Unfair-Chapter 68: A Crying Shame (Patreon)
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Chapter 68: A Crying Shame
Potty training isnât natural. For anyone. Little, Tweener, or Amazon: learning how to use the toilet is a skill that is taught, complete with procedure as well as etiquette. Same with things like knowing how to swim or eat with silverware. No, Iâm not saying that if left to their own devices, people will pee and poop themselves for the entirety of their natural lives. Bladder and bowel control strengthens with age and increases with natural practice and time. In that regard, itâs just like walking. Barring a medical condition, most people will learn how to do it on their own and at about the same pace as everybody else.
Potty training is more than walking, Iâd argue. Itâs a precise set of skills and social norms that are practiced and mastered to the point of it becoming second nature so that we consciously forget that much of the act and attitudes surrounding are societal constructs rather than a physical need.
Back when I was a preschool teacher, a big part of my job was potty training kids. Iâd teach letters and shapes and numbers and sight words and some basic Math along with Science and Social Studies. I did all of that. I also did a lot of potty training. A lot. Most of my students knew how to write their names before Kindergarten. Most could count and do basic addition. Most knew all of their letter names and sounds. Most. But all of them, without exception, were potty trained by the time they left me.
Iâm not an expert- Iâm not sure you can be an expert at such a thing- but Iâve got experience to inform my opinions.
The kid who wets their pants and goes on about their day until an adult changes them or forces them to change definitely isnât potty trained. Neither, Iâd argue, is the kid who feels the need to go, then yanks down his pants and pees right on the floor. Yeah, he didnât pee in his pants, and he purposefully undressed himself enough to keep his clothes clean, but being potty trained isnât the same thing as being continent.
Potty training also involves concepts like hygiene, shame, and autonomy. Itâs procedures, like âGo into the special room and empty yourselfâ and âclean up when youâre doneâ. Itâs also attitudes like âDonât let anybody but the most trusted and intimate people in your life see you naked or even in your underwearâ and âDonât talk about it beyond expressing the need to go to explain why youâre walking awayâ. Itâs a skillset, but part of that skillset is social etiquette. Iâd go so far to argue that a person isnât really potty trained, as far as society is concerned, until itâs so natural to them that nobody would think to ask if they were potty trained. Potty training is complete when obeying social norms regarding the bathroom appears natural.
The process, attitudes, and expectations have become so ingrained into society that most people consider it less a skill and more of something that naturally develops of its own accord. Itâs why small children can be carted around in nothing but diapers and be checked and changed openly; but if theyâre potty trained, the underwear stays under and concealed. Modesty has officially become a thing.
The diaper taped to somebodyâs hips is a giant flag to everyone that a given child doesnât have the autonomy, hygiene, or sense of shame to care for themselves or be embarrassed that they canât care for themselves. And throughout history, Amazons have somehow used all of these unspoken assumptions to make it so people smaller than them were also viewed as children and not deserving or in possession of autonomy, hygiene, or shame. In a completely fucked up way, Little and Tweeners are never potty trained, because the giants never stop asking us if we are.
And because itâs seen as a developmental milestone, instead of a skill, nothing less than pure perfection will ever be enough for them. If Amazons treated sports like they treated potty training, a single missed pass or fumbled football would result in that player being fired and banned from the sport. A missed free throw or layup would ruin your chances at making it into the Hall of Fame. Accidentally swallowing a gulp of pool water would earn you floaty wings for life.
You get the idea. If youâre reading this, itâs more than likely that youâve seen it happen to someone.
On my first day as a student in Beoufâs class, Billy had told me that he wasnât incontinent, just âunpotty trainedâ. This was right after heâd shit his pants at breakfast and then chowed down with gusto.
I didnât understand then. By the middle of my third week, I was beginning to understand.
Ivy and I were at an âindependent workâ station during centers. âCome on, Clark,â she poked me in the arm. âItâs your turn.â She pointed to the towering mishmash of shining metal. Common sense said it shouldnât be as tall as it was, the way it leaned and zig zagged at random angles made it look like it should have come crashing down long ago. Amazon technology and common sense rarely intersect in the big scheme of things. This monstrosity had a magnetic field or something keeping it up and giving the stink eye to gravity.
