Unfair- A Diaper Dimension Novel

Chapter 1
Chapter 106: Inside the Doll's House

Chapter Description: Clark visits Ivy Zoge of all people for a playdate

Chapter 106: Inside the Doll’s House

Janet opened up the back door and unbuckled me from the car seat.  She set me down on the driveway and let me readjust my own clothing; though I could see her fingers fidget and twist.  Some part of her baby crazy brain was likely screaming at her that I was doing it wrong just by virtue of my size and state.   “Remember,” she told me. “Best behavior. We’re guests.”

I hiked up my tan slacks with the elastic waistband for the first of what would surely be dozens of times that day.  Just sitting and wriggling in the car seat trying to get comfortable, they’d managed to slip halfway down my ass. I was still dry too. I could only imagine how bad it would get if I stayed wet for any amount of time.

“I know,” I replied, quietly.  “This was kind of my idea, remember?”

Janet bobbled her head from side to side.  “Kind of. But…your temper…and Miss Zoge and Ivy…” she saw the blood rushing to my face from something other than embarrassment.  “I’m really prou…”  She dropped down to one knee to look me in the eye.  “I want to keep having a good weekend and for us to keep an open mind.” 

“I’m only doing this because it was her birthday and I feel bad and junk,” I insisted. “That’s all.”  A lie of omission. New applications of Ivy’s strength coupled with her persistent desire to befriend or impress me despite every way I’d managed to hurt her were definitely a factor.  A half-truth is still better than nothing.

“And I love that you’re doing that,” Janet insisted. “Just don’t let it stop us from having fun.”  My Mommy’s eye twitched. She dug a thin black comb out of the diaper bag and started to attack my tangled curls for the third or fourth time since I woke up.  “We are going to have to either start gelling your hair again or get you a haircut.”

I pictured my hair matted down with product and slicked back. That mental image was immediately replaced with my carrot colored locks parted right down the middle, the tips still curling at my ears.  “Haircut, please.” 

“Monday afternoon,” Janet said. “Right after school.”  It would mean a trip back to that monstrosity of a salon, but I’d bear it as long as it was only a haircut.

Even though it was a futile gesture I tugged down at the white button up, tucking it into my pants.  Janet had put it through the wash once so it wasn’t as stiff and starchy as it had been in the store. The sweater vest got tugged over the waistband so that the potato chip ridges along the slacks’ waistband weren’t as obvious. 

My Monkeez were already bunching up from the lack of room in my pants’s seat. I could feel the pants inching down by the millisecond. I’d never admit it, but I should have asked Janet for that abomination of a onesie that imitated a button up. Or overalls. Something that would stay put while I moved. That goddamn sailor suit had a better fit and would have gotten bonus points from Zoge since she’d gotten it for me.

This was supposed to be a ‘playdate’, but both Janet and I were dressed for the equivalent of a job interview.

Oakshire wasn’t a big town.  It didn’t have any country clubs or gated communities.  Cassie and I had hit it pretty big, sneak-living in the suburbs like we had. Janet’s house, by Little standards of scope and quality was nothing to sneeze at either.   

The neighborhood that Mr. and Mrs. Zoge lived in was palatial by comparison.  Rows and rows of two story houses with hedges instead of fences.  Big wheeled tricycles and plastic play houses decorated front lawns in lieu of plastic flamingos and porcelain gnomes.  Driveways housed boats and campers that owners proudly maintained and washed despite probably only using them one or two times a year.

Backyards featured inground pools screened in to protect from falling leaves, trampolines big enough for giants to tumble on, steel swing sets, and wooden play forts.  Children played openly under the watchful gaze of parents busying themselves in gardens, proudly washing cars, or participating in childish play. There wasn’t very much in the way of fencing or attempts at privacy.

The people here didn’t want privacy.  They wanted to be seen. Their yards and driveways were tributes to their own prosperity and their personal involvement as caregivers. Everything was a competition wrapped up in a neat smiling bow. Cars were being hand washed and buffed with thick yellow sponges and grass was cut with bright red riding mowers as if doing the chores were a luxury.

Peak Typical Amazon.

Across the street behind me, a pair of princesses held a tea party in bright yellow dresses. I guessed at least one of them was legitimately a child based on relative height, but distance and distraction kept me from judging on whether or not the smaller one was a little sister or a Little sister.

Janet likewise, was dressed up like it was a school day in a light blue denim dress with a bright red sash tied around her waist, and matching ruby flats. Her hair was done up in a tight bun with knitting needle hairpins keeping it all together.  This was in stark contrast to the relaxed loose fitting and faded attire she tended to prefer when just bumming around the house for a weekend. She looked almost nervous.

Janet technically outranked Zoge in the school hierarchy, but this wasn’t her home turf. Zoge was a fellow believer in Maturosis and a Mommy; but I hadn’t witnessed the chemistry between them like with Beouf or Helena.  We were both in unexplored territory here. Both of us felt awkward but obligated at this social encounter.  I took some comfort in that.  Worst case scenario, nothing would click, I would never see Ivy outside of school ever again.

She stood up and took me with her, propping me up on her hip opposite the diaper bag. “Ready?”

I groped around and felt the back of my Monkeez already peeking out. More than just the papery thin waistband, too.  It’d be a miracle if I made it through this without my pants falling down to my knees.   “As I’ll ever be,” I sighed.

We traveled up the driveway and hooked right along a curving walkway towards the front door. I spent the final few seconds of the trip analyzing everything I saw while trying to derive meaning from it. 

No cars besides ours in the driveway. No sounds of activity coming from behind the house or movement from curtains. That probably meant that there weren't any other Littles around. It was the day after Ivy’s birthday, but this wasn’t a birthday party I was walking into.  Part of me felt that was sad, but only for a moment. Ivy was actually an adult. Plenty of adults have birthdays without parties. 

Not having additional Littles around meant I had no extra airs to put on.

Cynically, I took note of the baby swing hanging from the boughs of a tree in her front yard.  How many swings, I wondered, before Ivy’s mind had broken?  Oh who was I kidding? Ivy was properly broken well before she’d emigrated to Oakshire.

A twinge of sadness. Littles who went to Yamatoa were regressed universally and permanently. The one and only balm to that nightmare would be that there was no trace of the adult life those victims had lived to cause them any kind of cognitive dissonance.  No free adult Littles like Clark Gibson to look at them in their strollers and quietly shake their heads in pity.

