Good Girls, Part 2 of 2 [Tier 3 Exclusive] (Patreon)

TWO

Elsewhere, Lou is walking across a parking lot to his pickup. There’s only one other vehicle in the lot besides his–a newish SUV. He’s never seen the vehicle before, but he can guess who it belongs to. His eyes wander across the lot to the lamp post where a white van usually sits beneath. The spot is vacant now. He laughs as he climbs into his truck, wondering if the SUV will still be here when he shows up to open the bar tomorrow.

Somewhere else, Melanie is half-asleep on the couch with an empty wine glass in her hand. She stirs long enough to look at the time. She rolls her eyes, figuring she should just go to bed. He didn’t deem it necessary to call and say when he’d be back, and so she’s not going to try and call him either. She’s tempted to leave a note for Trent asking him to just sleep on the couch when he gets back, but she assumes he’ll already know to do that.

Somewhere else entirely, Beth returns to the nursery with a full enema bag in hand. She holds it up for Bunny to see, a long rubber tube dangling below it.

Trent has a basic understanding of what an enema is. He’s never really had to think about them much before though, and so he’s trying to process what to expect.

First, he’s pretty sure he doesn’t want any tubes being shoved into his ass. And he’s not too pleased about the idea of the water–or whatever it is–being pumped into his body via said tube. How does that even work? Science, of some sort.

And then: He considers that what goes in must come out. That seems awkward. Gross, even.

Oh, but wait: He wasn’t thinking about the diaper. He sees it in Bunny’s hand again and realizes he hadn’t figured that into the picture.

Enema + diaper = Oh, come the fuck on.

He had been trying–oh, how he had tried–to be a good and compliant victim. But if throwing him in the back of a van wasn’t crossing a line, making him evacuate his bowels into a diaper certainly seemed to be the overstepped boundary. He spits the pacifier out of his mouth.

“You can’t do that,” he says. “I…I don’t want that.”

Bunny and Beth look at each other. After a moment of silence they both burst into laughter.

“This one cracks me up,” Bunny says, thumb pointed over her shoulder in my direction.

“I thought you’d like him.”

“They usually fight a little more, you know?” Bunny says, taking the enema bag from Beth and hanging it on a hook near the diaper changing station. “Usually we need the straps.”

“Or the handcuffs,” adds Beth.

“Or Mr. Ouchie.”

He swallows nervously. He’s disappointed to learn that he’s seen as one of the less-resistant ‘guests’ in their home, just as he’s thankful to learn that he’s managed to avoid some of the measures that are in place for the more combative men.

“You dropped this, pumpkin,” Beth says, bending down to fetch the pacifier. She makes no effort to clean it off and forces it back into his mouth. “I trust you can be a good boy and keep this in there?”

He nods.

“That’s a good boy. See, Bunny? That’s why I like him.”

“Good boys get treats,” Bunny says.

“It’s true,” Beth adds. “She doesn’t let me milk all the boys.”

He could dwell on their conversation a little, look for hints of what their world looks like in between the lines. But he’s far too consumed with his own inner-conflict. He’s a prisoner, and he hasn’t agreed to any of this. If given the choice, he’d have never asked for any of these things.

But…he doesn’t completely hate what’s transpired so far?

He has a thought: It’s just an enema. It feels a lot like giving up. Or curiosity–he’s not sure which.

I better not go home with a diaper fetish after this.

“You’re going to cooperate, yes?” Bunny asks. “Because otherwise, we have to strap you down to the changing table.”

He nods. And he means it.

“Beth, you hold his legs up.”

“I’m on it.”

And she is. She grabs his ankles, lifting both legs high into the hair above him. It’s the most exposed and vulnerable he’s felt the entire night–moreso than when he was over Bunny’s knees. His exhausted dick just hangs between his legs while his ass cheeks are separated to create easy access to his backdoor.

“This won’t hurt,” Bunny says, lubing up the nozzle at the end of the enema’s rubber hose.

“And she would know,” Beth says, giving Bunny a less-than-subtle wink.

“I happen to love enemas,” Bunny says. “I like the feeling of being thoroughly cleaned out.”

“Sure sure,” Beth taunts. “But you really love filling your diiiia-perrrrrs.” She stretches that word out into a purring song.

Bunny easily shakes off Beth’s attempts at embarrassing her. Trent wonders if that’s easier to do with a mask on. Otherwise, would he see her red cheeks?