Tired as I almost always was, I dragged the flat of my palm over the left side of my face and groaned. âCome on Ivy. Whatâs the point? We both know that as soon as I move a piece anywhere, the whole shape is gonna shift and change again.â Come to think of it, magnetism probably wasnât it. Not thirty seconds ago the top of the tower was pointed at the ground, but I could easily take a piece from the middle and put it on the bottom and thereâd be hardly any resistance.
Tiny robots maybe?
âYouâre just not good at it,â Ivy teased.
Annoyed, I huffed. âYouâre not any better.â.
âUh-huh!â Ivy said, dramatically. âIâm super good at this. Youâre just as bad as I am good so we balance out to a happy medium.â Whatever Ivy was before Zoge plucked her up and mindfucked her back into the cradle, sheâd retained a fearsome competitive streak.
That was the point of Beoufâs program, though, wasnât it? Mindfuck and condition the Littles just enough so that they seemed more like âbabyâ versions of themselves instead of dolls with a set of trained behaviors. Like potty training, we were being trained to have certain behaviors and attitudes to the point where it was second nature to us.
Unfortunately for me, I had that same competitive streak in common with Ivy. âOkay,â I said. âBet.â
âBet?â she echoed like sheâd never heard the word before.
âYou be in charge. Tell me what move to make. Iâll do it. Then you do your move. Then you tell me what to do again.â
The girl looked at me; mystified. âIâd...Iâd get to be in charge?â
My teacher senses started tingling. My foot was dangling over a landmine of sorts. It was like my rookie year when I told a bunch of smart ass four year olds to âhop on overâ. With both children and adults convinced that theyâre children, the use of language is very important; even with âgood kidsâ.
âYouâd tell me what pieces to take and where to put them. Thatâs it.â
âAnd...and youâd listen?â Ivyâs mouth was agape. Youâd think Iâd just offered her a treasure chest or a life saving operation.
âYeeeeahâŠ?â I almost felt sorry for her. I didnât, but I almost did. âIvy? Are you okay?â
âNobody everâŠâ She grabbed her pacifier from the clip and gave it a few suckles. She breathed in and out through her nose. After about ten seconds she spit it out. âOkay. Letâs do it! Letâs bet. Take the zig zaggy piece over there and put it over-â
I waved my hands in front of her face to stop her. âThatâs not the bet! Thatâs not what bet means!â Ivy stopped. She looked confused but let me explain. âThe bet is I follow your directions, and if the puzzle collapses, then...thenâŠâ Crap!
âThen what?â
I had no idea in that moment. They say go big or go home, but my home was ashes soâŠ. âThen youâll have to do what I say for a center!â Brilliant! A blank check!
âOkay!â the twisted Little said. âBut if itâs good, I get a kiss. A Grown-Up one!â
I swallowed and exhaled. Ivy hadnât yet outgrown her bout of puppy love with me, and was still fixated on me being some kind of expert on âadultnessâ or whatever. I donât think she âlike-likedâ me or felt any particular sexual attraction towards me. I just happened to intersect at all the right crossroads between âpeerâ and âadultâ for her. I was a fascination. I was a phase.
No guts, no glory. âOkay.â I said. âSure.â If I started making out with her in the middle of the room, that would definitely get two or three Amazons riled up by the end of the day. Might make my real friends jealous that Iâd pulled it off, too. Would it really be so bad to lose? âYeah. Letâs do this. What do you want me to do first?â
The Full Native Little pointed in the middle of the spire. âTake that zig zaggy piece there.â She got up from the hard plastic seat and stood up on her tippy toes and reached her hands well above her head. âAnd put it riiiiiiight here.â
Standing up with her arms over her head and leaning forward, Ivyâs underwear could be seen at a glance. Had it been actual underwear, it might have been embarrassing for her. It wasnât actual underwear. As such, it was no more scandalous or humiliating for her or anyone present than her red pinafore dress. No one within thirty feet of her had any expectation for her to have shame or autonomy of any sort.
I took the piece sheâd pointed to and stood up. âOkay. Like this?â I stretched with one hand and pulled down on the black t-shirt Iâd been dressed in, not wanting anyone to see the waistband of my own disposable undergarment. I wasnât nearly as unpotty trained as Ivy was.
