A Little Rest - Chapter 8 (Patreon)

Lizzie wiggled in her desk happily, so used to the sound of her diaper crinkling loudly that she barely noticed it; she was just glad she'd gotten the question right. After being moved to the front of the classroom, she was able to see the board much better, which made it easier to answer questions... At the same time, it made her feel like she was being watched by everyone, so, if she got it wrong, it was much more embarrassing.

It would have been simple to avoid by not raising her hand, and she'd done that at first, but Mrs. Borges wouldn't let that go on forever. She made sure everyone participated at least a little, so she knew she could expect to be called on at least once a day... Maybe more, since she was right up front, right where the teacher's eyes would fall on her when searching for someone to answer if nobody raised their hands, or she wanted to give someone other than the kids who always tried to do it to prove how smart they were a chance.

"All right," Mrs. Borges announced, "I think that's enough learning for today, what do you think?"

Lizzie didn't want to join the chorus of excited, "Yes!"s, to look like an impatient little kid, although she suspected the woman could tell from the look in her eyes that, mentally, she was just as glad to be done with actual class. Nothing they were being taught was particularly difficult, of course, since they were in 'pre-school'... However, it was different enough that, outside of very basic things, she never really knew if she was going to be right or not.

The basic numbers were the same, but even basic arithmetic wasn't quite what she expected. They did things differently in this dimension, in some way... She'd never been the best at math anyway, and they covered it rarely enough here that she wasn't able to work out what those differences were. Colors had mostly the same names, except for a few that threw her off, and, somehow, mixing them together gave completely different results here.

She'd found that out the hard way... She'd been so confident, even raising her hand to tell Mrs. Borges what red and blue combined made. "It's purple," she'd announced proudly.

"Oh, not quite," the teacher had shaken her head. "Does anyone else have..?"

"Yes, it is!" Lizzie had frowned, shaken her head. She knew it had the same name, since someone else had said it when they were being asked to name the colors as Mrs. Borges showed them on the screen, and they'd been right. "It's purple!"

"I'm afraid not, sweetie," Mrs. Borges had told her. "Do you have another guess?"

"No, I don't!" Lizzie had pouted, kicking her legs in frustration. "I don't need one, because I know that's what it is!"

"What a dumb baby," she'd heard Timmy scoff behind her. "Everyone knows it's..."

"Timmy!" Lizzie had beamed, happy to hear the brat being reprimanded. "You know better than to call your classmate that, don't you?"

"Yes, ma'am," he'd sighed. "I'm sorry, Lizzie."

Lizzie would have been happy to leave it at that, but the teacher's attention turned back to her, waiting silently for her to reply, "I forgive you, Timmy," before adding, "I know it's purple."

"All right," Mrs. Borges had nodded, "Why don't we see, then? Come up here, sweetie."

Immediately, despite her confidence in decades of knowing one of the most basic color combinations there was, Lizzie began to doubt herself, to wish she'd simply backed down and accepted whatever obviously wrong answer someone else gave. Now, she really was the center of attention as she toddled up to the teacher's desk, having a bright pink art smock held out for her to slide her arms into. Mrs. Borges fastened it shut in the back with Velcro, giving the girl's diaper a pat, Lizzie blushing, knowing she couldn't have missed how damp it was already.

"Here you go," the teacher had told her, laying out a large piece of paper on the floor. "Sit down, Lizzie." Lizzie had plopped down, surprised herself at how squishy it felt, wondering if she'd had another accident at some point without noticing. The teacher knelt down beside her, squirting out a small patch of red finger paint on one side of the page, and matching puddle of blue on the other. "Show us all what happens when you combine them."

"Do I have to?" Lizzie had pouted, staring up at her.

"Yes, you do," the teacher had replied, voice turning slightly more stern. "Come on, it'll be fun! Just think, you get a little extra art time today!"

It wasn't an easy choice - sitting there, not knowing if she knew the right answer to any of the almost insultingly simple questions she got asked that, back in her world, she could have answered when she truly was in pre-school, was a good contender - but art time was probably her least favorite part of the day. Finger-painting, specifically, which was one of the more popular activities, was the one she disliked the most. 

She enjoyed art in general, and, back in her own world, had tried a bit of drawing, although she had never gotten particularly good at it. With finger-painting, there was almost no hope of making anything even vaguely artistic... It was just smearing paint around, making a huge mess, then, even with the smocks covering up their clothes, having to wait around to get cleaned up like a bunch of babies... Somehow, she always wound up forgetting, and smearing paint across her face to try to scratch an itchy nose or something, and only making it worse when she tried to wipe it off, no matter how hard she tried to avoid it.

