Regression Rehab

Written as a commission for one of my excellent supporters! 

“Iduhwanna,” Melanie slurred.

Back-talking to authority figures was, generally speaking, not a great idea. Especially not while half-drunk and carrying an open container of hard liquor at the end of their shifts.

For Melanie, though, it was all part of her plan.

The social worker rolled her eyes. “Ma’am, I understand, but you need to come with me. We got a call about you causing distress to the patrons of this establishment, and you’re violating a few vagrancy ordinances being out here.”

“Not gonna go wif’ you,” Melanie insisted, jabbing the liquor bottle at the social worker’s face and swaying a little. Faking being drunk wasn’t going to be enough, so she’d actually had to get drunk, but now it was difficult for her to regulate just how unstable she appeared. “I’m f… fine.”

The social worker sighed. She looked like she’d had a long day, and dealing with a belligerent, homeless drunk was not on her list of relaxing fun. “Right, okay, how about this. You can come with me, and we’ll get you cleaned up and give you a hot meal, or I can call a police officer over and we’ll make you come along. Which do you want?”

“Ssscrew you,” Melanie spat.

That got the reaction she wanted. The social worker went for her radio, called up an officer, and added, “I think she needs a visit to the Care Center.”

Perfect.

Melanie knew the ‘Care Center’ by reputation, if not through any firsthand knowledge. As a reporter, she’d caught wind of the rehab facility a month ago, and most notably learned of how secretive their procedures were.

Some patients came out reformed and sober, but tight-lipped about what had happened to them. Others hadn’t been seen since they were admitted.

Naturally it piqued her interest. A secretive facility that was reforming addicts and vagrants without any oversight was a breeding ground for corruption, and that could make for a huge scoop. If she could find out the details and run a story on it, she could kick start her journalistic career.

Getting in, though, that was the hard part. Paid participants were screened heavily, and there was no way she could fake her credentials well enough to get in.

There was a way, though. The city had a contract with the ‘Care Center’, to deal with a set number of free cases on a monthly basis - mostly, homeless addicts who were a danger to themselves or others. If Melanie left behind her ID and faked being homeless, she could get in without a problem.

So, as she was loaded into the back of a cop car, she had to suppress a grin. She’d made it.

Unless they figured out what she was up to in the next couple hours, she’d be in. There was a seventy-two hour mandatory observation window, and after that, they’d have to let her go. After all, once she sobered up, she’d be the perfect model of a good citizen.

And then, once she was let go, she’d be able to write all about what it was like on the inside. It was the scoop that would kickstart her career.

The facility didn't look like much from the outside. Just a plain brick building with narrow, tinted windows and garage doors to let busses through.

Melanie was driven inside, escorted through a couple nondescript halls, and finally waved through a steel door.

Her escorts didn't follow her inside. They just pushed her in, bolted the door, and left her there.

She tilted her head, looking around. Large glass lenses were built into the walls, focusing and aligning on her.

Raising her voice, Melanie called, "Hello? What's goin' on?"

A tinny voice played through the PA system. "Please hold still. You may feel lightheaded or short of breath."

"What? Why-"

Light began to project from the lenses, and Melanie gasped. The room was getting bigger.

Or… rather, Melanie was getting smaller. Her outfit, formerly a little snug, grew baggy and then positively ridiculous as she shrank, smaller and smaller, until she resembled a toddler dressed up in mommy's clothing.

The lenses clicked off, leaving her standing there, a tiny image of herself.

"What the hell?" She squeaked. To her alarm, her voice had gone up an octave in the process of shrinking, and she repeated, "What the hell?"

The voice in the PA system spoke again. "Please remain calm and exit into the dressing room. A nurse will be there to assist you."

Before Melanie could ask, 'Exit how?', a panel on the far wall lifted, showing a doorway so small that even a toddler would have had to duck to fit through.

Melanie was able to walk right through without a problem. Holding her old clothes in place around herself proved all but impossible, but she stubbornly kept her shirt and panties on, holding each with one arm as she trudged through the doorway.

As she crossed into a processing room that could only be described as a nursery check-in, Melanie felt something grab her and yelped in surprise. “Hey!”

