Finally, it does.

From the shadowed alcove where she’d been trembling in silence, Gina froze as the hallway echoed with a sound she’d been praying for—Ernie opening the apartment door.

“Okay Bert. You can come in now,” he called out, cheerful and unaware.

Gina’s breath caught. She didn’t move, barely dared to blink.

“Alright. You bet I can come in!” came Bert’s reply, his voice closer now.

A moment later, the door slammed shut.

Gina’s entire body sagged under the weight of relief. Her knees nearly buckled. Her muscles screamed from exhaustion, and the pressure in her bladder spiked dangerously high, as if it were punishing her for letting herself feel safe, even for a second.

She gritted her teeth and tightened her grip. No time to rest. No time to breathe.

This was her chance.

She burst out of the alcove like a shot.

Her bare feet slapped the tile floor, fast and ****. Her hands stayed locked between her legs, fingers digging in, elbows tucked in tight, forcing her shoulders to hunch forward and her chest to bounce freely with every step. Her breasts jolted with the motion, unshielded and ignored—every ounce of focus trained on not wetting herself.

Her mind screamed, Go! Go! Go!—her body screaming even louder.

“Almost there… almost there…” she panted under her breath, taking the stairs two at a time. Every step jostled her bladder. Every impact made her eyes water.

She was shaking—legs burning, lungs heaving, bladder pulsing. Her muscles had long since passed their limits, but she **** herself to keep running. She had to. There was no other option.

The stairwell blurred around her. The hallway above might as well have been miles away.

“I can’t… I can’t hold it much longer…” The thought clawed at her, and she squeezed harder, gasping as a fresh wave of pressure surged through her.

Her feet hit the landing. She didn't stop.

Her apartment door came into view. The sight nearly undid her.

Almost. Just a few more steps.

She **** herself forward, panting now, sweat running down her face and neck. Her hands were still clamped down tight, her arms trembling with the strain, fingers aching, nails biting into her own skin.

Gina finally reached her door. Trembling. ****. She stumbled the last step forward and seized the doorknob with her right hand—clammy, slick with nervous sweat, fingers barely able to grasp it through the trembling.

Her left hand never left its place between her thighs. It remained locked tight against her throbbing bladder, fingers dug deep, pressing upward with all the strength she had left. Her legs twisted together, knees bent inward, her feet shifting and rocking as she bounced ever so slightly in place.

She turned the knob.

Note: This chapter composed with the help of ChatGPT.