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“Aww.” I stick out my lower lip in a pout. I pause before narrowing my eyes to slits. “Not yet, but you will be.”

I uncross my arms and legs, plucking the pliers off the bed and going for his upper right cuspid. “I was thinking about leaving your canines, just because it would be funny for the police to find a vampire.”

His face goes pale and his scream becomes a choking gasp. I push his head forward, letting the bloody drool drain from his mouth so he doesn’t choke. I’m not letting this guy take the easy way out.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry! I’m not going to . . . Hey, did you ever read those Twilight books?” I shove his head back and grip the pliers around the upper canine again, giving it a little shimmy while tugging downward. “Were you Team Edward or Team Jacob? I swear if you say Team Jacob . . .”

The tooth proves stubborn and I release it, grabbing from a different angle.

“That’s a trick question, by the way; the correct answer is Team Charlie. Total Daddy, am I right?”

Peter’s entire body begins to shake. He’s probably going into shock—fuckin’ spoilsport. The tooth succumbs to my steady pressure and I toss it behind me, going in for the next.

“Oh my God, how funny would it be if I just left your front two teeth and nothing else? Do you think you would look more like a bunny or a beaver?” I close one eye, trying to imagine the missing teeth. “Beaver.”

He sobs. Loudly—of course, because he apparently has the emotional restraint of a fucking car alarm.

“Fun fact . . . scientists have proven if you smile, you can trick yourself into being happy. You should give it a try. Ready?”

I demonstrate widely, pointing both index fingers at my face. “See? Like this,” I say through a clenched grin. “It’s easy.”

The excessive sweating is starting to make the cheek retractor slip. “Do you have an adrenal disorder? Because you are sweating a lot.”

Out of nowhere his face turns white. Shit.

“Hey, now, stay with me . . .” I warn, grabbing his shirt and giving him a little shake. “Stay with me, Pete. No passing out.”

I drop my pliers and grab the smelling salts off the table, waving them under his nose, and he perks right up with a gag.

“There’s my guy!”

His muscles tense up and I sigh. I’m going to have to pick up the pace. I move to the lower row, getting to work. He groans out a pathetic sob.

“Peter. Listen to me. You are not tragic.”

Extract. Flinch.

“You are not some wounded, struggling, misunderstood man.”

Extract. Flinch.

“You may tell yourself some bullshit story to help you sleep at night—she didn’t fight back, you were pressured to keep going, it was complicated⁠—”

Extract. Flinch.

“But the truth is, you’re a coward. You’re a fucking coward.”

Extract. Flinch.

“And you’re not sorry.”

I wedge another block against the opposite side of his mouth, the stress on his gums eliciting a painful bellow. Peter slumps in the chair, blinking slow while he stares at me with empty eyes.

“There, there.” I pat his head. “Don’t be sad, friend. Come on, smile for me.”

Extract. Flinch.

“Look who’s smiling now, huh?” I mutter under my breath while he slips out of consciousness. “Well, not you . . . because you don’t have teeth.”