He didn't deserve to be here. He would have told anyone who listened that, and he honestly did believe it. Edward Nygma did not at all deserve to be here, and if that damned Batman had left him well enough alone, he wouldn't be. Never mind the fact that he did not consider himself to be crazy (how often people mistook genius for insanity!), he knew he was justified in his actions.
All he had been doing was trying to cover up his past, a past that should never have been revealed to the public in the first place. It wasn't his fault that his plans had backfired, anymore than it was that the whole debacle had started in the first place. He should have been allowed to carry out his revenge peacefully and move on with his life.
But that didn't really go over well with the jury, and that was how he found himself in Arkham Asylum for a period of rehabilitation that would last for an unknown amount of time. And there wasn't a thing he could do about it until he formulated some plan of escape, so for the time being, he had nothing to do but lie in his cell in between his meetings with the various psychologists.
This led to quite a few impromptu naps during the day, so, by nightfall, he was finding it incredibly difficult to fall asleep. This problem was only increased by an annoying pressure on his bladder that he was trying his hardest to ignore. He had managed to avoid such a predicament all day, but he had had to drink something at some point, and it was hitting him now.
He shut his eyes again, trying to push the thought out of his mind. If he could just fall asleep, it would be morning before he knew and then...well, what then? He would still have to pee, but much worse. The problem would not be solved by sleeping and he knew that, but there was no true solution to the problem at hand.
And the problem at hand happened to be that his cell was behind a glass window. A very see-through glass window. And there were people around, and though he was pretty sure the guy directly across from him did nothing but stare off into space all day, the space he stared into was dangerously close to Eddie's cell and there was always the chance that he was paying perfect attention and was watching, and he would see and-
He was shy. Despite his arrogance that he wore like an extra suit, he was painfully shy, particularly about matters of the bathroom. And the mere thought of relieving himself where somebody might see him caused his face to turn a dark red and his knees to tremble. It was out of the question.
But so was wetting himself, and though he wasn't bursting quite yet, he knew that was a possibility if he didn't go soon. There were bathrooms in the offices of his psychologists that he could use in relative privacy if he could get through the humiliating agony of asking them first, but he would have to last all night before his morning session, and if he couldn't sleep through it, the wait would be absolute agony.
He did not know if it would even be possible for him to hold it all night when he had not gone all day and his bladder was filling more and more by the minute, the pressure becoming greater. It would most likely not be possible, but he could not stand the thought of somebody seeing him and if his neighbor did not go to sleep, he would not be able to use the toilet in his cell.
He rolled over on his bed, rubbing his legs together a bit as he did. His need was increasing at a faster rate than he had expected, and he supposed that was due to his nerves. Of course, his anxiety over needing somewhere private to relieve himself would only make the problem worse. It was hilariously ironic how things worked like that, but he was not particularly amused at the moment.
If he just ignored the man across the hall, who probably was ignoring him in return, it would all be over with in no time, but no matter how he tried to convince himself to do just that, he could not. He knew that he could try as hard as possible, and he still would not be able to overcome his ridiculous bladder shyness.
He grit his teeth crossing his legs tightly and rocking back and forth on his bed. He was getting to the point where he was incredibly desperate, and it hadn't really been that long. There was no way he was going to make it. His bladder was so swollen that if he ran a hand over his stomach, he could feel a bump from it- but when he did this, even his slight touch was agony, so he stopped immediately.
Just get up and go , he told himself. It's not that hard. But he knew that it was that hard for him, and, damn it all, if he didn't get over his issues soon, he might burst. He had been in quite a few desperate situations in the past, but he could never remember having to pee this badly.
He felt close to tears when a spurt escaped, and reflexively grabbed his crotch to stem the flow. He blushed heavily as he realized what he was doing, but it felt so much better that he could not bring himself to stop. His bed squeaked a bit beneath his as he squirmed, crossing his legs a bit tighter around his hand.
His bladder ached, practically begging him for relief, but he held on, his mind still too conflicted. He wanted to use the toilet like a regular person, he wanted to not care about the situation as much as he did, he wanted to end the throbbing pain in his lower abdomen, and he wanted to avoid wetting himself at all costs, but his neighbor was still awake and still staring (Eddie was facing away, so he couldn't see all the crotch grabbing, at least). And as long as that was the case, he would not be able to go.
When he leaked again, he wanted to sob, but of course, he didn't. He just clenched the fist of his free hand and bit down hard on the inside of his cheek. His face was a bright red both from his humiliation and the sheer effort of holding it.
He was so full he felt like a well-placed nudge would cause his bladder to pop, and every movement gave him a feeling of being sloshed. He was not going to last much longer, and he knew it, and though it took all of his willpower to do it, he stood up. Good. That was progress.
The harder part was actually doing it, but a spasm shot through him that caused him to double over, grabbing himself even tighter. He looked over his shoulder to see his neighbor, in the same pose, with the same facial expression as all day. He really wasn't paying a bit of attention to what Eddie was doing. That was good. He couldn't listen to his shyness anymore anyway.
He could barely walk, he was so full and close to losing control, and each step he took jostled his bladder and caused another leak. He clamped down and took delicate steps until at last he reached his destination.
He realized too late that he was not at all accustomed to the Arkham jumpsuits, and that he did not know the most convenient way out of it for this. He could take it off at the shoulders, but that seemed like such excess for a simple task, and if someone walked by, it would take him too much time to get it back on...
His over-thinking turned out to be his downfall, and he teared up, quietly sobbing, “No,” as he felt his bladder give out, a strong torrent of piss gushing out. His gray jumpsuit quickly darkened as the wet patch spread, running down his legs and splashing on the hard, white floor.
His shoulders shook as he tried to fight off tears, his face burning. He really and truly had done it; he had wet himself like a child with a toilet right there . He would have to tell a guard what he had done so he could get clean clothes and the puddle taken care of, and soon everyone wold know what had happened to him.
His bladder cramped from how distended it had been. He had peed for a full minute, and still his neighbor seem completely oblivious, proving that he could have gone a lot sooner with no problem. The relief was overwhelming, but so was the humiliation.
He knew now that he could not wait out his rehabilitation. He would have to find a way to escape soon, both to avoid the jeers he would surely get once the story got around, and to avoid ever ending up in this situation again.