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His chair bounces around as he gets all huffy.
“You’re doing great! Just not for the reasons you think.”
I thought for sure he was going to bust through that block and bite my finger off—Peter Bodner looks like a biter.
Goddamn, I seriously underestimated how creepy this would look. I had no idea people could open their jaws that wide, and with all that blood? “You’re kinda giving me the heebs right now, dude,” I mutter, dipping my head to the side to look up into his mouth.
His face is beet red, and he’s screaming and yelling and carrying on like a little bitch.
“This would be a lot easier if you brought your can-do underoos.” I sigh. “Now . . . should we go every other tooth? One on top, then one on bottom? Or just go down the line in order? Or! Or . . . we just wild-card it—Ooh! You know what would be cool? Actually, no—I’m just going to surprise you.”
I skip a tooth and go to the next one. Same technique. It takes a little maneuvering and patience, but I’m getting the hang of it—never give up on your dreams. The tooth shifts, surrendering to my will before coming free with sweet, sweet release. I softly sing the chorus of “Steal My Sunshine,” a half grin curling up the corner of my mouth.
He strains as far forward as the ties allow, eyes bulging so far I wonder if they’re going to fall out on their own. A long, guttural sound drags out of him.
“Buddy, if you’re not going to harmonize, then be quiet.”
The annoying part is all the goddamn noise this fucker is making. Not to mention, his tongue is getting in the way, and he keeps trying to use it to fight off my pliers. Can I cut it off, or is that cheating?
“I’m not even charging you for this. Seriously, when was”—my nose wrinkles as I squint, looking up into the back of his bloody mouth, my pliers clacking against his teeth as I work to get a good hold on my next target—“The last time you went to the dentist? Because you don’t floss enough to skip biannual appointments.”
I drop the scraggly tooth on the table and go back for another.
“Don’t worry, by the time I’m done, you’ll be flossing with a deck of cards.”
I grasp the next tooth and wobble it back and forth, applying the methodical rhythm.
“Yoink!” I hold it up to him. “Did you see how fast that one came out? I’m really getting the hang of this. Maybe we should do a lightning round.”
Sweat beads on his forehead, his whole face flushed and blotched while he hollers nonsense to me. His ears are the same beet red shade as his cheeks.
He’s either really mad or really embarrassed; both are appropriate responses for this shithead. He is definitely trying to speak, but with only a tongue to help him form words, he’s quite difficult to understand. However, it sounds vaguely like an apology.
“Thah-ee! Eh thah-ee!” he howls.
I push my mask up on my forehead, welcoming the cool air. Much better. As it turns out, wolf masks are not exactly conducive to performing dental work.
I bring my exposed face level with his. The noise dies in his throat almost instantly. As I lean forward, he shrinks back into the chair, quickly realizing there’s nowhere for him to go. I say nothing as I hold his stare and wait. I’m left with a pathetic man panting and staring wide-eyed, watching me like my next words will be a riddle with the key to his freedom.
“I can’t un-der-stand you,” I boom, punctuating each word with exaggerated enunciation. He flinches at my voice and I sit back in my chair.
It cracks his bravado, hopelessness spreading across his face. Tears brim, a few leak out.
“Ugh, fine.” I sit back and cross one leg over the other, patiently holding my hands in my lap. “Go on—tell me what you want to say.” I wait a beat, and then my gaze drops to the cheek retractor holding his mouth open. Oh. Right.
The tip of his tongue just barely kisses the roof of his outstretched mouth. “Thah-hee!”
I cross my arms. “One word . . .”
“Thah-hee!” he blathers through tears, his shoulders shaking. “Thah-hee.”
“One word . . . Two syllables?”
He nods. “Thah-ee! Eh thah-hee!”
“You’re sorry?”
He nods emphatically.
