The following chapter features an instance of behavior comparable to an eating disorder, resulting in accidental self harm.

This self-harm is not intentional and the results are not life threatening, and the parallels to ED are merely a coincidence and not the focus of this chapter, but it could still be upsetting to some readers. If you want to know precisely what happens so you can be better informed, feel free to message me asking for a spoiler and I will respond as promptly as I can.

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“I’m–I’m sorry, Daddy, I had…I had a accident!”

“After I told you not to use your diapers that I put you in? What a bad girl–I think it’s time for your sp–”

The door handle to Pearce’s room jiggled, and he threw his phone down, jolting straight up. Trying to act casual, he crossed a leg over his lap, clearing the pornographic images from his head, of the cute girl in a soggy diaper, showing off her lack of dignity to her daddy. If he crossed his eyes, the girl looked almost like Grace–even if Grace had better diction and infinitely better banter skills than whoever wrote that porn script.

He shouldn’t even have been looking at that stuff, the surface level enjoyment wasn’t worth the deep sense of ache it left him with afterwards.

Grace opened the door, and Pearce’s insides did backflips.

She was wearing a plain T-shirt and her patented, ‘I really want to ask for a diaper change but I know I’m not supposed to’ expression. Her eyes avoided his, her lips were pressed into a line, embarrassment radiated from her whole being.

He’d learned to recognize the meaning of that expression at a glance, because it had once offered prime time for teasing. Occasionally, she’d just be acutely soggy, but most of the time, she’d come to him wearing this embarrassed expression because she’d pooped in her diaper and wanted to be clear of it as quickly as possible.

A week ago, this would have been the perfect time to fluster Grace. She was embarrassed about having used her diaper, despite it being a daily occurrence, and primed for further teasing because she needed Pearce to notice. Strictly speaking, her patented ‘change me’ expression was an attempt to skirt the rules, to ask without asking, but it involved such willing self humiliation and was a mild enough request that he didn’t mind.

He would sometimes pretend to be completely unaware, which made her fuss and stomp and blush, or he could really draw out the check, making her wriggle and squeak as he squeezed the seat of her diaper, weighing how badly she needed a freshie. It felt silly to admit, but flustering Grace had become a highlight of his days, and diaper checks were an excellent tool to get that done.

This all led to the less-fun part: Actually changing a messy diaper. He just hadn’t gotten over that, no matter how many times he had to do it, it was always just as gross as the first time, the only difference was the speed with which he got the nasty part over with. He’d do it, but if he had to pick one part of the bet to get rid of, it’d be the dirty diaper changes.

A part of him wanted to get back to the teasing, the checks, the things that made Grace red-faced and fussy, but it was just like the porn: It might have been fun in the moment, but the long-term hurt wasn’t just worth it. Grace didn’t mean to hurt him, she just did, because her problems had to be pushed on everyone else.

She was like a storm. Thrilling, wonderful, beautiful. A storm could bring life to the world around it, and energy, and even magic, but if Pearce tried to enjoy too much, he’d be swept away.

“Hey,” Grace said, arms crossed over her belly, looking down at her toes. She looked shaky.

(“Hey, baby, are you okay? You don’t look so good, how can I help?”) The response he wanted to give stuck in his throat. If he gave in, if he let himself be vulnerable, he’d just get hurt again.

“Hey,” Pearce replied, noting that the anxiety and turmoil had at least killed his awkward boner. “Do you need a change?”

She nodded. “Er…yeah.”

Nodding, Pearce glanced back at his desktop, at the work he’d been doing. It could wait. Getting up, he said, “Okay, I’ll meet you in the bathroom.”

She nodded, turning to waddle away, and for a second, it seemed like she winced.

Even despite his attempts to shield himself from vulnerability, the ache struck again, bypassing all his emotional shelter.

(Is my distance hurting Grace that much?)

(Would it be so wrong if I left my defenses behind so I could go comfort her?)

Never mind the potential fallout, never mind that he couldn’t regulate her emotions for her, never mind that she’d lash out like a hurt animal the next time he wasn’t perfect. He wanted to go wrap her up in a hug, kiss her, find out why she was shaking and make it better.

Logic, though, told him the truth: He couldn’t. Last time he’d made himself vulnerable, she’d turned a mistake into a tempest. If he opened himself up again, he’d get hurt just the same every time, and enough injuries stacked one on top of the other only build resentment.

He’d be trading his own comfort for Grace, and that would burn them both in the long run. It wouldn’t just mean the end of their relationship, it might mean the end of the Wasters entirely.

