore it, but also tried to take it all in.
They stopped at Nursery Room D-7. The scanner blinked red beside the handle. Danielle lifted her badge with fingers that felt oddly numb.
Her ankle monitor chirped in perfect sync. Green light flashed. The door slid open with a soft pneumatic sigh.
The room inside completely shifted in both tone and decor. It looked like a nursery or, rather, more like a pastel prison. “Tiled” floors made of soft, interlocking foam in faded yellows, greens and blues. Cartoon murals covered the walls. Balloons, smiling lambs, cloud creatures with googly eyes. Someone, somewhere, thought this would feel comforting.
It wasn’t. It was horrifying.
A clinical sink gleamed in the corner beside a tall, locked cabinet. Wall-mounted sanitizing stations every few feet. High corner cameras, tiny red lights unblinking, always watching. And the smell…God. Not foul. Worse. Sweet. Bleached. Powdery. Warm milk and talc and faint urine and other indescribable smells one would only attribute to a daycare.
Danielle stepped inside. Slowly. Cautiously.
She scanned the room. A giant table stood against the wall, packed to the brim with powders, lotions, wipes and, of course, diapers. Giant diapers. Big enough for a grown man. A rocking chair stood in the corner, right next to a crib with bars that extended almost all the way up to the ceiling. It looked more like a prison cell than a place meant for sleep. Tall, imposing, with reinforced latches. The mattress inside was thick, plastic-lined, and immaculately made. Tucked corners, pale yellow sheet stretched taut.
Danielle’s stomach turned. Then she turned, and spotted him.
He was perched awkwardly on a padded playmat in the far corner of the room, near the crib. His knees were drawn up, arms curled protectively around a plush yellow giraffe whose neck draped over his shoulder like a limp shield. The onesie he wore clung tight to his body. Canary yellow, dotted with tiny white ducks, snapped at the crotch. His short hair was neatly combed. His bare legs were smooth. And beneath the fabric of the onesie, the swollen outline of a diaper was unmistakable.
It was surreal. Like looking at a grown man trapped in someone’s fetish scenario he hadn’t chosen. He looked up as she entered, eyes widening just slightly before dropping again. His gaze refusing to meet hers. Cheeks already flushed a deep, humiliated pink around the large pacifier in his mouth.
Danielle stopped just inside the threshold. She turned instinctively toward the Supervisor, mouth opening to ask for help, instructions, a script, an exit, anything. But the door had already slid shut with that soft sigh. A faint mechanical snick followed, the lock engaging. Like she was trapped in this creepy little prison too.
Feeling awkward and anxious and all sorts of creeped out, like she’d been dropped onto the set of one of the world’s most perverse gameshows ever, with cameras rolling and where invisible viewers could see how someone would handle such an absurd situation.
She wanted to say something. Anything, to break the tension, but no words came. What did you even say to someone dressed like…that?
The silence stretched. The quiet buzz of the intercom down the hall. The faint crinkle of his diaper as he shifted slightly on the mat.
Finally, after what felt like several minutes went by, she cleared her throat. “Uh-umm…you Corey?”
He nodded fast, jerky, eager to please. “Yes, ma’am.”
She winced. “Don’t—just… Danielle is fine.”
“Oh. Okay.” His voice was high-pitched, squeaky. Muffled around the pacifier.
The giraffe in his lap twitched slightly as his hands fidgeted around it. Danielle glanced at the changing table, the crib, then back to him.
“I… read your file,” she muttered finally, voice stiff.
He nodded again. “They said someone new might be assigned today.”
She crossed her arms. “Yeah. I’m on probation. But I didn’t realize I would be doing…this.”
Corey didn’t respond. Just lowered his head again, shivering slightly.
Danielle looked at him. Really looked at him. The absurd outfit. The quiet posture. The smell of powder clinging faintly to the air.
“You’re really… wearing one?” she asked, unable to help herself.
His cheeks colored. He didn’t look up. Just gave a single, slow nod. Knowing exactly what she must have been referring to.
