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Lara could have laughed out loud.
A 'busy life'?! All he did was play cards with his loutish friends, smoke, and watch idiotic sports programs. Oh, and his nasty pornography habit - she had glimpsed the sort of websites he enjoyed. They featured girls with obvious plastic surgery who were often tied up, distressed, and engaged in all manner of degrading sex acts. She had even overheard him bragging about how he much he enjoyed finishing on womens' faces! She never wanted to know that much about his sexual preferences, and she couldn't understand why a woman would consent to something so degrading.
But here she was.
"Please, Uncle Errol? I made a mistake, and I need your help... Pretty please?"
For the first time in her life she was begging. And of course, it had to be in front of her hated uncle which made it all the more shameful. He chuckled a little.
"Hahaha, okay, I'll do it! I'm not a heartless beast, and it was worth it just to hear you say 'pretty please.'"
That made it all worth it for her, too! The doctor took the phone, and began having a more logistical conversation with Uncle Errol. She said that she would tell him their location soon, and what documents to get in order, other things like that. Then she hung up.
"Well, Lara, I think you've made the right decision. Your uncle should be here within a few days, and until then, I see no reason you can't have television privileges! Something to pass the time. Nurse, add the smart screen to her room."
Although Nurse Cerys still brought Lara to that pink hellscape, the girl was in brighter spirits than she had been in a long time.
It didn't last long.
The smart screen she had been so excited about turned out to be a large flat screen that was set just outside of her reach. She was not given any remote control for it, so had no way of changing the channel or even turning the volume on. Its content was questionable, at best. Mostly foreign soap operas that Lara had never seen or heard of before, and loosely connected by a similar theme. The theme was servant girls and their wealthy employers.
One of them was a Hindi serial that followed an unbelievably rich princess through the drama of her life. For some reason, there was a huge emphasis on her feet - the director usually showed what footwear she had on, and many of the scenes took place with her soles facing the camera. There was a recurring character - a pretty girl dressed in a comparatively drab outfit who was usually pictured kneeling at her feet, fussing about them one way or another.
Their relationship was distinctly unequal - during one heated exchange the princess even slapped the girl using her foot! Lara watched bored and a little weirded out - she always thought feet were dirty and unpleasant things, even ones as clean and well-cared for as the princess's. They were almost a phobia for her.
Lara wanted to look away, but there was something hypnotic about the vibrant colors and the human figures on the screen. What else did she have to look at, anyway? She would enjoy anything compared to the muted pink of her room - the screen eased her confinement even if it was just to a certain degree. With nothing else nearby to hold her attention, she got lost in these idiotic serials, often stroking her tattoos absentmindedly as gorgeous women pranced about in smart outfits to the envy of all.
The programming seemed to change all the time, but it slanted towards a puzzling end.
When Lara first started watching, it seemed to be curated for more narrative-based stories where feet played a relatively minor role. But as she got more invested (and more absorbed in the pleasure that her tattoos provided), the programing would increasing amounts of emphasis on feet and servitude. One time, she realized she had been watching with rapt attention for an entire half hour as a pretty Japanese businesswoman got a foot massage from her eager female assistant while taking a phone call. As soon as Lara jerked to attention, the programming smoothly transitioned to the other women on the conference call - each one receiving highly personal services from similarly-dressed interns.
Then the call wrapped up, and the next scene showed a girl eating a lavish feast served to her by a scullery maid. Was this what the Japanese businesswomen were talking about - they were media executives or something?
Lara's mouth watered as she beheld the roast beef, the duck soup, and the macarons in a breathtaking array of color. It stayed on this for quite some time but then, the scullery maid crawled beneath the table to take care of her mistress's feet. The show cut between the rich girl enjoying her delicious meal as her servant knelt before her stocking-clad soles, rubbing them dutifully. At one point, the rich girl took a bite of the macaron and declared that her maid must try it, and held it beneath the table for the girl to eat from her hand, like a dog! Why couldn't it just stay on the food?
Like it or not, the TV did help the time pass more quickly.