Janet knocked on the heavy door, her knuckles rapping on the wood.  We exchanged one less awkward look with one another.  “Be good,” she mouthed.

“I know,” I mouthed back.

Typical.

The door opened with a moaning heavy creak.   Mrs. Zoge stood in the doorway, smiling softly. She was barefoot, wearing a loose fitting white blouse and black pants that belled out at her ankles. It was the most casual I’d ever seen her dress.

“Hiiiiiii,” Janet said, sounding as awkward as anything.
Zoge pivoted sideways and bid us enter. “Welcome,” she said, her smile and voice soft.  Janet carried me in and Zoge closed the door behind us.  “You can leave your shoes over there by the door.”

Janet set me down and took off her own shoes. “Thank you,” she said.

I beat her into taking off mine. Undressing myself was just as much a rare treat as dressing.  The blue light up shoes joined Janet’s red flats.  “Socks too?” I asked our host.

“Socks are fine on your feet,” Zoge said.

“Yes ma’am.”

The Yamatoan’s eyes twinkled. “So well mannered!”  Her eyes took me in a beat later. “And so handsome, too!”

I did a slight bow, doing my best to pretend that this was an I.E.P. meeting in my head. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Zoge’s eyebrow shot up for a moment.  “We need to dress you like this more often if this is how you behave.” It was hard to tell if she was joking until a few notes of laughter fluttered out of her.  Janet exhaled and joined in. 

“He wanted to dress to impress,”  Janet said, and left it at that.

From around the entry way’s corner, Ivy poked her head around, her hair bunched up in pigtails. We made eye contact for a moment, and then out of sight.

Her presence did not go unnoticed, however. “Ivy,” Mrs. Zoge said.  “Come meet our guests.”

The Little Doll waddled out wearing a pink romper with white polar bears dotting it. It was loose and layered and flared out slightly at the sleeves and legs, and had  overlapping folds sewn in to resemble a kind of robe.  It was the middle of a Saturday, but I felt like I’d just caught the girl in  her pajamas.

Shapewise, it had more in common with my GhostHaunters costume the other day. It was closer to a baggy and concealing jumpsuit than a form fitting romper.  I only thought of it as an article of baby clothing because I caught sight of the telltale snaps on her inseam just above her knee, and because Ivy was the one wearing it.

“Hello, Clark,” she said. She waved at me shyly. One bare foot was already trying to slide behind her Mommy’s leg.

My mouth, for a change, was a step ahead of my mind.  “Hello, Ivy,” I waved back.  Expertly, I tugged on Janet’s skirt as if I’d rehearsed it. “Mommy? Do you have the thing?”

Janet flipped open the diaper bag and handed me a card envelope.  “Here you go, baby.”

“Ivy,” I held out the envelope that was nearly the size of my head. “This is for you. Happy Birthday.”  Ivy sprinted out and snatched the card from me the way a wise rat snatches cheese from a trap. Tiny, closed lip giggles came out of the Amazons bearing witness. “There’s a gift card in there,” I said. “It’s not much, but maybe you can put it with money you already have and buy something nice for yourself.” 

That got more knowing giggles.  I hadn’t chosen my words carefully, just then. They were just the sort of thing I’d say to anyone whose gift from me was money but with extra steps. It took me a second for me to realize what was so funny.

“Clark was very serious about helping me pick the card out,” Janet told Zoge. “Insisted that he sign it himself.”

Oh yeah.  I hadn’t actually bought the card. I no longer had money in the way an adult had money; back to the land of allowances and lemonade stands…except babies didn’t really get either of those.  I’d basically just given Zoge money with the expectation that she would spend it on Ivy.  Not that she wouldn’t- Ivy was mentally abused, but not physically neglected- it just would have been more efficient for Janet to reach into her purse and give Zoge some money.

Ritual and ceremony has always been important to me, however.  Even if it just reinforced certain viewpoints that I was a small child playing Grown-Up.

With no prompting Ivy handed the envelope up to her Mommy. “Thank you, Clark,” Ivy said. “I am very grateful.” A child recites her lessons. Then, “You look…very Grown-Up.”

“Ivy?”  Zoge seemed surprised. Not angry. Just surprised.  I did look comparatively Grown-Up. Even accounting for my underwear and the waistband of my slacks, a three year old still looks more mature than a two year old.

If only I was allowed to be potty trained like a three year old…

There were a few clipped words between the so-called mother and her faux daughter. I only knew the songs from Circle Time and my untrained ear picked up none of them. Were I a betting man, I’d say Ivy was being gently reminded not to encourage me.

“Clark really wanted to dress to impress,” Janet covered for me. “He’s been looking forward to this all morning.”

“Does he have anything more comfortable?” Zoge asked Janet. “Play clothes?” She quickly tacked on. “They look very nice…”

Janet patted the bag.  “I’ve got a spare onesie and a t-shirt in here if he gets uncomfortable.” I threw her some side eye. “But only if he gets uncomfortable.” Despite herself, she also tacked on, “Or if he spills something on his shirt or leaks.”

“Ah,” Mrs. Zoge said. “I see. Good.”

Five words was enough to make Janet fall all over herself with polite self-consciousness. “We had lunch before we came here.” This wasn’t a lunch date, I guessed. “Just…always be prepared, I guess.”

Zoge smiled and undid the spell she’d cast and allowed Janet her out. “I understand. We have everything we need at home or in our classroom, but something always goes wrong when we are out.”

“Yes,” Janet sighed with relief. “Exactly.”

I took back over before the two giantesses started swapping packing and prep tips. “Thank you, Ivy,” I said, giving her the same semi-bow I’d given to her Mommy. “How old are you?”

“Clark…?”  Janet’s inflection almost mirrored Zoge’s from a moment before.  Never ask a woman her age, I guess, even if she’s not allowed to grow up.

Ivy took no such offense.  Why would she? “Thirty-five.”

My face fell for a second.  Ivy was older than me? How did I not know this? “Happy belated birthday,” I said, recovering.  “May you have many more.”

“Thank you,”  Ivy said. “I will.”

A beat of awkward silence encircled us. Work friends and schoolmates we were, but none of us were friend-friends.  This was uncharted territory for all involved, and I had the preconceived notion that Ivy didn’t get many playdates.

“Please,” Mrs. Zoge said. “Come in. Come in.  Make yourself at home.” Our tiny group shuffled out of the entryway and into the house proper. “My husband is making tea. Would you like some?” 