If only he’d been a bit more like Brains, it would have been easy. Once Brains knew the logical, smart, correct choice of action, he could pursue it without hesitation. Pearce, on the other hand, knew himself. He was too impulsive and selfish to do the right thing every time, and even when he was committed to the right course of action, the pull of impulsivity called to him like a siren.

Sighing, he walked out of his room, following Grace to the bathroom.

He couldn’t provide for her emotional needs, but her diaper still needed changing.

Wipes. Powder. A fresh diaper. A bin to dispose it all. The physical stuff, that was easy…if a bit nasty.

Avoiding eye contact with Grace while he did it all, though, that took something out of him. He knew she was right there, his hands were touching her skin, he could hear her breathing and the gurgling of her tummy. He could just acknowledge her as something beyond an object in need of cleaning.

He kept his mouth shut.

She did, too. She’d figured out that he wasn’t interested in conversation.

He wiped her thighs and skin free of muck, piling the wipes next to her old diaper. Messy changes always took about a billion wipes–if he could have, he’d have always timed them right before bathtime and used the shower to wash her off, but it rarely worked out that conveniently for him.

Under his fingers, he could feel her tremble–she was shaking.

(Just talk to her.)

“I’m planning on making dinner in about two hours.” Sheepishly, looking for something to add, he appended, “Pasta.”

“Okay,” she said. “I–mm.”

Pulling her arms tighter around her body, she put on another pained expression.

“Are you feeling okay?” Pearce asked, before he could stop himself. He didn’t want to care, but he couldn’t not.

“Mmm…” Grace whimpered, before choosing to lie to him. “I’m fine.”

She didn’t expect comfort, so she wouldn’t show vulnerability. He couldn’t blame her.

Sliding a fresh diaper beneath her, Pearce dusted on powder and taped it up without further commentary. He had escaped the diaper change without making himself vulnerable, he’d call that a win.

(“There. Now let’s see if you can keep this one clean for more than thirty seconds.”) He bit down the teasing comment and said, “You’re clean. Do you need a refill on your bottle, or are you good for now?”

“I’m…for now, I’m okay.” She was definitely hiding her feelings. Physical or emotional, Pearce couldn’t quite tell, but he knew there was something up. Maybe she’d had another plan, another scheme and it’d fallen apart without him even noticing.

Either way, he could wash his hands of the business. Wrapping up the diaper in a trash bag, he did just that, scrubbing his hands in the sink, before heading back to his room and dumping the diaper in Grace’s pail.

Diaper changes had been hard, lately, and Grace hadn’t made that last one any easier, even if she didn’t actually fuss or cause any problems.

Leaning over his desk, Pearce tried to get his focus back. What had he been doing?

(Right. Porn, but there was work, too.)

He stared at his computer, already knowing he was about to lose an hour to nothing–his focus was shattered, and there were no pressing work deadlines to drag him back in. He tried to fight it, pulling up a couple client emails to direct his thoughts, but he was too aware of his own failings in focus to think he’d be able to power through when he was feeling this emotionally hazy.

The door handle to Pearce’s room jiggled.

He looked over–Grace was in the doorway.

She was wearing a plain T-shirt and her patented, ‘I really want to ask for a diaper change but I know I’m not supposed to’ expression.

Pearce frowned. He’d literally just changed her. She couldn’t have needed to go again that quickly, unless this was a stunt–she’d only half gone, and waited, so she’d need two changes. And while it wasn’t wet, her diaper definitely had the telltale sag of a dirty accident.

He could delay. Strictly speaking, he had most of an hour before he needed to actually change her, but he stood anyway. “Do you need a change?”

She nodded. “Er…yeah.”

This time, he caught her stiff diffidence, the anxiety in her words. This was definitely a stunt, unless she had food poisoning.

“Did you go all the way?” he asked, deciding to rule out the possibility of a stunt then and there.

She shrugged, then screwed up her face in…discomfort? Embarrassment? Regret? He couldn’t quite tell, and he just barely caught her whimpered words. “I’m sorry.”

“We’ll get you cleaned up.” He tried not to sigh too heavily as he marched past her, to the bathroom. Grace waddled meekly behind. If he didn’t like changing dirty diapers, she hated wearing them just as much–he just had to deal with the ick for a few minutes, she had to wear it.

Laying her out on the floor for the second time in ten minutes, Pearce pulled out the changing supplies from the cabinet.

