You Have Enough

[Chase]

This is a continuation of a story, please read the first post before this.

You Have Enough, chapters 5 - 6

 

By Chase TheQueerXX

 

Content Warning – contains depictions of violence that may be triggering to some readers.

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

 
Chapter 5

           

            Dale and I were at my apartment. It was a small studio apartment like his, except I had a few more appliances than he did, like my television wall. I poured him a glass of water from my sink, and he asked “How can you afford to sleep here if you just make one more dollar an hour more than me?”

            “I can’t,” I said. “I keep racking up debt, and never had the time to find a new place. I’ve been meaning to ask you if I can move into your place and split the rent with you.”

            “Sure buddy,” he said, “but I want you to be safe, so let’s keep you here until we win. It should be far enough to be safe if the strike gets bombed.”

            I sat on my mattress and said, “Dale, why are you trying to protect me? You’re a hard hat, a blue collar, a grease monkey, a union thug, and I’m an office boy, a white collar, an office drone, a dipe.”

            “So what,” said Dale. He sat on the bed next to me put his hand on my shoulder. “I still care about you. We’re all in this together.”

            “No!” I shouted. “NO! We’re different.” In my head, I could hear Mr. Pottersom screaming at me. I put my hands to my ears, trying to block it out, but it was useless. “You just used me to spy on the executives!”

            “That’s not true,” said Dale. “I care about you.”

            I felt myself gasping for breath as I imagined Mr. Pottersom choking me by my tie. I fell onto the floor, gasping for breath. I squeezed my eyes shut, and when I opened them again, Dale had me back on my mattress and held a glass of water to my mouth. I drank it and caught my breath. I felt exhausted. I mumbled, “You probably just care about me because Mrs. Tilda said she was going to make me an elite after we beat Bizus.”

            “What?” said Dale. “You never mentioned that.”

            “Oh yeah. I guess, I guess I didn’t.”

            Dale laughed. “Now that you know I’m not using you, I sure hope you’ll think of me when you become rich. Forget moving in with me, I want to move in with you. Where do you want to go?”

            I leaned back on my bed and scratched my head. White dandruff snowed down from my grey hair. “I don’t know,” I said. “Mrs. Tilda said I’d be rich enough to buy a bunker in New Zealand.”

            “Why not Antarctica?” asked Dale.

            “Both sound nice, but I heard New Zealand is cool when you live high up in the mountains. Some of the wildlife survived the Great Melt, so it’d be almost like living in the good old days.”

            “You’ll be able to sleep better in New Zealand, it’s far enough from the poles to not have one day and one night a year.”

            “It’s hard to imagine the sun going up and down every day,” I said. I glanced at my watch. “It looks like it’s almost time Mrs. Tilda will be on. Alexandra, turn the TV on, channel six.” The TV wall automatically turned on. A beautiful, naturally aged anchorman sat at a desk while texts of headlines ran across the screen.

            “The Russian Confederation,” said the anchorman, “is sending its military to its southern borders to stop migrating caravans escaping increasing temperatures from reaching Siberia. Meanwhile, a heatwave as hot as a hundred and thirty degrees Fahrenheit – that’s close to fifty-five degrees Celsius to any Canadians watching – scorched the ruins of the old country as far north as Pennsylvania. Scientists are alarmed as it is very close to the winter solstice. Thankfully, us folks in the United States of the Arctic are in for months of relief from the heat, as we will soon enter the Arctic night.” The anchorman put his finger to his earpiece. “Just this is in, we have some breaking development from the ongoing Bizus Shipping Company strike. It involves one of its vice presidents, Julianne Tilda.”

            Dale nudged me in my shoulder. “This is it, buddy. They think she’s going to throw some shade at the strike, and then she’s going to pull the rug out from under them and expose Bizus.”

            “Julianne Tilda,” said the anchorman, “once a role model for career-driven women, has been arrested for insider trading.”

            “WHAT?” said both me and Dale.

            On my television, I saw Mrs. Tilda in handcuffs being dragged out of her apartment building by police officers. She looked like she was screaming at the top of her lungs, but the news channel wasn’t playing the audio of what she was screaming.

