"Dr. Ana, I'm leaking milk constantly now—it's nonstop, soaking everything!" I complained, shifting uncomfortable in the wheelchair, my red shirt already darkening with fresh wet patches across my swollen chest, green pants hugging my plush thighs snug.
I am getting tired of this bullshit.
"Not constantly, Emily—let's be precise," Dr. Ana replied calm professional from her desk, cyan ponytail swaying as she tapped her tablet, desert-oasis scent spiking faint under clinical mask. "More like eight solid times a day, give or take."
"Eight times a day is constantly! My shirts are ruined daily!" I huffed, face heating as I tugged the damp fabric away from my sensitive peaks, ponytail loose and wild like Rapunzel's—hair spilling endless raven waves past my hips to pool on my lap.
