Feeling better was dangerous.

Gary knew this, even as it happened. He’d lived this cycle before, just usually with less antibiotics and more denial. The moment the pain dulled, his brain started rewriting history. It hadn’t been that bad. He’d handled it. He’d survived worse. This was all perfectly manageable now.

He stood in the kitchen, holding the blister pack, staring at the next tablet like it was a suggestion rather than an instruction.

“One won’t hurt,” he muttered. “I feel fine.”

This was a lie. Or at least an optimistic reinterpretation.

He skipped it.

For a while, nothing happened. Gary took this as confirmation that he was correct and modern medicine was, once again, being overly cautious. He made tea. He put music on. He even forgot about his jaw for nearly an hour, which felt like proof of something important.

Then the ache crept back.

Not dramatically. Not explosively. Just quietly, like a familiar presence returning to reclaim its seat. A dull pressure first. Then a sharper pulse. Then that unmistakable sense of oh no, not again.

Gary sat down heavily on the sofa, pressing his tongue against the roof of his mouth, eyes closed.

“Right,” he said to the room. “Message received.”

He looked at the untouched tablet on the table, suddenly very aware of how close he’d come to repeating the same mistake with slightly better packaging.

He swallowed the tablet with a full glass of water, no shortcuts this time.

His phone buzzed.

Still behaving?

Gary snorted and typed back.

I tried not to. Didn’t suit me.

The reply came back immediately.

Take the pills, Gary.

He smiled, embarrassed but grateful.

Yes, he typed. Lesson reinforced.

This wasn’t a straight line. He understood that now. Progress wasn’t confidence. It was consistency.

And he wasn’t allowed to forget that again.

Return to doing things properly → Page 58

Ignore warning signs and push your luck → Page 76