“Yes,” Janet said, “that would be lovely.”

Ivy toddled up and tugged at the diaper bag.  “Can I help, Ms. Grange? I can put Clark’s diapers in my nursery if he needs a change.”  Ivy Zoge; teacher’s pet even in her own house.

Janet flushed and blushed. “That’s very kind of you Ivy, but I need a few things out of this first.” To the elder Zoge she said, “I brought some milk from home. Goat’s milk. It’s gentler on his tummy.”

“Goat’s milk?” Zoge said. She almost sounded like I did when speaking Yamatoan, saying the word phonetically but not quite understanding the meaning.

Janet bit her lip. “Um…I think in Yamatoan it’s called…’bonyoo’..?” She winced, knowing she’d butchered the word. Ivy giggled into her hand and looked at the floor. 

“Ah,” Zoge said. “Yes. We have room in the refrigerator. Would you like to follow me so you know where you put it?”

“That would be very nice,” Janet said.  “Would it be okay if Ivy took Clark’s diapers?” That gave me an unexpected chill.  Zoge nodded and Janet dug out two or three and handed them down to the mini-Yamatoan.  “Here ya go, kiddo.”

Keeping my mouth closed, I gaped at the stack in Ivy’s hands. How long were we visiting for? I seriously hoped we wouldn’t be here long enough for me to need all of those. “Thank you,” Ivy said.

“Ivy, will you give your guest a tour?”  Zoge asked.

Predictably Ivy said, “Yes, Mommy.”

She tucked the mini-stack under her arm and motioned for me to follow.  “Come on, Clark. I’ll show you around!”

Might as well get this over with. “Sure, Ivy.” She reached out her hand to take mine. I knew I’d never get it back if I gave it to her. “You can lead, I’ll follow.”

What followed was perhaps the most shallow and absurd tour I’d been given.

“This is the kitchen. This is where my Daddy cooks the food.”

“Uh-huh.”

“This is the family room. This is where Mommy and Daddy watch the news after dinner and watch T.V. when I go to bed.”

“Yup.”

“This is the dining room. This is where Mommy and Daddy and me eat the food.” She pointed to a highchair. “That’s where I eat. Yesterday, I had yummy, yummy cake.  For dessert!”

“Cool….”

“This is the downstairs bathroom. My Mommy and Daddy sometimes use the potty in here when they’re downstairs and have to go potty. Nobody uses the bathtub in here.”

“Neat.”

There was no rhyme or reason to where we went.  Ivy zigged and zagged every which way.  We’d pass a room or an area only for her to double back, show it off, and lead me into another hallway.

“In there is the laundry room, where my Mommy does the laundry. Sometimes Daddy does it too.”

“Fascinating.”

“It goes into the garage where the cars like to sleep at night.”

“You don’t say.”

More so than even Amy, Ivy’s prattle reminded me of my students’.  The point wasn’t to actually impart any kind of usable or amusing information, but for her to talk and show that she knew where things were. Likewise, I did my best to sound pleasant in my vapid pointless responses.

“This is the stairs. They go up to the bedrooms and my Daddy’s office.”

“Do they go down, too?” I asked.

“Yeah!”

I silently played a game with myself and counted how many times I had to hike my pants back up over my diaper to keep it covered up.  I was close to twenty by the time we hit the stairs.  The stairs alone added another twenty-four to thirty. They were just steep enough that it was easier to crawl and climb them than to attempt to ascend them using only my legs.  Maybe if my underwear hadn’t been so bulky…

“This is the upstairs hallway.”

“Yeah…” I puffed lightly, feeling winded.  What she didn’t comment on was just how many pictures were on the walls.  It was practically an Ivy museum. Family portraits, school photos, vacation stills, restaurant outings, holidays, and candid pictures.  If not for the infinite amount of time that Littles stayed babies for their Amazon overlords, one might think that they recorded every single moment of Ivy’s supposed childhood.   “Lotta pictures,” I said.  “Are these all of them?”

“Just the ones since we moved,” Ivy answered. “All my baby pictures from before are in the attic.”

I couldn’t help myself.  “Aren’t you still a baby?” I asked.

“Yes,” Ivy replied. “But those pictures are from before.”

I bit my tongue on how all pictures were technically from before and accepted her answer.  I wasn’t particularly curious to see what Ivy looked like in a Yamatoan daycare uniform.

The tour continued:

“This is my Daddy’s office,” she pointed to a closed door. He works there when he’s not at work. I’m not allowed to go in there.”

“Logical,” I feigned interest. I was also playing a game on how many different vapid replies I could come up with.

“This is the guest room. Guests sleep there.”

“That’s a good name then.”

“This is my Mommy and Daddy’s room. I’m not allowed to go in there without either. It has a bathroom.”

“As does my Mommy’s room.”

The irony was either lost on the Doll or she was feeding off of it.  “This is the upstairs bathroom. Mommy and Daddy give me baths here.”

“Indeed.  Not in their bathroom?”

“No. That’s just for them.”

I wondered how she might react if I told her I was sometimes allowed to shower with mine? Jealousy? Disbelief? Best to let sleeping dragons lie. “Interesting…” 

Our tour concluded, or so I thought.  “This is my nursery.  This is where I sleep and play with my stuffed animals and cuddly toys and get my diaper changed when I’m at home.”

“Yeah. Mine…too?!”

Pink. So much pink. I thought the first draft of my room at Janet’s had been pink.  I was wrong.  This was pink. Rose pink walls; a watermelon pink crib; a blush pink changing table; bubblegum pink closet doors; a magenta shelf with porcelain dolls decorating it all wearing ballet slipper pink tutus; a hot pink rocking chair.  “This is…this is really pink.”

“Thank you,” Ivy said.  “It’s my favorite color this year.”

“This…year…?” 

“I used to really like purple,” Ivy said as if that explained it.  In a way it did. Ivy was a tad more spoiled than I gave her credit for.  The most obedient dog often got the best scraps.  I stayed firmly in the doorway, almost afraid to enter, while Ivy waddled to her changing table and placed my diapers gently on the bottom shelf.  She gave them a light pat as if that might not stay otherwise.  “Tour over.”

“Cool,” I said.  “What now?”

Ivy faced her crib. “Mommy! Tour over! Tour over, Mommy!”  I looked up at her crib and my eyes finally honed in on a tiny green light from a familiar looking electronic box.  She was yelling into her baby monitor. Clever.