She was still visited at least twice daily by Nurse Cerys, and fed the disgusting pink mush, and used the plastic bedpan as she had been doing all along. The taste of the food never improved, and it never got worse; it was always perfectly bland and tiresome to her refined palette. Her tongue could distinguish over a dozen undertones within a single sip of wine, but that part of her mind seemed to go fallow as she swallowed mouthful after mouthful of oppressive gunk. The sleep deprivation the and sensory deprivation seemed to disrupt her ability to access more long-term memories, and it absolutely wore down her resistance to the institution's oppressive rule.
Whenever she resolved to remember her own life, she was so harried an uncertain that she had the unfortunate tendency to conflate it with the television she had been watching. It was similar to the way a person might picture themselves as the superhero during an action movie, or some kind of celebrity. This lead to odd daydreams, or maybe they were hallucinations, of herself as one of the servant girls on T.V.. As repulsive as these fantasies were - often centered around rubbing feet (something Lara abhorred) or doing menial chores - they were badly-needed mental stimulation and this was enough reason to let them play out. Rationally, she knew this wasn't a healthy change. It felt like she was developing a fixation, or an obsessive habit that reinforced itself with every intrusive fantasy.
When she was fed, she always remembered to say, "thank you, nurse" after each bite of food, and opened her mouth wide to show she had swallowed it all, too. It alarmed her how quickly this new life became routine - more and more her thoughts revolved around the smartscreen's most recent program than about escape plans or her own indignation at her mistreatment. Her life contracted to fit neatly between those four padded pink walls, and it was easier to bide her time, waiting for outside help.
One day, she saw something on the TV that pulled her out of the pleasant, sexually-charged haze that she had been in for an untold amount of time. It was a girl writing in her journal! This reminded her of her own journals, and the thought of someone finding them made her blood run cold.
She had, at a young age, attended an inspirational talk about storytelling and how it relates to achieving personal goals. The speaker was a passionate multi-millionaire who argued very persuasively that everyone should keep a detailed journal of their lives, and they should keep it well-organized by adding 'tags' to each entry.
He said that even the most embarrassing and personal things should be recorded, examined, and archived. Lara took his advice to heart, going home that day to begin her journal habit that she continued diligently for several years. Per his suggestion, she even had an index in each of her journals - a reader could look up "foods, that I enjoy" or "foods, that I hate" and "feminism - importance of," or "feet - unpleasant encounters."
If Errol searched her room, he would find her most recent journal in the same drawer where she kept her panties and a emergency reserve of cash. There was some marijuana in there too; Lara didn't like the stuff but it helped her sleep sometimes. She couldn't shake the mental picture of him sitting on her bed, smoking her weed, and grinning as he read her most private observations with her panties strewn all about. It was so... offensive.
She couldn't help but feel completely frustrated as the bad thoughts kept running through her head. She had made many mentions of Errol in her journal, and although they were all the stark truth, he would be deeply offended if he saw any them. And that wasn't even taking into consideration how deeply and intimately he would know her mind if he perused all her secret books. She even wrote about some sex dreams she had!
What if he showed them to her friends?!
This recurring thoughts dampened Lara's spirits for quite some time, nagging away at her by creating a cruel reminder of the world outside these infinitely secure walls. Regardless of how much mental energy she devoted to it, she couldn't find a bright side anywhere. Soon, Lara gave herself to escapism, deliberately focusing more on the smartscreen's display and following her daydreams even deeper to forget about her problems. It was uncharacteristic of her, and she knew it.
It only helped to a point. After a while, the programming got even more strange.
She found herself engrossed in a rather offensive pop music video. In it, women with big bubble butts shook them to an unheard rhythm, while women with smaller backsides watched on with envy. A few of the thicker women stormed into a yoga studio where mostly thin white women were in a variety of poses, and took over. Lara watched as a pretty brunette buried her face in a thick Latina's butt, and judging by the expression on her face she clearly wasn't enjoying it. Meanwhile, other fat-bottomed women squatted down on women who were lying on their backs, jiggling their ample bottoms against incredulous womens' faces.