“If that’s the game you want to play,” Bunny says, “I’ll really load one up later and then give it to you to wear.”

Beth’s response is a high pitched and girlish giggle. Clearly a chord had been struck, and not the wrong one.

Beth quickly clears her throat, nodding down towards the prone Trent.

“One thing at a time,” Bunny says, correcting course. “Here comes the airplane.”

He feels pressure at his little hole–previously only ever an exit. Whether he wants to or not, he feels his muscles clenching, anxious to fight off this intrusion. Yet the narrow and slick nozzle cannot be stopped and it takes barely any energy to slide it past security.

He releases a tiny moan through the pacifier as he feels the object penetrate him. Neither woman seems to notice or acknowledge it, which he’s thankful for. They’d have had a field day with that.

“All set,” Bunny says. “Ready?” It’s unclear if she’s talking to Trent, Beth, or both.

“Ready,” Beth answers.

“Fill him up.”

For a moment, he’s not sure that he feels anything different. But it slowly sets in that while he can’t feel the liquid entering him, he can feel the effect it has on his body. The liquid’s temperature is warm, but different enough from his body temperature that he can feel its growing presence. He feels the extra weight inside his body. It’s a bloating sensation.

“The whole thing?” Beth asks.

“No, he couldn’t handle it. He’ll barely be able to handle this. When I say to turn off the water, we need to be ready to get the Baby in his diaper ASAP. Otherwise…”

Beth makes an explosion sound effect with her mouth.

“Exactly.”

The bloating sensation continues. It’s not painful, though he feels an awkward ache in his midsection. It’s the feeling of needing release while still being pumped full of more liquid.

“Alright, that’ll do it,” Bunny says. Beth  keeps one hand on his ankles, keeping them elevated in place, while toggling something on the hose to stop the liquid’s march into his body.

The nozzle is slowly eased out from his bottom, with care and patience. Obviously, he thinks–they’ve probably done this before.

In the second that the tube is free of his body, his bowels are ready to erupt. He’s never felt anything like this in his life, or at least the part of his life in which he had any sort of agency over such things. It takes all of his energy to clamp his sphincter muscles shut, and even then it’s not a tight seal. He can feel a small bead of liquid escaping. He’s leaking.

But Bunny seems prepared for this, and while Beth continues to hold his legs in the air, she slides the thick pink diaper under him. She shakes the baby powder on him like she’s adding salt to a pot of soup–a few absentminded shakes of it slipped in between other motions. Then the diaper is pulled up through his legs. Beth releases her grip, letting Trent lower his limbs just in time for Bunny to tape everything shut tightly.

“And there you go,” she says. “You’re in a diaper now, Baby.”

He doesn’t even have to think about it. As soon as her hands are clear of the diaper, his body has already decided that it’s safe to unleash the hell they put inside of it.

SPLORP. It’s not really just one sound though, it’s a sequence of sounds. The initial explosion. The consecutive release of the rest of the liquids. And then a few smaller grunts and wet sloshes as the last bits are forced out.

The women are staring down at him as this happens. Watching, smiling, exchanging knowing glances. He feels like a helpless turtle on his back, stuck there to make a fool of himself until they decide to help him up again.

The feeling in his diaper is otherworldly now. Damp and heavy, for sure, but the word that comes to the forefront of his mind is swampy. It’s an absolute bog in there.

“This is why we don’t give babies baths anymore,” Bunny says to Beth. “They just make a mess of themselves anyways.”

“I thought it was because you didn’t like it when they splashed you.”

Bunny shrugs. “Yeah, that was annoying too.”

Beth waves a hand in front of her nose. “Baby’s got a stinky diaper.”

“Better out than in,” Bunny says.

She reaches between Trent’s legs and grabs hold of the full diaper, giving it a good shake. The sludgy contents are stirred about and pushed into new nooks and crannies. For the first time, he can smell it himself. It’s shameful not just because of what it is, but where it is. It’s in his pants–his diaper. He’s wearing that. He did that.

It’s a lot to take in, and it comes after an evening of new lows for him. Being fooled at the bar. His abduction. His sp*nking. Being kept on his back and made to climax in front of strangers before being given an enema.

Suddenly his eyes are wet, and tears are dripping down his cheeks.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Beth says, laughing.

“A baby,” Bunny says. “Through and through.”

“Fuck. There was a second in the bar, you know? Like a split-fucking-second, where I thought it might be fun just to fuck this guy in the back of the van.”

