"Things are looking good," the doctor said with a smug smile like he was the one who took the punches for me. "The bruises are going away faster than usual thanks to the pheromone treatment. And you're well regulated. The stitches also healed up nicely, so it won't leave a scar at all."
"I don't care about that," I muttered, eyes focused on the floor instead of his gloating face.
"Oh? Then what do you care about?" he asked, clearly fishing.
"How long until this treatment ends?" I asked, tone sharper than I meant.
The doctor's smile didn't budge. "I'd say to get you to a safe and stable level, about six months."
Six. Fucking. Months?
No. Absolutely not. I didn't sign up for this long-term leeching off Levi and his suffocating attention. He was already too clingy as it was. Ever since I thanked him for the phone, he'd been acting like we were halfway to a honeymoon. Always hovering, always waiting for more praise.
I was not doing six months of that.