“Shh, it’s alright.” The woman that had scooped her up wasn’t particularly tall, maybe a couple inches over five feet, but she towered over Melanie to the point where they could carry her cradled in one arm. “I know you’re a little disoriented now, but let’s get you all cleaned up, okay?”

“What’s going on?” Melanie demanded. “What happened to me?”

“We’ll explain that all in a bit,” she explained. Her outfit was a practical set of scrubs, the sort that nurses across the country wore, though it had a rubber ducky pattern across the material to make it a bit more cutesy. When she tugged Melanie’s clothes away, her strength was such that Melanie couldn’t remotely try and stop her.

Melanie considered that, given her new stature, she was effectively helpless. Running wouldn’t be an option, fighting back certainly wouldn’t be an option. She wouldn’t even be able to reach door handles without a stepstool. If she was in trouble, there wasn’t much she could do to save herself.

Off came her shirt, and her panties, leaving her completely naked in the woman’s arms. Blushing, she started to cover herself, but the nurse didn’t seem to notice or even care about her nudity.

Wetting her thumb with a bit of spit, the nurse rubbed at Melanie’s cheek. “Oh dear, you’re filthy. Let’s get you washed up before we check you in, okay? I’m sure that’ll make you feel much better.”

“I feel fine,” Melanie protested, but it seemed that what she wanted didn’t actually matter, because the nurse was already carrying her off to the next room over.

Melanie was on edge and trying not to anticipate what came next, but even with that in mind, she was still caught off guard.

The room could only be described as a nursery.

A few dozen people were scattered throughout, all exactly Melanie’s height, all dressed in onesies that were suspiciously puffy around the crotch. Some were penned into a play area, others napping in tiny cribs, and Melanie spotted one person on a changing table, being attended to by a full-sized caretaker.

Her eyes bulged. What the hell?

The nurse that was carrying her didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. She just delivered Melanie over to a sink by the wall, set her down on the counter, and began running warm water into the sink basin.

“You’re probably a little confused, dear,” she said, as the sink began to fill. “That’s alright. It’ll all make sense in a little while, but try not to worry about it for now. Ok?”

Melanie was just at a loss for words, gaping at the bustling nursery around her, full of adults who were all the size of infants.

The sink filled up quickly, and the nurse moved Melanie into it, using a washcloth and a gentle soap to scrub at the dirt and grime that had accumulated. Melanie had worked hard on that dirt and grime, to make herself look authentically grubby and ensure she wouldn’t look like the clean-cut freelance journalist she normally was.

Setting aside the washcloth, the nurse started shampooing Melanie’s hair, rinsing with lukewarm water from the sink’s tap.

Melanie’s mind was reeling.

Forget the scoop of her career, this might be the scoop of a lifetime. This ‘rehab’ center had developed the technology to shrink people to a quarter their original height, or maybe been granted the patent, and was using it to dress up adults in baby clothes and…

Then what?

There didn’t seem to be any sinister experimentation going on. No awful dystopian torture or brain rewiring. The other patients were just… playing.

Some sort of regression therapy, then.

It was interesting, and it’d make for one hell of a headline, but the technology was the real scoop. She’d have to learn more about it, before she ran the story.

Her nurse finished up the bath in the sink and picked her up, setting Melanie down on a towel so she could be dried off. “There you go. Doesn’t that feel better, being all clean?”

It did, but Melanie wasn’t going to respond to the condescending tone the nurse was using. She just shrugged.

“Well, let’s get you all dressed up and ready for a nap, okay? I’m sure you’ll feel better once you’ve had some rest.”

“Eh… sure.”

A thought struck Melanie, as the nurse wrapped her in the towel and picked her up. All the other patients were in diapers, and there weren’t any miniaturized toilets that she’d seen. She was probably going to have to use her diaper.

Gross.

The nurse sat her down on a changing table, and with smooth, professional motions, went about getting Melanie dressed. Powder, padding, and then a plain pink onesie that was perfectly sized for Melanie’s newly-tiny body, all slipped on with the practiced, routine smoothness that only came from doing something a thousand times a day for a long while.

The diaper wasn’t uncomfortable, though Melanie still blushed as it was taped on. It was a perfect fit, and thick enough between her thighs to feel a little awkward, but it wasn’t likely to impede her movement. At least, the impediment wouldn’t be noticeable next to how much she was slowed down by her new size.

