Sawbones
By @Za
Chapter Four
11:45 AM. Lunch.
I have an appointment with a fluffy named Cornpop at 1:00 PM. What a stupid name. For a stupid fluffy, one must imagine. This little bundle of joy has enjoyed a bit too much candy, and now he must pay dearly. He’s complaining of tooth pain, so I’ll have to examine him thoroughly and painfully.
I take a bite of my lunch, a Reuben sandwich, pondering the horrors I’ll get to inflict upon Cornpop. He’ll have to be awake, and screaming is only natural. Anyone who’s been to the dentist has heard a screaming toddler from down the hall, and this shall be no different.
12:55 PM. Back to work.
Eliza has prepped the room once again. No trace of Goldie’s torment remains. I cannot help but wonder how her family may have reacted. Considering I faced no admonishments from Dr. Park upon my return, I shall assume the family didn’t care.
I meet Cornpop and his owner, Phyllis. From her smile, I can immediately tell that she’s a kind, lovely woman. Cornpop seems more well-behaved than I had anticipated. How fortunate.
“Hello,” I greet them, “my name is Dr. Lane. So what seems to be the problem with Cornpop today, hmm?”
“Cownpop num tuu many of Gwammy Fiwwis cawamew Wewthews,” Cornpop immediately pipes up. His puffy cheeks make him even harder to understand. Freak.
“Well, we all like a treat now and then, don’t we?” I reply, scratching behind his ears just a bit too hard. “I promise that I’ll do my best to make your tooth pain go right away, little buddy.”
Cornpop excitedly hops down from his owner’s lap and waddles after me. I give Phyllis a reassuring smile as I lead the fluffy to the operating room.
The doors swing shut behind me.
“Huu… nu wike toofy huwties…”
“Hop onto the table, please.”
Cornpop obeys, and I raise the table up to a comfortable working height. His file said he was a skosh hyperactive, so I’ll have to restrain him. Not that I didn’t intend to do so regardless.
“Alright, Cornpop,” I begin, pulling the first strap over his back and fastening him down, “this might be uncomfortable but it’s just for your own safety. We don’t want you to fall if you get scared. That might hurt, right?”
The level of kindness and bedside manner I have to offer him disgusts me. I prefer procedures with anesthetic, so I can perform my usual theatrics. I strap his hind legs down.
“Otay nice doctuh, Cownpop undastand. Fank ou fow hewp Cownpop feew bettah.”
I pat his head, securing his front legs lastly.
“But of course, Cornpop. You’ll have to take it easy on the candy, okay? A little bit every now and again is okay, but you can’t have too much. It’ll rot your teeth.”
He smiles an obviously rotten smile.
“Otay, nice doctah!”
Disgusting.
1:00 PM. Showtime.
I chose some instrumental music this time, since fluffies like to sing along to lyrical music. That can’t happen. It would impede my work, or perhaps drive me to suicide. Cornpop seems content with Handel, so I begin.
Before giving Cornpop his anesthetic, I need to figure out what teeth are salvageable and which are properly rotten. I will accomplish this by gauging his reactions to my tools. He opens his mouth, and it smells like a plague of locusts may arrive at any moment. Good lord.
I begin prodding at his piano-keys smile with my probe, the metal hook digging into the crowns of his teeth. Almost immediately he begins screaming, wiggling for dear life. The little fucker bites my hand, causing me to drop my previously pristine tool onto the filthy floor.
“You goddamn rodent!”
I punch Cornpop in the side of the face, and three teeth immediately come loose. Cornpop spits them out, gagging and crying about how badly I hurt him as if I could ever conceivably feel remorse. I slam the teeth into the garbage can before crossing the room to sanitize my instrument.
Cornpop… pathetic, hideous, worthless little Cornpop.
Fluffies are odd birds. Rather than the full sets of teeth grown by most creatures, fluffies will grow 20 deciduous teeth which they keep for their entire lives. Cornpop has wasted at least three of his eating caramel Werther’s. Tragic.
“Nu wan! Nu wike! Huwties, huwties! Wowstest huwties! Pwease nu hit Cownpop nu mowe!”
