The room feels smaller this morning, walls closing in like they're squeezing me out. Damp, stale air fills my nose, sticking to the back of my throat. I tug the thin blanket tighter, trying to ignore the chill coming from that broken window. Feels like everything in this place is broken, just one more thing I can't afford to fix.
But nothing—nothing—is worse than the ache in my jaw. It's this sharp, pulsing sting that's been tearing at me all night, ripping me out of every scrap of sleep I've tried to get. I press my hand to my cheek, trying to numb it, to push the pain down, but it's like trying to put out a fire with a damp washcloth. The moment I pull my hand away, it's back, stronger than before.
I haul myself out of bed, shuffling to the sink in the corner of the room. When I turn on the faucet, icy water pours into my cupped hand, and I take a mouthful, letting it sit on the throbbing tooth. For a second, there's relief. It's brief but blindingly welcome. But as soon as the water warms, that raw, fiery sting flares up again, coursing through my gums like an electric shock. I spit it out and nearly groan.
Leaning over the chipped sink, I squint into the cracked mirror, angling my head to get a good look. There it is, right near the back. The hole. A gaping black crater that seems bigger every time I check it. I stick my tongue against it, feeling the jagged edges where the enamel's chipped away. A sharp taste fills my mouth, something bitter and metallic. I don't know what's coming out of that rotten pit, but it's seeping in deeper every day, like it's poisoning me from the inside out.
It's been there, gnawing at me, for over a month now. Just this festering hole, a tiny reminder of how bad things have gotten. It doesn't care that I'm broke, that I can't afford a dentist. It's relentless, digging its way in, night after night.
I stare at my reflection, looking at the bags under my eyes, the way my face is starting to hollow out from all the sleepless nights. Part of me wants to punch the mirror, break it as easily as this tooth's breaking me. Instead, I close my eyes, press a hand to my face, and just wait. Wait for the next wave of pain to come, because that's all I can do.
But, oh well, I need to get to work. I head back to the sink, squeezing a glob of toothpaste onto my brush, then bring it to my mouth, trying not to wince. I brush slowly, careful to press just enough toothpaste into that rotten pit of a tooth. It's the only thing that even sort of numbs the pain, for a minute or two. Not much, but it's better than nothing.
I rinse, spit, then splash cold water on my face, feeling a brief shiver course through me. After I'm dressed, I grab my coat, take a breath, and head out. As I walk down the block toward the bus stop, the cold hits my cheek, and the ache in my tooth flares up again, throbbing in sync with each step. It's almost like it's alive, pulsing with its own heartbeat. I find myself almost wishing someone would just punch me square in the mouth. Just once, hard enough to knock this damn thing out. It would hurt, sure—but at least it'd be over.
By the time I reach the bus stop, the throb has turned into a steady, gnawing sting, spreading all the way up my cheek. I stand there, hands in my pockets, biting down on the inside of my cheek to distract myself.
Then I see it. A flimsy paper sign plastered on the inside of the bus shelter, half-falling off from the damp. It says something about a free dental clinic, some program put on by university students. Free evaluations and minor procedures, no appointment needed. Just show up, first come, first served.
The place is only a few blocks from here, too. Maybe, just maybe, after work, I'll check it out.
The bus pulls up, brakes squealing, and I step on. My buddy Mark gives me a nod and a half-smile from a few seats back. Normally, I'd crack a joke or complain about the early shift. But today, I just raise a hand in greeting and settle into my seat. Mark must notice, because he doesn't push it, just nods back and looks out the window.
After what feels like an eternity, the bus finally pulls up in front of the familiar red-and-yellow building. The smell of fried oil and coffee hits me like a wall. Mark gives me a quick nod and heads straight to the back to start prepping the kitchen. I make a beeline for the drink station, grabbing a cup and filling it to the brim with ice-cold water. I take a long gulp, letting it pool over the aching tooth, and for a second, there's a whisper of relief.
Taking a deep breath, I step up to the register. It's showtime.
Thankfully, most of the customers today are decent. Quiet, polite, not in the mood to make things harder for me than they need to be. I'm actually starting to think I might survive the shift when she walks in: a woman with a sour expression, the kind of person who seems to live for the chance to complain.
She taps her nails on the counter. "I'll take a large fries," she says.
I brace myself, forcing a tight-lipped smile. "Sorry, ma'am, we're actually out of fries right now."
She narrows her eyes, as if I've personally offended her. "What do you mean, out? You're hiding them, aren't you? Just make me some."
I let out a small sigh. Any other day, I could handle this woman in my sleep, but today, with my tooth throbbing like it's trying to break free of my jaw, it's taking everything I have not to snap back at her. My manager steps in, explains it calmly, but she still goes on about "service standards" while I take another sip of cold water.
Finally, my manager just tells her she'll need to leave if she can't order something we actually have in stock. She huffs and glares at me one last time before stomping out. I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.