As she got dressed, the nurse picked her up again, and this time carried her towards a door on the far side of the nursery from where Melanie had come in. Deeper into the facility.

A thought struck her. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Grace, dear,” the nurse replied.

It couldn’t hurt to ask. “What’s going on?”

“We’ll explain all that in the morning, little one. For now, you need some sleepy time.”

Stepping through the door, they entered into a room that was simply cavernous.

Or, Melanie realized, that wasn’t right. It was deep, sure, but the ceiling wasn’t any higher than any other room, and the walls weren’t any further apart. She just wasn’t used to scaling up a space when she was a quarter her usual size.

The long room was lined with dozens of cribs, all identically sized and painted in pastel purple. Some had patients snoozing in them, curled up in blankets and a couple even snuggling with teddy bears. Most had a whiteboard on the end with a name written down.

Coming to a crib with a blank whiteboard, Grace set Melanie inside. “What’s your name, little one?”

“Mel-” Melanie started to say, before catching herself. Don’t give them your real name, stupid. “Melody?”

Taking a marker from her scrubs, Grace wrote that down on the whiteboard. “Alright, Melody. Have some nice rest.”

Maybe it was the downy soft mattress, or just the lingering fog of alcohol and confusion, but Melanie did just that.

…

“Psst.”

Melanie frowned, sitting up and shaking her head. For a moment, she wondered where she was, until the crinkle between her legs and the pastel bars around her bed reminded her. She had to pee, but the need wasn’t yet urgent, so she ignored that need for the moment and addressed the voice. “Huh?”

“Hey, new girl,” the voice whispered.

She looked over, to see a man in the next crib over, peeking through the bars. He looked like he would normally have been tall, if he wasn’t shrunken down to a uniform size. Heck, if he didn’t have a diaper around his hips, his figure would have been pretty hot. Melanie whispered back, “What?”

He glanced around, dropping the whisper once he saw the room was mostly empty, save for sleeping patients. “What’s your name?”

“Mela-” Right. “Melody.”

He rolled his eyes. “If you’re going to lie, at least get good at it. They catch that crap around here fast.”

“It’s not a lie,” Melanie lied.

“Look, whatever. Just do whatever they tell you to, and don’t make waves. You really don’t want to get sent to ‘Long Term Care’.”

She raised an eyebrow. “What happens at Long Term Care?”

He looked around the room, checking for any nurses that might be listening in. “Nobody knows.”

“That’s bullshit!”

A new voice had piped up, from across the aisle. It was a girl, maybe twenty, who looked like she’d only recently been eating well. Melanie looked over at her. “Who are you?”

“Ugh,” the girl said, ignoring the question. “Don’t listen to Bill. He’s only been here a few weeks, after he crashed his car into a light pole.”

“Bah, I was on private property, and it was a golf cart,” Bill said, waving a hand dismissively. “Nobody got hurt. I was going six miles an hour.”

“You were drunk off your ass,” The girl rolled her eyes, addressing Melanie. “The patients over at long term care get the same treatment we do, just… moreso. We see them sometimes during group activities.”

“‘Moreso’?” Melanie tilted her head, looking down at the whiteboard on her crib. It just said ‘Patient’ on it.

“Less adult stuff, more baby stuff,” the girl replied. “They’ve got this whole philosophy here about drawing out early, relaxed states of being to treat addiction and bad mental states and whatever the hell, and so if they think you really need their care, they’ll just give you the full baby treatment. It’s bullshit too, just in a different way.”

Melanie frowned at her. She looked… familiar, somehow.

“You should talk, chick,” Bill said. “You’ve been here, what, three months? Won’t even tell nobody your name, let alone what got you in here.” Turning to Melanie and adopting a stage whisper, he added, “My money’s on crack.” Rolling his eyes, he continued in normal tones. “I heard the nurses chatting about your ‘antisocial’ tendencies, it sounds like you’re getting fast tracked over there. I bet you’re just hoping they don’t use whatever creepy science rays they’ve got on you to melt your brain into mush.”

The girl rolled her eyes. “Just ignore Bill. He’s a crackpot, but he’s harmless, so they’ll probably send him home now that he’s clean. He’s been a good little drone for them in group therapy, exactly what they’re looking for.”