âA little more to the left. No, the other left! No, the other-other left!â
âThatâs where I was putting it the first time!â
âIt doesnât count if you mess it up on purpose!â
I stood on my toes and let go of the back of my shirt. Fuck it. No one would care. âIâm.. Not!â I placed it exactly where Ivy said to. The tower shifted and contracted, becoming oblong and almost spherical. One move had made it almost resemble an egg.
Ivy grabbed a triangle piece. âMy turn.â She waddled around the table and placed it near the back, out of sight. The structure contracted again, taking on the shape of a smooth river stone, the kind perfect for skipping rocks. âOkay. One more move!â She waddled back around and pointed to something that I thought was a paperclip. âPut this down here, and we can make a fishy.â
This I had to see. I plucked the paper slip sticking out of the oblong sphere and placed it near the base. A low humming noise sounded in my ears, and the bits of scraps shifted and twisted and turned themselves. It went back to an egg, but didnât stay that way. From out of the egg, came a metal wire fish, bursting out and turning fragmented bits of shell into fins.
Ivy started singing as the fish formed, the completed part wiggling slightly as it shifted giving the appearance of swimming. âLiiiiiittle shark, do-do, do-do-do-do!â Little shark, do-do, do-do-do-do! Little shark!â
âHow did you...?â I asked, scratching my head.
âWe did it!â Ivy threw her hands up and started bouncing on the balls of her feet. âYay!â
âHow did you do that?â
âHuh?â Ivy said. âI donât know. Iâm just good at it. Wanna see how to make a horse?â
Kinda. âNot really.â
âCan I get my Grown-Up kiss?â She didnât wait for me to answer; just puckered her lips and started maneuvering towards me.
Kissing Ivy Zoge, as it turned out, was a bit like jumping off the high dive. It was hypothetically harmless, something I could talk about with confidence to no end, and something that I absolutely dreaded now that it was a very real possibility.
Thank goodness, Iâm good under pressure most days. âOkay.â I smirked. I raised my hand and called out. âMrs. Zoge! Mrs. Zoge!â
Ivy stumbled to a stop and put her pacifier in her mouth. Her Mommy wound her way out from behind the workstation sheâd been supervising. âYes, Clark? Whatâs wrong?â
âIvy said she wanted a Grown-Up kiss. Can she have one?â
Zoge looked at the metal fish kept aloft on the table by a single strand of metal. âSince sheâs playing nice, yes she can.â She bent over and gave a big sloppy kiss on Ivyâs cheeks. âMwah! Mwah!â Ivyâs eyes never left me. âI love you, Ivyâ She ruffled my hair. âI love you, too, Clark.â
I raised my hand again. âMrs. Zoge! Mrs. Zoge!â
âYes, Clark?â
âAm I a Grown-Up?â
âNo, Clark,â Zoge replied.. âYouâre a baby.â No irritation whatsoever. To her I was a silly child asking a silly question. To me, I was a lawyer preparing my defense.
âI seeâŠâ I smiled back at Ivy. âThank you for clearing that up, maâam.â
âYouâre welcome, baby.â Before she left, she lifted up the back of Ivyâs dress and pulled back my waistband. Each of our diapers got a squeeze in front. âYouâre both soggy, but youâll make it till lunch.â
It was true. Iâd peed at least twice since being changed after breakfast. My diaper was so absorbent that Iâd almost forgotten about the first time until Iâd started the second time just after snack break. Iâd almost forgotten the second time, except when I stood up and felt the slight sag or squeezed my thighs together and felt the solid mass of wet padding pushing back. The rest of the time, it was pretty easy to tune out. Diapers were becoming just another piece of clothing in so many ways.
Neither did I flinch or cringe or tense up when Zoge was checking me. After nearly three weeks someone like Zoge sticking her hand down my pants or making any sort of comment on them had no emotional effect on me; at least not embarrassment.
Thatâs how unpotty training started for me. These people had checked and changed and remarked on what was happening in my diapers to the point where I was almost numb to it. You can only watch your reflection get changed so many times before the impact is lost. By the beginning of that month, it was just something that happened, same as lunch, or walking to and from class.
I peed and pooped my pants because I wasnât given any other choice. I learned to get comfortable in a wet diaper and go about my day in one because I didnât have any other choice. I more or less ignored teachers and other Amazons being fascinated by my crinkling underwear and wiping my butt for me because no alternative was allowed.
