Chapter 3: The Lift Ride
The lift line inched forward, a slow shuffle of brightly clad skiers and snowboarders. The machinery clanked overhead, a rhythmic metallic heartbeat against the mountain’s vast silence. Liam positioned the sit-ski precisely, the runners scraping on the packed snow. Mae’s breath fogged the inside of her mouthguard, the rubbery taste constant, the clip tugging lightly at her helmet with every swallow. The harness straps bit into her shoulders and hips, a counterpoint to the bulky diaper’s persistent rustle beneath the layers of thermals and snow pants. She felt like a museum exhibit – meticulously mounted, labelled, and utterly inert.
"You okay back there?" Liam called over his shoulder, adjusting the long guide bar attached to the rear of the sit-ski. His voice was muffled by the wind and her own headgear. She couldn't answer properly. Could only manage a muffled grunt against the mouthguard, a sound lost in the ambient noise. Her gloved hands, strapped to the handles by the retractable cords, felt useless.
The lift chair swung around the bend. A slow-moving bench for beginners and children, painted cheerful yellow. The attendant waved them forward. Liam expertly nudged the sit-ski into position as the chair scooped low. "Lean back!" he instructed, his tone brisk but calm.
The chair hit the backs of her thighs. Mae instinctively braced, the harness digging in sharply as the momentum pulled them upwards. Liam settled beside her on the bench seat, one hand firmly gripping the guide bar to prevent the sit-ski from swinging wildly. Cold wind instantly assaulted Mae’s exposed cheeks, sharp and bracing. The chalet shrank below them, a sprawling fortress of timber and glass nestled against the white expanse. The valley opened up, breathtakingly vast, dotted with tiny, colorful figures carving trails far below. Freedom stretched in every direction, yet she was bolted into this plastic bucket.
Her breath hitched, a small, trapped sound. The height was dizzying. The diaper, compressed by the harness, felt suddenly conspicuous, a humiliating secret amplified by the exposure. She squeezed her eyes shut.
"You’re doing great," Liam murmured, his voice lower now, almost lost in the wind rushing past the chair. The unexpected warmth in his tone, a stark contrast to Patricia’s sterile efficiency or Eleanor’s controlled assessments, made her eyes snap open. He wasn’t looking at her, his gaze fixed ahead, scanning the slope they were ascending. "First time up is always the weirdest. Feels like you’re gonna tip right out, yeah? But this rig’s solid. You’re locked in tight." He patted the frame of the sit-ski beside her leg, a gesture that felt reassuringly pragmatic.
She turned her head slightly, the movement restricted by the layers of helmet. He glanced down, those startlingly blue eyes meeting hers for a fleeting moment. He gave a small, quick nod. Just a flicker of acknowledgment. No pity. Just… understanding the mechanics of fear. Mae drew a deeper breath, the cold air burning her lungs clean. The panic subsided, replaced by a shaky awareness. The view was incredible. The snow-laden pines dusted with fresh powder, the impossibly blue sky, the sheer, silent scale of it all. A muffled sound escaped her – not fear this time, but surprise. Awe. It vibrated against the mouthguard.
Liam chuckled softly. "Told you. Wait till you start moving."
They reached the top of the bunny slope. Liam expertly maneuvered the sit-ski off the lift and onto a flat, wide area. He unclipped himself from the bench and moved behind her, taking firm hold of the guide bar. "Alright, Maeve. Physics time. Lean with the turn. Your body’s the counterweight. We’ll take it easy. Ready?"
She nodded, her heart pounding again, but differently now. Anticipatory. She gripped the useless handles, her focus narrowing to the gentle slope ahead.
He gave a gentle push.
The world tilted. The runners hissed on the packed snow. Wind rushed past her ears, colder, sharper. The sensation was entirely new – not flying, exactly, but gliding. Smooth. Powerful. Controlled by Liam’s expert guidance behind her, yet she could feel the movement in her body, the subtle shifts in balance transmitted through the harness. The diaper rustled loudly with the vibration, a ridiculous counterpoint to the exhilarating rush. She forgot the mouthguard for a second. A muffled, excited noise burst from her – half gasp, half laugh.
"Easy now!" Liam called, his voice carrying clearly over the wind. He steered them into a wide, gentle turn. "Lean left… good! That’s it! Feel it?" She did. She leaned instinctively as the curve deepened, the sit-ski responding smoothly. The snow sprayed up slightly beside them. The sun glinted off the snow crystals. It was… fun.
They traversed the wide slope, making lazy S-curves. Mae’s initial tension dissolved. Her focus shifted entirely to the sensations: the bite of the wind, the hiss of the skis, the rumble transmitted through the frame, the way the mountain air filled her lungs, cold and pure. The bulky layers, the diaper, the restraints – they faded into background noise, irrelevant against the sheer physical joy of motion. Her muffled sounds became more frequent, little grunts of effort as she tried to anticipate turns, excited hums when they picked up speed on a slight decline. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t articulate it, but her body vibrated with it. Invigoration. A fierce, pure spark of aliveness she hadn't felt in years.