“Could you even imagine? Getting fucked by this pathetic thing?”

“I feel bad for his wife,” Beth says.

“Oh right, he’s married.”

“Here she is,” Beth says, handing Trent’s wallet to Bunny.

“Damn, she’s kind of cute.”

“You disappointed?”

“A little.” Bunny looks down at the teary-eyed infant below. “What are you doing scouring the bars for pussy when you got this yummy thing at home?”

He says nothing–the pacifier is still in his mouth and he’s afraid of what else they’d do to him if he took it out. From his vantage point, they seem to have no limits.

Bunny rolls her eyes, plucking the pacifier from his lips. “I actually want to hear your answer to that, Baby.”

“I…I love her,” he says.

Both women laugh again.

“You sleep around on her?” Beth asks.

“Well…I mean…”

“Honest answers only, please,” Bunny says, smacking the swollen diaper between his legs with a sickeningly loud SPLOP. “So long as you got poopy pampers on, I see no reason to make up fibs.”

“We…I mean…my friends and I…we go places and meet women and…”

“Sounds like a ‘yes’ to me,” Beth says with a shrug.

“I’m not mad about it,” Bunny says to Trent. “I just want to know what kind of guy we’re dealing with here.”

“I love my wife,” he says. It is, even by his own admission, a rather blubbery tone. “I…I’ve clearly been an asshole. I can change.”

“You know what my momma always said?” Bunny asks Beth.

“Hmm?” Beth answers, a wry grin on her face suggests that she already knows the answer.

“She says you can’t change a man unless he’s in diapers.”

“Well lookie here. A man. In diapers.”

“You think I could change him?” Bunny asks.

“Maybe,” Bunny shrugs.

“I can change his smelly bottom, for sure. But do you think that’s going to change his attitude?”

“Things are going to be different,” Trent mutters. “I promise.”

Bunny looks up at Beth, shaking her head. “Do you care?”

“Not particularly.”

“What do you think, baby? Think we should change your diaper?”

He nods. And the way that the light in the room shines in his excessively wet eyes? It makes them look three times their normal size. Cartoon baby eyes. How could that not be funny. Bunny laughs again, shaking her head.

“Aw come on, Bunny. Give the baby a good scrubbing. Wash up his bottom. Put him in a fresh diaper and send him on his way.”

“I don’t think he’s ready. He’s too upset. Get him a bottle.”

“I don’t need a…bottle,” he says, nervous to say much of anything at all. He looks up into Bunny’s eyes through her mask and he sighs. The message is received loud and clear–he’s not going to get what he wants yet.

Beth sprints to the kitchen and comes back within the same half-minute, baby bottle in hand. Perhaps this is the sort of thing they have on hand.

“Hold onto it with both hands,” Bunny says, easing the bottle’s nipple into his mouth. “And drink the whole thing up.”

He holds the bottle with his hands and wraps his lips around the nipple. He doesn’t want to drink from it, and he’s curious just how serious she is about her demand. Still, he can’t fight curiosity, and he sucks some of the liquid from the bottle into his mouth, tasting milk. He can’t remember the last time he just drank a glass of milk. It’s weirdly comforting, even if it’s in this strange vessel at this, the strangest moment in his life.

“Drink it up,” Bunny repeats. “The whole bottle. And then we’ll discuss getting your diaper changed.”

Maybe the milk is laced with poison. Or some sort of substance that makes him piss and shit himself uncontrollably for weeks on end. Or, maybe, it’s just milk. He could overthink it, but there seem to be few other options.

He starts suckling from the bottle. And for a minute or two, it’s awkward. But he quickly finds a rhythm, and it feels amazingly natural.

“Look at our baby,” coos Beth. “It’s like he was born for this.”

“Are there still bottles left in the fridge?” Bunny asks.

“Uh huh. A few.”

“Good.” It’s unclear to Trent what the context for that question is. Was she hoping that there were more for him? Beth? Herself, perhaps?

So many questions, so much bottle to drink.

But he likes the act of suckling from the bottle. Or, maybe, he likes the brief reprieve from the humiliation and teasing. Sure, drinking from the baby bottle is probably a joke in and of itself, but it’s one that he can get lost in, and that’s what he needs right now.

If nothing else, it's a moment for reflection as his body acclimates to the automatic process of drinking from the bottle. He needs to go home to Melanie. He needs to apologize. He needs to be a better husband and spend more nights with her. He needs to fuck her.

