TOOTHACHE

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. It sharpens me up, wakes me up—anything’s better than the dull, nagging ache in my jaw. After I’m dressed, I grab my coat, take a breath, and head out, trying to brace myself against the chill morning air. 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, at least it’d be free.

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. I don’t know if it’ll make things better or worse, but right now, the idea of getting this thing out—even if it’s by some nervous student dentist—is starting to sound like the best option I’ve got.

The bus pulls up, brakes squealing, and I step on, trying to ignore the low throb gnawing away at the side of my face. Just as I find a seat, 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, maybe share some story from the night before. But today, I just raise a hand in greeting and settle into my seat, clutching the metal bar in front of me like it’s the only thing holding me together.

Mark must notice, because he doesn’t push it, just nods back and looks out the window, letting the silence hang between us. He knows something’s up, but he’s smart enough not to ask. The bus rumbles on, the minutes ticking by with every stop, the pain in my mouth pulsing in time with the shudder of the engine. Every jolt, every pothole sends a fresh sting through my jaw, and I press a fist against my cheek, hoping it’ll settle before we get to work.

After what feels like an eternity, the bus finally pulls up in front of the familiar red-and-yellow building, and Mark and I file out, moving into the bright fluorescent lights of the fast-food joint. The smell of fried oil and coffee hits me like a wall, and I feel a pang of nausea, the pain in my mouth suddenly sharper, nastier.

People are already lined up outside, staring through the glass doors, waiting for us to open. 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. It’s fleeting, but I cling to it. I’ve got to hold it together, at least until my shift’s over.

Taking a deep breath, I step up to the register, giving a weak smile to the first customer in line. 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, giving me this look like she’s already annoyed at me for even existing. “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, more from the pulsing ache in my mouth than from her attitude. 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. Instead, I clench my fist under the counter, trying to keep my tone as even as I can. “Ma’am, we’re completely out until the next delivery comes in. I really apologize for the inconvenience.”

She scoffs, crossing her arms like she’s daring me to come up with another excuse. But just as I feel my patience fraying, my manager steps in, popping out from the back with his hands raised like he’s coming to make peace. He explains it to her calmly, firmly, but she still goes on about “service standards” and “hidden inventory” while I take another sip of cold water, letting it cool the burn in my mouth.

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, and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

I toss back another gulp of water, feeling the cold numb the pain just enough to handle the next customer. For now, I just have to keep pushing through, keep this smile plastered on, and pray that I make it to the end of the shift without the toothache taking me down first.

Finally, lunch break. Usually, I’d hang out with the others, grab a burger, maybe swap stories about annoying customers and laugh it off. Not today. Today, I slip out back alone, ignoring the smell of fried food that’s only making my stomach rumble. Eating would just be torture with this tooth. The way it’s throbbing, I’d probably get halfway through a sandwich before I’d want to punch myself in the jaw just to make it stop.

I sit down on the curb, leaning back against the cold concrete wall, feeling a sharp bite in the air that distracts me just enough from the pulsing in my mouth. I think about that sign on the bus shelter—the one about the free dental clinic. Maybe I need to just suck it up and go. I have to do something; I can’t keep going like this.

In the middle of my thoughts, I hear footsteps crunching on the gravel, and I look up to see my manager, smiling like he always does. He’s one of those people who’s never in a bad mood, no matter how many shifts he pulls. He gives me a nod. “Hey, Jackson. Haven’t heard much from you today. You alright?”

I point to the side of my face, wincing a little as I say, “Toothache.” The word itself seems to make the pain throb a little harder, like it knows I’m talking about it.

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? I can’t afford a dentist, let alone a lost paycheck. “Yeah,” I mutter, half-smiling, not bothering to explain that missing a shift isn’t an option. The truth is, even if I could afford it, I wouldn’t trust any dentist not to charge me more than I have in my account.

Seeing that I’m not going to answer, he gives me a pat on the shoulder and heads back inside, leaving me alone with the dull, relentless pounding in my jaw.

I press my tongue against the hole in my tooth, exploring the rough edges, almost hoping to find a hidden switch, a spot that’ll magically shut off the pain if I just press hard enough. But there’s nothing, just more of the same bitter taste, more of the same aching that seems to dig deeper every time I touch it.

Taking a deep breath, I push myself up and head back inside. Lunch break’s over.

