“It looks fine to me,” he whispered to her, still holding her hand.
“That side is fine,” she whispered back. “It’s the other side.” And she turned slowly toward him, until he had the full view of what had happened to her. He didn’t say a word for a minute, and then he nodded. There were tears in his eyes, but he didn’t scream or react, or look horrified. It was heartbreaking to see what had happened, but he wasn’t shocked, just sad for her.
“I’m not fainting. You’re still beautiful, you know. Maybe a little more so, because you’re not so perfect. Now can I take you out to dinner, since you don’t have to wear that thing with me? Or we could both wear a mask and pretend we’re doctors on a date?” She laughed, but it was as though someone had released all the tension in her body. He was right. She didn’t need to hide from him. It was an incredible relief.
“You don’t have to pretend it’s okay. I know how ugly it is,” she said sadly. She had looked at it a million times herself.
“What’s ugly is that human beings do things like that to each other. That’s the ugly part. The scars are just proof that you were there. There’s no shame in that. You don’t need to apologize for it, or protect people from it. Anyone who can’t deal with it, that’s their problem, not yours. What are they going to do? Blame you for it? Fuck them if they do,” he said easily, and she laughed again. “And you can’t wear a mask for the rest of your life, unless you want to become a surgical nurse. You’re so damn gorgeous, with or without scars. Let them see your face. Just looking at you is a gift.”
“You’re crazy and blind, Douglas Kelly. How can you say that, with a face like this?”
“Because your face is still your face. You’re still you. That hasn’t changed. You’re not just a nose and a cheek and a chin. You’re you because of what’s inside you. That’s what people love. The rest is just very pretty window dressing, but it doesn’t mean a damn thing. How many gorgeous girls have you and I both seen who’re dumb as shit and mean as snakes, and real bitches? How beautiful is that, no matter how beautiful they are? I’d rather see your scars than look at them any day.”
“I’ve been trying to think it through and make some sense of it. It’s hard to do,” she admitted, and he nodded.
“That’s because doing that to another human being makes no sense. And we have this unreal image of what beauty should be. Women are supposed to look like they haven’t had a decent meal in ten years. They’re so anorexic they make me feel sick. And their faces have to look a certain way. They have to be the right color, the right size, have the right size breasts, whatever is in fashion this week, tits or no tits. It’s all bullshit and hype. The designers tell them what to wear, the experts tell them what they should look like. So they get a new nose, or a chin, or puff up their cheeks, or their asses or reduce their tits. Getting older is unacceptable so they get a facelift and seem like mummies or fill their face with Botox so they can’t smile anymore. Or they blow up their lips till they look like Donald Duck. I’m so tired of shooting all that artifice and crap.
“Beautiful is beautiful no matter what happens to it. You are beautiful. You were then and you are now, and you’ll be beautiful until you’re a hundred years old, and you’re beautiful even with a few scars on your face. So what? If I get a scar on my leg, will I be less of a man or a person, or less attractive? Hell, no. C’mon, let’s go out to dinner and eat like normal people, or I’m going to get drunk on your wine, and I’ll either pass out on your couch, or I’ll make a pass at you and you’ll throw me out. I’m starving.” He stood up, and pulled her up with him.
“So am I,” she admitted, smiling at him. “You really think I can go to a restaurant with this face?” she asked him innocently, and he wanted to put his arms around her and hold her.
“No, I think you should wear a bag over your head, and I’ll show the waiter a photograph of how you looked before, and I’ll eat your dinner too. Yes, I think you can go to a restaurant. Of course you can go to a restaurant. Ninety percent of the people there will be ugly, and never look as good as you do today. And you need to gain some weight, by the way. You don’t have a professional excuse anymore. You look like they’ve been starving you at that hospital in Brussels. I’m taking you to feed you. Where do you want to go?”