Again. The thought was fierce, primal. She wanted the wind. The speed. The feeling of the mountain rushing past.
Liam brought them to a smooth stop at the bottom. He moved to the front, crouching slightly to look up at her face, his breath frosting the air. His cheeks were flushed with cold and exertion. "Well? Survived the first run!" He grinned. "Ready for another?"
Mae nodded vigorously, making an enthusiastic, muffled sound against the guard. Her green eyes, visible through the helmet gaps, were wide and bright. Yes. Again. Faster.
He chuckled. "Alright, hold onto your hat. Let’s try a bit more speed this time." He pushed off again.
They made lap after lap. Each descent felt different. The snow texture changed slightly – crunchier near the lift line, softer and quieter on the untouched edges. Liam gradually increased the pace, guiding her through tighter turns. Mae learned to lean her body weight more deliberately, finding a rhythm with the machine. The fear was gone, replaced by a focused exhilaration. The cold air stung her eyes, making them water, but she didn't care. She laughed silently behind the mouthguard, the sound vibrating in her chest. She felt powerful. Contained, yes, but moving through the world, not just observing it from a sterile room. The diaper’s presence was a faint, warm reality check, but even its rustle seemed to sync with the rhythm of the skis.
On their fourth lap, carving a wider arc near the edge of the practice slope, Mae noticed a figure watching them intently. Not casually, but with focused attention. A ski instructor, easily identifiable by his bright red jacket and the cluster of young children nearby, momentarily forgotten. He stood sideways on his skis, poles planted, his gaze fixed on Mae in the sit-ski. Brown hair escaped under his helmet, framing a strong jawline. His eyes, even from this distance, seemed unusually penetrating. Dark, intense.
Liam steered them past. Mae caught a clearer glimpse as they went by. The instructor wasn't looking at the adaptive equipment with curiosity or pity. He was looking at her. At her face. At the excitement in her eyes despite the restraints, the helmet, the mouthguard. He looked intrigued. Arrested. His gaze followed them until they were out of sight around a gentle curve.
Mae felt a flicker of something new, mingling with the adrenaline – self-consciousness, yes, but also a strange warmth. He saw her. Saw past the apparatus. For a split second, as Liam pushed them into a slightly steeper section, she forgot the diaper entirely, forgot the harness, and simply felt the wind and the speed and the unsettling intensity of a stranger’s dark eyes. The snow hissed, the cold burned her cheeks, and for the first time that day, the invigoration held an electric edge. The mountain air tasted less like freedom and more like possibility.
The mountain air tasted less like freedom and more like possibility. Liam pushed harder, the sit-ski slicing faster through the softer snow near the edge. Mae leaned into the steeper pitch, the harness biting, the runners hissing louder, her heart hammering against the padded strap not from fear now, but pure, unadulterated speed. The diaper rustled frantically beneath the layers, a ridiculous percussion to her silent, mouthguard-muffled shout of exhilaration.
They carved wider, faster arcs across the bunny slope, leaving fresh tracks in the powder. Liam called out guidance, his voice crisp in the cold. "Lean right! Good! Feel that edge?" Mae did. She felt the subtle shift in the snow, the controlled slide, the wind whipping tears from her eyes as they banked hard. Each run felt smoother, more intuitive, her body anticipating Liam’s pushes and pulls through the guide bar.
The intense instructor in red was gone when they passed his spot again, replaced by a cluster of wobbly beginners. Mae felt a flicker of disappointment, quickly swallowed by the next surge of speed. They took two more laps, the final one faster still, Liam trusting her balance more, letting the rig run. Mae’s muffled laughter vibrated against the plastic guard; her knuckles white on the useless handles weren’t from terror anymore, but the sheer effort of holding on to the joy. Snow sprayed like diamonds in the sunlight as they skidded to a stop at the base lift for the last time. Liam crouched, breathing heavily, a wide grin splitting his face. "Alright, speed demon. Time to refuel? My treat. That little place over there does killer Rösti."
He pointed with a mittened hand towards a low, timber-framed building nestled against the pines, steam curling invitingly from its chimney. The smell of woodsmoke and frying potatoes cut through the clean mountain air. Mae nodded vigorously, her stomach rumbling in agreement despite the bulky harness. Liam expertly maneuvered the sit-ski off the practice slope and onto a packed path leading to the restaurant’s accessible entrance. The noise of chatter and clattering dishes grew louder as they approached, a stark contrast to the serene whoosh of the slopes.