The tone of the video made it seem like the women were too polite to object, and just accepted the smothering that left them red-faced and rattled. When that video finished, Lara was relieved when the next video was a Korean drama that she had become invested in, and she tried to forget both the fat-bottomed women and her secret diaries. It was easier to think about society's weird fixation with womens' backsides because it was so inconsequential. For the record, she didn't see the appeal whatsoever.
An unknown amount of time passed.
Lara continued using certain metrics to keep track of the time, in an effort to retain some control over her life. Things like the growth of her hair and nails were useful, but mostly they related to her use of the bedpan and her bathing schedule. It was an imperfect system, though - the lack of sleep was seriously taking its toll on her cognitive abilities. She found it hard to keep numbers in mind for long. Soon she was struggling to remember: have I been fed 28 times, or 24? Maybe it was 30? Her menstrual cycle would have been a perfect marker, but apparently they gave her some kind of shot that prevented her from getting her period.
"Probably a birth control shot," Lara thought to herself.
She wanted to believe that it was for cleanliness's sake, to avoid dealing with tampons, but it was still alarming that they had found it necessary to make decisions about her birth control.
"And they even used some low-quality drug too, or else I'm having a bad reaction to it. My breasts feel tender and sensitive all the time, and I'm so moody. I cried at that stupid commercial with the soldier coming home to his pregnant wife!"
She was consciously ignoring the fact that she was constantly feeling horny.
If it weren't for those stupid cameras, she would have certainly masturbated by this point. But no matter where she went in her little cell there was at least one lens pointed at her, and she refused to give her captors that sort of footage. Her compromise wasn't effective, either: stroking her tattoos just felt like she was venting the tiniest amount of her pent-up frustration, or more accurately she was just adding to it. It felt as though she were obsessively setting the table for a dinner guest who enjoyed keeping her waiting. A frustrated young virgin, making sure the forks and knives were perfectly straight, all the glasses spotless for her badly-needed guest.
"Your Uncle Errol is here," Nurse Cerys said one day, catching Lara completely off-guard. In fact, she walked in on the girl crying over some glurge that she would have found insipid just last month!
Lara started. She wasn't mentally prepared for this whatsoever. It also dawned on her that she was in the nude - something that had become routine for her a while ago. Her thoughts became frantic and jumbled now that there was no comforting TV to focus on. It had been such an annoyingly long time since she had a real conversation with anyone. Any opportunity to do so was a good thing. Still, something about this set-up was dangerous. She didn't trust anyone here one iota.
"Wha- is he coming here?" Lara asked, terrified at the thought of him barging into her cell.
"No, silly!" Nurse Cerys said, "You are going to see him in the visiting room. First we need to get you ready, though. Hands forward, please."
"Yes, nurse," was Lara's automatic reply.
The nurse put a sturdy pair of handcuffs around Lara's wrists, and guided her out of the room. Again Lara enjoyed the feel of actual floor against her bare feet, but she was disheartened by the fact that they were going the opposite direction from the doctor's office - deeper into the asylum. At the end of the hallway, a door opened, and they went into a hallway that had actual wooden doors punctuating its length!
It reminded her somewhat of the halls of a school, except for the fact that these doors only had the smallest of windows on them, and even those were covered in thick iron bars. She attempted to look into the rooms, only to find out that the glass was coated in some kind of opaque film. They went into one of the rooms, which had a little table on which was laid Lara's Tomb Liberator outfit!
At least, that's what she thought at first.
A closer examination revealed that it might have been inspired by her outfit, but that it had undergone considerable alterations. Nurse Cerys undid Lara's handcuffs, but still insisted on dressing the girl. She held out the olive drab shorts for Lara to step into, and pulled them up her legs. When they were snugly resting on her hips, Lara saw that these things were more like retro booty shorts than her old, functional hiking shorts - they even lacked pockets! Worse, they had an unfortunate way of bunching up. The backside reached far between her cheeks, giving her the sensation of a permanent wedgie, and the front stopped just short of creating a cameltoe appearance!