Wipes.

Powder.

A fresh diaper.

A trash bag, for the old one.

Her stomach gurgled as he untaped her diaper, an angry, rumbly sound. And, though he didn’t particularly feel like playing CSI, he noted that things looked…not great in her diaper. This was less a solid mess and more a swampy mudslide.

Maybe it was food poisoning.

Pearce frowned. He’d had all the same food as her.

He wiped her up, and he couldn’t help but ask again. “Grace, are you sure you’re not feeling sick?”

“I’m not s-sick,” she said, making a squeaking sound in the middle of the last word. She was straight up pale. Something was wrong.

“I’m going to make you tea after this.” He compromised with himself as he spoke. “Okay? Something to settle your stomach.”

Her face registered another mixed, muddled emotion. Not disappointment, but maybe regret?

Pearce had a guess why. He’d started showing affection again. (Dammit.) Even if it was only for her physical needs, he just couldn’t help himself, he wanted to take care of her, and that little sliver of comfort stuck out like a sore thumb. He had unintentionally reminded them both of a past relationship that was too painful to resume.

Wipe. Clean. Move on. Don’t allow any tender lingering touches, no physical affection, the words were bad enough. He’d already poked his head out of the shelter, and if he showed any more vulnerability, he might as well get in a pickup truck and go driving after the tornado.

She was messing with him again, right? Grace was nothing if not tricky, she loved her ploys and her schemes. Making her diaper leak so he’d take a penalty, or pretending to fuss over food so he’d dote on her, or taking advantage when his phone died, letting Pearce sleep through four work appointments so he’d resign from the bet–

(Don’t mistake the damage for the intent. She wasn’t thinking about the work stuff, she just didn’t care. Don’t get close.)

A fresh layer of powder, a fresh diaper, a definitive nod. “You’re clean.”

He washed his hands, dumped the diaper, washed his hands again, and went down to make that tea.

If this was a stunt, it had to be one taking advantage of circumstance. She really did seem sick–sweaty, uncomfortable, and it looked less like she’d used her diaper on purpose and more like it’d saved her from ill-timed diarrhea.

(She couldn’t have given herself food poisoning, right?)

He knew her. He knew what she looked like when she felt low and he knew what she looked like when she was up to something. Now, she looked both ways at once, and he couldn’t parse the difference or reasoning behind either.

Crouching to go through his section of the kitchen’s cupboards, he pushed aside the fiber he’d purchased for Grace’s food, the jars of baby food, and a few other nasty surprises he’d planned for her. A jar of Grandma’s Turkey Dinner paste just seemed too mean for Grace, even if he had wanted to see her fuss and squirm when he spoonfed her, so he’d stuck to only serving fruit pastes and apple sauce.

He made a mental note to find someplace to donate the baby food, since he’d stopped bothering to serve it to Grace. Soup or pizza or just a microwave dinner didn’t take any mental effort and didn’t open him up to banter. It was the third time he’d made the mental note, but maybe he’d actually act on it someday.

Reaching for the herbal tea in the back of his cupboard, he paused.

Pearce didn’t pride himself on being observant, but his section of the cupboard seemed off. Like someone had rifled through it, looking around.

(Grace? But why would…she…)

“Oh,” he said aloud, looking around a little harder, hoping he was wrong.

It wasn’t there.

Praying that he was just being paranoid, he closed the cupboard and walked to the trash can. “Grace,” he said, quietly, “Please, tell me you didn’t…”

But she had. Buried under a few things, but easy enough to fish out, was the wrapper of a chocolate bar. Flipping it around, he read the back.

Directions for use: Take two squares orally.

Do not use more than eight squares in a twenty-four hour period.

Stop and talk to your doctor if constipation is not relieved after twenty four hours.

The laxative chocolate bar was gone.

There’d been forty-eight squares there when it was new, and he’d never used a single one. That meant, unless Grace had just hidden them away somewhere…

“Pearce…”

He’d been so caught up with his discovery, he hadn’t heard Grace waddle up behind him. Turning, he saw her–diaper drooping, arms crossed over her chest, eyes wet.

She sniffed, and when she winced again, he knew why–he could hear the cramp hit her from across the room. Doubling forward, Grace’s body made a few undignified sounds, and she looked away from him.

Grace had poisoned herself. Maybe to make him forfeit after getting tired of the changes, maybe just so he’d have to spend time in a room with her, hands on her body, but he didn’t care about her motivations.

She was hurting.

He would help.