Chapter 5: Assisted Awakening
The darkness was absolute, a thick velvet nothingness broken only by the rhythmic rush of the white noise and the slow, involuntary suckling the night pacifier demanded. Time dissolved. Mae drifted in a shallow, strap-bound sea, aware of the profound bulk between her legs, the immovable pressure across her waist and thighs, the fleece-lined mittens turning her hands into useless, warm weights.
A click.
A horizontal line of yellow light appeared at the bottom of the door, then widened as it opened. The overhead fixture buzzed on, flooding the nook with a cruel, clarifying glow. Mae blinked, her eyes gummy.
“Rise and shine, sleepyhead!” Patricia’s voice was a chirp in the silent room. She entered, a bundle of fresh linens under one arm. “Did we have a good rest? I’ll bet you did. Nothing like a secure night.”
She set the bundle down on the stool and approached. Her hands were warm when they touched Mae’s cheek, then moved to the small lock at her throat. A key appeared, turned with a soft snick. The zipper hissed down from neck to groin, releasing the sealed-in warmth. The waist and thigh straps were unbuckled, then the chest tether unclipped.
“Let’s get you upright. Easy does it.”
Mae’s body was stiff, uncooperative. Patricia helped her sit, then swing her legs off the platform. The thick nighttime diaper sagged heavily between her thighs. Patricia knelt, her fingers making quick work of the tapes. The cool air hit Mae’s skin as the sodden padding was pulled away. The wipes followed, their citrus scent sharp and astringent.
“Much better,” Patricia cooed, balling up the old diaper. “Now, for the day ahead.”
The new diaper was thinner than the nighttime one but still substantial. It was a crisp, medical white. Patricia positioned it, tapped the front to check the fit, and fastened the tapes with a crisp, final sound. Then she guided Mae to her feet and toward a panel on the wall Mae hadn’t noticed before. With a push, it unfolded downward, revealing a padded vinyl table, like those in a nursery. A set of restraints dangled from its sides.
“Up and back,” Patricia instructed, patting the surface.
Mae obeyed, letting herself be half-lifted onto the table. She lay back, staring at the ceiling. Patricia secured a wide strap across her abdomen—not tight, but firmly present. Then she picked up a clean onesie from her bundle. It was short-sleeved, made of a thin, breathable cotton in a pale lavender.
“Arms up, sweet pea.”
Mae raised her arms, and the fabric was slipped on, settled over her shoulders. Patricia zipped it up from the crotch, leaving it open at the top. Next came the overalls. They were a soft corduroy in a faded moss green. Patricia guided Mae’s legs into the holes, pulled the straps over her shoulders, and fastened the buckles. She left the crotch snaps—three large, plastic fasteners—undone.
“For easy access,” she said, giving one of the snaps a little tap. “Efficiency is kindness, isn’t it?”
From a different pocket, Patricia produced Mae’s soft-shell helmet. The hard-shell one with its visor and chin cup was placed on the shelf. The soft padding settled over Mae’s head, a familiar, lighter pressure. It felt strangely like a piece of her own clothing, in a way the rigid helmet never had.
“Now,” Patricia said, her tone shifting to conspiratorial. She held up two pacifier clips. One was a simple black plastic ribbon. The other was a silicone cord with multicolored stars threaded onto it. “A little choice to start your day. Which speaks to you?”
Mae stared. The question was so small, yet it felt cavernous. Her mouth, freed from the night pacifier, felt dry and empty. After the locked onesie, the straps, the total control, this minuscule decision was paralyzing. She lifted a trembling finger and pointed to the stars.
“Excellent choice! Adds a bit of playful flair.” Patricia beamed as if Mae had chosen a prize. She clipped the starred cord to the strap of Mae’s overalls, then fastened the plain silicone pacifier to its end. It dangled against her chest, a little pendant of infantility. “There. All set.”
Patricia unfastened the abdominal strap and helped Mae slide off the table. She stood her up, giving her shoulders a gentle squeeze. “You look perfect. Ready for a wonderful first full day.”
She guided Mae to the door, her hand a firm, friendly pressure on the small of her back. The hallway outside was brighter, alive with muted activity. A young man in scrubs wheeled a laundry bin past, nodding at Patricia. From somewhere down the hall, Mae heard a muffled, rhythmic thumping and a low, soothing voice saying, “The stim pad is right here, Simon. Use the pad.”
Patricia steered her around a corner. “First, a little hydration and meds at the nurse’s station, then we’ll head to the Soft Play Courtyard. You’re going to love it. It’s our crown jewel.”
The nurse’s station was a curved desk of blond wood. A different nurse, younger with a severe ponytail, smiled a thin, professional smile. “Mae Parsons? Morning supplements.”
She handed Patricia a small paper cup with two gel capsules and a sealed, flexible pouch with a twist-off cap, like a large baby food pouch. It was filled with a opaque, peach-colored liquid.
“Open up, Mae,” Patricia said, holding the capsules.