Danielle shifted her weight.
The silence pressed in again. No staff around. No manual. No idea what she was supposed to do next.
She glanced around again, taking in her surroundings. Crib, changing table, high chair bolted to the floor. Everything padded. Everything locked down. The whole room was designed like a cross between a preschool and a psych ward.
Corey still hadn’t moved. Just sat there, hands wrapped around the giraffe like it was a lifeline.
Danielle exhaled sharply through her nose. “Okay. So. You’re… what? Supposed to just sit there until I tell you otherwise?”
He hesitated, shrugging. “If you’d like me to move, I can.”
God. He looked like he was trying not to shrink into himself. Danielle turned and walked toward the shelves near the sink. Diapers, wipes, powder. All in neat, clinical rows. She scanned for something—anything—to focus on.
“You’ve been here eight weeks?” she asked, not turning.
“And this is normal now? The diapers, the—” she gestured vaguely, “—everything?”
“It’s… protocol.” His voice was soft. “Level Two means I’m still allowed words…sometimes.”
She turned back around. His eyes met hers, briefly, then flinched away. Danielle walked a few steps closer. He didn’t move.
“So if I told you to crawl over here right now,” she said, “you’d do it?”
Danielle stared. He wasn’t defiant. Wasn’t proud. Wasn’t anything. Just compliant. And somewhere beneath all that obedience… something broken.
She swallowed the lump rising in her throat. “Okay,” she said finally, backing off a step. “You can stay there.”
The room buzzed faintly with sounds from the hallway. Somewhere, a muffled wail. The hum of mechanical rocking. A nurse’s voice raised in sing-song baby talk.
Danielle turned to the pinned schedule on the wall. She read aloud with a bitter edge: “‘12:00 bottle. 1:30 nap. Changes… as needed.’ Oh, wonderful...”
Behind her, Corey cleared his throat. “I…I don’t think I need a change.”
She turned slowly, arms still crossed. “You better not. Because I am not changing your diaper unless I legally have to.”
“I didn’t ask you to,” he mumbled.
She walked to the far end of the room. The plastic chair in the corner gave a protesting squeak under her weight. A laminated poster above her head read:
Every Clean Diaper Is a Step Closer to Freedom.
She rolled her eyes. “This is hell. I’m in literal, pastel hell.”
Ten minutes? Fifteen? It was hard to tell. The room had no clocks, just the faint hum of overhead lights and the occasional tinny jingle of a distant lullaby speaker down the hall. Her phone had been confiscated when she entered the facility.
Corey stayed on his mat like a trained pet, cradling the giraffe, legs folded neatly beneath him. Danielle pretended to scroll through the outdated tablet mounted on the wall, but her eyes kept flicking back to him. She could feel the quiet pressing down. Heavy, sterile, surreal.
She noticed the squirming.
It wasn’t dramatic, just small shifts in his seated posture. A twitch of the leg. A subtle tightening of his grip on the stuffed giraffe. He kept his eyes forward, but his ears were pink.
Danielle narrowed her gaze.
He flinched. “No, ma’am. I’m…I’m fine.”
“I said stop calling me that.”
But he wouldn’t look at her.
Danielle stood. Slowly walked across the padded tiles. Stopped a few feet in front of him.
“You’re definitely squirming.”
A pause. Then, quietly: “I… I didn’t mean to.”
Danielle frowned. “Didn’t mean to what?”
He didn’t answer. But his face said everything: flushed, embarrassed, eyes darting away like a puppy that just messed the floor.
She walked toward him, arms crossed. The closer she got, the louder the crinkle of his onesie became, each step confirming her suspicion. She stopped in front of him, looking down. The sag at his hips was obvious now. Heavy. Obscene.
“Pop your buttons,” she said flatly.
“Pop. Your. Buttons.” She repeated. “Let me see it.”
His cheeks flamed. But he obeyed. Fingers trembling, he reached down and unsnapped the bottom of his onesie. One button. Two. Three.