Finally, lunch break. I slip out back alone. Eating would just be torture with this tooth. I sit down on the curb, leaning back against the cold concrete wall. I think about that sign on the bus shelter. Maybe I need to just suck it up and go.
My manager appears, smiling like he always does. "Hey, Jackson. Haven't heard much from you today. You alright?"
I point to the side of my face, wincing. "Toothache."
He nods sympathetically. "Y'know, why don't you take a day off? Get that looked at."
I almost laugh. Take a day off? Miss a shift? "Yeah," I mutter, half-smiling, not bothering to explain that missing a shift isn't an option.
He gives me a pat on the shoulder and heads back inside, leaving me alone with the dull, relentless pounding in my jaw. Lunch break's over.
After what feels like a hundred customers, my shift is finally over. I grab my coat, wave a quick goodbye to my manager, and head out. I'm going to that free clinic. No more putting it off.
On the bus ride over, Mark sits beside me again. "Hey, man. You've been real quiet lately," he says. "What's going on?"
"It's this toothache, Mark. It's killing me."
He perks up. "My nephew's actually studying dentistry at the university. They're running a free clinic for practice hours or something." He pulls out his phone and shows me a picture. It's the exact same flyer I saw at the bus shelter this morning.
"Yeah, that's the one," I say, letting out a small laugh of relief. "That's where I'm headed."
Mark claps me on the shoulder. "Good luck, man. My nephew says they're decent students; they won't mess you up too bad." His laugh doesn't do much to ease my nerves, but I smile anyway.
When I finally get off the bus, I find myself in front of a small, run-down building, almost hidden between a meat shop and a dusty clothing store. The clinic barely has a sign, just a small plaque by the door. I take a deep breath, then press the buzzer.
After a moment, the door clicks open, and a young woman in scrubs appears, her face warm and welcoming. She ushers me in, and I step inside, hoping that by the time I walk back out, this pain will be nothing but a bad memory.
Inside, the clinic is plain and quiet, with a faint smell of antiseptic. The woman introduces herself as Amy, explaining she's a dental student in her final year. She gestures to a small dentist's chair and asks me to sit down.
"So," she starts, "how long have you been dealing with this pain?"
"About a month. Maybe a little more. It's gotten worse this past week."
"Have you taken anything for it? Painkillers? Antibiotics?"
"Yeah, just over-the-counter stuff. Ibuprofen, Tylenol. They take the edge off, but it doesn't last long."
She purses her lips. "Okay, fair warning—I'm not a full dentist yet. But I know what I'm doing, and I'll do my best to help you get some relief."
"Good enough for me," I say, trying to smile through the nerves.
"Alright, go ahead and open your mouth for me."
I do as she says. As she peers inside, I catch a flicker of something in her expression—a tiny wince, gone as quickly as it appeared. She picks up a small metal instrument and taps it lightly against one of my teeth. The slightest tap sends a fresh jolt of pain through my jaw, making me grip the armrests tight.
"Sorry," she says softly. "Just need to check the sensitivity."
After what feels like ten long minutes of poking and prodding, she steps back and pulls off her gloves.
"This is… unusual," she says slowly. "From what I can see, that tooth should be dead—no live cells, no roots to create pain. Technically, there's no reason it should be hurting you at all."
Her words hang in the air, and a chill creeps over me. "But it is," I reply, almost defensively.
"I believe you. I just… can't quite understand why." She takes a breath. "I need to talk to my professor about this. But honestly, I think we'll need to take it out. If you're okay with that."
"Yes," I say, a little too quickly. "Take it out. Whatever you need to do."
She nods and hands me two small packets, each with a single pill inside. "Take one of these tonight before bed. It should help with the pain, at least for now."
I take the packets, eyeing them like they're some kind of miracle. "Thank you," I say. "I'll be here tomorrow, first thing."
The bus ride home is quiet. I lean my head against the window, but the pain's still there, gnawing at me. If anything, it's even worse now, each throb sharper. By the time I finally make it home, I feel wrung out.
I go straight for the packet Amy gave me, tearing it open and swallowing the pill dry. She said it should help. I'm practically counting down the seconds.
But thirty minutes pass, and the pain is still there. No — it's worse. The ache is turning into something sharper, a hot, stabbing sensation burrowing deeper. I rush to the sink, gulping down handful after handful of icy water. The chill numbs it for a few seconds, but as soon as the water warms, the pain is back.
I stumble to my bed, pressing my hands to my face. I close my eyes, praying that sleep will take me. But it doesn't. It's still there, fierce and unyielding, pulsing in time with my heartbeat.
I glance over at the clock. It's barely past midnight. Time is crawling, each minute dragging in sync with the relentless pounding in my jaw. The pain has shifted, grown sharper, rawer, twisting deeper as if something inside my tooth is alive, burrowing into my bone. Every nerve feels exposed, screaming.