            “No,” I cried. I jumped back, but only fell onto my bed. My heart was pounding. This can’t be happening. It just can’t be.

            “Those bastards,” said Dale. “They all do that kind of shit. They can’t just throw her under the bus like that.”

            “No,” I cried. “How’d they find out? How’d they find out?”

            “I don’t know,” said Dale, “but she was our whistle blower. With her out of the picture, there’s nothing stopping them from blowing us up. I have to warn the others.” Dale took his cellphone out and tried to make a call. No one answered. He tried to call three more people before giving up. “Shit. You’ve got to be kidding me. They must be blocking cellphone signals at the strike. They must have planned this all out. I have to get there and warn them.” He ran to the door. I ran after him. He pushed me back, and I fell to the floor. “No,” he said, “you stay. You’re too weak to get past the counter-protesters. I might be fat, but I got some muscles from all the crates I’ve had to pick up.” Dale slammed the door shut behind him.

            I stayed laying on the floor, panicking. How could they have known? Did they know it was me who turned her? What’s going to happen to me?

            “Tilda faces up to twenty years in prison for –”

            “Alexandra,” I said, “turn the TV off!”

            The television turned off. I stood up, trying to contain myself, and sat back down on me bed. What am I supposed to do? People were going to die. What if Tilda rats on me and they come for me next? If cellphone signal is cut off at the strike, is it cut off at my apartment? I have to call the cops. “Alexandra,” I said, “call the police, tell them … tell them …”

            “Tell them you’re a bad employee who deserves to be fired?” said Alexandra.

            I rolled off my bed in shock. “WHAT?”

            My television turned on. On the screen, I saw Mr. Bizus’s smooth, shaved head. Beneath his sunglasses was a wide grin. I could see his children playing on a waterslide behind him. Mr. Bizus chuckled and said, “This is the part where I offer you millions of dollars in exchange for keeping your mouth shut.”

            “Really?”

            Mr. Bizus let out a hard laugh. “Fuck no! I could so easily do it, though. If you were to somehow live to seventy, a million Arctic dollars would be the sum-total of a lifetime’s work for your salary. If you were immortal and could make that every single day starting from the birth of Christ, you still wouldn’t have nearly half of what I have.”

            “Then why,” I said, “why are you, why are you so … so …”

            “So greedy?” said Mr. Bizus. “Why I work my employees for every breath they have and make them piss in their pants? Do you really want to know why?”

            “Yes,” I said.

            “Because … it gives me … a hard on!”

            The television along with the lights in my apartment went off. It was pitch black. I stumbled towards the window and felt the shades, they were drawn. That could only mean the sun finally went down. The long, cold, Arctic night had begun.

            I heard the galloping of footsteps outside my apartment. They were coming for me. I opened up the window and jumped.

           

Chapter 6

           

            I woke up in a dim, tight space. I was scrunched up, with my back against a metal wall, my head bent under a wooden ceiling, and my feet against a small trash bin filled with paper. The floor was carpeted but hard. Light came from under the metal walls, and to my right, I saw a chair. A desk. I was under a desk. I crawled out from under the desk and into a cubicle. It was my cubicle from work.

            I stood up. It was my cubicle, but it didn’t look like I was in my office building. There were no other cubicles. It was empty.

            I walked out of my cubicle and into the empty office space. I heard a soft buzzing above me. I looked up and saw it was a light panel on the low, dropped ceiling. The ceiling tiles looked soggy, with brown stains.

            I walked through the halls trying to find a way out, but couldn’t. It was like a maze of empty offices. There were no windows, I had no idea where I was. I had both my watch and my cellphone on me, but the batteries were dead in each. There were clocks on the walls, but all of them were broken.

            I roamed the halls for what felt like hours. My mouth began to feel dry. I was so thirsty. Miraculously, I spotted a water cooler. I ran to it. It had the tiniest of cups. I drank cup after cup, trying to satisfy my thirst, but the cup was just too small. After ten or so cups, I left it and went back to roaming the halls.

            I came to an eerily long hallway. It looked miles long. There were doors along the sides of the long hallway. I went to one to open, but it was locked. I went to another, and it was also locked. I continued down the long hallway, trying door after door, but they were all locked. Eventually I gave up and just trudged my way down the long hallway. I started to have the urge to pee. My bladder was holding up stronger than it normally did, but that only made the pressure from it building up that much painful.