The flap dropped open, and there it was.
Danielle leaned in slightly, and then grimaced.
The diaper was soaked. Yellowed. Swollen. Plump and wrinkled with saturation. The smell hit her like a slap. Not overpowering, but unmistakable.
Danielle let out a short, incredulous scoff. “Wow.”
“You’ve been sitting in that this whole time?”
“I…I didn’t want to bother you…”
She raised an eyebrow. Danielle scoffed. “You’re a grown man, Corey. You pissed yourself sat in it for who knows how long, and that doesn’t bother you?”
He looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him.
“So let me guess,” she said, voice cold. “I’m supposed to change you now?”
He bit his lip around the pacifier. “You… don’t have to. If you don’t want to.”
“Trust me,” she laughed, the sound bitter and hollow, “I definitely do not want to.” She stood still for a beat. Her eyes flicked toward the bin marked Soiled Only. Toward the gloves. Toward the laminated chart on the wall tracking sitter compliance.
The voice from orientation echoed in her mind: Each strike adds 2–5 hours…
Danielle exhaled sharply through her nose. She didn’t look at him as she walked to the supply cart. “I’m not getting stuck in this place a second longer than I have to,” she muttered. “Let’s just get this over with.”
She turned toward Corey, jaw tight. “Up. Changing table. Now.”
Corey hesitated, but the command in her voice left no room for question. He rose slowly, waddling slightly as the swollen diaper sagged between his thighs. Danielle tried not to gag.
Once he was on the padded table, she snapped on a pair of gloves like she was suiting up for a toxic spill.
“Let’s get one thing straight,” she said coldly. “I’m not doing this because I want to. You don’t look at me. You don’t speak. You don’t ask for anything. I’m not your mommy. I’m not your nurse. I’m your obligation. Understood?”
Corey nodded mutely, eyes locked on the ceiling.
“I’m not touching your dick,” she added, voice flat. “If you’re soaked, fine. But do not make this any weirder than it already fucking is. Do you understand me?”
He whimpered, looking like he was about to die of embarrassment, but nodded. Still clutching that stupid-ass stuffed giraffe.
She looked down at the bloated, yellowed diaper that was so heavy enough that it sagged flat on the mat even while taped tight.
“Jesus Christ,” she muttered. “How many times did you go?? You’ve been sitting in this for hours.”
Corey looked away. “I…I didn’t know when you’d get here…”
She cut him off with a sharp glare. “Don’t explain it. You’re a grown man sitting in his own piss. That’s all the explanation I need.”
Danielle stood over him for another beat, jaw tight, hands clenched. Then she reached for the tapes.
“Goddamn it,” she muttered under her breath.
The first tab tore through the silence. The second tape followed. Slower. Wetter. The padding beneath shifted under her grip, like a soaked sponge giving way. It clung to his skin like it didn’t want to let go. Wet, sticky, and disturbingly warm. She peeled the front open.
For a full, stunned second, she didn’t move.
He was fully erect. Thick, throbbing, the head flushed dark purple and glistening slightly against the soaked pulp. His shaft twitched once with his uneven breathing. His hands gripped the edges of the mat. Eyes squeezed shut. Face blotched crimson.
“You’re hard?” Her voice came out low, disbelieving. “In a piss-soaked diaper?”
His breath hitched. “I… I didn’t mean to!” The words tumbled out muffled around the pacifier. “It just… sometimes when a girl changes me… especially if they’re… if they’re pretty–”
Her jaw dropped. “Oh my god.” She stood back like he’d spit on her. “Are you serious right now?!”
“I’m not trying to be weird,” he said quickly, panic blooming in his voice. “It’s just my body. It happens! I swear i’ll—”
“Don’t swear to me,” she snapped. “Who the fuck gets hard and leaks pre-cum from getting their soggy diaper changed?? That’s not normal, Corey. That’s pathetic!”
He whimpered. Like she’d slapped him.
