The drill whined softly.

Gary froze.

Every instinct screamed at him to bolt. To apologise. To claim he’d left something on. Instead, he gripped the arms of the chair and focused on breathing, reminding himself that this was controlled, intentional pain, not chaos.

“Small vibration,” she warned. “Pressure, not pain.”

She was right.

It wasn’t pleasant, but it wasn’t the nightmare his brain had spent years rehearsing. There was pressure. Noise. A strange sense of vulnerability. But no agony. No sudden shock.

Gary’s shoulders lowered slightly as he realised this.

His mind wandered, unhelpfully, to how much time he’d wasted avoiding this exact moment. How many beers. How many pills. How many elaborate justifications.

She paused periodically, checking in, letting him reset. Gary appreciated that more than he could articulate.

“You’re nearly through the worst bit,” she said at one point.

Gary nodded, eyes closed, trusting her more than he trusted himself right now.

When it was over, the chair was raised slowly back to upright.

Gary blinked, disoriented.

“That’s it?” he asked.

“That’s it,” she confirmed.

Relief flooded through him, heavy and emotional and entirely unexpected. He laughed once, a short, incredulous sound.

“I can’t believe I avoided that,” he said.

She smiled. “Most people do.”

This wasn’t over. But it was started. Properly.

Sit up and talk next steps → Page 64