“Won’t he tell everyone what they did to him?” Melanie asked.

“NDAs,” the girl explained. “Plus, who would believe him? Yesterday, Bill was ranting about alien abductions to anyone who would listen.”

Something clicked in Melanie’s head. The girl had been there for three months, and she looked familiar, but with a little meat on her bones and not nearly as tall.

“Wait, Jessica?”

The girl stiffened, which was as good an answer as if she’d just said ‘yes’. “What?”

“You’re Jessica. The missing girl who I- Who went missing.” Melanie couldn’t say how she knew that without blowing her cover, so she added, “I read about you on Facebook.”

“Ugh,” Jessica repeated. “I’m just a girl. We’re not friends.”

Melanie had more questions, but before she could ask them, the lights came on.

Nurses shuffled in, picking up patients, checking diapers, carrying them off in various directions. Grace was the one who came to get Melanie and, after checking her diaper, carried her off.

“Did you sleep well, Melody?” Grace asked, bouncing her on an arm.

Now that she was sober, the surreality of being hand-carried by another adult was even more pronounced. Melanie half expected Grace’s footsteps to thunder as she walked, as though she were a giant and Melanie was still her usual size, but the sound of her walking was utterly normal.

“I slept confused,” Melanie replied. “I still don’t know what the heck is going on.”

“That’s alright. Everything will make sense in just a moment, once you get your orientation.”

Orientation, as it turned out, was remarkably boring.

For all the answers being given, none of it was all that earth-shattering or surprising. Melanie got set in front of a TV in a tiny plastic chair, and Grace turned on a pre-recorded introduction that somehow managed to be both mind-numbingly dry and completely devoid of helpful answers.

A figure handwaved the shrinking technology, assured that the process was reversible, explained the basics of regression therapy, and went through a bland, but incredibly long-winded, outline of what Melanie could expect.

And, all the while as the video went on, her need to pee was building.

Shifting in her chair, Melanie wondered if there was any point in asking to use the bathroom. The video had mentioned diapers and made vague, unhelpful mention of using them, but it hadn’t said that asking about the bathroom was forbidden. Maybe they were allowed to, but it just wasn’t made explicit for… some reason.

As the pressure got to be too much, Melanie asked, “Can I be excused to the bathroom?”

“That’s what your diaper is for, dear,” Grace replied. “Now, shh, watch the video.”

Well, that settles that.

She still wasn’t about to just pee her pants willingly, but it really seemed like she wouldn’t have another choice. As the video droned on, with no end in sight, the pressure on her bladder built until she was genuinely worried about losing control.

Sighing, she decided to do things on her own terms, and released her bladder.

It was, mostly, anticlimactic. The diaper did an excellent job of wicking away moisture, and though the padding swelled a little, it was hardly a dramatic bulge. At a glance, nobody would even be able to tell.

Just because they couldn’t tell, though, didn’t mean that Melanie couldn’t. Blushing at the first accident she’d had since childhood, she looked around surreptitiously, as though someone might be getting ready to tease her for the act.

Of course, nobody was. Grace was the only other person in the room, and if her behavior so far was anything to go by, she’d be more likely to coo or just treat Melanie with slightly condescending professionalism.

Considering this, Melanie stopped fidgeting, sat back, and watched the rest of the video.

When it was over, Grace scooped her up, checked her diaper, decided she wasn’t wet enough to need a fresh one just yet, and carried her off to the nursery.

And so began Melanie’s first day in rehab.

It was, supremely, dull.

There were recreational activities set out, but they were activities designed to stimulate infants. She found little entertainment in, for example, stacking blocks or matching shapes to holes, and when she briefly tried to organize a more complicated game using the baby toys as pieces, the nurses quickly broke it up.

There were cartoons, but even though they were played on a simply enormous television screen - or, Melanie realized, a normal sized screen - all of the programming was of the most inane sort, colorful shapes and counting games that wouldn’t attract the attention of anyone over the age of three. Melanie tried to watch them for a while anyways, got sick of the process, and gave up.

For a moment, she even considered trying the rocking horses that were set in the corner, but even the other patients seemed unwilling to do that. The combination of not being exciting and the added humiliation of being up high where everyone would see you probably kept the patients away.