Amazons donât need hypnosis or surgery to make Littles use their diapers. They just need to put Littles in them, not give them an out, and reinforce the new behaviors, etiquette, and social expectations. In that respect, unpotty training isnât so unlike its inverse. Personally, I suspect thatâs how they did it before they figured out hypnosis and faster forms of forcing Littles into being their dolls. After that they just got lazy and impatient.
To be clear, I wasnât even close to completely unpotty trained. A full diaper was still easier to sleep in than a full bladder or cramping bowels, but I wasnât a bed wetter. Barring some of the circumstances described in previous chapters, I tended to try and wait till I had some measure of privacy to mess. Peeing was done in circumstances where I wasnât the center of attention.
I still held onto that control and need for privacy. I still felt my pulse quicken when someone who wasnât taller than me saw my cartoonish plastic backed padding. My bladder and bowels hadnât been completely busted, but the shame and anxiety I felt with Janet slipping her fingers past the leak guards or Beouf plopping me down on a table had pretty much evaporated.
I wasnât bothered at all when Zoge looked to see if Iâd soiled myself, and proclaimed me soggy.
For just a second though, I realized that I wasnât bothered. That bothered me.
âYou cheated,â Ivy said to me, looking like a cat that had been petted the wrong way. âI wanted a kiss from you.â
I crossed my arms and smirked. âAm I a Grown-Up?â
âNoâŠâ Far be it from Ivy to contradict her Mommy.
âThen how can I give you a Grown-Up kiss?â Ivyâs nose wrinkled and she looked like she was going to say something, but I managed to sneak in. âYou said you wanted a Grown-Up kiss. You didnât say that it had to be from me.â Like I said: With both children and adults convinced that theyâre children the use of language is very important.
âYou tricked me.â
Baiting Ivy was almost as fun as baiting an Amazon. It wasnât, really, but it almost was. âYeah. Too bad. What are you gonna do? Throw a tantrum? Thatâll just get us sent over there,â I thumbed over to the back door.
Ivy got one of her deer in the headlights gaze and looked at the door leading to my old classroom. âNo we wonât,â she said.
âMaybe you wonât go, but-â
âNobodyâs gonna go over there anymore.â
âWhat are you talking about?â I asked. âPeople go over there all the time.â
âNot since you got here.â
I made to deny it, but she was right. In three weeks, no one, not even me, had been sent out of the room for punishment. Iâd been parked on the naughty stool plenty of times (though objectively speaking, not as many times as Iâd deserved it). Not once had I been sent to my own room for timeout. No one else had either.
âWhy?â That question was not directed at Ivy.
Didnât mean she lacked an answer. âI heard my Mommy talkinâ to Mrs. B. on the phone, but she made me promise not to tattle.â She had her hands behind her back and was grinning like a toddler whoâd peeked at her birthday presents.
I puffed my cheeks out. âWhatâs it gonna ta-?â
âKiss me.â She was already puckering up. At this point she didnât even want the kiss as much as she wanted the win.
âOn the forehead.â
âOn the lips.â
âOn the cheek. Final offer.â
âDeal.â
I looked to the left. I looked to the right. I looked in front and behind. No one was watching. A side benefit of being paired with the classâs biggest snitch. I gave Ivy the lightest, daintiest, little peck on the cheek possible. âMwah. There.â
âGibson! Noice!â
If heâd been closer I would have broken Billyâs jaw. In turns, everyone looked at me, then Ivy, then Billy, before collectively shrugging and ignoring us. Beouf and Zoge each had a suspicious eye on me, but otherwise werenât saying or doing anything yet.
âJust tell me,â I hissed. âWhy isnât Beouf sending anybody else over there?â Maybe a condescending, know-it-all Little really was a secret prerequisite of the program.
Ivy leaned in close. âWhen you were gone, Billy got sent to the new teacherâs room. He came back crying real bad.â
âYeah, yeah,â I whispered. âI know.â
âMy Mommy and Mrs. Boeuf talked on the phone. They said-â
A crack of thunder blasted through the room when the backdoor swung open and battered the wall. I jumped. The high pitched, completely terrified wail that followed drew me in.
Standing in the doorway, with a diapered Little under her arm like he was a sack of potatoes, broad shouldered and scowling, was Miss Ambrose. Her hair was done up in a terrible beehive. Her white blouse was fastened with tiny faux pearls embedded in the buttons and bits of lace were embroidered at the wrist and collar. Her skirt, dark and black, stopped past the ankles concealing her feet. If not for her thundering, monstrous strides, she might have seemed to glide across the floor because you couldnât see her tremendous feet.
