They didn’t let her leave this time.

Nora had barely stepped into the hallway, still swallowing that faint, chalky taste, when Melanie’s voice came again—

“Stay close.”

Not you’re done.

Not you can go.

Just that.

Stay.

Nora hesitated, half-turned toward the exit, the memory of the open doors and what she’d seen behind them still sharp.

“For what?” she asked quietly.

Melanie didn’t answer.

She was already adjusting something on a rolling cart—tubing, a small mask, a dial.

Nora’s chest tightened.

“No, I—I’m okay. I don’t—”

“Doctor wants to continue.”

Continue.

The word landed wrong.

Heavy.

Before she could process it, she was guided—gently, but without room to resist—back into the same chair.

It reclined again.

The light found her face instantly.

Too bright.

Too familiar.

Her heart started to pick up.

“I just—I need a minute—”

The mask appeared in her peripheral vision.

Clear plastic. Soft edges.

Attached to tubing that hissed faintly even before it reached her.

“No—what is that?”

“Nitrous,” Melanie said calmly. “It will help you relax.”

“I don’t—” Nora shook her head slightly, her voice tightening. “I don’t want that.”

The dentist didn’t look up from the tray.

“You’re tense.”

Not a question.

A statement.

“That makes it harder.”

The mask hovered closer.

“No, I—I’m fine, I can just—”

“Breathe normally.”

The mask settled over her nose.

Cool.

Foreign.

Too close.

Her breath hit the inside of it and came back to her, warmer, louder.

The faint hiss grew more noticeable.

Nora’s hands immediately came up.

She touched the edges.

Then pushed.

“I don’t like it—I don’t—”

Melanie’s hand was there instantly.

Not forceful.

But firm.

“Leave it.”

Nora’s breath quickened.

The air felt different—lighter, thinner somehow—and that made it worse, not better.

“I can’t—I can’t breathe right—”

“You can.”

Flat.

Steady.

The same tone as everything else here.

Her fingers curled around the mask again.

She tried to lift it.

Just a little.

Melanie’s hand returned, guiding it back into place.

“Keep it on.”

Nora’s chest rose faster.

The room felt—

Not spinning.

But shifting.

Edges softening slightly.

The sound of the suction from another room bled through the wall, louder now, or maybe just harder to ignore.

She turned her head slightly.

The door.

Still not fully closed.

Through the narrow gap—

She could see again.

Another patient.

Younger.

Maybe sixteen.

Reclined the same way.

The same light.

The same stillness.

The drill started.

Nora flinched instinctively, even though it wasn’t her.

Her hand went back to the mask.

She tried again—more urgently this time—to pull it down.

“I don’t want this, I—”

Melanie leaned closer.

“Hands down.”

Nora hesitated.

Her fingers trembling where they touched the plastic.

The hiss continued.

Steady.

Unchanging.

She let her hands fall—slowly.

But her breathing stayed uneven.

Fast.

Too fast.

“Through your nose,” Melanie repeated.

Nora tried.

The mask made it louder.

Her own breathing echoing back at her, amplified, inescapable.

The room felt distant.

And too close at the same time.

The dentist rolled in again.

“Open.”

Her jaw resisted.

Not just from soreness now—but from something deeper.

Fear.

“I just—can we stop for a second—”

“Open.”

Sharper.

Final.

She did.

The bite block returned.

Her mouth stretched open again, forced into compliance.

The mask stayed.

The hiss continued.

The mirror entered.

Then—

The probe.

Back to the same area.

Testing.

Pressing.

Even that felt different now—muted and sharp at the same time, like her body couldn’t decide how to process it.

“Still irregular.”

The dentist reached for the drill.

Nora’s stomach dropped.

“No—no, you said it was done—”

“Correction.”

One word.

The drill started.

The sound cut through the muffled haze instantly.

Too sharp.

Too familiar.

Her eyes darted sideways again—

The girl in the other room flinched.

Nora saw it.

Felt it.

As if it was happening to her again.

Her hand lifted—instinctive, desperate—grabbing at the mask, pulling it slightly away.

The air changed immediately.

Sharper.

Clearer.

“I don’t want it—please—”

Melanie’s hand covered hers.

Not harsh.

But unyielding.

“Leave it on.”

The mask was pressed back into place.

The hiss resumed its steady rhythm.

Nora’s breathing hitched.

Too fast.

Too shallow.

The drill touched down.

And even through the strange, floaty distortion of the gas—

She felt it.

Duller, maybe.

But still there.

Still wrong.

Still enough.

Her body reacted anyway—tense, rigid, trying to pull away from something it couldn’t escape.

“Stay open.”

The bite block held.

The mirror pressed.

The suction followed.

The drill moved.

Inside.

Working.

The room blurred slightly at the edges.

But the center—

The sensation.

The sound.

The awareness of the other rooms—

That stayed sharp.

She saw movement again from the doorway.

Another patient shifting.

Another flinch.

Another stillness forced back into place.

It stacked in her mind.

Layered.

Her breath echoed loudly inside the mask.

In.

Out.

Too fast.

Too present.

She made a small sound—half protest, half panic—but it dissolved immediately into the hum of everything around her.

The dentist didn’t pause.

Didn’t acknowledge it.

Just continued.

Precise.

Uninterrupted.

The drill stopped.

The silence rang strangely through the mask.

The probe returned.

Pressed.

Tested.

“Better.”

But there was no relief in the word.

Just continuation.

The mask stayed.

The hiss never changed.

Nora’s hands lay still now.

Not because she wanted them to—

But because something in her had gone quiet.

Too overwhelmed to keep fighting.

As the procedure moved on—etch, rinse, fill, cure—the world felt distant in a way that didn’t comfort her.

It just made everything harder to hold onto.

Harder to understand.

And still—

Through the narrow gap of the door—

She could see them.

One after another.

Different faces.

Same chair.

Same light.

Same stillness.

And the same realization settling deeper with every passing second:

Even when you tried to pull away—

Even when you reached for something as simple as air—

Nothing here actually stopped.