After what feels like a hundred customers, my shift is finally over. Thank god. I take a long sip of ice water, letting it sit in my mouth for as long as possible before I swallow, savoring the brief, chilly numbness. Tossing the cup, 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. This time, he looks at me with this concerned squint. “Hey, man. You’ve been real quiet lately,” he says, like he’s picking his words carefully. “I don’t mean to pry, but... what’s going on?”

I give a tired smile, leaning back against the seat. “It’s this toothache, Mark. It’s killing me.”

He nods, thoughtful, then perks up. “My nephew’s actually studying dentistry at the university. They’re running a free clinic for practice hours or something. Saw a flyer about it a couple weeks back.” He pulls out his phone, scrolling through his photos, 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, grateful for the reassurance.

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 and the hum of an overhead fluorescent light. The woman in scrubs introduces herself as Amy, explaining she’s a dental student in her final year. She gestures to a small, slightly worn dentist’s chair in the corner and asks me to sit down.

“So,” she starts, as I settle into the seat, “how long have you been dealing with this pain?”

I lean back, rubbing my jaw absently. “About a month. Maybe a little more. It’s gotten worse this past week.”

She nods, scribbling on her clipboard. “Have you taken anything for it? Painkillers? Antibiotics?”

“Yeah, just over-the-counter stuff, mostly. Ibuprofen, Tylenol. They take the edge off, but it doesn’t last long.”

She purses her lips in thought, glancing over her notes before meeting my eyes again. “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 as she gestures for me to lie back.

“Alright, go ahead and open your mouth for me.”

I do as she says, feeling a strange mixture of dread and relief as she leans over me, her gloved hands moving with quick, practiced efficiency. But then, as she peers inside, I catch a flicker of something in her expression—a tiny wince, gone as quickly as it appeared. Is it that bad? I want to ask, but I push the thought aside. Doesn’t matter how bad it looks as long as she can fix it.

She picks up a small metal instrument and taps it lightly against one of my teeth, just next to the painful spot. The metal feels cold and unyielding, and 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.”

I nod, trying to breathe through the pain, but each knock makes the ache flare up like she’s striking a nerve directly. She continues, tapping around the affected area, each touch making me wince a little more. The seconds drag on as she examines every crevice, every sharp edge, and especially the blackened hole at the back, where the decay is worst. I grit my teeth—well, the ones that aren’t screaming in pain—as she works, hoping it’ll be over soon.

Finally, after what feels like ten long minutes of poking, prodding, and soft murmurs to herself, she steps back and pulls off her gloves.

“Alright,” she says, “all done with the examination.” I sit up, waiting for her to tell me what she’s found.

Amy leans against the counter, her brows knit in confusion as she flips through her notes. “This is… unusual,” she says slowly, looking back at me. “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, as if she might doubt the ache that’s been wrecking my life.

She gives a small, sympathetic nod. “I believe you. I just… can’t quite understand why. I didn’t see any other signs of infection or inflammation, either. Everything points to the pain coming from that dead tooth, but it doesn’t make sense.”

She takes a breath, glancing back at the chair. “I need to talk to my professor about this, just to be sure. But,” she pauses, meeting my eyes, “honestly, I think we’ll need to take it out. If you’re okay with that, of course.”

“Yes,” I say, a little too quickly. “Take it out. Whatever you need to do.”

She nods, her expression softening. “Alright, I’ll get it scheduled. In the meantime, here—” she reaches into a cabinet and pulls out 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. I can’t remember the last time I fell asleep without the ache waking me up. Just the thought of getting a night’s rest makes me feel almost giddy.

“Thank you,” I say, tucking the packets into my pocket. “I’ll be here tomorrow, first thing.”

“Great,” she replies, giving me a reassuring smile. “And don’t worry—I know this seems strange, but we’ll get you fixed up.” She walks me to the door, offering a quick wave as I step outside.

As I start down the street, I think about the day off I’ll have to take tomorrow. Normally, I’d be stressing about the money, about the shift I’d miss. But the promise of finally, finally getting rid of this pain? It’s worth it.

The bus ride home is quiet, a relief after the day I’ve had. I lean my head against the window, staring out at the passing streets, but the pain’s still there, gnawing at me from the inside out. If anything, it’s even worse now, each throb sharper and angrier, like Amy’s knocking and poking stirred it up somehow. I clench my jaw and try to breathe through it, but each bump on the road sends a fresh jolt through my skull.