Had she not been so ogreish and terrifying, she might have looked funny. She didnât look funny, however. Not at all. She was a sneering, scowling monster, the kind that Little parents used when describing Amazons to scare their children into behaving. Like the Big Bad Wolf, she was a kind of wild animal with only the thinnest veneer of decency. And like Little Red Riding Hood everyone else played along more out of fear and politeness rather than naivety.
âSorry to interrupt, Mrs. Beouf,â she boomed, âbut Iâm calling in that favor. I need to use your classroom for a time out!â
âNoooooooo!â The Little wailed. âNoooooo! Iâm not a baby! Not a baby!â
Without warning, Ambrose thundered in. My head swiveled. Who was that? How had one of us gotten into my old classroom? They were getting a high five after this was over.
âNOOOOO!â Too late, it hit me. It wasnât one of us. That wasnât a Little. That was a child. A real one. One of my kids! Stripped down to nothing but a diaper, Elmer, my Tweener student from last year, sobbed pathetically while draped under Ambroseâs right arm. âIâm! Not! AâŠ.. Nooooooooo!â
âSomeone doesnât want to be a big boy and go potty when heâs told to like all the other big boys and girls!â Ambrose said.
Beouf stood up. âIâm sorry Miss Ambrose but-â
Ambrose talked over Beouf. âThen someone got all antsy when I put them in a diaper just in case!â She kept walking in like she owned the place, making a beeline for the bathroom. âBut big boys donât have to worry about wearing a diaper. They can hold it in, canât they?â
Elmerâs response canât be quoted as much as described as the wailing gibberish of a devastated and panicking four year old.
âMiss Ambrose, youâre interrupt-â
âThen someone couldnât hold it in and wouldnât wait like a big boy to be taken to the potty. Someone had an accident! Big boys donât have accidents.â The door to the bathroom was always open. Everyone in the room jumped again when Ambrose slammed it shut.
Ivy was shaking. âThey said theyâd help her with time out if she helped them,â she whispered to me. âAfter Billy, they hoped sheâd just forget.â
Iâd figured it out. Elmer- one of the nicest, sweetest and brightest kids Iâd ever taught- was completely potty trained. Last year, he just quietly went whenever he needed to. Sometimes Iâd give him the opportunity and heâd take it or leave it, but the kid knew how to listen to his body and didnât abuse the courtesy. Ambrose was having the students take scheduled potty breaks and diapered him because heâd opted out. Then, this ogre, this Amazonâs Amazon, stalled things until the kidâs bladder gave out and was in the process of humiliating him even further.
âDonât close your eyes! Look what you did! Thatâs what the mirrorâs for!â Even with the door closed, we heard every word. No one else was talking, and the only thing louder than Elmerâs screams was my replacementâs admonitions.
âNOOOO!â
The sounds of tapes being ripped off the landing zone ignited a redoubling of Elmerâs cries. All of us trapped in diapers winced and looked down at our waists. It had been much later in life, but weâd all gone through what was happening to Elmer. Hopefully in the kidâs case, it wasnât permanent.
Beouf and Zoge stared at each other, paralyzed. Beouf was clenching her fists and starting to maneuver out from her kidney table, but based on her body language, she was obviously hesitating. She was angry, but more than that she was confused. No one talked like that to Melony Beouf, not even Brollish. She looked like a dog might if a cat ever managed to bark at it.
Zoge was starting to walk around the room and give empty but comforting pats on the head and shoulders to anyone who would accept it. She started whispering kind, reassuring words in Yamatoan.
Me? I was going to kill this bitch. I was going to waddle up to the bathroom, wait for her to open the door, scale the changing table, leap over her shoulder and rip her goddamn fucking throat out with my fucking teeth! Iâd clamp down on her mother fucking jugular and pierce her fucking rhino hide until I was drenched in her bastard blood. I was going to be the first Little ever convicted of homicide on an Amazon. Theyâd have to invent new words for what I wanted to do to her.
Nobody fucked with my kids. And, adopted or not, Elmer was still one of my kids.
