Gary doubled down.

He told himself that was unfair phrasing. He wasn’t lying, exactly. He was just… not volunteering information. Which was different. Legally. Probably.

The next few days passed quietly. Too quietly. He took most of the tablets. Missed one here and there. Told himself the gap wouldn’t matter. The pain stayed manageable, which his brain immediately took as confirmation that his approach was working.

He smiled more in messages. Sounded relaxed. Reassuring.

Feeling loads better, he typed at one point, ignoring the faint throb that had returned behind his cheek.

The lie settled in, uncomfortable but familiar. Gary had worn worse ones.

Still, something felt off. The swelling didn’t quite go down. The ache flared unpredictably, like it was waiting for something. Or someone.

At night, he lay awake, jaw humming softly, replaying the moment he’d chosen not to be honest. It gnawed at him in a different way to the pain. Guilt had a longer shelf life.

When his phone buzzed again, he jumped.

Any issues today?

Gary hesitated.

This was the moment. He could come clean now, rewind slightly, minimise the damage. Or he could commit fully to the lie and hope it held.

He knew how this usually went.

Double down and keep pretending → Page 70

Crack under guilt and confess the truth → Page 67