I don’t want to think about what I said to Nick. I don’t want to think about what he said to me.

We clean the floor of his room in silence, refusing to look at each other. Then I hide in my own room to peel off the rest of the rotten parts. It doesn’t hurt, the same way peeling a sunburn doesn’t hurt. It’s all dead tissue anyway. No nerve endings. Nothing capable of feeling pain. I spend a minute or so staring at the collected shreds, all the little pieces of me.

After I sneak out to bury the mess, I stop in the laundry room to look at myself in the mirror. My left cheek, or what remains of it, is a riot of tattered flesh and open wounds. You can see my Grace-fang and pale, receding gums. Even with my mouth shut, my tongue pulses in the gaps between my teeth. Saliva glitters in the dim light. I test my vowels, my consonants, my syllables to make sure I still sound all right. A bit garbled, but nothing I can’t keep hiding.

When I can’t stand looking anymore, I put my mask back on, a thick fabric one that hides everything from the eyes down. With this, I just look tired. Hungry. Distant. Not like I’m falling apart.

I fall asleep early and wake up while the moon is high in the sky, so I can go back to Reformation Faith Evangelical Church. I sneak out the courtyard gate and into the city, where the stars still shine, the clouds still move across the sky, and nothing cares that I might as well be dying. It’s a beautiful night. I could watch it forever.

I can’t, though. I need Theo, the way I’ve always needed him.

Halfway through the walk, I pull off my mask. There’s nobody to hide from anymore. It’s like changing out of the dress I ran in, like watching snips of dark auburn hair gather around my feet. Not quite sure what to do with myself, desperately trying to understand this new body. Trying to figure it out: What does it mean? What does this flesh want? What does the world want from it?

What kind of monster do I want to be?

At least a face like this will make people think twice before making snap judgments about what I am. It’s harder for someone to pin you down as a girl when they need a moment to pin you down as human.

Theo is in the sanctuary, praying. In the front pew, hands clasped, head hung and eyes closed. He’s so perfectly still, he could be a statue or a corpse.