The top was no better. It was a ballet wrap top or more accurately, a quarter of one, that had long, flowing sleeves that flared out to cover her hands when she let them fall to her sides. No bra, either, and her breasts were pushed up and together by a loose sash tied in a ribbon across her chest.
Altogether, she looked like she was at some naughty slumber party - the long sleeves and bare midriff especially gave her a disarming appearance. It was quite different from how she normally dressed when Errol visited, which skewed towards modest trousers and sensible blouses.
"There must be something else I can wear," Lara protested when it became obvious that this was the whole of her outfit.
"Sorry, no," Nurse Cerys responded, "it's this or nothing."
It wasn't clear to Lara what she meant - nothing, as in she would go back to her solitary cell, or nothing as in seeing Errol in the nude? The twisted logic of this place could allow for either one, and again Lara was forced into making an uncomfortable decision. She felt like she would melt her brain if she stared at that screen for any longer, but even that didn't make her choice much easier.
"Alright, let's go."
Down the hallway, and to another door they arrived into a visitation room, or something like it. There was a metallic stool set into the ground, at a much lower height than the leather chair facing it. Not much else, except for video cameras. Nurse Cerys prompted Lara to sit on the stool of course, and stood nearby while they waited for Errol to arrive. Lara's back was turned towards the door, and she was kept waiting for an obnoxious amount of time. All the time she wondered: am I making the right decision here? What's the best way to approach this, to get me out of here?
The door opened and Lara's heart jumped to her throat.
Her "Uncle" Errol came into the room, bedecked in an expensive suit and carrying a briefcase. Lara suspected he paid for this stuff using her money - it was much better than his usual style - and it aggravated her that he was so covered by his own clothing while she was so exposed by hers. This was the exact sort of things she was critical of in the media: how women were depicted as beautiful objects while men had more agency.
"Lara! I had to go through hell to see you, you won't believe how hard they made it!"
He became way too familiar with her way too fast. As a greeting, he leaned down and kissed her on the cheek, a little too close to her mouth, and she clenched her jaw at his boldness. She would have never allowed him to do that back in her manor, and he knew it. Judging by the strong aroma, he had smoked a cigar just minutes before getting here. Disgusting - she nearly turned green at the foul scent, and he didn't even seem to care about her discomfort!
He sat down, and instead of bringing out some legal documents as she had hoped, he pulled out a small plastic cup and a tin of chewing tobacco.
"I- I am more focused on how to get out of here. Did you contact my solicitor?" Lara asked as sweetly as she could under the circumstances.
"Gah, my hands are all full. Lara, be a dear and hold this cup for me," Errol responded, completely ignoring her question.
She winced a little - was this some head game? She didn't want to hold his spittoon cup, that was revolting!
"Patients cannot hold objects," Nurse Cerys said in an urgent tone, walking closer to make sure that nothing passed between them.
"Well, I can't very well hold it myself," Errol replied, "It's bad luck! And there's no table... Can't she hold it between her legs or something? I have good aim."
Lara was incensed! He was really pushing the envelope now, but she needed to know what was in that briefcase. It could very well be the key to her freedom.
"That would be permissible," Nurse Cerys said.
"Well, Lara, what do you say? Help me out? I really need my nicotine - otherwise I'll have to go out and smoke. Or just be in a bad mood."
"I suppose so," Lara answered.
"Great! We'll just put it between those thighs - shouldn't be an issue holding it there, with how thick they are!"
Thus Lara was subjected to the humiliation of taking her Uncle Errol's spittoon cup and holding it between her legs for him to use while they spoke. He started in right away, scooting his chair much closer to her and leaning forward to spit into the cup that was mere inches from her sex.
"Anyway, I did some research on who that Dr. Yeung is that you assaulted. Bad move, by the way. Turns out she is extremely well-connected in some very dark circles. That's about all I can say under the circumstances," he said, pointing to the cameras that surrounded them.
"But here's the main thing: she was actually going to be honored at a ceremony later that night. A lifetime achievement award, in front of all her colleagues and family. Then you broke her nose. She had to cancel the appearance, and have someone accept the award for her. She is really, really mad about that."
