Work It, Baby - Part Nine (Conclusion)

I want to die.

Oh , I know all about video conferences. I used to crush them multiple times a week back when... back before I... you know, in the before times. Before they found out about me. Before Terri and Nora and the rest of them hauled my ass out here to Malibu and got busy doing this to me.

You know what I'm talking about. Look at me!

Fine, I'll describe it for you. New hairdo: short pigtails with pink bows. A pink leather collar - I won't deign to call it a choker - locked around my neck. Stupid frilly pink dress - because "it's a special day!" or something. Pathetic leather shoes, and leather ankle cuffs, and leather wrist cuffs too. These women like being able to control me, even though I've pretty much given up fighting anymore...

Oh, yeah. And the leather straps locked around my diapers. They're kind of the worst.

No pacifier gag this morning, though! They want me able to talk, you see. Oh, yes. They've given me a speech and everything. I've learned it by heart, poring over it these past few days, hearing my own recorded reading of it played back to me over and over and over again as I "nap" in my crib. Fucking hell, it's probably going to stick with me until the day I die...

Which is probably for the best. Because honestly, I don't even want to think of what fresh hell they'll bring upon me if I don't recite it word for word.

***

Duh-duh-duh-duh-duh. Duh-duh-duh-duh-duh.

I sit stiffly at attention, staring tensely into the screen as we wait for our call to connect. Terri and Nora sit one on either side of me, for all the world like my handlers - or more accurately, my prison guards. My ankles are clipped tight to the chair legs, and I know I'm essentially on trial here. If I fail them - if I even so much as hint that I'm not perfectly satisfied with my new lot in life - I'm toast.

And of course they spiked my breakfast this morning again. My gut's already churning, and I know from past experience that I don't have much time before things head south to a very messy and very humiliating end.

"Good morning...! Miss... Miss Meriweather...?" The note of surprise in Jeffrey's voice is palpable, the look on his face priceless as it fades from bright professionalism to stunned incomprehension. He's seen all sorts of insane fashion choices, sure - but I'd bet my padded ass this getup of mine might just be the craziest thing he's ever seen. Instead of a pantsuit-clad fashion diva, he's seeing a middle-aged woman masquerading as a spoiled toddler from the 1920s. "It's um... it's great to see you again!" he falters, clearly struggling to maintain his veneer of professionalism. "You- you look so... so... well?"

His shock and confusion would be comical if it wasn't the sole result of my own pathetic appearance. Fortunately, Terri is prepared and swoops in with a smooth confidence almost as skilled as myself. "Oh, thank you, Mr. Lernowitz! You look wonderful yourself! You know, Miss Meriweather and I are absolutely delighted that you were able to take some time to meet with us this morning. Now I'm sure you've got a busy schedule today, so I think we're going to turn things over to Miss Meriweather right off. She has an update to give you after all these months, and I think we're all going to be very interested in what she has to say..."

Oh, he definitely will be. But there's no time to dwell on Jeffrey. This is my cue. And so, giving my best and most winning smile, I launch into the words that have been beaten into my brain for the last three weeks.

"Thank you so much to you and the board, Mr. Lernowitz. I realize that the past months have not been easy for any of us, particularly for each of you who took up the burden of my corporate responsibilities after my departure." I'm already feeling out of breath, so I attempt to moderate my tone and infuse fresh meaning into every word. "I can't thank you enough for managing so well in my absence. Terri and the others have been filling me in this whole time" - yes, indeed... filling me full of laxatives and fucking baby bottles of milk! - "So really I have nothing but the highest praise and commendation for each of you..."

It's not my usual style, and they know it. I'm Meriweather, the enfant terrible of the fashion industry. There's no way I can get away with being so angelically sweet and understanding... but my diabolical speech writer Terri has already seen to that.

"I'm sure you might wonder how I'm doing," I continue, stifling a urge to bite back the cramp that has just gripped my lower abdomen. "Truth be told, I've never been better." Oh, if they only knew! "There's something about a retreat, a calm getaway, the fresh sea air out here... I feel young again. I feel like a whole new person, Jeffrey." I'm acting my heart out now, infusing passion and sincerity into every syllable even as the dark double meaning of my words bears down upon me. Whole new- young again- Yes - so terribly, shamefully, pathetically young...

"Ah, yes. I- um, I can see that," Jeffrey remarks politely, and I see him peering uncomfortably into the screen. He must think I've gone completely bonkers. God, I wish - for honestly, insanity might be preferable to this living hell. "Exactly!" I chirp brightly, fighting through a fresh spasm of increasing intestinal distress. "Listen, Jeffrey. I've had a great career. But I've been thinking things over these last few months, and I've decided..." I pause for dramatic effect before my final words. "I'm retiring, Jeffrey. Effective now."

After that, the rest is just details. The final awkward chat in which I tell my stunned former colleague in no uncertain terms that he is now the head of the company, that the papers are already notarized and winging their way to him overnight, that I will no longer be available or involved in any way with any of my former affiliates, that I am here on a comfortable pension for the rest of my days... well, it all flies by in a haze of agonizing cramps and face-aching forced smiles. I have a part to play, and by god I am going to play it to the hilt. Even if that part is to actively build the walls and locks the doors of my own infantile prison.

And so it is that, when the screen finally goes dark and I sag back into my seat with a powdery crinkle, I am done. I've succeeded - in clearly, articulately sealing myself into a hellish future from which I see no escape.

Voices are cooing, condescendingly applauding me for being such a good girl. Fingers and firm hands are touching me, drawing my hands behind me into their familiar cuffed impotence. As the magnitude of what has just transpired sinks in, a short sob of defeat escapes me - and the familiar ball gag opportunistically slips between my parted lips to silence me once more. It's then, and only then, with no more reason to even pretend to resist, I finally give in to the hellish cramps that have been racking my body this whole time.

I noisily - voluntarily - easily - let my bowels explode outward in a rush of babyish, laxative-fueled diarrhea. Just as they've been training me to do all these long months.

In that moment, even as my bladder and bowels are still voiding into my expanding diapers, a firm hand forces my head upward. And as my streaming eyes gaze helplessly into Terri's victorious grin, I feel something inside me snap. Sobs convulse my body, my tears and snot and drool dribbling down my chin and the front of my revoltingly lacy dress as I weep inconsolably.

I am broken: a bound, sniveling, pathetic little plaything. Terri owns me, now and forever. And I, once her boss and the terror of the fashion world, will never, ever escape.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen!

THE END