And all that boredom was before she’d even gotten to breakfast.

Unsurprisingly, they were all served baby food.

Patients were scooped up in turns, so that there’d be enough nurses to feed them all. Loaded onto high chairs, a dozen patients at a time were put in place behind snapping trays. Identical jars of a purple mush were opened, spooned out, and waved in front of their faces until the patients opened their mouths to eat. Reluctant or enthusiastic, they all eventually gave in.

When Melanie’s turn came, there was nothing different, except that Grace paused to ask if she had any allergies or dietary restrictions. Once Melanie confirmed that she did not, she got her own bib, and her jar of purple mush.

Grace held up the spoon, waving it in front of her face, declaring, “Open wide!” Melanie crossed her arms. “Can I eat it myself?”

Grace paused, lowering the spoon. “We covered this in the orientation video, dear. Everything is taken care of for you while you’re here. That includes feedings and your other bodily needs.”

“But I’d rather feed myself,” Melanie protested. “I don’t want to be fed.”

“Well, that’s part of what we’re trying to work through here. Your driving need to be independent at all times, even when it’s not necessary,” Grace chastised. “Everyone else is eating just fine without pouting or throwing a tantrum. Are you going to be a good girl, or do you need a time out after this?”

Melanie groaned, but a time-out would probably be even more boring than what passed for recreation. Hesitating, she opened her mouth.

Grace scooped in the food.

It didn’t taste bad, it was just patently bland. It had a slightly fruity texture, with a little sweetness, but for the most part it was mush. Unused to being fed, Melanie still managed to get a little on her lips, but Grace just smiled and wiped it off with her bib, moving on despite her patient’s blushes and discomfort.

The jar was only large enough to hold a few ounces of food, but Melanie was still full by the end of it. Considering her size, it wasn’t the result of some sort of genetically engineered super-filling food, it was just that, for her, a couple ounces was a lot of food.

Once full, she was given a small bottle of formula and allowed to hold it herself while Grace went to attend to another patient. Given her treatment with the food, and the fact that a few other patients were being hand-fed their bottles, Melanie guessed that being allowed to drink it herself was a reward for not making more of a fuss.

The formula wasn’t unpleasant, any more than the food, and since she was thirsty enough she drank it down without complaint despite the slightly embarrassing vessel that the drink was stored in. Giving the other patients the side-eye in case anyone started giggling at her, Melanie drank the whole bottle down.

Like the food, the portion in the bottle wasn’t enormous, but it was still enough to completely quench any thirst Melanie was feeling.

A couple minutes after she finished, she was let out of the high chair, checked, and then set back down on the playroom floor.

If there were any dark secrets left to learn about the rehab center, Melanie didn’t learn them that morning. What she was going to learn, though, was how humiliating it was to have her diaper changed.

Given how much she’d drank at breakfast, and how small her shrunken-down bladder was, it was no surprise that she wasn’t able to hold it forever. Despite what Grace had told her earlier, she still looked around for a bathroom she could use.

Maybe if I ask one of the other nurses, they’ll give me a different answer.

It was worth a shot. She didn’t want to call attention to herself and just wave a nurse over, though. That would most likely summon Grace - it seemed that the nurses all had their own little batch of patients that they attended to, so if she whistled up help, it would be Grace that came to her aid.

No problem. All she had to do was walk over to one of the other nurses and ask.

As it turned out, though, that was a problem.

The nurses were busy. Checking and changing diapers, attending to trouble, carrying off patients to god-knew-where for god-knows-why. Given how enormous the play area was - relative to Melanie, at least - she could set her sights on a nurse, start waddling towards them, and they would be gone and across the room before she made it halfway to them.

Her tiny little legs just moved so slowly, and if she sprinted to have a chance of reaching one before they walked away, Grace would notice her ‘distress’ and come to her ‘aid’.

After the fourth failed attempt at waddling to ask for help, Melanie gave up. Crossing her arms, she sat down right there and resigned to hold it.

“You’ll get used to it,” Jessica said, from behind her.

Melanie jumped in alarm, having not noticed the girl behind her. “Huh?”