"Great," she'd sighed, not wanting to get into all of that now, with everyone staring at her. This would be quick and easy, at least... With one hand, she could smear the red over, and, with the other, she could do the same with the blue, making them meet in the middle, and that would be that; Mrs. Borges could wipe her hands clean, and she could go sit down, victorious.

But, of course, that wasn't how it went down. Delicately, making as little a mess as she could, she dipped one finger in each, running them across the paper, and, where they met, she saw a bright, lovely shade of... green.

"What?!" she'd squealed, hands shooting to her face, hardly noticing as she streaked paint across her cheeks as she covered her mouth, stomach lurching slightly. She knew it wasn't right, couldn't be right at all, yet, there it was. She reached back down, trying again, confused when, every time, the mixture kept coming out as green. "Th-That doesn't make sense," she'd shaken her head, sitting there, stunned, hands and face now covered in paint, exactly the way she hated. 

"I know," Mrs. Borges had smiled, helping her to her feet, cleaning her up as she stood there in front of the classroom in shock. "How can two colors make a whole different color? Maybe when you're more mature, you'll get to move up to a grade where you can learn how it works!"

"It doesn't work!" Lizzie had stomped her foot. "They don't make green! They make purple!"

"Lizzie," Mrs. Borges had told her gently, "I think you need to calm down, sweetie, or you're going to make yourself sick. You just saw it happen... You know it works."

Lizzie had pouted, slunk back to her desk, confused and embarrassed. Were they special paints, made to prove confident grown-ups like her wrong, make them feel like they might belong in pre-school, and diapers, for being wrong about something so simple? Or was that just how things worked in this dimension? She still wasn't sure, but, either way, it had left her a bit shaken, a little more nervous when she was called on to answer a question about colors.

It was almost like this place had been made specifically to frustrate her... If everything had been completely different, at least she'd know she needed to re-learn everything, and that might not have been quite as bad... But there was just enough that was the same to lure her into a false sense of security, to make most of her lessons feel boring and childish, only for her to stop paying attention and drift off into daydreams, and miss the one thing that was different, that would make her look even more immature for not knowing.

But now that part of the day was over, and it was on to arts and crafts. She sighed, taking her time to get up out of her seat to go join the line for smocks. The longer she took for that, the less time she'd have to actually do whatever the activity of the day was, so she didn't mind. By the time she got to the head of the line, the classroom assistant, Miss Clara, had taken over, while Mrs. Borges was supervising the kids who had already started.

Miss Clara was nice enough... She was also at least a few years younger than Lizzie, which made getting taken care of by her even more humiliating. "Hey, cutie," she smiled at Lizzie, holding out the smock for her. Lizzie blushed, almost the same color as the garment she was being helped into, letting the girl wrap it around her, fasten it with Velcro... 

That should have been it; Miss Clara should have let her go, let her toddle over and start whatever they had to do that day. Instead, she kept ahold of Lizzie's arm with one hand, the other bending her over slightly before slipping between her legs, sliding up her thighs until it met the sodden padding of her diaper. "Lizzie, you're soaked!" she observed. "Why didn't you ask for a change at the last break?"

Lizzie never knew what to say in these situations... She wasn't sure what they expected from her, or what, if anything, would make a good excuse to help keep her from appearing too babyish. So, instead, she stayed silent, shrugged.

"Did you know it was this bad?" Miss Clara asked.

Lizzie nodded, although it wasn't quite true. She'd known she was wet, of course - she almost always was, lately - but, the longer she stood there, under the gaze of the younger woman, squirming, feeling the diaper squelch between her thighs, the bigger the problem seemed. 

"Are you lying to me, little lady?" Miss Clara put her hands on her hips. "I know you aren't potty trained, so I'm not mad at you for using your diapies, sweetie, but I thought you were a big enough girl to recognize when you need a fresh one."

"I am!" Lizzie pouted, gulping as she was led over to the changing tables. Everything in the classroom was very structured and planned out... Doing something outside of that framework was always a big deal. She really hoped the other kids were busy with their art, so they wouldn't see this, know she was enough of a baby to need a change when it wasn't even potty break time.

After Miss Clara had cleaned her up, however, and taped a fresh diaper up around her waist, she slid a second one under it, something there was no way her classmates would miss. "Nooo," she wiggled, whining. "I don't need that!"

