Medication, Part 11 - Female Version (Patreon)

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Note: This is a female version of Medication.

Summary: All her life, Tris’s mother forced her to take a daily medication, but  never really told her why. After Tris goes off to college, she starts  skipping doses, and finally realizes just what the medication is for.  Monthly expansion. Contains: Female: belly expansion, breast expansion, and more.

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-

“Tris, we’re having senior medical staff transported in to clear you for travel,” Derek said. “The details of your return are going higher and higher up the command chain. You’ve been missing for months and were declared dead a week ago. You know the media’s going to be all over this.”

Tris’s face fell. She looked down at her knees.

Derek sighed. “But we’ll do our best.”

Their best wasn’t good enough.

Tris packed what few things she had. Two days later, she and the babies were helicoptered home. But the moment she got out onto the helipad of the city’s best hospital, she was swarmed by reporters. Her heart sank, and she began to feel nauseous.

“UXG News, here with the girl who can gestate babies rapidly.”

“Is it true that you gave birth to five babies in the past two months, miss?”

“Tris! Tris, a word?”

“It is our understanding that some of your children are only a month apart in age. Can you confirm this, miss?”

“Tris, what went on while you were missing in the jungle?”

“How do you explain your medical anomaly? Rapid pregnancy has long been considered impossible.”

“Which of your classmates is the father of your children?”

“People were at risk. People went missing, or even died. And you were busy getting it on during a humanitarian expedition?”

The camera flashes were blinding. And they got all the evidence they needed. Her fat belly, still rounded after the birth. The engorged DD-cups on her chest, pushing out against her tight sweatshirt. She was sure that she would start leaking at any moment. She could hear the babies wailing behind her, being carried by various medical attendants.

Up ahead, a blonde-haired figure was fighting through the crowd. Tris recognized her immediately, and she struggled her way over. Soon she was wrapped in her mother’s embrace, clutching her desperately, sobbing into her shoulder. Tris couldn’t lift her head up, she just held on for dear life.

Her mother was crying as well. Tris could hear it in her words. “Let’s go inside, Tris.”

The crowd seemed to press harder around them, reporters and medical staff attacking from all sides.

“I don’t want to,” said Tris morosely. She had become a freakshow; an attraction. People wanted to poke and prod her, and find out how she worked. “I just want to go home.”

Her mother ran her fingers down Tris’s back. "You were sick, Tris, with a deadly disease. We need to make sure you’re okay. We need to have your—your new babies checked out as well. I don’t want to lose you. Not after your father.”

Tris nodded against her mother’s shoulder. After a pause in which she drew a long, shaky breath, she pulled away, ducking her head as she shoved through the crowd, and was ushered into the hospital building, nurses and doctors flanking her, seeming to overwhelm the reporters now.

Soon she was lying down in a private room after having been put through a multitude of tests. The quiet was pleasant, but she still felt a stitch of tension in her chest whenever her door cracked open, and she could hear the garble of yammering voices out in the corridor. But she breathed through it.

Tris frowned down at the curve of her lower belly. At the swell of fat, and…and baby. She wondered if she would be having twins again. Resigned, she cupped the bump with her hand.

“Oh honey,” said her mother as she entered the room. Tris’s mother had some wrapped sandwiches in hand. Setting them down on her bedside table, she took a seat and reached over to stroke Tris’s hair. “Everything is going to be okay.”

Okay, but decidedly difficult. Now Tris had seven children to mind—with more on the way—and she wasn’t even sure if she would be allowed to graduate from college after the humiliating fiasco in the forest. “I was stupid,” Tris said. “I don’t know why I thought I could do this. I should have never gone on the trip.”

“Never regret living your life.”

And now Tris was crying again. It must have been hormones or something. She impatiently wiped her arm across her cheeks.

“But no more adventures for a while,” said her mother. “I just want you to recover.”

-

Tris and the babies were discharged only a few days later. She left the hospital in the middle of the night, by which point the presence of reporters had thinned considerably. She was exhausted, but glad to be home again.

Her mother’s home, of course. After all, Tris couldn’t have done this without her.

Tris’s life had taken a turn she never would have imagined. Suddenly she was living as a stay-at-home mother, attending to her hoard of infant offspring. And she was growing rapidly, already midway through her new pregnancy. The media was persistent, reporters popping up when she least expected it. So Tris stayed in, mostly.

Tris had always been meant to go places, to do great things. It was odd to just be home, with everything so weirdly domestic. All because of a few missed pills. Yet it was nice to be apart from the rest of the world, if just for a little while.

Her pregnancy was moving along. Her delivery was scheduled to be in the hospital, and everything. It was odd and new, and would certainly be different to be laboring in a medical setting. But at the same time, it was also a relief not to be hiding things anymore. To have the security of modern medicine. It made her feel a lot safer after her ordeal in the forest. It was odd to talk about delivery as well. It was usually something she did alone, not even reaching out to her mother to discuss her fears, her expectations, and her preparations (or lackthereof).