My suspicions were confirmed with the thundering sound of approaching footsteps. Janet and Zoge climbed the stairs after us.  Janet picked me up and carried me deeper into the Doll’s lair to make way for her Mommy. 

“Ready to play, baby?” Zoge asked.

Ivy already had her arms skyward, begging to be lifted. “Yes, please!”

“How are you doing?” Janet whispered. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” I whispered back.

“Having fun?”

“I’m fine,” I repeated. That would have to be good enough today.

We were taken downstairs but we did not stop in the family room like I’d expected. The Zoge family room was barren in terms of Little-centric devices. Janet’s living room was practically half-a-nursery, replete with a playpen, playmats, toys I left lying around, and gifts from the Adoption shower that never found a proper home elsewhere.  Janet’s couch and coffee table were sturdy muted islands among a primary colored sea.  One didn’t need to be a detective to guess that Janet kept someone in diapers here.

Not even the mythical Sherlock Homes could look at this room and guess that an eternal child was imprisoned in this house. Couches and cushy chairs, shelves with useless trinkets on them, landscape oil paintings; a fireplace. Everything in tones of beige and eggshell white.  Even I found it boring. Ivy was old enough to be a mother. Zoge looked old enough to actually be Ivy’s; making her a grandmother.  Short a crystal dish of individually wrapped hard candies and plastic on the furniture, this room reeked of ‘grandparent’.

That’s when I noticed the rainbow colored baby gate and the room that lay beyond it. Sunken into the floor and separated by a multi-hued lattice, was a room that the Littles at the Little Voices would have killed for during the back half of the meetings.

My feet squished beneath me when Janet set me down. Every inch of the floor here was covered in puzzle piece foam padding; each piece sporting a letter, number, or basic shape in its center. The walls were draped in posters of cartoons both vaguely familiar and disturbingly foreign.

The first wall had clear plastic bins filled with toys corner to corner. The second had more of the same, as well as arts and crafts items like crayons, construction paper, safety scissors, and clay.  The third had covered play tables marked with signs that I inferred meant train sets, water, and sand. The middle of the floor boasted a sit and spin that could reasonably accommodate four Littles. 

Everything was at eye level and easy to reach, no stepping stools necessary.  The tables all had wheels and pivots on them. They probably wouldn’t require Ivy’s bizarre strength to move.  The bins were practically a library of toys, all neatly organized.

A Little Room. They had a friggin’ Little Room.  My brain started to burn. I stopped breathing.

“Be good,” Janet’s voice knocked me out of my fugue state. Instead of patting me on the bottom she yanked my pants up for me one last time.  “Have fun. Mr. and Mrs. Zoge and I will be chatting in the family room if you need us.

Like a dog begging for attention, Ivy leapt in front of me.  “Do you like it?”

My eyes swept left and right. How much money had been put into this place? If you combined the money Beouf and I had spent combined on our classroom toys over my career, this might top it.  “Uh…yeah?”

“What would you like to play?”

My temples were throbbing. My face was on fire. I was tiptoeing towards a panic attack of some kind. I hated this place. I hated this house. I hated these people.  Not worth it. So not worth it. I shook my head and did my best impression of a dying fish. Why had I left my pacifier at home?

“I…don’t know…” I finally said.

Ivy was about to proudly rattle off every single asinine toy and distraction when another one came from her Mommy.  “Juice!” Zoge leaned over the barrier and handed us each a sloshing sippy cup. “Drink up!”

“Thank you!” I said and started slugging back the strawberry flavored sugar water.

Ivy followed suit.  What a relief! Silence but not being expected to listen to or say anything! Those precious few minutes glugging the refreshment helped me recenter myself and remember that I was here to suffer through some nonsense and possibly gain some valuable insight.  This wasn’t really a playdate, it was reconnaissance.

I gasped when I was done, and set the now empty cup down on the foam floor.  “What do you want to play with, Ivy?” I asked.

Ivy finished her drink and picked mine up. “Mommy!”

Zoge shuffled back up, and took the cups.  “Thank you, Ivy. Such a good girl.”  The praise seemed to rejuvenate her in the same way that Ivy’s silence had patched me.

Ivy wasted no time. “Spin?” she asked.

I thought about it. “No. I don’t want to get sick.”

The mock yamatoan crinkled to a bin and pulled out a black base and handful of tiny metal rods. It was a smaller version of the incomprehensible Amazonian game from Beouf’s class. The one that Ivy had poked at for at least a decade and figured out how to work. “Puzzle?”

“No thanks,” I said. My own pride didn’t want me to lose again.

Undaunted, she dashed to the other side of her padded cell.  “Music?” she yanked free an entire bin of rattles, maracas, sleigh bells,  and xylophones, and dropped them to the floor. Problem was that at least some of them were the same type of bells that Winters and Sosa used as reward mechanisms in their therapy room.

The room went wobbly and I collapsed to my knees, helplessly spraying in my pants while laughing about it.  So much for my dignity. “Noooo!” I howled through the laughter. “Please no! Not music.”

Surefooted and seeming confused, Ivy moved to pick them back up.  “Okay.”

“No!” I reached out and pleaded. “Just leave them there.”  Part of me worried that if I heard another jingle like that I might accidentally invent reasons to shake them more.  My body wanted one thing while my mind wanted the other.  It was a rush. I didn’t know how long it took Amy or Chaz to be ruined by this stuff, but I didn’t want to find out if it was more than an afternoon or not.  “Just,” I laughed again. “Just leave them.”

Ivy was starting to look frustrated. “What do we play?”

I steadied my breathing, stood up, and yanked my damn pants up.  If Jessica were more devious, I’d suspect she bought this pair specifically to train me to prefer clothes that snapped between my legs.  “How about something quiet.” I said. “Something without a winner or a loser? Something we can do together but also just lets us talk.”

“Okay!” Ivy said without hesitation. She grabbed a bin that rustled and clip-clopped and brought it over to me.  She did it so fast, I suspected it was going to be her next suggestion no matter what I asked for.  She laid it at my feet, a pirate showing her bounteous treasure “How about this?”

They were old square wooden alphabet blocks. Dulled edges sanded by use and paint faded with time and hours spent in the sun. Simple. Familiar. Easy to multitask with. Something I could pretend to be doing and engaged with while trying to figure more out about the world’s strongest Little.  “Yeah,” I said. “That’ll do.”

She dumped them out.  I reached for one. Her hand jumped out and grabbed mine.  “Wait!”