I grab my pillow and press it to my face, muffling my own groan. I clutch at my face, my fingers digging into my skin as if that pressure might cancel out the agony somehow.
Then I remember—Amy gave me two pills. I scramble out of bed, dig into my coat pocket, tear open the last packet and down the pill.
I wait, heart pounding, every second stretched thin with dread. But then—suddenly—like a switch being flipped, the pain stops. Just like that.
The quiet in my head is so sudden, so jarring, that I'm afraid to move. For the first time in a month, there's no ache, no stabbing, no fiery pulse. It's just calm. I let out a shaky breath, the relief so overwhelming I almost want to laugh. I sink back onto the bed, my limbs loose, the tension finally melting from my shoulders.
For the first time in what feels like forever, I close my eyes and drift into a deep, merciful sleep.
I wake up with a jolt, not by my alarm, but by a searing pain that snaps me upright. It's worse than anything I felt before—hot, intense, like someone's driving a knife straight into that rotting hole over and over. I gasp, clutching my face, trying to breathe through it.
The pain isn't contained to that one tooth anymore. It's spreading out, blazing like wildfire, consuming every nerve along the way. First, clawing into my other teeth, then my tongue, radiating down to my jaw. My head caught in a relentless, burning vice.
Panicking, I stagger to the bathroom and stare into the mirror. My reflection looks the same as it did yesterday. The pain just surges back stronger, fiercer, a vicious thing refusing to let go.
I glance at the clock — 8 a.m. Amy should be at the clinic. I don't care what it takes. I'll do anything to get this thing out of me.
I throw on yesterday's clothes, grab my coat, and rush out the door. On the bus, I sit in silence, clutching my jaw, willing the ride to go faster. Finally the bus pulls up and I'm out the door, half-running until I reach the small building.
I jab the bell repeatedly, pressing it over and over until I hear footsteps. The door swings open and Amy's face appears, her expression a mix of confusion and concern. "Please, take it out," I manage to say, my voice barely more than a whisper.
Amy just nods and gestures for me to lie down. I drop onto the chair, clinging to the armrests as the pain throbs through my skull. She leans over me, her gloved hands moving fast.
"Alright, this will help with the pain," she says, pulling out a syringe. I barely register the prick of the needle. I close my eyes, waiting for even a hint of relief, but the ache just pounds on.
She picks up a metal tool, angles it toward the back of my mouth, and the cold hard press of it against my gum sends a fresh jolt through my body. She pulls, her knuckles white with effort. My jaw feels like it's on fire, the pressure intensifying as she works the tooth free.
"I might need to cut it into pieces," she mutters under her breath. "Do whatever," I grit out. Just get it out.
Amy makes another attempt, gripping and pulling with renewed force. I hear her straining, the creak of metal and bone mingling in a way that makes my skin crawl. She gives one last hard, desperate yank.
Then, with a sickening pop, the tooth comes loose.
Relief floods through me in a wave so powerful I nearly go limp. The throbbing fades, the ache finally gone, leaving behind only a dull empty soreness. "It's out," she says softly, almost in disbelief.
I close my eyes, barely able to believe it myself.
Amy holds the tooth up to the light, her eyes widening with something close to fascination. She studies it with a strange intensity. The tooth is worse than I imagined. Nearly black, with jagged edges where the enamel has broken away. A massive hollow pit runs through its center, ringed with decay. I'm about to look away when I notice something inside the hole—a faint movement, a slow pulsing throb, as if there's still something alive within it. I blink, and it's gone. Probably just my mind playing tricks.
Amy shakes her head with a small awed laugh. "This was a first," she says. "I've never had to work that hard to pull one out." She hands me a couple more small packets. "Take these tonight if there's any residual pain."
"Thanks," I mutter, tucking the packets into my coat pocket.
I stand up slowly, letting out a long deep breath as the tension melts from my shoulders. The absence of pain is so intense, so pure, it's almost euphoric. I feel lighter, like I could float out the door.
I offer Amy a tired grateful smile and step out into the world, pain-free at last.
I stand at the bus stop, feeling no rush at all, savoring each breath. The sun is out, a soft breeze cutting through the morning air. Maybe I'll head to the park, sit by the pond. Maybe grab an ice cream. The thought of something cold without that piercing ache — I almost can't believe it.
The bus pulls up and I climb aboard, settling into a seat at the back. For the first time in weeks, I feel like I'm a part of the world again, not just moving through it in a haze of pain.
But then, a small flicker of something stirs in the back of my mouth. I brush it off at first, thinking it's just lingering soreness from the extraction. But within moments, the flicker grows into a sharper, more familiar sensation—a hot, piercing stab right where the tooth used to be.
I shift in my seat, my heart sinking as the pain intensifies, building fast. It feels as sharp as it did before, burrowing deep, spreading across my gums. I press a hand to my face, panic creeping in. I close my eyes, hoping it'll fade.
But it isn't. The pain is back.
And it's worse than ever.
— The End —