He could almost laugh, thinking about his life a few years into the future. He and Melanie are in a better place in their marriage. Happy. Maybe they have children. And some friend will come up to him. “Hey, remember when you were a real piece of shit for a husband? What changed?” And he’s going to have to try not to laugh when he recalls the night that he was made to shit in a diaper and drink from a baby bottle that changed his life forever.

SLUUUURP, the tell-tale sound of trying to suck liquid out of an empty container.

“All done, Baby?” says Bunny, grasping the baby bottle. “What a good boy. And you drank that all so fast too, huh? You must’ve really liked it.”

She pulls it away from him, and his pathetic hands instinctively reach up to grab at it.

“Aww, wish there was more?” Beth says.

He sighs and scoffs, slightly flustered to have been suddenly removed from the groove that he was in.

“Now about that diaper change…” says Bunny.

“Please?” asks Trent. “Can I get out of this? The diaper…it’s so…” There are so many options, and he has no idea which to choose. Stinky? Full? Putrid? Humiliating?

Bunny looks to Beth, and they seem to be having a nonverbal powwow over what comes next. It’s a series of smiles, nods, and eye gestures.

“Sorry, kiddo. No diaper change for you,” Beth finally announces.

“What? B-but…”

“It’s gonna be past Beth and mine’s bedtime soon,” Bunny says. “So we’re just going to take you home.”

“But you can’t just leave me like this!”

Bunny shrugs. “Actually? I think we can do whatever the hell we want.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Beth adds. “No offense. But I think we’re done with you. We’ve had our fun.”

“But…”

Bunny has already shifted around to the head of the changing table, and as his mouth opens, she quickly pulls a thick braid of cloth into his mouth–just as they did when he was first taken in the parking lot. Beth’s surprisingly strong arms were already on his upper arms, pinning him down to the table as he instinctively tried to thrash and wriggle away. Now, Bunny was pulling the cloth taut behind his head and tying it closed. G*gged again.

“Time to go home,” Beth said.

His wrists were zip tied together again. None around his ankles–though he was warned that they wouldn’t hesitate to do so if he acted out.

He would behave. He was ready to go home, and he’d do nothing to jeopardize that at this point.

“What about his clothes?” asked Beth. “Should I put them in a bag? Bring them with us?”

“Fucking throw them in the trash can, I don’t care.”

He was thrown into the back of the van and the doors slammed shut. There was a haphazardness to their actions now, and he wondered if they had grown tired of tonight’s plaything. They did all the things they wanted to do, and it was time to get rid of him and move on to the next.

The van rumbled through the backroads in the middle of who-knows-where. The bumps and turns tossed his body about in the back of the van. He still wore his filthy diaper, and every movement further shook up its contents. He felt disgusting. He smelled even worse.

“I’m telling you,” Beth said from the passenger seat. “We get a more permanent baby, you know? Someone we don’t have to toss back into the stream after we catch them.”

“Maybe,” Bunny says.

“I know, I know. You like the thrill of fucking around with some stupid baby for a night. No commitments of any sort.”

“I mean, we’re good at it,” Bunny says.

“I know.”

“But you owe me for getting you off while you played with that one’s little dingle.”

“When we get back,” Beth says. “I’ll take care of you.”

Bunny hums with approval at this.

“How about you?” Beth asks, twisting around in her seat to look back at Trent–still rolling around the back of the van in just his loaded diaper. “What are you doing later tonight?” This cracks both girls up.

And this is how this surreal night ends? They’re just going to dump him off somewhere? Without his clothes? Left in just a filthy diaper? He can’t make out the details from his vantage point, but he sees they have a map app open on a phone clipped onto the dashboard. If he was to guess, it was his home address from the ID in his wallet. He wonders where his car keys and phone are. Is his SUV still at the bar?

“Think he’ll call the police?” Beth asks Bunny.

“He could. If he doesn’t, his wife might.”

“Gonna call the cops, baby boy?” Beth asks, turning around to face him again. “Tell ‘em all about the wild ride you were on tight? How some mean girls made you c*m and then gave you an enema?”

“I’d love to be a fly on the wall for that conversation,” Bunny says. “‘Mr. Officer,’” she says in a mock-whimper, “‘these girls made me poop my pants!’ Do you think they’ll even take anything you have to say seriously after that?”

