Page 53 of Monster in Disguise

"Me?" he asks, his tone half-amused and half in wonder.

Damnation!

Did I say that out loud?

My eyes go wide at the realization.

I fake a cough. "What doyoulike, is what I meant." I internally cringe.

"That's not what I asked." He raises an eyebrow at me challengingly.

"Well, I don't know whatIlike." I shrug, trying to immerse myself in this subject and forget my earlier blunder.

Lord, I bet my cheeks must be flaming still.

Focus!

"There wasn't much I could do at Sacre Coeur, I'm sure you realize that."

"What about before?"

Before? That's a strange thought... Can I even remember what I was like before?

I shrug again. "I used to sew sometimes."

"And you couldn't continue at Sacre Coeur?"

"I mended a few of our clothes, nothing creative. I didn't have the materials..."

"That solves it then," Marcello says, sounding almost eager to get rid of me. "Start sewing again." He brings his hand up to check his watch. "Goodnight then."

This time he actually leaves.

What?

As I enter my room, the emptiness feels heavier than usual in the wake of Marcello's sudden dismissal. My heart sinks as I realize that he may not enjoy being in my presence. It's a sobering thought, one that sends waves of insecurity and self-doubt crashing over me.

With a sigh, I undo the buttons of my dress and let it fall to the ground. The fabric pools around my feet as I make my wayto the bathroom, drawn to the promise of solitude and warmth. I notice that there are already a few sets of clean towels laid out for me.

In the bathroom, I can't help but eye the deep porcelain bathtub longingly. After a brief deliberation, I decide to indulge in a warm bath, hoping it will somehow ease the weight on my shoulders and clear my mind.

I grab a couple of towels and lay them on the countertop before undressing completely. As I stand in front of the wall-length mirror on the other side of the bathroom, I try to see myself as someone else would. As Marcello would.

What does he see that makes him recoil in disgust? Is it my features, which I know are not ugly? Or is it something deeper, an unspoken flaw that only he can see? Every time I catch him avoiding looking at me, I can't help but feel inadequate and unworthy of his attention.

But when I turn slightly, there is no hiding from my biggest imperfection.

I trace my fingers over the bumpy white scar tissue that covers my back, each bump representing a painful memory from that night. The last time I dared to look at it, the scar had still been angry red and raw. But now, years later, it has faded into a reminder of what happened to me.

The knife slicing into my skin...the unbearable pain...the darkness that consumed me.

I force myself to push those memories aside, but they still linger in my mind.

What would Marcello say if he saw this? What would he think of me?

The chill of the air against my bare skin snaps me back to reality, causing goosebumps to rise on my arms. I turn to the half-filled tub and slide into the warm water, closing my eyes and allowing myself a moment of peace. My hand glides over thesurface of the water, droplets clinging to my fingers like precious jewels.

What would it feel like to be touched by him? To be loved and desired?

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