            I passed by a phone that was mounted on a wall. I grabbed it, dialed the police, and put it to my ear. Instead of the police, I heard screaming.

            “Aaaah! Help me!”

            “I can’t breathe!”

            “Help!”

            “I’m on fire! Put it out! Put it out!”

            I hung up the phone. My heart raced. It sounded like … an explosion. Were we, were we too late to stop the bombing? Dale, he could be, he could be, dead.

            I ran down the long hall. I had to get out. I just had to get out. I was close to passing out from my running. Eventually, I made it to the end of the mile long hallway. I walked into a conference room.

            There was a long table in the middle of the room with empty chairs. The walls of the conference room were dark glass monitors. The light panels dimmed, and the wall monitors turned on.

            All around me, three-hundred and sixty degrees, I saw beautiful scenery in the monitors. Grassy green fields, peaceful woodlands, and large, funny looking birds. It was New Zealand. Music began playing in the conference room. It was some sort of flutelike whistling. No, wait, silly me, that was the sound of birds. I was hearing the songs of birds, the sounds of nature.

            The New Zealand scenery on the monitors disappeared, and in their place was the strike. There was a big explosion. Replacing the bird calls, I heard the thunderous booms of the bomb, and the heart crushing screams of the victims. It was mostly the strikers who were scorched by the explosion. My head turned from screen to screen, seeing a different tragedy in every corner. Then I saw Dale, on the ground, dead.

            “NO!” I screamed. “NO!”

            The footage of the disaster disappeared. I ran to the door of the conference room, but I found it was closed and locked. I was locked in. A monitor on one of the walls flashed back on. I turned to it and saw the head of the president of the United States of the Arctic, speaking on a news channel.

            “My fellow Arcticans,” said the president, “today is a day of mourning. Just before we would have otherwise celebrated the Arctic sunset and a long, cool, night, a bomb detonated at the strike that was disrupting Bizus Shipping Company. It is believed to have been perpetrated by the union thugs organizing the strike, in collaboration with the Canadian separatists.”

            “NO!” I screamed. “NO! That’s a lie! That’s a lie!”

            “Up to twenty of the strikers died,” said the president.

            “NO!” I screamed. “No!”

            “And more tragically,” said the president, “two of the counter-protesters died. A young man and a young woman, each from elite families. These two beautiful souls would have had a long, prosperous life, filled with joy and luxury, but it was cut short by those who do not know they have enough.”

            “No!” I screamed. “No! That’s not more tragic! Two elites are not more valuable than twenty workers!”

            “I am hereby ordering a revocation of –”

            I put my fingers to my ears. I rammed my body into the door I came in, trying to budge it open. It was sealed shut. There was a clicking sound behind me. I turned and saw the door on the other end of the conference room had opened. I ran through it and came out into more office space.

            I ran through a room that was filled with empty cubicles. The building was never ending, I just couldn’t comprehend how it could exist. Hell, I was in Hell. Now it all made sense, I failed to stop Bizus, and now I’m Hell, suffering the consequences.

            I put my hands to my crotch as I ran through the halls. I had to pee so bad. I was used to it coming out by surprise ever since I became incontinent, but now it seemed like I finally had the ability to pee at will.

            I saw a bathroom sign. I looked around me, it was still me, all alone in this crazy place. I guess Mr. Pottersom isn’t there to yell at me. I entered the mens room.

            The bathroom was such a needed change in scenery from the never-ending office space. Against the bathroom wall was a urinal. I could be in Hell for all I know, but it looks like I can actually pee again without going in my pants. And in a urinal – I could feel like a man again.

            I went to the urinal and stood inches from it. I put my hands to my zipper.

            “Matthew!” shouted a voice.

            I turned around and saw Mr. Pottersom. “Mr. Pottersom, what are you, what are you …”

            “I can’t believe I caught you slacking off again,” said Mr. Pottersom. “That does it, you’re taking a pay cut. It’s back to minimum wage for you.” He walked up to me and grabbed me by my tie. “Bathroom breaks are for those who earn it. You’re practically stealing from the company at this point. Come on, back to work.”