“Now don’t let them convince you to do a cesarean,” her mother was chattering over breakfast one morning.

Tris was silently munching her toast. She felt heavy, lethargic, and bloated. She wasn’t used to people really seeing her like this. Yet here she was, in pajama pants and a tank top that stretched over her round belly which, in turn, was perched against her lap.

The side of her shirt was pulled down, one of her newborns nursing. It wasn’t comfortable to nurse while trying to eat (or nurse while doing anything, really), but she had learned the necessity of multitasking now that she was juggling five newborns and two toddlers.

Her breasts were bloated, nipples sore. Her whole body ached, and she felt unbalanced at times. She was too narrow for the immensity of her condition and the strain it posed on her body.

“…’ve been giving birth naturally just fine. You don’t need them to start cutting you up every time,” her mother went on.

“Mum, this is the last time. I’m never doing this again.”

Tris’s mother gave her a sympathetic look. “Of course, dear. But what about scarring?”

There was a wailing sound in the next room which immediately became a chorus of voices. To Tris, it had become background noise, but her mother reacted, getting up as she simultaneously wiped her hands on her napkin.

“I don’t care about scars,” Tris called as her mother left. Tris sighed, and arched, stretching her sore back. She felt short arms wrap around her stomach and looked down at her oldest, who was now up and yawning.

“Saying good morning?” Tris smiled despite it all.

“G’morning to babies,” Eric mumbled against her stomach. “And mornin’ mommy.”

Her mother came back into the kitchen, impressively balancing a baby in each arm. “I just don’t think it’s worth it to get surgery—or, good morning, darling.” She threw a weary smile at Eric.

Tris rolled her eyes. She didn’t even know why she was arguing with her mother. As miserable as she found natural birth to be, the thought of surgery was unnerving. Natural birth was something she had gotten used to.

There was a knock on the door. Her mother frowned. “Who could that be?” She looked helplessly at her arms, and went back to the nursery. Tris couldn’t have balanced both babies even if she wasn’t nursing. She didn’t think she could have gotten up and answered the door either, not fast enough that their visitor wouldn’t have assumed that no one was home and departed.

It’s probably just another reporter, Tris thought in annoyance. “Ready for breakfast?” she asked Eric, glancing around for the cereal.

Eric ignored her, which he had been doing a lot of lately, especially once he realized that Tris couldn’t take chase anymore. He hopped off towards his bedroom, either to wake his sibling or play with toys.

Tris frowned after him.

Her mother hurried past again, arms free now as she walked off to the living room. Tris could hear her answer the door, the bolt drawing, the knob turning, and then there was a gasp, followed by hushed words. Tris furrowed her brows in concern.

Tris realized the infant on her chest had stopped feeding. She gently burped him, then as she began to carefully set him down in the bassinette beside her, Tris’s mother returned to the kitchen. Her face was white.

“What’s going on?” said Tris, wondering if someone had died.

“He’s here,” she responded blankly.

“Who?”

“The magician—Adam.”

“I—what?” said Tris, stunned. The magician who had cursed the family—the one who was at fault for Tris’s monthly pregnancies?

“Adam is here.”

At first Tris thought it was a joke, but then she remembered that her mother rarely ever joked, if at all. Still, the thought was ludicrous. Adam seemed like some sort of spiritual being, not some person who showed up in the suburbs and knocked on your front door. “How do you know it’s him?” Tris managed. This was just too much for her in her state. Couldn’t this have waited another few days? Anxious, Tris rubbed her belly.

“I don’t know, I can just feel it.”

Why this, why now? Wasn’t Adam supposed to just be—gone. Dead, or something? Tris almost hadn’t believed he was even real. “What does he want?”

“I don’t know. To see you.”

“Don’t let him in here.”

“Tris…”

“I’ll come out.”

The baby in the bassinette was settling, slowly falling asleep. Heart clenching, Tris tore her attention away. Planting her hands firmly against the kitchen table, she heaved herself up with a grunt. Her mother came up beside her in case she lost her balance.

Giving her mother a grim look, Tris waddled towards the next room. She thought of the awkward presentation she made. She was absolutely massive.

She felt flushed by the time she made it through the living room, where she regarded her guest at the front door.

For a centuries-old magician, Adam was shockingly young, even—handsome. Not that Tris saw him that way, it was just a blatant, irrefutable fact, as though Adam was strategically, or mystically attractive.

It was strange, the telling air he gave off. Yet somehow he looked like an ordinary twenty-something-year-old, with striking eyes, and dark hair. He was familiar. Tris was sure she had seen him before. Sort of in the background in different parts of her adulthood. Someone who she had never truly registered. Had Adam been watching her for a while?

And Tris could feel what her mother had. She could sense it somehow. It was him. It was fundamentally Adam. Tris could feel it in her being.

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