I typed back quickly, trying not to sound too whiny and failing miserably.Terrible. No milk. Dying slowly. Send help.
I could imagine him rolling his eyes.Drama queen. Try the app I told you about. The good donors are there.
I didn't have the energy to tell him I'd tried every app, every forum, every sketchy Craigslist ad that didn't seem like it would end with my organs being harvested. I was desperate, not stupid. So I just reacted with a thumbs-up and put my phone away.
I didn't think going without milk would be almost painful, but I guess that was what withdrawals were like. After two weeks without a reliable supply, I could barely function. Sleep was theoretical, either too shallow or way too vivid. My muscles felt weak. And every loud noise seemed like it was wired directly to my nervous system.
I tried all the workarounds, but cow milk, almond milk, oat milk, and soy milk were all terrible substitutes. Even the black market freeze-dried stuff didn't hit the spot the way I needed, and my cravings were just getting worse. I was tired all the time, headachy, and jumpy like I was going through a breakup with my own biology.
I was legally a grownup, but I was also a Little. At least, I used to be before I moved. That side of me was kinda like a pet that needed daily walks. When life was good, I could finish a workday, warm up a hot bottle, and let the soft fuzz wash over my brain until I fell asleep in a pile of plushies. It was the onlything that cut through the static of adult life. Without it, I felt like an exposed electric wire.
For many Littles, they had a favorite stuffie or binky that helped them slip into Little space or a Daddy who guided them there. For me it was milk, and I wished that wasn’t the case. Especially now.
"Morning, Dakota!"
I jumped in my seat, and the napkins beneath me crinkled like I'd sat on a pile of autumn leaves. That was Mara, the office manager. She had an actual nameplate that read "Head of Vibes." I still hadn’t figured out if that was genius or a sign of bad things to come. I was siding with genius at the moment.
She was always smiling. At first I thought it was a fake customer-service type smile, one meant to keep the people around her comfortable. But the more I got to know her, the more I saw it was simply who she was.
I wanted to be happy like her when I grew up. "Good morning." It was anything but... but that was my problem, not hers.
"You look, uh..." She paused, hunting for a non-offensive way to describe my very offensive style. "Casual."
That was one way to put it. I forced a smile and pretended not to be bothered by her observation. "Went a round with a puddle of slush... and lost. Not looking for a rematch."
She was wearing a ridiculous holiday sweater with a pixelated Santa doing the floss dance. It was so horrible that it was great. “It happens to the best of us.”
I cocked my head and gave her a once-over. "And you look festive." It was the best compliment you could give her.According to my co-workers, she had sweaters for every single holiday, including ones I’d probably never heard of. I was looking forward to seeing what those were.
"I try." She grinned and did a curtsy. "Oh, make sure you sign up for the secret Santa program. We're locking it down today."
"Oh. No, I didn't..." I was about to explain I was new and not planning to participate, but she'd already dropped the sign-up sheet on my keyboard and was disappearing down the aisle. Worse than that, it was numbered. If I didn’t put it in, she would know instantly. Ugh.
I stared at the blank line where I was supposed to put my wish list item. I couldn't deny the temptation to write in "two liters of the highest fat percentage of human milk you can get, ideally from a donor who's at least six foot, but I'll take whatever you've got" was strong. Really strong.
But instead, I wrote down my name and drew a cartoon puppy in the margin instead, cause even I could be a mature adult sometimes. I also filled in my favorite candy bar, soda, and what I liked in my coffee. I was being such a good boy, if only on paper. In spirit, I was grumpy about it.
The day dragged on with the special kind of torture that only came from wet jeans and lack of sleep. I tried to lose myself in work, but my mind kept drifting to the little bottle warmer I'd packed away in one of the still-unopened boxes at my apartment. I'd brought it with such hope, thinking I'd have everything set up within days of moving here.
But there hadn’t been a reason to unpack it yet, so until I did, I was boycotting unpacking. And I was definitely the one suffering for it.
At 3:00, my phone finally buzzed with something I’d been waiting for. It was a response from the Lactin Brotherhood, and my heart flapped around like a moth in a lampshade.Sorry for the delay, but due to holiday demand, your shipment is expected to ship in 10-14 business days.
Two weeks! Two more weeks of this purgatory of being miserable. I ran a hand through my hair and caught myself on the verge of tears. What was wrong with me? I was twenty-five years old and my body was ready to revolt over milk. Fucking tinsel.
I made it through the rest of the day somehow, though my brain was operating on pure autopilot. When five o'clock hit, I bolted from my desk and headed straight for the door, not even bothering with goodbyes. It wasn’t like we were a hang-out-after-work-type office. Or if we were, I wasn’t a part of it.
The cold air hit my still-damp jeans and sent a shiver through my whole body. Of all the clothing to get soaking wet, denim had to be some of the worst. It took forever to dry, and I was feeling the pain of that. At least it wasn’t frozen solid. That was something, right?
When I finally got home, my little apartment was cold and dark, even with the overhead light on. Getting new lamps was on my list, but that list was a mile long, and like everything else on it, it was going to wait.
The boxes I'd meant to unpack last week were still in a heap next to the door, waiting for a miracle to finally occur.Join the club…
I stripped off my gross and painfully uncomfortable jeans and cranked up the space heater to take the chill out of the air. My leg was red, and I grabbed my warmest sweats to try and warmup quicker. A shower sounded like the best idea ever, but in the back of my mind I remembered that it wasn’t a good idea to heat up that quickly and put it on hold.
Instead, I sat cross-legged on the floor and started scrolling Milkman listings with a stubborn, self-punishing obsession.
Half the posts were obvious scams, and the real ones all wanted references, ID, and an in-person meet-up before agreeing to sell you anything. That was great and all, but it would take time.