Mae opened her mouth. Patricia placed the capsules on the back of her tongue, then brought the pouch to her lips. “Suck gently, now. It’s apples and peaches, with your vitamins and a little mild relaxant. Helps take the edge off the new environment.”
The liquid was cloyingly sweet, with a chalky, vitamin undertaste. Mae sucked obediently, the pouch collapsing. When it was empty, Patricia dropped it into a bin marked ‘Compostable.’
“See? Easy.” Patricia took Mae’s hand, her grip warm and inescapable. “Now for the fun part.”
They walked down another corridor, this one lined with windows looking into various rooms. Mae glimpsed a room with adults sitting at low tables, using large, chunky crayons on newsprint. Another held a woman wrapped tightly in a blue foam tube, rocking slowly in a pod-shaped chair.
The hallway ended at a pair of double doors with porthole windows. Patricia pushed them open.
The air changed. It was warmer, humid, and smelled of clean plastic and warmed foam. The sound was a soft echo of muted voices and squeaks.
The Soft Play Courtyard was vast, a climate-controlled bubble under a high, vaulted glass ceiling. The entire floor, as far as Mae could see, was a landscape of giant, interlocking foam shapes: stairs, cubes, ramps, tunnels, all covered in bright, wipe-clean vinyl in primary colors. A netted enclosure held a sea of pastel-colored ball pit balls. Along one wall were tactile panels: spinning gears, rows of different textured fabrics, panels of clicking plastic tiles.
About a dozen other people were in the space, all adults. Some wore helmets similar to Mae’s. Several wore overalls or simplified jumpsuits. Two were in harnesses tethered to slow-moving ceiling tracks that followed them as they shuffled along a padded pathway. Staff in pastel polo shirts moved among them, sometimes guiding a hand, sometimes just observing.
A young man with a beard and a polo shirt embroidered with ‘Havenwood Guide’ approached, his smile wide and easy. “Patricia! And you must be Mae. Welcome to the playground.”
“Mae, this is Joel. He’ll be your guide for this morning’s exploration session,” Patricia said, transferring Mae’s hand to Joel’s. His grip was just as firm.
“Thrilled to have you,” Joel said. “The first rule of soft play is there are no rules. Well, except safety. We don’t climb the pink ramps without a spotter, but that’s just common sense.” He winked. “What calls to you? The ball pit is always a fantastic sensory experience. Or the tactile wall? We have a new panel with silicone nubs that’s just divine.”
Mae looked out over the surreal, childish landscape. A woman in her forties was sitting at the base of a foam staircase, methodically rubbing a piece of blue faux fur against her cheek. A man was lying on his back in the middle of the ball pit, letting the spheres cascade over his hands, a look of blank tranquility on his face.
It was all so gentle. So safe. So horrifying.
Joel gave her hand a little tug. “Let’s start with a perimeter walk. Get the lay of the land.”
He led her onto the foam floor. It gave slightly under her weight, creating a disorienting, unstable feeling. With each step, the unsnapped flaps of her overalls brushed against the front of the thick diaper, a constant, crinkling reminder. The pacifier clip swayed with her movement.
“You’re doing great,” Joel said, his voice a steady, encouraging murmur. “Just getting used to the new inputs. That’s all this is. A place to process input without any demand. No performance. No expectations.”
They passed a woman being gently helped down a low slide by a guide. She landed in a pile of foam blocks and let out a soft, genuine laugh.
“See?” Joel said. “Joy. Simple, uncomplicated joy. That’s what we cultivate here.”
He stopped at the tactile wall. “Give this a try.” He took Mae’s hand and placed her palm on a sheet of ridged rubber. “Now this.” He moved her fingers to a panel of cool, smooth metal beads that rolled under her touch. “Your sensory profile mentioned you’re a seeker. This wall is like a buffet for your nervous system.”
Mae let her fingers be moved. The textures registered—the scratch of the rubber, the slippery coolness of the beads—but they felt distant, as if happening to someone else. Her mind was back in the quiet nook, in the swallowing dark, where the only expectation was stillness.
A loud, happy shriek echoed from the ball pit. Joel chuckled. “Someone’s having a breakthrough morning.”
He turned Mae to face him, his expression kind and intent. “Your only job today, Mae, is to exist here. Let yourself be curious. Or don’t. There’s no wrong way. You’re safe. You’re provided for. You’re among friends.”
He gestured to the vast, colorful room. “This is your world now. Isn’t it beautiful?”
Mae looked past him, at the adults playing, resting, stimming, all under the soft, watchful eyes of the guides. The peach-colored supplement sat heavily in her stomach. The pacifier tugged lightly at her overalls strap. The unlocked onesie felt like a threat.
She gave a small, stiff nod.
Joel’s smile widened. “I knew you’d see it. Let’s go see if the spinning disk is free. It provides lovely vestibular input.”
He led her deeper into the foam, his hand a warm, permanent bracket around her own. Mae followed, her steps quiet on the yielding surface, moving toward the gentle, welcoming heart of the trap.