Inside, the warmth hit Mae like a physical wall after the biting cold. The air was thick with the rich aromas of melted cheese, grilled sausage, and damp wool. Laughter and the clink of beer glasses filled the cozy space, packed with ruddy-cheeked skiers shedding layers. Liam navigated the sit-ski through the throng to a slightly quieter corner table near a frost-rimmed window overlooking the nursery slope. "Right," he said, parking her securely beside the table. "Let's get you sorted."
He knelt, his movements efficient. First, he unclipped the retractable cords tethering her mittens to the sit-ski handles. Her arms felt suddenly heavy, useless weights. Then, he worked on the D-ring tethers securing her ankle and forearm cuffs to the frame. Click. Click. Click. Each release brought a tiny surge of relief, though the cuffs themselves remained firmly buckled. Finally, he unbuckled the broad chest harness and the diagonal straps pinning her into the bucket seat. Mae sagged back slightly, breathing deeper as the constant pressure eased.
Liam stood, then leaned in close to her helmeted head. His fingers found the small clip securing the cord to her mouthguard, fastened near her chin strap. A soft snick echoed near her ear. "Okay, Maeve," he murmured, his breath warm against the cold plastic of her outer helmet. "Let's get that guard out. Open up." He gently tugged the cord, sliding the rigid plastic tray from her mouth.
The sensation was immediate and overwhelming. Cool air rushed over her dry tongue and aching gums. She worked her jaw, stretching muscles cramped from clenching. The chemical taste lingered, metallic and unpleasant. She swallowed hard, her throat scratchy. "Th-thanks," she managed, her voice hoarse and strangely loud to her own ears after hours of silence. It felt raw, unused.
"Better?" Liam asked, pulling off his own helmet and goggles. His blonde hair was flattened, sweaty at the temples. He shrugged out of his thick jacket, revealing a dark thermal top stretched over broad shoulders. He watched her, those blue eyes assessing, perhaps waiting for signs of distress beyond the expected stiffness.
Mae nodded, licking her dry lips. "Yeah. Much." She looked around the bustling restaurant, feeling exposed despite the layers. People glanced their way – the unusual sit-ski, her obvious helmet – but most looked away quickly. It was different than Patricia’s clinical stare or Eleanor’s sharp appraisal. Curious, perhaps pitying, but brief. "It's... loud in here."
"Comes with the territory," Liam said easily, pulling out the chair opposite her and sitting down. He snagged a laminated menu from the holder. "Gets even louder when the après-ski crowd rolls in. So," he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the small table, his gaze direct but not unkind. "Physics grad, huh? Eleanor mentioned Oxford. Quantum stuff? Sounds intense." He scanned the menu, seemingly casual, but Mae felt the weight of the question beneath the surface. Why was she here, like this, trussed up for a bunny slope? He wasn’t asking that, not directly, but it hung in the warm, noisy air between them.
Mae hesitated, the question catching her off guard. Talking about Oxford, about her mind, felt dangerous. It clashed violently with the reality of the diaper compressed beneath her snow pants, the rigid helmet strapped to her head, the leather cuffs still encircling her wrists. She traced a pattern on the condensation forming on her water glass with a mittened fingertip she couldn't really feel. "Um. Yeah. Theoretical. Particle interactions... mostly." Her voice sounded small against the restaurant's din. "It's... abstract. Doesn't translate well to... this." She gestured vaguely at the sit-ski, the cuffs.
Liam’s gaze flickered down to where her mittened hand rested on the table, then back to her face, her eyes visible through the helmet's face opening. He didn't comment on her restraints. "Abstract is good," he said simply. "Keeps the brain sharp. Must be a hell of a switch, though. From equations to..." He paused, searching for the word. "...kinetic learning? Feeling the physics out here instead of just thinking it." He pointed a thumb towards the window, the snowy slopes beyond.
Mae looked out. People were still gliding down, effortless and free. She thought of the wind rushing past, the hiss of the skis, the precise mechanics of the turn. The joy of it. "It was... fun," she admitted, the word feeling foreign but true on her lips. "The speed. The movement." She met his eyes again. "I didn't think... I mean... thank you. For not..." She trailed off, unsure how to articulate it – for not treating me like a malfunctioning object, for letting me feel the wind.
"For not being an arse?" Liam supplied with a wry half-smile. "Basic decency, Maeve. Just doing my job properly." He flagged down a harried-looking waitress. "Two Rösti, extra crispy. One with fried egg, one with bacon. Two hot chocolates. Whipped cream mountains." He looked back at Mae. "Sound good? Fuel for the afternoon." He raised an eyebrow, a silent question: More runs?
