Here's a bonus chapter to say thank you to RossJenkins4 for backing me on Patreon. Thank you so much, and I hope you enjoy it :)
I had a lot of questions that I needed to think about when I woke up, but most of the answers weren't hard to find.
Sensations bombarded my brain in no particular order, demanding attention as each part of my body woke up, and I tried to focus enough to make sense of where I was and what I needed to do. I was slumped in the armchair in the lounge, with an awful crick in my neck. The list I'd been trying to write down was on the floor below my head. There was no sign of my sister, but half of her baby art stuff was still on the floor. Mum was rushing out of the room, in a hurry to get something from the kitchen. My hand was chilly as a draught dried off the last drops of water. It had been wet, but I wasn't sure why yet. And, yes, my legs were wet too. Realisation dawned as I looked down at the huge dark patch between my thighs, the carpet visibly soaked in front of me. There was a vague memory of being in that dream again, the one where my sister knelt beside me and raised a bowl of water until it met my fingers where my hand was dangling limply over the arm of the chair. I'd conditioned myself, and now I had wet myself. Not when wearing SleepSafe pants that I'd told Mum were only out of sympathy. Not where I had a chance to throw out a diaper and pretend it had never happened. I'd fallen asleep in the front room, and peed on the thick lilac carpet.
I sniffed my fingers, but I was already pretty sure what had happened. No smell there; it wasn't like I'd put my hand on my soaked clothes for a moment before waking. I'd been exhausted, half asleep. Not sure what was real or a dream, and my sister had put my hand in water. She'd used my conditioning against me, without even realising it was a thing. If she kept this up she'd likely try the same trick on one of her friends at a sleepover one day, and be amazed that it didn't work.
The big question now was how to clean up. I needed to do something, I needed to get the carpet dry. I needed to make sure that none of the art stuff was affected, although I noticed now that it was carefully arranged just out of reach of the puddle on all sides. Lindy must have done that before she left the room, but that left the question of where she was now. Why wasn't she gloating at Mum about what a baby I was, pointing and laughing like a maniac?
No, the big question was what Mum was going to do. She was mad, I knew that already. What could I tell her? She wouldn't believe that I'd just wet myself. And if I told her about Lindy's trick with the bowl of water, she would want to know why I hadn't told her already. This would still be my fault. Even worse, she might think I wanted it. I'd already let her know I was interested in being a little kid occasionally; how could I possibly prove that I hadn't gone along with this willingly, and allowed my sister to do this to me. I was going to be in so much trouble no matter what happened. And if I told her about Lindy's involvements, my sister would be back on the defensive. Withdrawn and sullen, humiliated. She'd be more withdrawn, from us and from her friends. Punishing her for something so severe would make it harder for her to confide in Mum, and she wouldn't trust me with other problems after I snitched. And it wouldn't stop me feeling guilty, because I knew that it was me who'd pushed her this far.
"I'm sorry," I gasped as Mum came back into the room. I was already panicking, looking at the mess all around me. There was no way I could hide it. "I'm sorry, I just don't know what happened. This... never..." She could probably hear from my voice that I was on the edge of tears. Maybe not for the reasons she thought, not quite.
"Shush, baby. Let Mummy get this cleaned up first, yes? Are you feeling okay?" She had that bowl in her hands again, the orange one. But this time wisps of steam rose from the surface. There was a coarse-bristled wooden brush floating on the top, and a rough sponge bobbing between little icebergs of suds. She wasn't punishing me now; just focusing on getting cleaned up. And she was talking to me like I was a little kid again. I probably deserved that.
"I'm sorry," I whimpered, trying not to hyperventilate. "How can I–"
"You don't need to do anything, honey. Let Mummy clean up this mess. You're stressed, right? I can see the worry in your face. And you already told me that being treated like my little angel helps you to relax and forget the hard bits of life. There might be time for a big girl to be mature and show responsibility, but that isn't all the time. And right now, honey, I promise that you are not responsible for this. So calm down, breathe deeply, and let Mummy make everything better. Okay?"
I nodded slowly, still wondering when the punishment was going to kick in. She had to be planning something pretty bad. Mum wasn't big on punishments, she never had been. She would be content with a promise not to do it again, whatever it had been, so long as she felt that it was an honest admission of guilt. She would give out weird punishments, and sometimes they seemed cruel; but it was always appropriate somehow, it always seemed fair, and it was always enough to ensure that I wouldn't consider repeating what I was being punished for. But what could she do to punish me for something that happened in my sleep? If she thought it was deliberate, like I'd done it as part of the fantasy of being treated like a child, wouldn't she be punishing me by making me clean it up by myself and act like an adult?