"You were almost leaking," Miss Clara told her. "Again. I'm sorry, cutie, but if I can't trust you to know when your diaper's had enough, you need some extra padding."

It was a very unhappy Lizzie who toddled her way from the changing tables over to the craft corner, her mood not improving much when she saw what they were doing that day. Play-Doh wasn't nearly as messy as finger-painting, anyway... That was a plus. It didn't feel any more grown-up to her, however. Being the last one also meant all the good colors were taken, leaving her with whatever the rest of the class had passed over.

Even in this dimension, mixing all the colors of Play-Doh left you with something brown and ugly. Considering everyone in the room was, in reality, an adult, she would have thought they'd know that, and avoiding doing it, but the containers she had to choose from were all the same, all the result, no doubt, of students getting bored and mashing up as many of the other colors as they could.

She sighed, taking one of the jars, knowing she had to at least pretend to be participating, or the Amazons would find it suspicious, and make her play. She knelt down at the crafts table, shaking it out, no plan in mind as she rolled it between her hands, the sight of it just making her blush, thinking of the growing heaviness in her tummy. Thanks to the food here, she usually wound up in a messy diaper a couple times a day, if not more, yet she still got embarrassed by it. It was hard to imagine getting used to that part of her new life here... Then again, she would have thought the same about every other aspect of it, and it was already starting to feel like she'd been here for years, when she knew it had been, at most, a couple weeks... Maybe not even that. 

She wrinkled her nose as her fingers sank into the Play-Doh, knowing she'd be feeling the same thing around her bottom when she sat down before too long, lost in thought and self-pity until she felt a hand on her shoulder. She squeaked, jumping, her fresh diapers already dampening from the shock as she turned, expecting to see Mrs. Borges standing over her, asking her what she was making.

"Ms. Hudson!" her eyes widened, shocked to see her there instead, smiling down at her. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around the woman's leg, feeling a smile creep across her face despite herself as she received a kiss on the top of the head in exchange. "Wait... What are you doing here?" she inquired uncertainly. Was this a good sign? She'd been pulled out of class the first day, after her little melt-down, and a couple times since then for potential adopters to look at her close up - they were, she'd realized after the second one, and a possible Mommy asked her about a wrong answer she'd given in class, being recorded the whole time - but it was a relatively rare experience.

As was the double-diapering, she though, her hands travelling down to the massive bulk as she started to nibble on her bottom lip. She wore them every night, and, back on that first day of class, she'd had to wear them, yet, usually, it was only one. "A-Are you mad I almost leaked?" she blushed, squirming nervously. "I-I didn't mean to, I..."

"No, it's not that," Ms. Hudson chuckled softly, gently taking the Play-Doh out of the girl's hand, putting it back into its little plastic container, unfastening the Velcro on her smock.

"I-Is someone thinking of adopting me?" Lizzie wasn't sure how she felt about that... Obviously, she was an adult, and didn't need anyone to take care of her... Unfortunately, nobody else in this world seemed to agree. If she was going to be under someone else's care, was it better to stay here, where she knew what to expect, and knew she had no real hope of convincing anyone to raise her potty training or education levels, or to take her chances with whoever decided they wanted to adopt her? She had no clue what to expect out there... Maybe she'd have more of a shot of escaping, of getting back to the real world... Maybe her new 'parents' would be open-minded, and wouldn't make her wear diapers and act like a baby... Or, more likely, things would be just as bad, if not worse, and she wouldn't have Penny and Ms. Hudson around to make it a little better, anyway.

"I'm sure somebody is," the Amazon smiled, "but they haven't let us know yet." She leaned down, picking Lizzie up, resting her on her hips.

"Where are we going?" the girl asked.

"Don't worry," Ms. Hudson cooed. "It's going to be all right."

Lizzie had no real reason to distrust the woman; of everyone she'd met here, she was probably the most trustworthy. Penny was nice, too, of course, but even Lizzie had found herself falling into the trap of thinking of her more as a child than the adult she was, and, no matter how good a kid was, it was rare to find one that was as dependable as a grown-up like Ms. Hudson.

"B-But where are we going?" she couldn't help asking again anyway. Held in Ms. Hudson's arms, she had no control over where she was being taken, what happened to her... She trusted her; that didn't mean she didn't want some idea of what to expect, however.

"Calm down, Lizzie," Ms. Hudson told her gently. "It shouldn't take long, and then you can go back and play with your friends some more, or up to your room if you need."