Great points, and thoughts he had mulled himself. He did wonder how much of a breadcrumb there was to follow, should he involve the authorities. He supposed he could lead them back to the bar. And the bartender, Lou, seemed to know Beth well enough to suggest that they were regulars.

‘A regular pain in the ass,’ as Beth had once said. Hours ago? It felt like years ago now.

He could feel the quality of the road under the van change again. Gone were the rapid bumps, drops, and rough patches. It was smoother now, and even the sound of the wheels was different.

“We’re dropping you off at home,” Bunny said. “That’s nice of us, right?”

“You don’t even owe us a tip,” Beth adds.

“Well we have his wallet,” says Bunny.

“Oh, there’s cash.” Beth flips it open, pulling out a small wad of 1s and 10s. “Not much.”

“Diaper money,” Bunny offers. “Or booze money.”

“Fair enough,” Beth says. “Thanks for the tip, baby!”

Home. The concept is setting in for him now and he ponders what’s next for the first time. He can see two ways that this plays out. In the first scenario, he’s pulled out from the back of the van and his ties are cut. As the van drives off into the horizon, he rips off the disgusting diaper and hoses himself off in the backyard. Then he goes inside. Maybe they give him his keys and he just waltzes in. Or, maybe they don’t and he has to remember which rock the spare key in the back yard is while stumbling around naked in the dark.

No matter, because when he gets inside, he goes and takes a shower. A really long one. And he does a few rounds of body wash. And then–when he really ought to just go to sleep–he’s going to make himself a cup of coffee. No, a pot of coffee. And he’s going to pour some whiskey into it. He’ll call out of work. Cancel the weekend golf trip.

Tomorrow, he’ll sit Melanie down on the couch and he’ll apologize for everything. He’ll listen to her criticisms of him and he’ll take it to heart. He’ll promise to do better. And he’ll try. She’ll appreciate that and they’ll live happily ever after.

At some point in the future, she’ll ask him: “So what changed? One night you came home late and the next day you were a completely different man. Were you abducted by aliens?”

Would he tell her the truth? Maybe a version of it.

But then there’s the second scenario…

Melanie has finally managed to fall asleep in bed when she’s woken up by the sound of a vehicle pulling into the driveway. She’s tempted to ignore it, roll over, and go back to sleep. But she sees the reflection of the car’s headlights on the wall, and something about them doesn’t seem right. Trent has come home late plenty of times before, and she’s gotten used to being awakened by his arrival. His headlights sit lower on the wall. The sound of his SUV is different. And he definitely doesn’t leave it running in the driveway.

This isn’t him.

She grabs her cell phone from the bedside table. She’s not sure if she needs to call the police yet or not, but she’d feel better if the option was closer by.

She stares ahead at the reflection of the headlights on the wall for more minutes, waiting for them to either shut off or retract as the vehicle leaves the driveway. But neither happens. However, she can hear some commotion outside. A voice. No, voices plural. The sound of something being dragged. Laughter

Melanie takes a deep breath and slides out of bed, phone still tightly in hand. She runs to the window and looks out it. It is not, in fact, her husband’s SUV. It’s a large white windowless van. The kind of ominous behemoth she always called ‘creeper vans’ in her head. The angle of the bedroom window, and the placement of the van, make it hard to see what’s happening. But she sees the shadow of movement. More than one person, too.

“What the fuck?” she mutters.

She’s pretty sure–85% sure–that Trent has a pistol somewhere in the house. She had once told him to get rid of the thing before he accidentally hurt himself, but knowing Trent, he probably held onto it, stashing it away in some closet or drawer. She could look for it. Or she could hide. Or, she could just open the front door and see what the hell is going on.

She leaves the bedroom and marches towards the front door. The closer she gets, the more empowered she feels. If this is Trent–or some of Trent’s friends–there’s going to be hell to pay. And if it’s not, she’s going to age about 25 years in a single night as she screams for these strangers to get out of her lawn.

But she hears the slamming of van doors and the sound of the van revving as it begins to move again, pulling out from the driveway. By the time she reaches the front door, the van is on the road, driving away. Speeding away.

“What the hell was that about?”

The temptation is strong to just turn around and go back to bed without opening the door. Whatever happened outside just now can be Trent’s problem. Whenever he comes home.

She’s far too curious for that.

She opens the door, expecting to see a flaming bag of dog shit or her mailbox smashed into pieces. Maybe someone stole the ugly porch swing she had been planning on getting rid of anyways. I could only hope to be so lucky.