I was shaking now, only able to imagine the faintest hint at what retribution I might have earned for peeing on the floor. Whatever it was, it would have to be big. And her treating me so gently, like a little kid who couldn't help it, only made me more apprehensive. Was she going to punish me like a child too? Or helping me to feel innocent and safe so the eventual punishment hit even harder? Was she going to tell Lindy about my weird interest in childish things, or let my friends know what a baby I was? Every option that came to mind was worse than the last, and not knowing only made it worse.
"Are you okay, Sally? Is this too much?" I felt a hand on my shoulder, and looked up into Mum's face. There was something there, a slow-simmering rage behind her eyes, but more than anything I knew that she didn't actually want to hurt me. She wanted me to learn from every mistake, that was the important thing. And she would never impose a punishment that risked the things I had worked for. I gently shook my head.
"Okay, do you want to be the one cleaning up? Could you cope better that way? Because I think you're shaken now. You need Mummy to make it all better, so you can be thinking clearly before we get to the serious conversation."
"I should..." I mumbled, still not sure what I should do. I had to fix everything, but I didn't know where to start.
"Don't worry about 'should'. I can tell you're not okay, so don't pretend. Okay? If I'm going too far you can always yell 'stop'. But right now, you've been more childish than I ever remember you being as a child. You've always felt like you're the mature one, haven't you? And you had to pick up the slack after we lost your father. That's too much weight for a little baby's shoulders. So trust me today. If my words aren't making it worse, let Mummy make it better. And let's get you clean. A nice warm bath will cheer you up, won't it? You don't want icky damp jeans stuck to you. You want a bath?"
I nodded, feeling so small and helpless. I was going to pieces, and she was saying all the right things. Just like when I was a little kid. Before I had to think for myself. And I was responding like a kid too, unable to reach for the words to express what I meant.
"Okay baby, can you run a bubble bath like a big girl, while I clean the floor? Or should Mummy come and do it for you?"
"I can," I squeaked, and found myself blushing. I wasn't that helpless, but even mentioning it made me feel safer again. Talking like a kid as well, it seemed so natural. So easy, and it might make this whole situation feel a little less weird. "I'll go bath."
"Good girl," she answered. "I'll be up soon if you need any help. Now... Ah!" she stopped me with a hand on my arm, and I immediately wondered what I had done wrong.
"Let's get you out of those soggy pants first, yes?" she said, and before I could respond she was untying my belt. "We don't want to be dripping through the house, do we? Just let's get these off you, and I can put them in the machine. Stand on this and rub your feet before you go upstairs, okay? No footprints."
"I can do it myself!" I protested, but my pants were round my ankles now and she was lifting my hands above my head so she could get my shirt off. Mum worked quickly, and I was too startled to resist; even before I'd found the words to say it was weird, my dirty clothes were in a pile on the floor. And she'd laid a towel on the floor at the edge of the damp carpet, so I could dry my feet off and not leave pee footprints all the way to the bathroom. It was so weird, having somebody do everything for me. But somehow it was good. I only half noticed that she had closed the blinds before waking me, to keep anyone seeing me undressed. She must have already planned this far ahead, more than I ever could. And when I lifted up my feet, she quickly dabbed at the bottom with her soapy sponge; then I stepped on the towel. It felt like she was really taking care of me. I made a little show of rubbing my feet dry in both directions, like a kid might, and Mum seemed pretty amused. Then she was lathering up the carpet, presumably doing whatever was needed to get it clean again.
It was hard to stop laughing. It was the most embarrassing evening of my life, but Mum was making it fun. I didn't even understand why this felt good, but I was turning into a giggling toddler again as mother's love overwhelmed all my worries. And when I found a bottle of bubbles leaning against the bathroom door, and the fluffiest towels hanging on the rail ready for me, I could only be amazed. When could she possibly have found time to sort everything out like this?
Mummy was some kind of genius. And even in the middle of everything that had happened, she could make me feel safe. Loved. So that I would be over the shock, and in clean, warm clothes.
Able to properly appreciate whatever punishment she had decided on.