One of them grabs my ankles and jerks me so I’m forced to lie on my back. He hauls me feet first toward the door. He puts his hand on my chest and holds me down while the other man does something above me.
I’ve never been so scared in my life. I have no idea what’s happening. I’m flailing around instinctively. The hand holding me down is so large it covers most of my torso. He’s so strong.
I realize at some point I’m screaming. The alarms don’t go off, so I know these men control them.
The top of my cage lowers. It keeps coming toward me. Finally, it stops, less than a foot above my face.
The man holding me down shoves me across the metal tray. The other one removes the wet diaper and shakes a new one at me. He points toward my crotch, scowling.
My eyes are bugging out of my head. Does he want me to put it on?
Next, he jabs a finger at me, then himself, then my thighs. Finally, he lifts a brow.
I suck in a breath. I know exactly what he’s communicating. Either I put the diaper on myself, or he will.
Sobbing, I pat my chest, hoping to indicate I will do it.
He gives a curt nod but sets his hand on his hip and glares at me. The diaper dangles from his fingers.
Now? I have to do it now?
I can’t sit up. I’m trapped in a much shorter space. It’s too difficult to obey him between my uncontrollable crying and my totally frazzled nerves.
When he reaches for the hem of my dress and yanks it upward, I cry out. “Okay! I’ll do it.” I bat at his hand, as if that would ever stop him from getting whatever he wants.
It’s not easy, but I manage to pull my dress over my private parts and then attempt to wiggle out of my panties without either of these cruel men seeing my nudity.
The guard shakes the diaper at me. I snatch it from him before twisting around so I’m not flashing them as I quickly slide the hateful diaper under my bottom. It’s amazing how quickly I get it fastened, considering how badly I’m shaking.
Meanwhile, the sadistic prick snatches my panties from the bottom of the kennel.
The other guard hands me my bottle and slams the cage closed, locking me in. Without another utterance in their strange language I can’t understand, the two of them turn and leave the room.
My trembling doesn’t subside. I don’t move for a long time. I’m holding the bottle, and I’m still starving, but I’m staring in the direction my captives retreated.
Assessing my new situation, I finally look up. I have just enough space to roll onto my side, but not enough to sit upright. Why?
When I attempt to turn toward the main entrance, I’m immediately faced with how uncomfortable this position is. For one thing, the base of this cage is metal and really hurts my shoulder and hip. But more importantly, this diaper is as thick as the last one. I can’t pull my thighs together.
Exasperated, I drop onto my back and bring the nipple to my mouth. I need to eat. My head will be clearer and stop pounding if I eat. I’m certain part of my problem is dehydration. Another reason to drink the weird white substance.
My legs are incredibly uncomfortable when I attempt to straighten them, so I give up and let my knees rest wide open.
I’m a Baby. It’s humiliating. Why would these aliens treat me like an infant?
It takes a while for my head to stop pounding, but eventually, it does, probably from the fluid, calories, and getting the drug out of my system.
I’m still so cold, though, shivering. I pull my arms through the short sleeves of my dress so I can cross them against my chest. I’m exhausted from crying, being awake for so long, and the constant stress of the unknown, but I can’t sleep because I’m too cold.
After a while, I have to pee again, so I only hold it for a short time. There’s obviously no need to be obstinate about wetting myself. It won’t change anything. I’m alone and scared. The only thing I understand about this weird place is that my jailors want me to lie on my back, pee myself, and drink from a bottle.
As soon as I wet myself, I start crying. I try to keep quiet, but I’m so emotional that it’s hard to hold back the sobs that echo throughout the warehouse.
I barely flinch when the door bangs open again. The two guards who approach me are not the ones from earlier. Considering how long I’ve been here, there’s probably been more thanone shift change. After all, I have no idea how much time passed while I was knocked out.
There’s another man with the black-clad jailors. He’s wearing blue, and he’s unarmed. He also has a stethoscope around his neck, which gives me a tiny bit of relief. If he’s a doctor of some sort, maybe he’ll take pity on me. Aren’t medical personnel required to make decisions in the best interest of the patient?
Granted, just because that’s the way things were on Earth doesn’t mean these aliens follow any sort of ethical regulations.
