“Am I really that different, D’arcy? Have I changed so much?”
The room was filled with the sound of his breathing. She turned to him. His face was lost in the darkness, she could see no features, but she sensed motion there and she could imagine his flaring nostrils and his corrugated forehead.
“Do you love me?” she said.
A sharp intake of breath. The sound of his hair rolling on the pillow, a familiar scratching noise that seemed to clutch at her heart.
“Of course I love you,” he said and a rush of warm air escaped his mouth and hit her face like the blow of an open palm.
“My face is just a mask,” she said. “Underneath I am exactly the same person I always was.”
“I know.”
She took his hand and placed it on her cheek. She felt pressure on the ridges of scar tissue still healing. The
