Adriana’s View

By Tuesday, the soreness had settled into something deeper.

Not sharp anymore — just this low, persistent ache that followed me everywhere. Especially when I sat.

Which was a problem. Because I sit all day.

The dental lab wasn’t loud or chaotic. Just the soft whir of polishing tools, the rhythmic hum of machines, and the occasional clink of porcelain. But every single time I eased onto my stool, I felt it.

That slow throb from the lower injections. Like a bruise hidden behind layers of skin. Pressure when I shifted, sting when I leaned. A reminder.

At first, it annoyed me. Then… it didn’t.

It became a pulse I moved with. Like a second heartbeat, nestled beneath the surface. A strange rhythm of pain and memory.

Francisco’s voice kept playing in my head:

“You’re okay. Breathe.”

“You’ve got this.”

And I had. I had gotten through it.

But the ache wasn’t just physical. It came with something else now — anticipation. A subtle tension building behind every sore step, every careful bend to reach a case tray, every hiss as I sat too fast without thinking.

I caught myself imagining the next session. Not in fear anymore, but in this curious, hungry way.

How far could I go?

What would Francisco try next?

It was still just injections. Still just medicine. Still just friendship.

But there was something unfolding between the bruises and the silences. A kind of power I didn’t fully understand — but I wanted to chase.