But no. It’s…

“Trent?” she asks, head tilting in confusion. She can barely process what she’s seeing, but it seems so bizarre that she’s not even sure that she’s actually awake.

It certainly seems like her husband is lying on his side on their front porch. Naked. Well…mostly naked. Save for the bright pink…diaper? The wad of cloth wrapped around his head to act as a g*g? His ankles are tied together with a zip-tie, as are his wrists, bound behind his back. There’s a small stack of items near him, neatly piled up–his wallet, cellphone, and car keys.

No, this is real. This is really happening.

She crouches down next to him, quickly working on untying the cloth that prevents him from talking.

“Jesus Christ, Trent. What the hell? What happened? Who did this to you?”

The stench of his diaper suddenly reaches her nostrils, smacking her in the face. For a moment, she refuses to believe that it’s coming from Trent’s…diaper. But it is. She knows it is.

“It’s…nothing,” he says, mouth finally free again.

“Nothing? Trent…”

“Could you…get some scissors or something?”

She doesn’t say anything, just nods. He knows her well enough to read her expression. She looks angry, sure. But there’s more. She looks disappointed. Ashamed. She slowly stands up and goes back into the house to get something sharp.

Being humiliated and having his ego decimated by two strangers was one thing, but nothing hurts more than seeing that look on her face. He already knows that she’s never going to forget this moment. Regardless of where their relationship goes, or doesn’t go, this will be the picture she sees when she thinks about him. The pathetic man-baby, tied up and deposited on her porch with an overloaded diaper.

LATER

It’s the same, but it’s different too.

Everything looks the same. The same mostly empty parking lot for the old bar–still shoved between an old church and a lumberyard. Chubby’s.

Okay. He surmises that the bar isn’t different. It’s him. He’s different now. It’s been a while, and he’s pulling into the parking lot as a different person. Newly single. Broke. He doesn’t think he’s a worse person. Of course, he was never great.

He’s a blank slate again. He can be the person he wants to be. That’s kind of exciting.

Who does he want to be? He has no idea, and to be honest, he has no idea what he’s doing back at this bar either. Ground zero for Where it All Went Wrong.

He walks inside. There’s barely anybody here again. But he recognizes Lou at the bar.

“Hey,” he says. “Jack and cola?”

“Sure,” the bartender says. There’s no recognition in Lou’s eyes. Trent could be literally anybody right now.

“Here you go, boss,” Lou says, plopping down the glass in front of Trent.

“Can I ask you something?”

Lou shrugs. “Sure.”

“There’s, uh, these girls? I think they hang out here sometimes?”

Lou’s eyebrows lift curiously. He might know who he’s talking about, but he’s skeptical as to whether or not he wants to have this conversation.

“There’s a lot of people who come here,” Lou says.

“They have a white van. Maybe one of them is named, like, Beth?”

There’s a little bit of hesitation on Lou’s face. “Can’t say I know them.”

“You sure?”

“Pretty sure.”

It’s a lie. Trent could press harder, but he suspects it’s a bad idea to try and squeeze water from this stone. He could see himself getting tossed out the door. He decides to let it go.

He shifts in his barstool a little as he sips his drink in silence. He’ll never be completely used to hearing that crinkling sound from his pants. Which is fine, really. Kind of the point–to be reminded of who he is now.

He stares out the window at the lamp post in the parking lot. He can imagine the white van there, even if it's not now. He wonders if he waits long enough, if it’ll show up. And if not tonight, how many more trips would he need to make out here until the van was there the same time he was?

If it was there, he wonders what he’d do. What he’d say. He starts thinking about that–it feels like an important thing to know, should the conversation ever arise.

“Can I ask you something, boss?” Lou asks, slowly meandering between Trent’s line of vision to the parking lot.

“Go for it.”

“Supposing I know who you’re asking for…why would you even want to see them again?”

It’s a great question. “Just wanted to, uh, catch up with them, I guess.”

Lou laughs and shakes his head, slowly drifting away. It’s the last time Lou speaks to him.

Trent finishes his drink. He doesn’t wait for a check to come, he just leaves a 10 on the counter and walks out. He should probably get home. Change himself.

On the way back, he realizes that he knows what he’d say to Beth and Bunny, given the chance. It’s a request, really–a pathetic and hopeless phrase that he expects would be rebuked.

I’m ready to come home.