“I’m not touching that little dick of yours,” she repeated. “You understand me? You’re not here to get off. You’re here because you couldn’t follow the rules. Because you wet yourself. Because you need to be changed like a baby.”
He swallowed hard, blinking rapidly. Tears shimmered at the corners of his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he choked out.
She didn’t move for another second. Just stood there, towering above him, shaking her head like she was looking at something beneath her. Then, slowly, she reached for the wipes.
She didn’t touch his shaft. Didn’t even go near it. She wiped around it like it wasn’t there, fast and clinical and repulsed. The pulp of the diaper stuck to the insides of his thighs. The smell rose as she worked. The edge of each swipe was laced with revulsion. When one wipe came away slick and sticky, she made a noise in her throat of disgust and disbelief, held it between two gloved fingers like it was radioactive, and tossed it down in the open, soggy diaper with the pile of others.
“I cannot believe this is my life,” she muttered aloud, shaking her head. “I used to work in marketing.”
She didn’t. But he didn’t know that.
She grabbed a clean diaper from the stack. The bulk of it looked ridiculous in her hands. Fluffy, infantile, printed with cartoon dinosaurs. She slid it under his hips, careful not to graze his still-throbbing arousal. Her hands moved quickly, efficiently, but her contempt showed in every line of her face. As she reached for the powder, she glanced at him again: his flushed face, his eyes darting away in shame.
She unlocked the bottle and gave it a rough shake. A puff of white powder dusted his skin.
“If your little dick even twitches next time,” she added, “I swear to god I’ll coat it with icy-hot and leave you squirming until your next change!”
His eyes widened. He nodded quickly, cheeks blazing.
“Good.” she said. “Then we understand each other.”
She tugged the front of the diaper up over him, rougher than necessary, the tapes pulled tight enough to make him wince.
Danielle peeled off the gloves with a sharp snap and flung them into the waste bin.
Then she turned away. Not to give him privacy. Just because she couldn’t stand to look at him any longer.
The door dinged at the end of her shift. Eight long hours of awkward silence, soft crinkles, quiet whimpers, and the endless smell of powder and urine. The lock disengaged with a mechanical sigh. Danielle stepped out without looking back. Corey remained on the playmat just as she’d originally found him: knees drawn up, eyes down, still hugging the plush yellow giraffe as though like it was the only thing that kept the room from swallowing him whole.
She followed her Supervisor through the maze of hallways and cacophony of crinkling sounds until she made it to Debrief Room.It looked less like a break room and more like the waiting area of some cold, corporate dystopia: padded benches bolted to the floor, locked cabinets, harsh fluorescent light, and a wall screen blinking the same looped directive in pale blue text:
DAILY DEBRIEF: COMPLETE HONESTY REQUIRED
“Integrity builds trust. Trust builds order.”
Danielle was handed a clipboard and told to log the day. She sat. The latex smell still clung to her hands, even after three scrubbings. The faint scent of powder clung to her shirt. No matter how many times she shifted in her seat, she felt grimy. Footsteps echoed down the hall.
Another woman dropped onto the bench across from her. Broad-shouldered, short dark curls, calm in the way only long exposure could make someone. The name stitched on her crisp white uniform read: GALE – SITTER, LEVEL ONE.
“You’re new,” Gale said, voice low and even. “Rough first day?”
Danielle hesitated, then gave a tight shrug.
Gale nodded knowingly. “You’ll get used to it. The feedings. The changes. The burpings. The spankings. All of it.”
Danielle gave a dry laugh. “Not exactly something I’d like to get used to.” She scoffed. Gale said nothing, so Danielle pressed on. “He pissed himself and popped a boner while I was changing him. If that’s not a rough day, I don’t know what is.”
Gale chuckled. “Oh, sweetheart. That’s nothing. That’s just a wet Level-Two. You should see a messy Level-One fresh off an enema flush and a double suppository.”
Danielle grimaced. “Please don’t.”
