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Just like your mom and dad abandoned you.
I need to stop thinking like this. I take off my jeans and sweater, then undo the tabs on my diaper. I wear diapers as often as I can afford to. There’s something about the feeling of having that soft, crinkly fabric close to my skin that almost instantly makes me relax. When I’m not safely strapped in, it feels like I’m jittery, like I’ve drunk five coffees or something. I wrap the diaper up and toss it in the trash, then I turn on the shower.
The sound of the running water makes me feel a little calmer. I’ve always loved the water. ‘A real-life water baby,’ my mom used to say about me. That’s one of the few things I remember about her.
That, and her beautiful laugh.
My mom died when I was six, from pneumonia. My sister was thirteen. You’d think her being older than me would’ve meant she was hit the hardest, but she wasn’t. I had a bit of a breakdown when it happened — in the way that a six-year-old can have a breakdown. Stopped sleeping in my own bed at night. Refused to go to school. Screamed constantly. My sister had to coach me through it. She even let me share her single bed with her for a year after Mom passed.
She’s always been there for me like that.
Then of course there was Dad. He died two years ago. Heart failure. I used my inheritance money to get the ABDL fashion business off the ground. That’s how I bought my sewing machine and fabrics and set up a PO Box for myself. Paid three months upfront on the place in New York to tide myself over.
Now look what you’ve done, Addison. You’ve thrown away your father’s hard-earned cash.
My father was a psychiatrist. I think that’s why I never told him I was a Little. I couldn’t bear to hear his analysis of my ‘condition’. Anyway, he made plenty money in his career over the years, but had to spend most of it on medicine. Ironic, I guess, given that medicine is how hemadehis money in the first place.
Oh great, now I’m crying.
Two years is kinda nothing in grief terms. I still miss my father, each and every day. And I’m sad I was never honest with him about who I am. It haunts me to this day.
And although I’ve still got Violet, it feels like she’s about to abandon me too.
I get into the shower, and let the warm water mix with my tears. At least when I’m surrounded by water like this I can pretend to myself that I’m not crying.
The truth is, Violet is an amazing sister. She looks after me way more than a big sister should have to look after their younger sibling. She’s always got my back. And I shouldn’t have to expect her to bail me out every time I get into trouble, or protect me from this big bad world we all live in.
I acted ungratefully out there. Violet was talking about having fixed up some accommodation for me. That’s more than I deserve, really. Even if it is just one night in a hotel, that’s something. Generous, even. I shouldn’t have to rely on her to help rebuild my life for me. I need to find myself a job, any job, and get on with things. Just like everyone else.
Except, I’m not like everyone else.
‘You’re special,’ my dad used to tell me.
‘There’s something wrong with me!’ I used to cry, when I came close to opening up to him.
‘There’s nothing wrong with you, honey,’ he’d tell me. ‘I’m a psychiatrist. I should know. You’re just a little more sensitive than other people. A little more delicate. That’s no bad thing. One day, you might even find it’s a strength.’
Oh, Pops. I miss you so much.
I lather up my hair with the shampoo and try to focus on the here and now. That’s something Dad taught me to try and do. A little trick called mindfulness. You take a breath and think about what you’re experiencing in the present. What your senses are telling you. The sound of the shower. The smell of the lavender in my shampoo. The feeling of the foamy water on my skin. Never fails to calm me. At least for a little while.
I get out of the shower and wrap myself in a fluffy white towel. Violet’s towels are perfect. I don’t know how she keeps them fluffy like this.
I can’t help noticing how long my hair’s getting, and how dark it looks when wet. At least, even though I’m basically at rock bottom, I still look good. I’m not being vain or anything when I say that — I just know that stress wreaks havoc on the human body. Dark circles under the eyes, sallow skin, greasy hair. All sorts of things can happen to you when life deals you a blow. Or a thousand blows, in my situation. But thankfully, at twenty-one, I still have youth on my side. Youth is what keeps me looking perky, even when I feel like there’s a tsunami of turmoil inside.
I head out of the bathroom, noting the smell of seared tuna and Szechuan pepper skewers. My sister might be about to go and live in the jungle tomorrow, but that doesn’t stop her from cooking up sometrèssophisticated canapés before she heads off. Even though, in the jungle, she’ll probably be eating stuff like grubs and ferns, or whatever. Ew. Gross.
Time to get dressed up for the party. Even though the last thing I feel like doing is celebrating my sister’s departure from this end of the world with a load of people I don’t know. Even if therewillbe delicious snacks.
I open up my suitcase. Almost half the space is taken up with diapers. I really shoulda brought a bigger suitcase. But this one was so cute! I choose an ultra thin diaper for the party — an Abena. They’re medical diapers, so they’re very discreet. If a company made a diaper with the functionality of an Abena with the looks of like, a Rearz, I’d be in diaper heaven. I lie on the bed and strap myself up nice and tight. I don’t want anyone noticing the bulge under my dress tonight.
I put on some make-up — nothing much, just a little lip gloss and a lick of mascara — I’ve never been one for going overboard with the cosmetics. Then I pick out a tight black dress and sensible black shoes. Most of my clothes are ones I’ve designed myself, the ones with cutesy nature designs embroidered or screen-printed onto them. Tonight, though, is all about my sister, so I put on something elegant that won’t draw too much attention to myself.
I have a little trouble doing up the zipper at the back of the dress, so I go through to the kitchen and ask Violet for a little help.
‘Oh my goodness,’ she says when she sees me. ‘Addy. You look gorgeous.’ She does up my zipper, and then looks at me again. ‘Wow.’
I laugh. ‘You sound surprised.’
