Sunday, December 18th

104.)

Blossom wasn't in bed with me. I thought maybe she got up early, but I found her asleep in the downstairs bedroom. The blanket was pulled under her arms, but it looked like she wasn't wearing any clothes. I decided to close her bedroom door rather than wake her up.

I thought I would write Academy Works. That's what I wanted to do! But I was in the middle of writing a particularly naughty scene, and it wasn't feeling naughty. I was feeling a little nauseous, actually. Even thinking about stuff like that...

So instead, I cleaned the kitchen. It took an hour to make it spotless, the way I found it. Then I checked the internet. I checked DailyDiapers. I sent a message to my editor. I scoped out Twitter. Anything to distract me. I wanted to think about anything other than last night.

When Blossom came out of her room, she gave me a little wave. She was wearing clothes. She also wasn't wearing a diaper anymore. I wondered if she took it off last night after cooking or this morning, just now.

"I stripped the sheets on my bed," I told her. "You know. For laundry. And, um... éclairs are on the counter. If you want one. They turned out good."

Without another word, Blossom pried open the container of éclairs and took one out, took a bite, and then half slumped on the counter.

"Oh my god, cupcake, these are so good. How did you get so good at making desserts? Marry me, woman, holy moly."

In examination, Blossom knew how Amy had gotten so good at baking; because she baked obsessively when she was emotionally disrupted, and she was more-often-than-not emotionally disrupted. Blossom was worried that this was about to be another one of those times.

"All right babes, I wanna have a real talk with you. Big Girl stuff. Can we sit on the sofa?"

"Uh... okay..." Wow, and I thought I was feeling anxious before that sentence.

In the time it took her to walk over to the sofa, in the time it took me to close my laptop, I had run through every possible scenario in my head. Last night was too much for her. Baking with me for three hours? It was exhausting. She couldn't be putting this much effort into me. She needed to be away from me, for her own mental health. I was dangerous to her. I was harmful. Waking her up like that in the middle of the night? Crying for an hour, just so she would take care of me? I was manipulating her. I was acting like some damsel, a princess in need of saving. I was demanding her attention, her emotional energy. And did I ever get better? No. I was torturing her. Having to watch me waddle around in a diaper and that skin-tight onesie? She took one look at me and saw a reflection of what being Little really was: disgusting. I was the person she feared becoming, and all routes led there. An ugly, fat woman in stupid clothes, playing the sickest game of make believe. Wetting myself. Wearing a sponge of my own pee to sleep. Having to hold me and pretend it was okay, beholden to the principle that kink-shaming is bad. Stuck wearing a fake mask, pretending to be someone she can't be, enduring me every weekend. And the things I write about. Fuck, last we left Wendy she was in a baby bouncer about to fill her diapers with a three-quart enema. I was hiding my own insecurity as a writer behind people tugging their dicks to it. As long as I could make someone cum, then it was good, right? A sick, sad excuse. That's all I was: a sick, sad excuse of a human being. A human being who actually really liked Blossom, who couldn't stop fantasizing about her. She didn't even know that part. Why was I such a fucking creep?!

Blossom sat down on the sofa, and it took only about that long for her to see the panic in Amy's eyes and to wave her hand dismissively.

"Hey now, worst-case-scenario girl, you're not in any trouble, I promise. I just…"

Deep breath. This was basically an intervention, right? And interventions often ended up risking the person feeling attacked and getting defensive as a result. Blossom wasn't exactly known for her tact on the best of days, but she also was at her best when she was just herself. So that's what she did.

"Babes. We need to get you a therapist. You don't have to take meds, you can say no to anything they suggest, you can lie about your feelings if you wanna, but you gotta have someone you can talk to about these episodes. I can help you find one if you want; I did some googling near your place and near the school, I have a shortlist~"

This was what she wanted to talk about? Jeeze, she really made it sound like a bad thing...

"I've had a therapist before," I said. I saw a therapist when I was fifteen or something. This was when my test anxiety started getting really bad. "It didn't really do anything. It was a waste of my Thursdays."

"And you're not the same you that you were then; we all change. Some more than others."

Blossom cracked a smile, but her attempt to elicit a smile from Amy fell a bit flat. New approach.

"Look, cupcake. You only get out of it what you put in. If you go to therapy every week and tell them that you're fine, then you won't get anything out of it. If you go and tell them 'Hey I freaked out some when a cute girl cuddled me in bed and then stayed up half the night baking because it's the only way I know to not hurt myself' then you could make some in-roads."

"You act like you're such an expert," I sighed, getting a little annoyed.

"Hey, I go to therapy."

I blinked in surprise. I didn't see that coming... Blossom Brixley in therapy? It sounded about as likely as Blossom Brixley having a diaper fetish.

"I think most emotionally healthy people do," she added, "it used to be a big stigma, like, 'oh only unhealthy people have therapists' but I learned pretty early in college that a therapist is a pretty core part of being healthy."

