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“God, I hope they hurry the fuck up,” John muttered, grabbing at his crotch again as he glared at Paul. “This is your fault.”
“I’m not apologising for finding the best hiding spot.”
John huffed. “I mean, you knew the cabinet had a child lock on it. Cynthia put it on there, and you had to undo it to open the bloody cabinet.”
“But we’re in the basement. They won’t even think to check down here in the laundry room.”
“So you’re admitting we’re stuck.”
Paul laughed at him. “Oh, relax. They’ll find us… eventually.” When his friend glared at him, he rolled his eyes in return. “Look, this is as much your fault as it is mine.”
“My fault?!” he exploded.
“You got in the cabinet, too!”
John huffed. He knew that Paul was right, but he needed somebody to blame for the situation. “I know. I just… we’ve been in here for a while, and it’s just not looking too good for me.”
“Sorry. We’ll be out soon enough.”
-
They weren’t. For another hour or two (they weren’t sure how long they were in there), John held his piss, but it only got harder and harder. Paul didn’t complain when he wouldn’t stop his wriggling around, figuring his friend couldn’t help it.
When another while went by, the bassist started to beat on the cabinet door, hoping that either George or Ringo would hear him. This game was going on too long.
But the beating on the door got annoying after a while, and nobody came to the rescue, so he eventually had to stop.
And John has only gotten worse, as Paul had noticed he looked as if he would cry. He didn’t mention it, but the older man did start to cry, he opened his mouth to tell him it would be okay.
But he was too late. After hours of waiting, John’s bladder had had enough abuse. It painfully contracted, and that was the end. John gasped as piss sprayed against his pants, soaking them instantly and starting to puddle underneath him on the floor of the cabinet.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered to Paul.
“John, it’s fine. Let’s just find a way out of here…”
“There’s no way out of here! We’re gonna be here until they find us!” He got quiet. “What day is it?”
“Sunday.”
John sighed. “Laundry day. Cynthia will be down here soon, then. I guess we just wait and then beat on the door again.”
Paul nodded, but they could hardly see in the darkness. “We can do that. And John?”
“Yes?”
“This really isn’t your fault… it’s both of ours.” He laughed, and so did John
“God, I hate you.”
Then, they heard a door and footsteps, and Paul immediately started to beat on the door.
“Oh, shit!” they both heard as a basket clattered to the floor. “What the hell?”
“Cyn,” Paul said. “It’s us. We’ve been stuck in here for hours.”
“Paul?” She bent down to open up the cabinet, and was met with both men covering their eyes, letting them adjust to the light. “John? God, the others went home. I didn’t know you were still hiding.”
Paul crawled out of the cabinet, cringing at the wetness on his pants beginning to cool. When John got out, Cynthia glanced down at his pants.
“What happened?”
“Four fucking hours,” John grunted, blushing madly. “That’s what happened. And they just bloody left us alone down here.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, not knowing what else to say.
“Not your fault,” Paul replied, sensing how uncomfortable she had gotten. “John, I’m gonna head home, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Paul, I’m sor—“
Paul shook his head. “Don’t be. Bye.”
“Bye.”
-
When Paul got home, Jane was sitting on the couch, and she turned around when he walked in.
“Did you have fun?” she asked, and then she saw the mess of his pants, and raised an eyebrow.
“I’ll clean the car seat,” he said with a sigh.
“What…?”
“John and I got stuck in a cabinet, and he had to piss. Let’s just say he didn’t quite make it.”
“Oh, God.”
“At least he didn’t fuckin’ hurt himself,” Paul muttered as he started in his way to the toilet. “My fault, anyway.”