“What?”  I asked.

She released my hand. “Let’s take turns.”

She was so earnest about it, that I found the patience of Beouf within myself. “Okay. You place a block, I place a block?  Can we talk and take turns?”

“Yes.”

I lowered myself back down to the floor.  Ivy joined me.  “Ladies first.”

Extreme concentration came over my classmate’s countenance, like a chess master deciding her opening move.  She chose a block. She set it down  “Go.”

I grabbed one at random and placed it atop. “Your turn.”

She picked up two and weighed each carefully against the other, a blank expression of pure focus with her looking in the middle distance. “This one,” she whispered, settling on a ‘Y’. She placed it on top, but nudged off center.  “Go.”

My hand reached for another. Her hand caught my wrist. “Hey!” It was all I could do. Not like I could take my hand back.

She flipped my wrist over and gave me the block she hadn’t selected. “This one,” she said. “Trust me.”  She released my wrist.

“It’s my block and I can do what I want.” I dropped the block among the mass of other nearly identical pieces and picked up a ‘Z’.  “Now stop grabbing my hand and let me choose.”

“Sorry…”  she didn’t sound it.  

Not to be outdone, I placed my own block slightly off center in the opposite direction to counter balance.  The tower immediately collapsed down to the base.

“Toldja,” Ivy said, sounding smug. She’d made it another competition that she could win.

“I need more practice,” I fibbed. “Why don’t we build our own thing to start, and then we can build together?”

Ivy considered it with utmost sincerity. “Okay. I can do that.”

There were more than enough blocks for the both of us. I counted to thirty while I made a wide and steady base. A simple pyramid would look impressive enough and give me plenty of leeway to control the flow of things.  Ivy was absorbed in her portion of the parallel play and started stacking back up to the ceiling, her pace only slowed by the disproportionate amount of consideration she gave to each nearly identical selection.

“Ivy,” I said. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Uh-huh,” Ivy answered. “Yes, you may.”

“I’m just curious,” I said. “What’s your favorite T.V. show?” A safe opener.

“I don’t watch a lot of television,” Ivy said. Her voice took on that rote memorization quality that it did when she was quoting Zoge.“Television is bad for your mind.”

Piteously, I shook my head and worked on the second layer of my pyramid. “Okay,” I said. “Favorite…food?”

“Sushi,” she said without hesitation. “It’s yummy.”

Okay! We were getting somewhere!  “Favorite roll?  Or cut? Or dish or whatever?”

“Whatever Daddy makes or Mommy gets me.”

I wanted to break my own nose by ramming it into the top layer of blocks. Right back to ‘Mommy and Daddy’.
“Who were you before your Mommy and Daddy?” I asked. Time to just rip that band-aid right off.

There was an uncomfortable pause.  “I don’t know.”  A lot of ways to take that answer.  She genuinely sounded like she didn’t understand the question. I’d had a few students over the years who came to school not knowing their last name and Ivy’s tone was a dead ringer for them.  How far did Ivy’s conditioning go?

“Were you ever married?” I asked.

“No.”

“Any brothers or sisters?”

“No.”

“Do you remember your parents?”

“Yes.”

Okay! That was a start. Not only that but my pyramid was really starting to take shape. Seven by seven for the base. Then five by five.Now I just needed three by three and a cherry on top in the middle, and it would look pretty spiffy. “What were their names?”

“Hana and Haru.”

“No, not your Mommy and Da-!” I gasped. In the time I’d taken making a dinky square pyramid, Ivy had created a mish mashed tower up to her chest. Not a single block was lined up horizontally with its predecessor. Incredibly, some were balancing on each other’s edge.  “How did you…?”

“Ta-da!”

“How did you…?” I stuttered. “How did…?”  My nose wrinkled, involuntarily.  Something smelled off. Something that not even baby powder, rash cream, pulp, and plastic backing could completely cover up.  “Did you poop?”

Ivy reached around and patted her own bottom for confirmation. “Yes.”

Those looks of intense concentration when we had started took on a new meaning. I needn’t ask ‘when?’.  I skipped asking ‘Why?’ altogether.  “Do you wanna stop and get changed?”

“No,” she said simply. “I’m not done playing yet.”  She grabbed two more blocks and set them atop the tower counterbalancing one another. “Babies wear diapers so they don’t have to go potty. It lets them play longer instead of having to take breaks like big girls and boys. Their Mommies and Daddies love them very much. They are the fortunate ones.”

My face went like a dying fish again. “Huh?  You’re not really a baby, Ivy.”

“Yes I am,” she said confidently.  “I wear diapers. I sleep in a crib. I don’t have a job. I play with toys. I drink milk. I live with Mommy and Daddy.”

My ears paused just long enough to make sure that I could hear Janet and the Zoges talking to each other in the next room.  “But you’re a Little,” I insisted. “That’s not the same thing.”

“Littles are babies,

They never have to grow up,
Eternal children”

I tugged at my freshly combed hair in disbelief. It still hurt, so this wasn’t a dream. “Did you just make up a diaper haiku?”

The tower was reaching Ivy’s eye level.  “No. I learned it at my old school.  It sounds better in Yamatoan.  Do you like it?”

“No.”

She pouted her lip out and grumbled. “I bet if Amy said it you’d like it.”

I stood up and looked her in the eye, ignoring the slacks that were doing their best to slip back down.  “What did you say?”

The Doll looked away. I could all but feel the heat coming off her cheeks. “Nothing…”

“Are you jealous of Amy?”

“No!” she squeaked. She took half a step back from her creation and turned sideways like she was trying to hide behind it.

“You are!”  I said. “You really are!”  Her breakdown tantrum yesterday made a lot more sense. It was more than being ignored that had set her off. It was also who I had been ignoring her for.  I hadn’t forgotten about that kiss, either. “You’re jealous!”

She stomped her foot. “Am not!” Muted by the foam flooring though it was, the tremor sent the tower of alphabet blocks crumbling down. “Look what you did!”

“Clark? Ivy?” Janet called. “Everything.okay back there?”

“Yes, Mommy!” I called back.

Zoge’s concerned voice chimed in. “Ivy? Are you alright, my love?”

“Yes, Mommy.”  Ivy called back, unable to hide her sulk.

“You two aren’t fighting?” Janet called over.

“No ma’am,” we said in unison.

“Play well, children…” came the Yamatoan’s gentle reminder.

