"Erm–um–" I stammered, fumbling for my money.
I had to hope the cashier couldn't smell me. A sheet of plexiglass covered most of the space between customer and employee, leaving only a little gap beneath for us to exchange cash and product. I'd gone for something cheap, just a candy bar, any excuse to pay him money so I could get access to the bathroom.
Regardless of what he could smell, though, the lady in line behind me could definitely smell my diaper. If the cashier had identified the odor as wafting from beneath my shorts, he hadn't said as much, but that could just as easily have been out of a sense of polite respect for my dignity.
So, I fumbled, trying to get the interaction over with as fast as possible.
"Erm–can I use your bathroom?" I asked, as he passed my receipt back to me.
He nodded, taking back the receipt for a moment, leaving me stranded to wait a little longer, shifting my weight from foot to foot. Taking a pen, he wrote down a number on the back of the paper, slowly, one swoopy mark at a time.
Outside, a car parked right in front of the door, and a moment later an electronic chime rang as the door opened, more customers walking in.
(Ugh, come on, come on, I don't want to be standing here anymore,) I thought, aware of all the eyes now on me–or, more importantly, the noses.
"Door code," he explained, sliding the receipt back to me.
I nodded thankfully. "Thanks. Erm, where is it?"
Pointing around back, he guided my attention to an unlabeled door by the freezers. Eager to get out of there, I hurried to the back.
(Ugh, thank god it locks–let's get this over with.) Punching the door code into the steel handle, I slipped into relative privacy and out of the attention of the other customers.
The bathroom wasn't much–just a toilet, a sink, and a small cupboard in a four by five rectangle. There wasn't much room, but it was enough. I slipped my shorts down to my ankles, stepped out of them, and set them on the sink, then took off my backpack–
(Your diaper bag, now, don't be coy,) Haven corrected.
I took off my diaper bag, rolling my eyes, and fished inside for a fresh diaper and my powder.
Outside, I heard noise–the cashier, raising his voice, though I couldn't make out the details.
Haven stirred inside me. (He said, 'That's for paying customers only.')
(Wait, what? But–)
The door to the bathroom flew open, kicked by a heavy boot. The steel handle and electronic lock were fine, but the cheap frame blew out in splinters, rendering that protection moot.
The person in the door grinned, a muscled man almost a foot my superior and dressed in black from tip to toe. He held a long, shiny silver rod, and looked ready to deal out some serious Fuck You.
Two muggings in one day–I'd come to the right place for crime.
(Well, shit,) I thought. (Haven, what's this going to cost me?)
(Hmmm, how about–) Haven began, but before they could finish the thought, the big man lunged, extending the rod. I finally got a glance at the two prongs on the end, and realized, (cattle prod), just a second before it made contact with my skin.
I fell backwards, landing on the toilet, and cried out in pain. I expected Haven to intervene, to do something, but as I fell I felt them squirm inside me, and in my thoughts, I felt something–fear?
No, pain.
This hurt Haven as much as it did me.
The thug kept the prod pressed against my body, shocks of electricity coursing through me, all but melting me into the toilet. My body spasmed, but I ground my teeth–I'd been through worse.
"I've got her," the huge thug called out, finally stopping the shock for just a moment, prodding me again. Zzaapp!
"Get the sample and get out," a voice replied–masculine, but I couldn't see who was speaking. "Hurry."
I thought about moving, but he zapped me yet again, and again, sending a course of electricity through my body every second or so, ensuring I couldn't rally or even stand.
(Haven, I need you.)
"You do it–I'm holding her down."
Zzaapp!
(Haven?)
Grumbling, the other person–zzaapp!–walked over, reaching into his pocket for a small leather pouch.
"Don't see why she was so much trouble," the big one said. Zzaapp!
Little whimpers escaped my mouth–all I could muster. Haven had fallen still, silent. It hurt, and though I'd faced other pain, other torture, even, each sting was sharp and acute, frying my body and burning my muscles.
"H-hav..." I stammered, teeth chattering. "Help–"
Haven had made me afraid plenty of times–for my dignity, for my future. They'd never truly made me feel afraid for my life, but this man...I had no idea what he was going to do to me.
Zzaapp!
"Let's just get this over with and–"
Click. "Get the fuck away from her."
The cashier had a gun. Fucking–of course he did, we were in crime central, and he had it aimed on the big guy.
The other one looked back, raising an eyebrow. "This doesn't concern you."
"The fuck it doesn't," the cashier said. "Cops are on their way. Get away from her."
Hesitating, the huge man seemed to debate whether to obey or turn around and do something unsavory to the cashier, but in that hesitation, he finally gave me time to rally.
I didn't need Haven for this, just one swift, well placed kick up between his legs. He made a little noise, a slight exhale, and dropped to his knees.
(Haven, you with me?)
(Just...a moment...)
I had two legs and a lot of fury to unleash, so I raised my foot again, this time driving a kick into the thug's face.
His partner began to move, but the cashier turned his pistol to face the man, and again, bought me a second of hesitation. From there, finally, Haven jumped into action, slithering down my leg and across the floor, grabbing the man's ankle and yanking hard. He fell, head banging against a countertop, knocked out cold.
Staggering up, I bent and grabbed the cattle prod, lifted it to the big thug's chest, and thumbed the trigger. He hadn't let up, so I didn't either, holding it until he stopped making noises.
(He's still alive,) Haven said.
(I don't really care.)
Looking at the cashier, I said, "Er..."
My diaper was on full display, sagging and gross, but he didn't comment, instead preferring to make a general statement about the situation. "Holy shit."
"I–" I started, wondering what I'd do when the cops arrived. "I don't know if–I shouldn't be here."
"Yeah, no, get out of here," he said. "Were these guys after you? Why?"
I swallowed, bending to take my shorts off the ground and yank them back up over my diaper. "I don't know, but I intend to find out."
YOU ARE READING
Symbiotic Submission
ParanormalThis is both a continuation of a series of older short stories of mine, and also an archive of those stories - I originally wrote the first three parts of this over the course of roughly a year, without a strong idea of where I was taking the story...
