The fucking dentist was a hack.
One goddamn filling, and that dickbag numbs up half my face, leaves me drooling like an overmedicated mental patient. On top of that, I’ve got this burr now, rough as grout, tongue drawn to it like a junkie to a fix.
It’s gonna be a bitch to floss around, I think.
I guess that’s what I get for searching dental practices on Yelp.
You guys aren’t idiots, are you? Like, I don’t have to explain Yelp to you, do I? People rate shit, one to five, you know the drill. But when’s the last time your insured ass looked for a dentist with an opening same-day?
Never get a toothache on the road, is all I’m saying.
Right off the bat, I figured stars five and four were out of reach, but I was midway through the threes before receptionists stopped laughing at me, and scraping the barrel of the twos when I finally lucked into a recent cancellation—or so I thought.
They probably feed that line to everyone who calls, make it sound like they’ve got business, when I’d bet they’ve never seen a patient twice. Eh. At least they didn’t balk when I paid cash.
My jaw aches from being propped open.
The tip of my tongue worries at the burr.
It feels like licking a hot sidewalk.
Don’t sweat it, I tell myself, you won’t notice in a week.
Casey’s burbling brings me back to here and now, all centering and shit, the way my ex is always going on about—and, believe me, I get it, but I can’t exactly drown a childhood friend in their own toilet every time I feel like being in the moment.
Sorry, Casey, but you should’ve kept your mouth shut.
You’re the one who made us promise, after all.
Thrashing becomes twitching becomes nothing. I check my watch. A little under eleven hours until I’m expected back at work. Figure an hour or so to wipe down the place. Another seven in the car, because I’m sticking to side streets. The highway would shave an hour off the drive, but I’m leery of plate readers and toll booth cameras, even though I took my roomie’s car. Still, if I’m lucky, I’ll have time to grab a nap before my shift.
At that, a laugh escapes me, echoes shrilly off the bathroom’s tile.
I sure as hell don’t feel lucky.
Eyeing Casey’s sodden corpse, I get a twinge of something itchy, unfamiliar.
Jesus, is that guilt? It’s been a while.
Don’t sweat it, I tell myself, you won’t notice in a week.
