You lay there in the box, listening in silence to your girlfriend working. You knew she loved to create and she was amazing at it. The only issue you had was how often you had ended up mixed in with her creations. You had hoped, being at college you would break that trend, but here you were, looking like a water bottle trapped once more. Every now and then you heard her put something into another cardboard box, before, hours later she turned off her music and spoke.
"Right, let's get these down to the post office," She said to herself cheerfully. Post office? she was mailing these things somewhere off-campus? That was not good. You saw her hands appear and fold the flaps of your box shut, sealing you in darkness. A few seconds later, there was the sound of tape and then Mary picked up your box and others.
Silently you were crying out, begging for your girlfriend to become telepathic and pick up your pleas for attention, but as always, no spontaneous abilities developed and she carried your prison along. You heard voices and conversations as she passed people in the halls, eventually making her way to the post office. You listened numbly as she got each parcel weighed and paid for it before you heard her say goodbye, and you were tossed in a parcel pile to be sorted.
The next few days were both a blur and boring. Moved around, sorted through semi-automated systems, and shipped off somewhere far from campus, far from your girlfriend, far from rescue. When you eventually reached your destination you heard the sound of a doorbell, before shockingly hearing the voice of your mother. She thanked the postman for the parcel and took you inside. You had gone to college to get away from home and be your own person and within a week you had been shipped back to your mother, helpless again.
Trish opened the box and smiled, pulling out the bottle and giving it a light squeeze, she unscrewed the cap and sniffed, getting the strong scent of blueberries.
"Hah, mary is a wonderful girl. I will have to thank her for this" She screwed the lid back over your lips, placed you on the side, and walked out the room. You stayed there, upright on the kitchen counter, silently awaiting your mother's return. You were now miles away from campus, back where you had started, with your mother who thought you were a normal gummy-made bottle. Seeing her sniff you and smell blueberries had crushed you, for a moment you had hoped she would catch your scent and realize the bottle's identity, but that clearly hadn't happened.
A short while later your mother returned, now wearing her gym gear. She casually crossed the room, scooped you up without a thought, and unscrewed the lid. She opened the fridge and got out the water jug. Pouring chilled water down inside you chilled you to your core, but your bottle body showed no sign. As she finished filling you, it felt uncomfortably full, the weight of the water pressing down on your body and pushing against more sensitive parts of your anatomy. She screwed the lid back on and tossed you into her gym bag. You were hit by the earthy smell of her well-used sweat cloth and zipped into darkness.
You spent the uncomfortable journey to the gym feeling pressed on all sides, the cold water filling your insides and the contents of your mother's bag pressing around you. When she finally got to the gym and takes you out of her bag, you felt like you were ready to burst, but of course, in your current shape, you could only put up with the discomfort. You found yourself placed next to the gym equipment as your mother worked out, seeing feet and legs walk past other people, listening to the sounds of your mother breathing hard and grunting. Each time she was finished with a machine, she would grab her sweat cloth that was draped on top of you, use it, then grab you, her hand pressing uncomfortably into your more private areas, indistinguishable from the rest of you as she unscrewed the cap, placed her lips around yours and took a swig of cold, refreshing, blueberry tasting water. For you, it felt like you were being forced to make out with your mother each time, but of course, she was simply drinking from a bottle. She would then screw the lid back on and move to the next machine, starting the process anew.
As your contents were emptied out, you felt less pressure, but when you got too empty, Trish simply refilled you at a fountain tap, putting that pressure back on. While Trish unknowingly drank from her son, you wondered how long you would be stuck like this. No one knew you were back home, your mother likely would think your silence in communication was due to being busy with college work or friends. Everyone you knew, thought you were miles away. Even if they looked for you, it would be on campus, not back with your mother. All you could hope was that Mary realized you were missing soon and figured out where you might have gone. Otherwise, you might be helping your mother at the gym more often.
Back at college, Mary had indeed realized you were missing, but classes were keeping her busy, the girls in the dorm kept wanting to be social and so, while she was keeping an eye out for any sign of you crushed anywhere, her focus was on college. She hadn't even considered the possibility you had been in one of her gummy jars. She kept her gummy in sealed jars so she couldn't mistake you for any crafting material. It was a safety precaution that had avoided mishaps since she started doing it, but now it meant she didn't even think it was an option to consider.
When Trish was finally done with her workout, she drained her bottle of water with a series of thirsty gulps, screwed the lid on, and tossed it back into her bag without a second thought. The blueberry taste in the water was refreshing and she enjoyed her gift from Mary. She hoped both her son and Mary were having a great time at college. She tossed her bag in the car unaware of how close her son was to her, driving back home, eager to shower. The closest you would get to a shower was being placed in the dishwasher and sprayed with hot water and discussing tasting soap. Mentally you kept hoping Mary would call or text your mother and report you missing, perhaps even that crumb of warning might make your mother think about the bottle, but alas, Mary didn't want to worry your mother as she was sure you would turn up like always.
Trish went to the gym every other day, meaning you were used often by your mother, aiding her by providing water in a very uncomfortable way, her hands always seemed to press into the wrong areas and your lips were far too familiar with her own. Other than drinking from you, she paid you no mind. If you weren't being washed for the next use, you simply lived in her gym bag, growing accustomed to the scent of sweat, something that was too faint for normal-sized people to smell as Trish kept most of her stuff clean, but living in the bag gave you a certain close-up experience with the smell.
You mentally cried out for some god, somewhere to cut you a break for once in your life...
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