            Mr. Pottersom dragged me out of the bathroom by my tie. He dragged me to a cubicle and shoved me into an uncomfortable chair. There was a stack of papers on the desk. He pointed to them and said “Get to work, chop chop.”

            “No,” I said, “no! You, you, you can’t make me! I, I, I quit!”

            Mr. Pottersom slapped me across the face. He slapped me so hard, my chair spun, making me hit the other side of my head against the wall of my cubicle. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” said Mr. Pottersom. “You can’t quit. You’re our charity case at this point. No one will hire you if you quit.”

            “I, I don’t care!” I stood up. “I bet those hackers who are on the union’s side already have a copy of my recording. I’m going to find a way out of this, this, this prison. Then you and Bizus will go to prison, and no one will be overworked any –”

            Mr. Pottersom slapped me across my face again. “That’s Mister Bizus to you, you diaper wearing office drone.”

            I aimed a punch straight for Mr. Pottersom’s face. He grabbed my fist before it could reach his jaw, and then he squeezed my hand. I screeched in pain as my knuckles cracked. I fell to my knees while he continued squeezing. “Let go of me! Please!”

            “See,” said Mr. Pottersom, “look at how weak you are. I can’t imagine you as a hard hat. You have no idea just how good you have it.” He let go of my hand and then put the sole of his designer shoes to my chest.

            “Ahh! I’m only weak because I can never exercise thanks to you, or fuck, even eat!”

            Mr. Pottersom smiled. “Ahh, but that’s where you’re wrong.” He lowered his face in front of mine. “I don’t want you to tell anyone because it hasn’t been announced yet, but this Christmas, we’ll be introducing the Bizus Quick Shake. A specially designed formula to give you all the nutrients you need in the form of a drink. You’ll never have to eat again. You can get everything you need to survive through a straw while you stay hard at work. Only available to those with Bizus Prime. Good thing you have your employee discount.”

            “No! I want to eat real food! Like what we ate on Mr. Bizus’s yacht.”

            Mr. Pottersom took his foot off my chest and then grabbed me by my hair. He shoved my head into his crotch. “This! This is the closest thing to real food you will ever get. Do you understand that Matthew? Eating real, solid food, sleeping as long as you need, pissing in a urinal, those are all luxuries that should only belong to humans.”

            It was hard to move my mouth because it was shoved so hard against his crotch. I mumbled the words, “But I am a human.”

            “No,” said Mr. Pottersom, “you’re not. You’re an evolutionary dead end. You exist solely so people like Mr. Bizus and I can live. You do not live. You only work. Work is the only good.”

            Mr. Pottersom let go of me. I caught my breath and crawled around his legs. Tears were dripping from my eyes. I stood up and I wiped a tear from me cheek. “No,” I said, “I don’t, I, I’m … I’m going to piss in the urinal!”

            “Don’t you dare!”

            I ran straight back to the bathroom. Mr. Pottersom chased after me. I busted through the bathroom door and I slid across the linoleum tiles straight to the urinal. I put my hands to the zipper of my pants, and Mr. Pottersom wrapped his arms under my armpits and pulled me away. “No!” I screamed, “no!”

            “But Matthew,” said Mr. Pottersom, “haven’t you noticed? Your bladder is functioning again. I know you were unconscious the whole time, but after you jumped out your window and got caught in the net, Mr. Bizus paid to have your incontinence cured.”

            I tried to squirm out of his arms but couldn’t. “Why the fuck would he do that if he still doesn’t want me using the bathroom!”

            “Because,” said Mr. Pottersom, “he cares for you.” In a mock Dale voice, he whispered, “I care for you.”

            I couldn’t hold it in any longer. Urine came gushing out. I felt all sense of dignity, strength, and hope, wash out of me as the warm liquid spread. The padded, diaper briefs I had under my pants only made the feeling worse as it spread it all around my waist and rear rather than dripping out. I moaned and felt my legs go numb as my blood pressure dropped, and Mr. Pottersom lowered me on my back onto the bathroom floor.

            I have enough.

           

 

The End.