I sat back down on the mat. So too did Ivy.  We grabbed blocks and started stacking again. I went straight up.  Ivy started going up and out, stacking two on the bottom block’s center end to end and using a fourth to keep them balanced together. She repeated it again. And again.  And again.

Through practice or natural talent, she had the same crazy level of dexterity and almost unexplainable knowledge of basic physics that my Amazon preschoolers came to me with.  Impressive considering that it would take me far too many failed attempts to get even one group of blocks like that.  Amy spoke only one language and was more interested in what she could fit in her mouth.

“You’re really good at that,” I admitted.

Ivy had already gotten her one-two-one layered tower up to her sitting chin level.  “Thank you,” she said quietly.

“Amy’s just a friend,” I told her. “I’m married. Even if I wasn’t, we’d still just be friends.”

“Why aren’t we friends?”  Ivy scooted on her bottom around her old tower and started building a new one. 

My eye twitched just imagining what was going on in her pants, but I shoved that thought to the side.  “We are friends,” I lied. “Just school friends.”

“Mommy says it’s not nice to fib,” Ivy said without looking directly at me.  She took two more of the worn wooden cubes and pinched them together on either side of the third layer.  Her new tower was starting to resemble a triangle.  “Hold please.”

“Sure.”  I crawled over and held the two blocks in place so tightly that I almost fell over when the building crashed. A stray block found its way to Ivy’s other masterpiece, sending the diamond layered tower sideways.

Ivy’s temper did not flare this time.  Nor did Janet or Zoge come calling for us.  The sound of our rising voices, not the clacking of blocks, drew their concern.  “Sorry,” I apologized.

“It’s okay.” Ivy sighed. “You didn’t mean to.” She started again with the basic one-two-one stacking. It kind of looked like a diamond. “Why aren’t we friends?” she asked me again.

I had neither the time nor courage to fully divest my feelings on why I tended to be so nasty to that Little Doll.  “Because you’re a baby.”

“Amy’s a baby,” Ivy said.  “You’re friends with her.”

“It’s more complicated than that,” I said.

“No it isn’t.”  She repeated her attempt at an upside triangle.  “Hold please. This time squeeze together and not down. Sit on your bottom and not on your knees so you don’t accidentally go down.”

We paused our conversation long enough for her to stack two blocks on top of the three and then a single block on top of that, perfectly balanced.  The diamond had grown!  I held my breath, gathered my legs underneath me and backed away slowly.  “You’re really good at this.”

Ivy did the same.  “Thank you. These are my oldest toys. Lots of practice.”

Holding my breath had had the side effect of me smelling Ivy’s soiled diaper all over again when I started back up. I’d almost (almost) gotten used to it.  Without consciously coordinating, we circled around our creation at a wide berth.

“Ivy, you’re not a baby,” I told her. “Neither is Amy.”

“Yes we are,” Ivy answered simply. “Amy’s just a bad baby.” I couldn’t tell if she realized something or if she was pooping again.  “Is that why you’re friends with her? Do you only want to be friends with the bad babies?”  She nodded to herself, like she’d just figured something out.

I shouldn’t have argued with her. She was just as crazy as the Amazons who’d re-raised her.  

Stubbornness is a powerful drug.  Keeping my voice level and calm, I tried to explain my stance to the Doll in good faith.

“We’re not babies, Ivy.  We just wear diapers because our Mommies and Daddies make us.” I yanked down my pants and pointed to my wet Monkeez. “And make us watch cartoons that turn our brains to mush, and have bells and buzzers that make us pee our pants.”  I hoisted my slacks back up. 

“This is like…one of three pairs of pants that I own that don’t snap together.  Real babies wear diapers because they’re too young to figure out how to hold it and their clothes have snaps in them because they don’t know how to work their hands enough to dress themselves. Littles wear diapers because the tapes are too sticky for us to take off.  The snaps keep our other clothes on us, too.  We’re trapped in our clothes until we go pee and poop in them and the Amazons call it cute.”

Ivy reached down and popped open two snaps of her kimono romper. With only a little fumbling, she popped them close again.  “I’m not trapped,” she stated.

My heart thudded against my ribcage. “Can you take off your diaper, too?” I whispered, terrified to raise my voice.

“Yes,” Ivy said. “If Mommy says it’s okay. Like if I’m not poopy and it’s bathtime.”

The rank stench coming from her pants no longer mattered to me. “Ivy…why are you still here?”

The Doll didn’t understand my question. “This is my house.”

“You’re not in Yamatoa anymore,” I hissed. “You can walk. You can talk. You’ve got all your teeth.  You could take off your diaper, grab the least babyish clothes you could find and then run away! To Misty Brook! Or Elizabeton! Or literally any other place!”

“That would make my Mommy sad,” Ivy replied, voice cracking.

I grabbed another fistful of my own hair. Every. Damn. Time. This is what I got for indulging crazy.  I might need this crazy, though. With her hands alone she was an asset.  It was pure hubris of me to think I could undo however many years of programming.

Hubris was my middle name.

“Don’t you ever want to grow up again?” I asked her. “To be on your own?”

“No.”

“Don’t you ever want to…?”  Get a job? No.  Kiss someone? Hell no. “Use the potty again?”

Ivy looked down at her feet. “I’ve never gone potty before.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “Never?”

“Never.”

“Oh no. I’m so sorry.  Are you incontintent? I didn’t know.”  New connections were clicking into place.  What Little would want to be friends with another Little that legitimately needed diapers? That was just asking for trouble and Amazons. “Is that why you-?”

“I’m just too Little,” Ivy cut me off.  “Mommy said.”

Mommy said. Mommy said. Mommy said.

“Let me guess,” I said. “You tried being a big girl, but then you had an accident in your panties and your Mommy and Daddy took them away and put you back in diapers.”

“Yes!” Ivy clapped. “I was never potty trained! I’m a baby!”

I stifled a growl. That was some borderline abusive gaslighting, there, even for the Maturosis crowd.  Zoge wasn’t always Beouf’s assistant, I reminded myself. Places like Yamatoa would likely mindfuck Littles into believing they were never potty trained; but just had a twenty something year streak of good luck.

Why did I even bother?

“What’s it like?” Ivy suddenly asked. “Going potty?”

I’d never been asked that before. My lips puckered out.  “You really don’t remember?”

“Nuh-uh.” Ivy said. “No”  She walked back over to her blocks. “Long time ago.”  She squatted on her haunches and started building a second diamond structure right up against the first. “What’s it like?”