Gale flipped a page on her clipboard, utterly unbothered. “We get the ones fresh off the streets. New to the system. Still fighting. Still thinking they’re men. Still toxic as ever. You ever hear a grown man scream and thrash against restraints just to keep from shitting himself in front of strangers? The bigger the ego, the more they fight it.”
Danielle blinked. “Jesus.”
“Discipline,” Gale said simply. “That’s all it is. This is their life now, for as long as the sentence runs. We’re just helping them accept it.”
Danielle stared at her blank form. “My guy… Corey Lassiter? He didn’t scream. Didn’t argue. Just laid there.”
Gale looked up, expression flickering with recognition. “Corey. Yeah. I remember him. He was a good one. Took to it easily. Didn’t even put up much of a fight in Level One. Moved up faster than most.”
Danielle raised an eyebrow. “Why’s that?”
Gale shrugged. “Some of them break loud. Some break quiet. But they all break. You just haven’t seen it yet.”
Danielle tapped the pen against the clipboard. “Do you like it?”
“This job.” Danielle clarified.
Gale paused. Looked at her. Really looked.
“I like the moment the fight ends,” she said. “The moment they finally understand their place. When the toxic, fragile masculinity they’ve clung on to for so long finally shatters. Makes me feel like I’m really making a difference.”
Gale nodded at her ankle monitor. “You’ve got it easy. Trust me.”
Danielle raised an eyebrow. “Easy?”
“Corey cries if you even raise your voice. Wait ‘til they assign you a screamer who pisses on you mid-change. Who soils himself again ten seconds after you’ve taped him in a fresh diaper. One who spends more time over your knee than he does down on his own knees. Trust me, some of them can make your life a living hell.”
Gale stood, her form already signed. “You don’t know how good you’ve got it, Sitter Monroe.”
She walked out without waiting for a response.
Danielle looked down at her still-blank clipboard.
Participant: Corey Lassiter
Level: TwoStatus: Quiet and compliant the entire shift. Kept his head down. Did not argue. Did not fight. Looked ashamed the whole time. Face red. Eyes anywhere but on me.
Incident: Already soaked when I arrived. Moderate to heavy wetting. During the change he became fully erect. Hard as anything. Right there in the middle of his own piss. Like a disgusting little—
She stopped. The pen hovered. The words stared back at her, ugly and sharp. She exhaled through her nose, set the pen down, and dragged the side of her hand across the line until the ink smeared into a black blur. Then she scratched through the whole sentence with quick angry strokes.
The thought landed heavier than she expected. She sat there, staring at the ruined line, feeling something shift under her ribs. Not sympathy exactly. But a tired recognition. He had not grabbed at her. Had not begged or made a pass at her. He had just lain there shaking, mortified.
She picked up the pen again and wrote. Slower this time.
Incident: Already wet when I arrived. During the change he became visibly aroused. Full erection. It was involuntary. He did not try to hide it or make it worse. Just stayed still and let me finish.
The day had been disgusting. Humiliating. But it had not been impossible. She didn’t throw up. She didn’t walk out. She did the job. Resentfully, yes. But she had done it.
And he had taken it. All of it. Without once trying to make it harder for her.
Danielle set the pen down. Her fingers ached from gripping it too hard.
She signed her name, placed the clipboard in the collection slot, and stood.
The ankle monitor chirped once as she passed the threshold. The corridor lights had dimmed into night protocol. The distant lullaby speaker played on. Tinny and wrong. The smell of powder still clung to her scrubs, faint but stubborn. It would follow her home. Into the shower. Into her sleep.
She kept walking. Her first shift was over.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I just completed the entire 15ish chapter arc of this story the other day. It is really rough, so it will take time to publish and will probably change a lot along the way, but it's safe to say I'm at least really happy with the initial writing pass. It might be one of the best character works I've ever done (I almost cried at the end while writing it). Anyway, I hope you like it, and if you want to see Chapter 2, head on over to Subscribestar!
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