Before Mae could answer, a familiar, polished voice cut through the restaurant's cheerful clamor like a shard of ice. "Maeve, darling! There you are. Making the most of the mountain air, I see." Eleanor Ainsworth stood by their table, perfectly framed against the rustic timber wall. She wore sleek black ski pants, a pristine white turtleneck, and an expression of calculated warmth that didn't reach her steely blue eyes. Her gaze swept over Mae, taking in the helmet, the cuffs, the bulky snow gear, then shifted to Liam, sharp and appraising. "And you must be Liam. Patricia mentioned you'd be lunching." She didn't offer her hand, just stood there, an immaculate, chilling presence. The air around their small table seemed to freeze solid. Liam’s easy expression vanished, replaced by a guarded professionalism. Mae instinctively shrank back in the sit-ski, the warmth of the hot chocolate order and the brief, surprising connection with Liam evaporating under her mother’s cold stare. The helmet felt suddenly like a cage.
The helmet felt suddenly like a cage. Eleanor’s polished presence sucked the warmth from the sunlit corner, her smile brittle. “Having a nice time, darling?” The question hung, sharp as the pine scent clinging to her jacket. Liam straightened, his easy posture replaced by stiff attentiveness. “Mrs. Ainsworth.”
“Oh, wonderful, wonderful!” Eleanor chirped, her gaze sweeping over Liam’s thermal top and Mae’s constrained form with equal, unnerving assessment. “Patricia mentioned the runs went splendidly. Our Maeve, conquering the slopes! I am proud.” Her hand landed on Mae’s shoulder, a possessive weight even through the thick snowsuit. Mae flinched, the brief, vibrant memory of speed instantly tarnished. Liam watched Eleanor’s hand, his expression carefully neutral. “She did very well,” he offered, his voice measured. “Picked up the balance quickly.”
“Naturally,” Eleanor beamed, the expression not quite reaching her watchful eyes. “She’s always been clever, our girl. Just needs the right… structure. Isn’t that right, Maeve?” Her fingers tightened briefly. Mae managed a tiny nod, the helmet scraping against the collar of the snowsuit. The restaurant’s cheerful noise seemed to recede, replaced by the pounding of her own pulse. Eleanor turned the full wattage of her social smile on Liam. “And you, Liam. Such a find! Disability Services really outdid themselves. Adapting so well to Maeve’s… specific requirements. The restraints, the helmet protocol. Flawless oversight.” Her compliment felt like a box being checked. “Would you excuse us just a tick? Mother-daughter moment!” Her laugh was bright, artificial.
Before Liam could respond, Eleanor smoothly stepped behind Mae’s sit-ski. Her fingers, cold even through Mae’s layers, found the top of the rear zipper pull on the blue snowsuit. The metallic scritch of the zipper teeth separating cut through the air near Mae’s ear. Cold mountain air instantly seeped through the gap Eleanor created high on Mae’s back. Mae froze, humiliation a hot flood rising up her neck. Liam’s gaze snapped to the action, a flicker of something – discomfort? surprise? – crossing his face before he deliberately looked away, focusing intently on the menu still clutched in his hands. His knuckles were white.
Eleanor tugged the fabric apart efficiently, peeling the snowsuit open down to the small of Mae’s back. The chill intensified, raising goosebumps on Mae’s skin beneath the thermals. Eleanor’s fingers, impersonal and practiced, slid beneath the waistband of Mae’s thermal pants, then the thicker elastic of the diaper beneath. She gave the padding a firm, assessing press near Mae’s hip. Mae closed her eyes behind the helmet’s faceplate, wishing the floor would swallow the sit-ski whole. The cheerful clatter of cutlery, the bursts of laughter from nearby tables – it all felt like a cruel spotlight. She imagined the intense instructor from the slope watching this, those dark eyes seeing everything.
“Plenty of capacity left,” Eleanor announced brightly, her voice carrying just a little too clearly as she withdrew her hand. The zipper rasped upwards swiftly, sealing Mae back into the bulky suit. “Good girl. No little accidents to worry about during your Rösti!” She patted Mae’s shoulder again, a gesture meant to look affectionate. “There now. All sorted.” She beamed at Liam as if sharing a delightful secret. “Can’t have any discomforts spoiling the fun, can we?” The implication hung, ugly and unambiguous. Liam met her gaze, his expression carefully schooled back to bland professionalism, but a muscle ticked faintly in his jaw. “No, ma’am.”
Eleanor smoothed her own pristine turtleneck. “Enjoy your lunch, both of you! Liam, be a dear and have her back at the chalet by three? We have… arrangements later.” Her smile widened, cold and purposeful. “Toodle-oo!” She turned and glided away through the crowded restaurant, leaving behind a vacuum filled only by the returning roar of noise and Mae’s ragged breathing inside her helmet. The scent of frying onions and melted cheese suddenly felt nauseating. Liam slowly lowered the menu. He didn’t speak immediately, his gaze fixed on the spot where Eleanor had vanished. The cheerful atmosphere of the lodge seemed grotesque now, a painted backdrop to the violation Mae held trapped within her rigid shell. The untouched hot chocolate sat between them, its whipped cream peak slowly deflating.