𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐀 | 𝐋. 𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐍

𝐈.𝐈𝐈𝐈

The woman shrugged. "I'm sorry," she responded, though Valen highly doubted that she cared about the situation. She discerned from her posture alone that she'd rather be elsewhere. Perhaps a wasteland sounded better to her, but when Valen thought about it, her office wasn't too far from being one. "The brass slashed our funding again. They only agreed to increase the equipment budget, and only by a small percent. The only reason your medication was insured is because the Corps gets more funding than we do. They have the funding to cover your medicine. We don't."

"Is there anything I can do?" Fortunately, her awakening had been much more serene, nowhere near the screaming and crying that had landed her in the Cadet Corps infirmary—but who or what ensured that it'd always be that way? Her pills were the only thing she could depend on to ward off the dreams— the explosions, the bleeding bird, everything that threatened her good night's rest. She needed them.

The medic lifted an eyebrow before her expression neutralized. "You have... options. But not many." She crossed her legs and leaned back. "Your first option is paying for it out of pocket." She spun the folder and pushed it towards her, pointing to a number inked in black at the bottom. "Price is right there." Valen squinted and pursed her lips.

It was more than she made in a month.

Qualm simmered in her chest. "Are there any over-the-counter options?" If her Squad Leader permitted so, she could always hop on her horse and head for one of Trost's pharmacies. All she needed was a medical excuse.

"You'd have to discuss that with them, but I personally would recommend not taking any other medication. Your prescription's strong, and if you stopped right now, it'd be a couple of months before it's completely out of your system. Again, I'm not a doctor." She pointed to the folder again. "Because of your size, you couldn't be prescribed the generic large dose pills, so they gave you a smaller dose, but with other ingredients. Now, they're good ingredients, but take anything else with them, you're going to have some complications." The medic practically emanated annoyance. "Were you not told any of this when they first prescribed you these?"

"Of course I was," Valen defended. Though she failed to recall the man's lecture word for word, she had a clear understanding of the rules that came with taking her sleeping pills: no drinking, no smoking, essentially no other medications unless he approved them personally—but she'd thought there'd be an exception with other sleep medications.

"So, I'm guessing you're familiar with the withdrawal symptoms, too?" Valen refused to utter a sound—now that was one thing he hadn't covered. The woman considered her with something she figured was incredulity, along with slight concern. Valen's fingers tightened around the armrest. Judging by her reaction, she wasn't going to be experiencing the run-of-the-mill headaches or crabbiness.

It was going to be something much, much worse.

"I'm going to accept that as a no," the medic said, drawing her conclusion from Valen's sudden sullenness. "Withdrawal symptoms are normal, especially with sleeping pills. Sometimes, they're mild, but they can be severe for some people. It all depends on the composition and how long you've been taking them." The woman dragged the folder back to her end. "Withdrawal symptoms include but are not limited to: migraines, shaking, sweating, nausea, vomiting, dizziness, disturbed sleeping patterns, changes in mood, anxiety, depression, suicidal thoughts, loss of consciousness, convulsions, seizures, hallucinations, and delirium."

Valen experienced at least six of those just by hearing her say them aloud. Disturbed sleeping patterns and migraines, both she'd expected. But loss of consciousness? Hallucinations? Delirium? And the doctor hadn't informed her of a single thing?