"Mmm... you sound like my editor..." I sulked into the sofa and crossed my arms over my chest. I had nothing against therapists, but I didn't have a good history with them. And weren't they impossible to get? Since the pandemic, it felt like everyone was trying to get into therapy. I let out a long, exhaustive sigh.

"I still don't think it'll make a difference, but... I dunno. I guess I owe you for baking with me last night? So if you want to go through the trouble of getting me a therapist, I'll go."

"I will absolutely go through the motions of getting you a therapist and I'll do it as many times as it takes for you to find one you like. Do you want any input on the shortlist, or do you want me to just make you an appointment?"

"They have to take my mom's insurance. Which isn't great."

"Oh, hm... yeah I guess I'll need those details."

"I'll ask my mom when I get home."

I think Blossom was surprised by how painless the conversation went. Maybe she was expecting a bigger reaction? But the truth was, she was probably right. I didn't think a therapist would do much good, but I wasn't handling things well on my own. Blossom was helping, but I was starting to think that Blossom might be as much of the problem as she was the solution. And I didn't want to lose her.

"I'm proud of you, cupcake."

Blossom got up on her haunches and wrapped her arms around Amy in a very firm show of affection and support. She really was proud of her and everything she'd done, and accepting that she needed help was a huge step!

On the drive home, I was checking my calendar. I worked on Fridays now, but maybe I could get out early or something. Getting to the beach house late meant we only had one true day there. Unfortunately, next weekend...

"Hey, Sunday is Christmas..."

"Sunday, like a week from today?"

I could see Blossom doing the math in her head.

"Yep, a week from today..."

"So Saturday is Christmas Eve..."

"Yep," I sulked. No way I could come up to the beach house on Christmas weekend. My mom wasn't very traditional, but she really liked the holidays. We had never spent a Christmas apart.

"I'd invite you to my house," Blossom said, "if that wasn't the ultimate breach of my spheres."

"That's fine," I sighed. "I have my own family stuff anyway." I hadn't even gotten my mom a gift yet. Oh, speaking of!

"What do you want for Christmas?" I asked. I never had any friends to shop for other than Lin, and she was an easy buy these days. Final Fantasy XIV always had new paid mounts this time of year.

Blossom usually had an answer to things on the tip of her tongue, but this one actually left her thoughtful for a moment as she tried to think of what it is she truly wanted. It was a hard part about gift giving when wealth inequity was involved, and there was really only one way to solve for that.

"Make me something?"

Would it have been too self-centered and entitled to ask "write me something?" more directly? "Write a scene about me?" Blossom decided to leave it vague.

"Jeeze, you really had to give me the most difficult answer, huh..." I sighed and sunk into the passenger seat. Make her something? What was I supposed to make?

Blossom bit her lip and grinned, shrugging her shoulders.

"I'm sure you can come up with something, cupcake~"

Blossom dropped me off in the early evening, but it was already dark outside. The ground was covered in snow, but our driveway was shoveled. Probably a neighbor kid; my mom loved to pay neighbor kids for stuff. I didn't even have my shoes off when I got the text from Blossom.

Blossom 🌸 >> Insurance info!

I groaned.

"Hey, Amy," Mom teased when I stepped into the living room. "How was your tryst?"

"You're hilarious," I sighed, flopping down next to her on the sofa. "We watched TV and made éclairs. There's a container on the counter with some leftovers."

"Well, I’m glad you had a good time. Do you know what Blossom is doing for Christmas?"

"Stuff with her dad, I think. She didn't get into it, but I'm sure they have their own family traditions." My mom used to have holiday parties when she was younger, when I was way younger. Like, five or six years old. But as people get older, they find other people to spend the holidays with. So we had each other. That was enough.

"Hey, what health insurance do I have?" I asked.

"The card is in my purse. Why? Are you sick?"

"No," I sighed. "I'm trying to get a therapist."

"Oh." My mom paused. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah... I just get anxious sometimes. You know, like with tests?"

"You had a therapist when you were younger," Mom recalled. "You did not like him."

"I remember. Not to gender stereotype or whatever, but I might aim for a woman this time."

"Fair call. It feels easier to talk to other women."

I wasn't sure if she was implying something, but it made me wonder... "You've had a therapist, right?"

"Yeah, after your dad left. Then again when I hit menopause."

I remembered that.

"Did you like it?"

"Hmm..." She thought about it for a moment. "I wouldn't say I liked it. Therapy can be hard sometimes. But... well, I guess I'm glad I went. It helped me get over some of my hang ups. Like, not getting to have another kid."

Cue the Mia Moore diaper fantasy where I become my mom's little girl again.

"I think that's a tragedy," I told her. "Anyone else would be really lucky to have you as a mom."

"Ha. Thanks, kid. Want to put ornaments on the tree with me?"

Notably, the fake tree from our basement was not set up when I left Friday evening. It was, however, set up now. It looked sad without any decorations.

"I'd love to," I said, getting to my feet.