Now Lizzie was really worried... What was going to happen to her that might leave her needing to rest?! She fidgeted in the woman's grasp, the Amazon easily adjusting her grip, never coming anywhere close to dropping the wiggly baby as she carried her through the building, to...

"I-I don't need a doctor!" Lizzie shook her head, seeing the sign.

"Lizzie," Ms. Hudson sighed, "this is why I didn't tell you before."

"I'm not sick!" Lizzie insisted.

"I hope not," Ms. Hudson agreed, "but, with your condition, we need to keep a close eye on you."

Lizzie squirmed as she was taken into the doctor's office and deposited on the examination table, though she had to admit she was glad she hadn't had to sit in a waiting room, like always happened back in her own world, and worry about what the doctor was going to find... Perhaps Ms. Hudson had been onto something, not telling her until she had to.

"There she is!" another Amazon, wearing a white doctor's coat and black glasses, exclaimed, stepping in. "Thank you, Ms. Hudson, I'll take it from here."

Lizzie stared up at Ms. Hudson as she nodded, walking away, leaving her all alone, feeling particularly small and helpless here, in the strange woman's territory. "It's very nice to meet you, Lizzie," the doctor told her, glancing down at the chart she was carrying to confirm the girl's name before setting it down, slipping two fingers between the layers of her diaper to check her without a second thought. By now, Lizzie barely had any, either, at least about that... When seemingly every 'grown-up' did it at some point or another, it was hard to get too worked up about it, no matter how big of an invasion of privacy it had felt like when she'd first arrived. "My name is Dr. Rosenwald."

"Ummm... N-Nice to meet you, too?" It really was a good thing for her to know who the doctor was here, in case anything happened... It had been a doctor who had decided she belonged in these diapers in the first place, however, or just one step above the daycare, where Lizzie had no doubt Gwen was still stewing, plotting her revenge, although neither her, nor her former roommate, Penny, had seen her since her demotion.

"There's no need to be nervous," the doctor assured her. "I'm going to get you undressed, but I promise we'll finish this part up in no time, and then you can have your clothes back, okay?"

Lizzie nodded, sitting there, blushing as the doctor stripped her out of her dress, thinking to help only once it was too late. She tried to reach down, start to undo the tapes on her diaper for the woman, but, of course, the tape wouldn't budge for her, despite how easily the Amazon undid both layers of padding. She shivered, feeling the cold metal of the stethoscope on her naked body, and as she felt the woman's gloved hands poking and prodding at her, although, after living with her condition all her life, she was pretty used to it.

She was less used to being asked, "Do you need to make a poopy, sweetie?", however, which was more than enough to make her cheeks light up as she squeaked, "No!" before realizing how silly that was to say to someone who almost definitely knew the truth, since her bottom was in the midst of being examined as they spoke. "A-A little," she corrected, though it was still a lie. "I-I do know that I hafta go... I know what my file says, but I am potty trained! C-Can you fix that for me?"

Dr. Rosenwald appeared to not hear the last part, or she ignored it, giving the girl's backside a pat, then picking her up, turning her over, setting it down on her waiting diaper. She went with the outer diaper, at least, instead of the damp inner one, although to Lizzie's chagrin, she grabbed another from one of her cabinets. "I don't need two!" Lizzie insisted. "I know my chart doesn't say I need that!"

"Not yet," the doctor agreed. "We'll see if that continues to be true after this." Lizzie's eyes widened; she wouldn't really change her file, make it so she'd have to wear double diapers all the time... Would she?! Lizzie knew she didn't need them, no matter how close she'd been to leaking earlier that day, or how many times it had actually happened when she was distracted during class...

She swallowed nervously as the doctor picked her up, carrying her from the exam table over to a small couch, like the one she was used to in her therapist's office, the whole, short trip consisting of her recounting all the times she'd realized she was wetter than she should have been, that she'd clearly peed her pants without noticing... Was she wrong? Did she actually need these diapers after all, after just a week or two in this place?

As if in answer, she felt a slight squish beneath her as she was set down on the couch, one that, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't convince herself she'd felt happen in those few moments since getting diapered. 

"So, Lizzie," Dr. Rosenwald said, sitting down in her own chair, "how do you think you're fitting in here."

Lizzie squirmed, cheeks burning as she realized the truth - that, like it or not, the evidence in her pants made it clear the answer, on a physical level at least, was, 'Perfectly.'