I use my free gloved hand to pry his mouth back open. My newly-sanitized probe claws at the enamel of his teeth. He’s missing two on the bottom row, one on the top row. I pick at the nine remaining top teeth first. Most of them feel firm, but his left front tooth will have to go. It’s nearly completely blackened, with hardly any enamel remaining. I scrape the dentin, just to hear Cornpop cry a little more. And he does, oh how splendidly does he cry.
“UUUUHUHUHUGUGUUHUUUU!”
He strains against my hand as I pry his jaw open, trying to bite me once more. I don’t allow it, pushing his jaws further apart.
Then, I examine his bottom teeth. Or, the eight that remain. I start at the left, prodding at the crown of each until I reach his left lateral incisor. It’s almost fully blackened. This is far beyond any cavity I’ve ever seen.
I jam my probe into the tooth, and from the gummy texture (as well as his reaction) I can tell I’ve broken through whatever small amount of dentin remained and right into the nerve-filled pulp.
Cornpop stiffened, screaming as tears filled his eyes.
“REEEEEE! REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! GUHGUGHUUGGUHHHHUUUHUUUUU!”
Cornpop kicked his back legs free from his restraints, trying to curl into a fetal position.
“Hold still!” I demand, pushing him back flat onto the table. I step closer, taking a wider stance to try and push him down.
“HOLD FUCKING-”
Cornpop vomits.
All. Over. Me.
And I hear something hit the ground.
I look down the front of my outfit. My shirt, my pants, my shoes, my pristine white coat, all ruined.
And what is that in his puke, that fell to the floor? A tooth?
No.
A whole fucking Werther’s caramel.
I grab Cornpop by the jaw, squishing his rotten tooth between my fingers. He screams, his eyes bulging out of his head as he pukes harder. And then, silence. He falls unconscious, vomit dribbling out of his mouth and onto the floor.
I grab the rest of his teeth, and anything that even slightly gives is ripped out with gloved hands. Fuck Cornpop. Fuck Cornpop all the way to hell. Worthless fucking shitstain.
Yoink. Yoink. Yoink. Ah, the nerves are still attached to this one. YOINK!
1:47 PM.
I call Eliza in to clean and return Cornpop to his owner.
She steps in, once again horrified by the sight before her. There is no shortage of bleeding from Cornpop’s mouth, though any larger wounds were stuffed with gauze. I wish he’d been awake to feel the pain of me tearing the loose nerves out. Alas, he’ll feel it when he wakes up.
Oh, right. I should’ve given him anesthesia.
“Poor Cornpop will have to switch to a liquid diet,” I say, my voice filled with a faux lament. My eyes lock with Eliza’s for a moment. “I only hope his owner isn’t too hard on herself. She does seem ever so sweet.”
“Doctor?” she speaks, her voice shaky. “What’s been going on with you today? You haven’t been yourself.”
I open my mouth to speak, but words find themselves caught.
“And these incidents… this isn’t typical at all. Are you feeling alright?”
I step past her, striding down the hall to the restroom. I can hear her shoes click-clacking quickly behind me.
“I feel fantastic, Eliza. Today hasn’t gone according to plan, but it’s a good day nonetheless.”
I turn back to her, hovering near the bathroom door.
“Today’s been a day of surprises. A day of changes. Things are different. Today, I am alive.”
Eliza shrinks back, holding her hands close to her chest as she seems to position her clipboard between us.
“I see it in your eyes, Eliza. You feel it too.”
I sling the door open, dribbling a bit of Cornpop’s puke onto the wall.
“Prepare my 2:30, please. I’ll be right out.”
The door slams shut behind me as I march to a sink. My eyes are wide, bloodshot, bulging from my skull. My mouth is a snarling grimace.
With vomit-coated gloves, I brush a stray lock of hair back into place.
I throw all of my clothes off, save for my underwear, and begin washing them in the sink.
And why not? I would never do this before.
But this is not before.
This is now.
2:08 PM.
My clothes are clean.
I am clean.
My soul is filthy.
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