Jessica was standing a couple feet away. They were exactly the same height, of course, but she still managed to look down on Melanie. “You’re still trying to hold it, right?”

“... no,” Melanie fumed. “I’m not.”

“So you just peed, then?” Jessica knew she had Melanie cornered, and didn’t try to hide it.

“Also no. I don’t need to pee,” Melanie lied, digging herself in even more.

“Look, you get used to it, that’s all I’m saying. Nobody really cares, once they’ve been here a couple days, just… don’t make a big deal out of it, that’s all.” Jessica shrugged.

“I… thanks.” Melanie still wasn’t planning to pee her pants willingly, but it was a nice gesture.

“Whatever.” Jessica turned to waddle away. “We’re still not friends. I just figured you should know.”

Once she was gone, Melanie sighed. Okay. She’s right. It’s going to happen eventually, no use stressing about it.

She still had about two and a half days left of her seventy-two hour mandatory observation. There was no way she would make it that whole time without another accident. Either she would get used to it, or she’d wreck her kidneys trying to hold it.

So, shifting uncomfortably, she let her bladder go for the second time that morning, and resolved not to worry about it any more. Nobody else really noticed, or seemed to care.

Getting up, she waddled back towards where the blocks were stacked. Maybe she could have a little fun with them, even if…

She felt a cramp, and winced. That was a whole other issue entirely.

Okay, Melanie. It’s okay. Don’t stress it.

Judging by the occasional smells that wafted through the room, the other patients had to use their diapers for everything. Melanie wouldn’t be an exception. She’d even just given herself a pep talk about not worrying about having accidents.

Once you go, just get Grace’s attention and she’ll change you right away. It’ll be fine.

She didn’t want to hold it. That would just make her more anxious about the oncoming embarrassment. Better to take care of business right away, get cleaned up, and have no more worries.

Glancing around to make sure nobody was watching her, Melanie got up on her knees, tried not to make a face, and pushed.

It was exactly as humiliating as she’d expected. At least when she peed, the diaper wicked away the moisture almost immediately. It didn’t feel like peeing her pants, it just felt… contained.

The mush that ended up in her diaper, on the other hand, didn’t feel contained. It felt like it was smushing against her, a constant reminder of what she’d done, and-

“Hey, new girl. Melody, was it?”

She turned bright pink and spun, falling on her butt with an immensely uncomfortable squelch. “Bill?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you!” he said. “You just seemed kind of lost, and… uh…” Wrinkling his nose, he blushed sympathetically. “Sorry, I caught you at a bad time, didn’t I?”

Melanie blushed bright pink, nodding just a tiny bit. If it had been any of the other random patients it would have been embarrassing enough, but with Bill it was especially humiliating. “I… erm…”

“Hey, sorry,” Bill said, rubbing at the back of his neck, trying to pretend that they both couldn’t smell her accident. “Er… I’ll talk to you later.”

He waddled away, but Melanie sat there, mortified, until Grace came and picked her up.

“Do I smell a diaper that needs changing?” She asked, hefting Melanie in her arms. Feeling at the back of Melanie’s onesie, she said, “Let’s go get you in a freshie, okay?”

Melanie’s cheeks burned, but she nodded. “Okay…”

Carrying her over to a changing table, Grace sat her down, undid her onesie, and pulled it up to get to her diaper.

She did her job professionally, and without comment. It wasn’t Grace’s fault that the whole process was totally, utterly humiliating.

It wasn’t just that Melanie had been forced to fill her diaper, not even allowed the basic dignity of using her toilet training. She wasn’t even allowed to clean herself. Grace had to do that, washing her up with cold baby wipes and then drying her with powder. Their difference in size didn’t help matters - it wasn’t an adult, helping another adult. Grace was clearly, obviously, in a position of power over Melanie. She got to make the decisions, while Melanie couldn’t even use a potty.

At the back of her mind, Melanie wondered if she could even print a story about this, without admitting what she’d had to go through. This scoop wouldn’t start her career, it’d make her a laughingstock. The journalist who needed a nurse to wipe her bottom.

Swallowing, Melanie braced herself to face the rest of her seventy two hours.

…

The next morning, Bill wasn’t there anymore. His crib was empty, with a clean whiteboard and no occupant.