How long ago had they gotten to this girl? “Um…it’s like nothing I guess,” I answered honestly. “You just listen to your body. Empty it out in the toilet. And nothing happens.”

“And that’s good?”

I shrugged. “Yeah.  You don’t get smelly. Your pants don’t get warm or mushy. Nobody thinks you’re a baby.  Then you wipe, wash your hands, and walk away like it never happened.”

“Then how do you know you did anything?”  That question sounded way too deep and profound considering it was about the difference between shitting one’s pants and not.

“Memory…?”

She immediately followed up with “What’s it like being married?” A rock fell into my throat.
I tried to quietly offer to pinch the two blocks like I had before, but she shooed me away with her hand. “Or working?  Or having a job? Or growing up?  Or getting called ‘Mister’?”

“It’s…it’s really…”  All that I knew I wanted. “It’s great. Big people talk to you like you’re big and you get to help them in big people ways instead of just kid ways.  Even though you’re not bigger or stronger than them, they still talk to you like you are.  You matter.”

I searched my fellow prisoner’s face for some form of recognition. Some mysterious but unspoken rebuttal like Amy or the sadness of something barely tasted like Chaz. There was none of that.  I was describing three dimensional existence to a two dimensional being.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna get changed?”  It wasn’t the smell, it was just the easiest way to change the subject.

The faux-Yamatoan patted herself again, and some extra near the front.  “No. I only need to tell Mommy I need changing if I think I’m going to leak.  I don’t want to stop playing.”

“I don’t mind pausing,” I offered. Anything to get Ivy to advocate for herself in some way.

“No. My Mommy is very busy talking to your Mommy. So the best thing to do is to be good and play.”

I listened and heard very little. Voices sounded faint.  Distant. I crinkled over to the lattice, but due to the sunken floor and the angles, the most I could see were the tops of chairs and the ceiling fan.  “They don’t sound very busy.”

“They are,” Ivy spoke with the certainty of a cultist. “Grown-Ups are always busy unless they’re playing with us.”

“Whatever,” I moaned. “Let’s just…let’s just keep playing with blocks, I guess.”

So we did. 

That might have been the end of it if Zoge hadn’t intervened.

Eventually she stepped over the gate and checked us.  “Not poopy,” she said, making me cringe. “But very wet.”  She picked Ivy up. “Very poopy!” she gushed. “Let’s get you two cleaned up!”  We were both on opposite hips that minute.

“Where’s my Mommy?” I asked, looking around the living room. Janet was nowhere in sight.

Zoge toted us into her kitchen.  “Your Mommy is in the bathroom,” Zoge told me.  She took thirty seconds to place Ivy, loaded pants first, onto the counter so she could grab a familiar bottle from the refrigerator.  I took it from her and she picked her so-called daughter back up. “Time for bonyu and afternoon naps.”

Ivy clapped and giggled some more. “Bonyu!”

Naps? I didn’t have time to stick around for naps! Not on a Saturday when there was still so much to do!  “Can um…my Mommy change me?” I asked.  I could beg Janet to take me away. Play fussy.  Retreat.  “Please?”

“She is in the bathroom,” Zoge explained on our way to the stairs.

“I don’t mind waiting,” I offered.

“She will be a while,” Zoge said.  “I asked her and she said it was okay.  Change. Bottles. Nap. Then you go home.”

“I can wait.”

Zoge laughed through her nose. “Clark, my love. I change you at least once a day. Why are you so scared?”

The Yamatoan was a stickler:  In her world babies needed to be supervised or contained with a Grown-Up close by. Babies took naps in cribs. And were changed on changing tables.  I’d toured the whole house and saw only one changing table, and one crib.   “No reason.”

“Clark wanted me to get changed,” Ivy tattled. “Why don’t you want to get changed?”

Her Mommy beat me to an explanation. “Some babies like to pretend to be big by talking about other babies the way they think Grown-Ups do. They don’t do it to be mean, though. Right ,Clark?”

I hung my head. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Just pretending?”

“Just pretending,” I lied. 

We were carried back into Ivy’s very pink room, nursery. Zoge flipped the lights off, but the afternoon light seeping in through the curtains and the nearly fluorescent hue of some of the furniture gave her more than enough light to work with.

Zoge stashed me in the crib so she could change Ivy first.  Out of politeness, I turned my back and scrutinized the headboard in a vain attempt to tune out the sounds and smells of Zoge changing a diaper and cooing down to her Doll in Yamatoan. Ivy cooed right back, happy to play her part. 

It ended with a kiss and what I had to assume was their language for “I love you.”

“All done!” Ivy shouted after Zoge put her on the floor.  She was practically doing laps and chirping like a cavey whose owner had just come home.

Next it was my turn. Zoge clicked her tongue and took my failing slacks all the way off. “This looks uncomfortable.”  What was more uncomfortable was the mental image of me in a button up shirt and sweater vest with only a soaked diaper on beneath. Small mercy that Zoge didn’t also have a mirror above the changing table.

“Mommy!” Ivy butted in.  A tiny hand lifted a Monkeez in my size up to the Amazon. “I put them right here!”

“Very good, Ivy!”  Zoge praised. “Thank you for helping!”

Tapes ripped as they had countless times before, but I winced like it was my first day.  I had an extra audience member, one who was very interested in participating instead of minding her own business.

“Can I help?” I heard Ivy ask. “Can I?”  If only there were ceiling tiles to count.  “Can I give you the wipes? Powder?”

The giantess didn’t break her stride. She wiped my penis, pubic area, and testicles while explaining the obvious.  “I’ve got those things right here.”

“Another diaper?”

“Ivy,” Zoge warned, “Are you trying to help or are you trying to pretend to be big like your friend Clark was pretending?”  She crossed my ankles and lifted my legs.  She swabbed between my cheeks on the word ‘pretending’.

“Just helping,” Ivy promised.  I believed her, too. Why hadn’t I brought my pacifier?

Zoge deposited the last wipe in the open diaper and slid it out.  “If you want to help, go get Clark’s diaper bag. It should be in Mommy and Daddy’s room. Near the bed. You have my permission, but come right back.”

Ivy didn’t wait longer than it took to finish that sentence. I heard her footsteps fade round the bend into the upstairs hallway. Zoge flapped and fluffed open my new diaper and slipped it under me.

“Why is my diaper bag in your room?” I asked.