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, not even waiting to grab a glass of water. She said it should help. I’m practically counting down the seconds, watching the clock, waiting for that relief to kick in.

But thirty minutes pass, and the pain… it’s still there. No, it’s worse. The ache is turning into something sharper, a hot, stabbing sensation that’s burrowing deeper and deeper, almost like it’s alive. Panic starts bubbling up in my chest, and I rush to the sink, turning on the cold tap and 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, clawing its way through my jaw.

I stumble to my bed, lying down and pressing my hands to my face, as if I can somehow force the pain back down. I close my eyes, praying that sleep will take me, that somehow this ache will just melt away. But it doesn’t. It’s still there, fierce and unyielding, pulsing in time with my heartbeat, making it clear I won’t be getting any rest tonight.

All I can do is lie there, curled up against the agony, waiting for morning, waiting for the chance to finally get this thing out of me.

I glance over at the clock, hoping—praying—that it’ll be sunrise soon, that I can just drag myself back to the clinic and be done with this nightmare. But it’s barely past midnight. Time is crawling, each minute dragging on 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. It’s not just an ache anymore; it’s a fierce, stabbing pulse, radiating down my neck, throbbing in my temples. Every nerve feels exposed, screaming.

I grab my pillow and press it to my face, muffling my own groan as I scream into it, hoping—begging—that somehow it’ll drown out the pain. But it doesn’t. It’s still there, every bit as merciless. 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. Two. I scramble out of bed, almost tripping over my own feet as I grab my coat from the floor, my hands shaking as I dig into the pocket. I clutch the last packet, tearing it open and downing the pill so fast I barely feel it hit the back of my throat.

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, afraid I might break the spell. For the first time in a month, there’s no ache, no stabbing, no fiery pulse in my mouth. 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. I feel weightless, as if I’m floating, my body free from that constant, grinding misery.

For the first time in what feels like forever, I close my eyes and let myself drift into a deep, merciful sleep, no pain chasing me into my dreams.

I wake up with a jolt, heart racing, 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 in my tooth over and over. I gasp, clutching my face, my eyes squeezed shut as I try to breathe through it, but every second feels like it’s digging deeper, burrowing into my skull.

The pain isn’t contained to that one tooth anymore. It’s spreading out, blazing like wildfire, consuming every nerve along the way. First, I feel it clawing into my other teeth, then my tongue, radiating down to my jaw. Within moments, the pain has wrapped itself around my entire face, pounding with each beat of my heart, my head caught in a relentless, burning vice.

Panicking, I stagger out of bed and rush to the bathroom, nearly tripping over my own feet. I flip on the light and stare into the mirror, expecting to see something, anything—swelling, bruising, some physical sign of what’s happening inside me. But my reflection looks the same as it did yesterday, haggard and exhausted, but no worse for wear. The pain, though, is consuming every thought, pressing into my temples, swallowing every inch of my face.

Desperate, I cup my hands under the faucet and gulp down cold water, hoping it’ll do something. But the relief I used to feel from the chill is gone. It does nothing. The pain just surges back stronger, fiercer, a vicious thing refusing to let go.

I glance at the clock on the wall, feeling a flicker of hope—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, the pain gnawing at me with every step. On the bus, I sit in silence, clutching my jaw, every breath shallow, willing the ride to go faster. Finally, the bus pulls up to the stop near the clinic, and I’m out the door before it even fully stops, half-running down the street until I reach the small building.

I jab the bell repeatedly, unable to wait a second longer, pressing it over and over until I hear footsteps approaching. The door swings open, and Amy’s face appears, her expression a mix of confusion and concern as she waves me inside. I follow her, clutching my face, barely able to think, my only focus on the one thing I need: getting this tooth out before it kills me.

“Please, take it out,” I manage to say, my voice barely more than a whisper. Amy just nods, her expression tense as she gestures for me to lie down. I don’t hesitate; I drop onto the chair, clinging to the armrests as the pain throbs through my skull. She leans over me, strapping me in, her gloved hands moving fast as she tilts my head back, her face set in hard concentration.

“Alright, this will help with the pain,” she says, pulling out a syringe and bringing it to my gum. I barely register the prick of the needle; the pain from the shot is nothing compared to the agony tearing through me already. I close my eyes, waiting for even a hint of relief to settle in, but the ache just pounds on, as fierce and unrelenting as before.