“Where’d he go?” Melanie asked Jessica, sitting down with her in front of the cartoons.

“Who?” Jessica asked.

“You know who. Bill,” Melanie said. “He was gone.”

“Sent home, likely,” Jessica said. “He’s kooky, believes in bigfoot and UFOs and all that, but he’s not a danger to himself or others, and he’s not unstable. From what I heard, he didn’t go through withdrawal in the first week, so his addiction wasn’t chronic, and his fiance promised to keep an eye on him to make sure he doesn’t relapse. She’s the one who paid to get him in here, so she’s really calling the shots from what I can tell.”

“Fiance?” Melanie asked, trying not to feel a little disappointed. It wasn’t like she’d had a chance with him, but still.

“I dunno. Highschool sweethearts, I think.”

“Hmm,” Melanie said, changing the subject. “But you’re still here.”

Jessica didn’t respond to that. She just got up, turning to waddle away and almost walking right into a nurse.

Melanie recognized the face of the nurse, but couldn’t guess at his name. He crouched down, so he was as close to eye level as he could get with Jessica, and said, “Hey there, kiddo.”

Jessica didn’t respond. Not even an acknowledgement, she just stood there.

“Still not talking to us, huh?” the nurse asked. “That’s alright.”

She just stood there, mutely, while Melanie watched.

“Well, we’ve been talking about it, and we think it’s best that you be moved to Long Term Care. Clearly, you need more help than we can offer over here, if you’re going to continue to be nonresponsive. If you won’t talk to us, we can’t understand why you did what you did to get in the state we found you in.” He smiled, while Jessica twitched and looked away. “You have to admit, you feel better now that you’re clean, don’t you? Now that all that nasty stuff is out of your system?”

Jessica’s eyes went to Melissa, pleading for her to intervene, but Melissa didn’t know what to say that would help, or if she even could help. Neither of them spoke.

A few seconds passed, and the nurse said, “Are you sure you can’t even tell us your name?”

Melanie watched, a hint of what was going on dawning on her. Seconds passed. Almost half a minute.

“That’s alright, then,” the nurse said, echoing his earlier words. “Well, you can say goodbye to your friends here, but you’ll still get to see them occasionally. We’ll move you over around lunchtime. Okay, kiddo?”

No response, until he walked away. When he did, Jessica turned on her heels, waddling furiously towards the empty corner of the play room, where the rocking horses sat.

Melanie watched for a second, then pushed up to her feet, waddling after her.

She caught up to Melanie, sitting with her legs tucked up to her chest behind one of the rocking horses. Her eyes were what.

Dropping down to her knees, Melanie scooted up to her. “What’s wrong?”

Jessica sniffed, wiped at her eyes, and shuffled around so her back was to Melanie.

Melanie persisted, moving up to Jessica’s side. “Hey, it’s okay.”

Sniffling again, Jessica rubbed her nose on the sleeve of her onesie, shook her head, and whispered, “Fuck.”

“Why-”

“They’re never letting me out of here,” Jessica cut in, her words tinged by the tone that came when someone was holding back sobs.

Softly, Melanie shook her head, putting a hand on Jessica’s shoulder. “You don’t know that.”

“I do,” Jessica shot back, jerking away. “They’ll never let me go until I’m not me anymore, until I’m just… whatever they want to make me into.”

“Why didn’t you talk to him?” Melanie asked. “Or give your name? Maybe they’d listen to you and let you go.”

“Doctors never listened before,” Jessica sniffed. “Not when it counted. I went through twenty years of nobody listening, not when things got bad, not when they got worse, not when I couldn’t even think straight and just wanted to escape however I could. So I stopped talking to them, made myself a promise. No more talking to doctors, or psychiatrists, or anyone who thought they could run my life without talking to me. That’s what they do here, y’know? They take away everything that makes you a person, run your life like you’re a goddamned doll until you stop acting up.”

Melanie didn’t have a response to that.

“If I talk to them, they’ve already won,” Jessica whispered. “They’ve already broken me. So I can’t.”

“You will get out of here,” Melanie said, a plan already forming in her head. She could run the story. Apply public pressure, regardless of what humiliation awaited her for doing so. She could get Melanie safe. “I promise, I can-”

“Shut up,” Jessica said. “No promises. No bullshit, or you’re just like them.”