Ivy saw the murder in my face. âClark! Donât! Just let the Grown-Ups handle it!â
âNOOOOO! IâLL BE GOOD! IâLL BE GOOOOOOOOD!â
âToo late for that.â
I ignored her and walked right on by. I was jerked to a stop as she hugged me around the shoulders. âClark! Please!â Ivy whispered.
Fuck that sellout. I couldnât break her freakish iron grip, but Ivy wasnât quick enough to stop me from slipping out. I dropped all of my body weight to the floor, hunched my shoulders forward and scrambled on all fours away from her and towards the bathroom. When Ambrose came out I was going to trip her up like a cat and then do a cannonball on to the back of her motherfucking skull. Iâd stomp until something cracked.
A body piled on my legs. I looked back and saw Chaz. âClark,â he said. âStop!â
âLet me go,â I told Chaz, âor Iâm going to kick you in the head.â It was strange how clearly I was able to enunciate threats just then.
âIâm gooooOOOOOOD!â
Chaz tightened his grip on my knees in time with Elmerâs shrieks. âFuck you, dude. Iâm not letting you.â
Annie came and sat down in front of me, blocking my view of the bathroom door. âHa-ha! Just Littles playing silly games! Nothing to see here. Right?â She gave me a worried look. âRight?â
Billy was pawing at Beouf, trying to distract so she didnât see the scuffle. Completely unnecessary. Her eyes were as glued to the bathroom door as my own.
Nonetheless, my crew was running interference...on me. Ivy was saying something in Yamatoan to Zoge. My friends and Ivy were doing everything they could to stop me and protect me from myself. Them seeming to agree that I was being stupid was enough to wake me up from my own particular brand of crazy. I should have been proud.
The bathroom door slammed open. Annie and Chaz scattered. Iâd made it up to Beoufâs desk so I got a good view of Elmer being carried out, and still bawling. âIf you want to act like a Little,â Ambros said. âWhy donât you spend some time with them? Do you want that?â
âNoooooOOOOO!â
She put Elmer down in the reading area on a bean bag. âIâll be right back, Mrs. Beouf. Promise. Five minutes.â
Elmer found enough of his words to plead to Ambroseâs retreating back. âIâll be good! Iâll be gooooooood! Iâll go potty when you tell me to! Iâll go potty when you tell me tooooooo!â
The door thundered closed behind Ambrose. Beouf and Zoge made eye contact with one another. âGo,â her assistant said. An instant later and Beouf was out of the room.
I got up off the floor. I started heading to the reading center. I was going to talk to Elmer. I was going to comfort my kid. I could do this. It would be easy and it was something I was good at.
With longer legs and nothing to throw off her stride, Zoge beat me to the punch. âItâs okay, dear,â Mrs. Zoge said to the boy, kneeling and stroking his hair. âYouâre not in trouble. You didnât do anything wrong. This is all just a big misunderstanding. Youâll see. Sometimes even Grown-Ups make mistakes.â
Muffled noise came from the space between mine and Beoufâs rooms. Beouf and Ambrose were definitely exchanging words. The doors were thick enough and Elmer was loud enough to where I couldnât make out exactly what was being said, but neither of them sounded particularly happy based on the tones. I didnât care about that. I just wanted to help my kid. I was going to nudge Zoge aside and show her how it was really done.
What came out of poor Elmerâs blubbering innocent mouth turned my blood cold and stopped me dead. âIâm not a Liiiiiiiittle!â he sobbed.
Zoge sighed and rubbed his back. âI know. Youâre not. Youâre very big. Youâre a very big boy.â
âI can go potty! Iâm a big boy! I can grow up! Iâm! Not! A! Little! Iâm BIG! Iâm bi-i-i-i-i-ig!â Elmer caught sight of me, looked down at the diaper heâd been trapped into, and devolved into further incomprehensible bawling.
Try as she might, Zoge couldnât console the boy. She could only hold him in her lap and gently whisper sweet nothings to him while his body racked itself with shame and humiliation.
Shame.
So much shame.
Ashamed for looking like me.
Not a Little.
He could grow up.
Elmer.
One of the sweetest and brightest kids Iâd ever taught.
One of mine...
I...I...I...I...
I changed course. The door to the Nap Room was left open a crack. Someone must have seen me slip in. It was impossible not to. No one called out to me. No one.came in to check on me or tried to drag me out. Or comfort me.
Good.
It made it easier for me to pop a pacifier in my mouth and scream into a pillow.