“Hold on,” she murmurs, picking up a metal tool, the gleaming edges glinting under the clinic’s harsh lights. She 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. I grip the armrests tighter, feeling the tool slip around the base of the rotten tooth, scraping, digging, clanking as she tries to loosen it.

She pulls, her knuckles white with effort, and my jaw feels like it’s on fire, the pressure intensifying as she works the tooth free. My head pounds with each tug, each sharp twist, every scrape of metal against bone like nails on a chalkboard, reverberating through my skull. It’s like she’s wrestling with the tooth, trying to force it from whatever dark hold it has over me.

“I might need to… cut it into pieces,” she mutters under her breath, but I barely hear her through the haze of pain. “Do whatever,” I grit out, each word stinging as it leaves my mouth. Just get it out.

Amy swaps out tools, steadying herself as she makes another attempt, gripping and pulling with renewed force. I feel the metal biting in, twisting, and I hear her straining, the creak of metal and bone mingling in a way that makes my skin crawl. My mouth feels stretched, raw, every nerve sparking as she gives one last hard, desperate yank.

Then, finally, with a sickening pop, the tooth comes loose.

Relief floods through me in a wave so powerful that I nearly go limp in the chair. The throbbing in my jaw fades, the ache finally gone, leaving behind only a dull, empty soreness where the tooth had been. Amy stands over me, breathing heavily, holding up the dark, broken shard between her fingers.

“It’s out,” she says softly, almost in disbelief.

I close my eyes, barely able to believe it myself. The pain is gone, and for the first time in weeks, I feel like I can breathe again.

Amy holds the tooth up to the light, her eyes widening with something close to fascination, almost like she’s just uncovered some rare gem instead of a rotten piece of bone. She studies it with a strange intensity, turning it over between her fingers, inspecting every dark crevice. Her reaction draws me in, and I lean forward, feeling a pull to see it up close—the thing that’s haunted me for the past month.

The tooth is worse than I imagined. It’s dark, nearly black, with jagged edges where the enamel has broken away. A massive, hollow pit runs through its center, ringed with decay, like something’s been eating away at it from the inside. I’m about to look away, disgusted, when I notice something inside the hole—a faint movement, a slow, pulsing throb, as if there’s still something alive within it. The sight makes my skin crawl, and I feel a shiver run through me. I blink, and it’s gone, probably just my mind playing tricks. But still, it leaves a lingering unease, as though that tooth has been hiding something far worse than just pain.

Amy glances at me, oblivious to my discomfort, and shakes her head with a small, awed laugh. “This was… a first,” she says, holding the tooth carefully. “I’ve never had to work that hard to pull one out. Thanks for, uh, bearing with me.” She hands me a couple more small packets, her expression softening. “Take these tonight if there’s any residual pain. It should help.”

“Thanks,” I mutter, tucking the packets into my coat pocket, barely even looking at them. All I can feel is this overwhelming wave of relief, a weight lifted from my whole body. The throbbing, gnawing agony that’s been controlling me, taking up every thought and breath, is finally gone.

I stand up slowly, letting out a long, deep breath as the tension melts from my shoulders, my jaw, my entire body. The absence of pain is so intense, so pure, it’s almost like euphoria. I feel lighter, like I could float out the door. I hadn’t realized how much of myself I’d lost to that ache, how much space it took up in my head. But now, with it gone, I feel free—like I’m finally able to breathe, to think, to live again.

I offer Amy a tired, grateful smile, the words “thank you” barely enough to express how I feel, and step out into the world, pain-free at last.

I stand at the bus stop, feeling no rush at all, savoring each breath. I took the day off, and the world feels open, like it’s mine again. Maybe I’ll head to the park, just sit by the pond and take in the quiet. It’s a nice day for it—the sun is out, a soft breeze cutting through the morning air. The thought of grabbing an ice cream crosses my mind, too. It’s been ages since I could enjoy something like that. The cold sweetness, 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. I lean against the window, watching as the city slips by, people moving about their day. 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. I feel whole, ready to just… live.

But then, a small flicker of something stirs in the back of my mouth. I brush it off at first, thinking it’s just my imagination, just the 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, sending a chill through my jaw. I press a hand to my face, panic creeping in. I close my eyes, hoping it’ll fade, hoping that somehow it’s just a memory, a shadow.

But it isn’t. The pain is back. And it’s worse than ever.