“I…” Melanie started. She wanted to tell Jessica what she was planning. Instead, she just said, “I’m sorry.”

Jessica shrugged. “It’s not your fault.”

They took her away half an hour later.

…

Melanie only had a day to go when they brought her to her first group session.

The colorful plastic chairs they brought out were just big enough for all the tiny patients, though they had adult-sized ones that matched. She was still having a hard time gauging sizes from a distance, and the additional optical illusion of two differently-sized but identically-shaped chairs threw her for a loop for a moment when Grace brought her in.

That visual anomaly aside, it was mostly… boring. The lead therapist went in a circle, going over some old things, making a couple announcements.

“We've had a couple people ‘graduate’ since our last,” she said, giving an incredibly phoney smile to the circle. “Let’s all wish Bill, Simon, and Marie a very welcome goodbye and hope that we never have to see them again!”

It was a weak joke, but it got a couple chuckles. Melanie guessed that they didn’t have any stand-up nights at the center.

“We’ve also got some new members. Bridgette, would you stand up please?”

Bridgette did so. At her full height, she was barely taller standing than sitting, but it was enough to make her out.

“Why don’t you introduce yourself?” The leader asked.

“I’m Bridgette,” she said.

A round of muttered, ‘Hello Bridgette’s filled the room and faded in seconds.

Bridgette nodded. “I’ve… ugh. I’ve got a problem with opioids. I knew I needed help, so I came here.”

Smiling, the group therapist said, “Well, we’re the right people to help you. Now, Melanie, would you stand up?”

Melanie got to her feet, already bored by the routine, then paused. Wait, did she say-

“Melanie, would you like to introduce yourself?”

Melanie shrugged, getting to her feet. “I’m… erm, Melody, and I’m here ‘cause I got drunk once and it was a bad time. My name isn’t Melanie.”

The therapist smiled, more sharklike than it had been a moment before, and Melanie realized she’d stepped into a trap. “Now, we know that’s not true, don’t we? Melanie, you were reported missing a couple days ago. Your parents were worried about you.”

My parents? Why… She frowned, thinking about it. Ah, crap. My dad’s birthday was three days ago.

She hadn’t thought to call. She never called, in fact, but that’s why he always called her. And when she didn’t answer, and then wasn’t around to answer any of her other contact places, he must have gotten worried.

He probably even supplied photos to the police, to help them find her. Crap.

She took a breath. It was alright, they would still have to let her out shortly. She’d be fine.

“We asked him about your drinking, and he said he’d been worried about you since college. Your drunkenness wasn’t just a one-night thing, was it?”

Melanie shook her head. That part just didn’t sound right. “No?”

“You can be honest with us here, Melanie,” the therapist said, smiling. “The first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem.”

Frowning, Melanie shook her head. “I don’t have a problem, though.”

That got a few chuckles. More than the therapist’s crummy joke had, in fact. They probably heard that line a few times a week.

The therapist shook her head, dismissing the laughter. “Now, we’ve all been where she is. It’s called Denial, and we’ll have to work through that. Fortunately, we’ve got plenty of time - I’m not going anywhere, and until she’s healthy, neither is Melanie.”

“Wait, what?” Melanie blinked. “It’s just seventy two hours. I’ve been here for, like… two and a half days already.”

A few of the other patients were nodding their heads. Some in sympathy, some in a ‘she’ll figure it out’ sort of gesture, some clearly having been exactly where Melanie was sitting. All of them seemed to know something Melanie didn’t.

“Oh, sweetheart,” the therapist smiled, shaking her head. “We only have to send patients home after seventy two hours if they can care for themselves. In your current state, do you really think you could care for yourself?”

Melanie blinked, looking down at her diminutive body. Technically speaking, she was pretty close to helpless until they sized her back up. She could probably get by, barely, but… Given her size, even existing accommodations for little people wouldn’t come close to helping. “I…” she trailed off, but there wasn’t much she could say. With that loophole in mind, they could come up with excuses to keep her there forever.

“Have a seat, Melanie,” the therapist said, her fake smile plastered on her face. “And don’t worry. By the time we’re done with you, all your old worries will be a thing of the past. We promise.”