The powder Zoge dusted on my butt was cool and fragrant. She lowered me down onto the fresh padding, then said, “Because your Mommy is using my bathroom.” She dusted my crotch and put the powder back down.

Ivy’s returning footsteps came in time with Zoge finishing the change and pulling the front of the diaper up and making it as snug and comfortable as ever. Lady was a pro at what she did.  “I love you,” she said.

I did not say it back this time.  “Why is she in your bathroom?  You’ve got three.”

Ivy interrupted Zoge’s chance to reply.  “I’ve got it, Mommy!”

“Good girl,” the Amazon aide replied.  She sat me up and yanked the sweater vest over my head. “Can you get his onesie out of there?  We want your friend to be comfy.”

I was getting shades of Raine Forrest all over again. Bad things happened to me when Janet disappeared for the bathroom.  As insane and terrible as Zoge was, she didn’t deserve that comparison. Zoge was a bear. Raine was a rattlesnake. Bears still had mothering instincts.  

Still…

“You’re sure my Mommy is okay with this?”

“Hmm…tiny buttons…” Zoge growled to herself. That bit of schadenfreude helped me. “Got it! Yes, Clark. You’re safe. You’re Mommy is okay. We won’t hurt you. The Grown-Ups just want to talk longer. You just need a ba-ba and a nap.” 

Every statement made me short one button and one stalling question.

Ivy handed up the onesie, a blackish blue one that was patterned with stars and lines connecting the imaginary dots of constellations.  Perfect for a nap.  In no time at all, Zoge had me back in proper baby clothes and snapped up so that I had zero hope of escape. “Thanks Ivy…” I growled.

“Welcome!”  Irony was lost or she fed on it.

Zoge put me back in the crib and handed me the bottle. “Drink your ba-ba. It will help you sleep.”

I tentatively sipped the thicker creamier stuff.  So much better than the skimmed cow swill in the cartons.  This was goat’s milk alright.  I was still pulling it out from a rubber nipple, but I’d take every point of sophistication I could.

“Bonyu!” Ivy sounded like she was cheering. Zoge cooed and prattled to her in their shared language and picked Ivy up, and placed her on her lap in the rocking chair.  Sitting still, and gulping the acquired taste down, my mouth was full but my eyes were busy. Where was Ivy’s bottle?

My breath shortened, my eyes slammed shut, and I turned around to face the nursery wall.  I could have gone my whole life without seeing Ivy open up Hana Zoge’s blouse.  “Good girl. Thank you for helping.”  The nursing bra and short time it took for her to unclasp it saved me from knowing what her bare tit looked like.

I suckled louder and harder on my bottle, trying to fill my ears with something besides Ivy’s animal grunting and mewling and Zoge’s motherese while Ivy breastfed. I planted myself on my back and gulped away, hoping the full stomach and dim light would miraculously conk me out.

No such luck. My limbs felt heavier, but my ears were just as alert. Finishing faster just meant I had to wait through the suckling soundtrack longer. Refusing to open my eyes, I knew that particular awkwardness had passed when an extra weight was added to the crib, my bottle was picked from my loose grip, and another pillow and blanket were added.

Ivy and I shared the crib, but slept on opposite sides, our feet barely touching.

“Good night my loves,” Zoge said.

“Night Mommy.” 

I pretended to sleep and braced myself for a forehead kiss that didn’t come. 

The air was still and quiet in the nursery. I didn’t want to open my eyes. Oh please, unconsciousness, claim me! I’d done more than enough work, faced more than enough karma, and felt more than enough frustration for one day!  Let this next time pass in the blink of an eye.

“Hey, Clark…?”

“Aren’t you not supposed to talk at nap time?” I half-snapped at the Doll.

“That’s a school rule,” Ivy said.  “Home rules are different. I don’t take naps with other Littles at home so I don’t know if it’s a rule.”

Please just let it end.  “What do you want Ivy?” I sighed, determined to keep my lids shut.

“Were you nice to me when you were a Grown-Up because you were a nice Grown-Up? Or was it because you felt sorry for me?”

The latter. “I don’t know, Ivy. I’m dealing with some stuff and it’s not your fault. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Go to sleep,” I shushed her. “Just go to sleep. We’ll talk later.”

I was getting out of there having done my duty and paid my debts.  ‘Later’ would have to be Monday.

Then Ivy asked “What’s sex like?”

If I hadn’t been lying down right then, I would have been knocked right on my ass. My eyes opened.  “Why do you need to know…?” 

If she tried anything I’d bite her again, I told myself. That wasn’t where this was going, though, and I kind of knew that.

“One time I got out of my crib. Mommy and Daddy were-”

“Got it,” I said. “Got it! No further descriptions necessary! Thank you! Good night!”

“Good babies don’t get out of the crib,” Ivy went on anyway, “but I hadda nightmare and Mommy turned the monitor off so I wasn’t in trouble. That’s when she got me my special monitor.”

I looked up and saw the baby monitor. Hers was attached to the crib’s headboard instead of out of reach on a shelf, but it was exactly the same model as mine. Unlike earlier, the green light wasn’t on.

“Is sex like the green stuff?” Ivy burrowed deeper into my brain with her words.”Mommy sometimes squirts the green stuff in my diaper, but only when I’ve been really really good for her.

“Ivy…”

“It feels really good and she gives me an extra pillow to tickle myself with. I climb on top and I tickle and play naughty pretend games.”

“Ivy…”

“I used to pretend that I was Mommy and the pillow was Daddy, but that didn’t feel right.”

“Ivy!”

“Then I started pretending it was other Grown-Ups like pretty babysitters or waiters at restaurants.”

“I don’t…”

“That didn’t feel right either. Mommy taught me about penises and vaginas and what big people do with them and those strangers were too big for me.”

“This isn’t happening…”

“I tried playing pretend and imagining that the special pillow were other Littles, but that didn’t seem right. Those were my classmates and friends. It felt bad pretending to do that to friends.”

I slammed my pillow over my face.

It didn’t drown out, “But then I started thinking of you. A Grown-Up Little. That felt really nice. I pretended that for a long time.  Then you turned into a baby and I stopped pretending about you like that.  Can we please be friends?”

A shudder rocked through me. Serious brain bleach needed!   Plastic bed sheets rustled and plastic backing crinkled while I sat completely upright and stared the Doll down. “Ivy,” I whispered. “What the fuck is wrong with you, girl?”

So she told me…