Within/Without

chapter thirty.

Simon

Noah sobered up quickly; I guess getting socked in the face a couple times will do that to you. We're sitting at our dining table back at the apartment; after being attacked, none of us were really in the mood for any more partying, so we came straight here.

    "Hold still," I tell Noah, turning the bottle of antiseptic over, dousing a cotton ball. "I can't patch you up if you keep squirming."

    Noah rolls his eyes—or his eye, I suppose, because the other one's practically swollen shut. He lets out a hiss through his teeth as the cotton ball meets his skin. "Jesus. That stings!"

    I smile at him. "That's how we know it's working."

    "Well, what about you?" snaps Noah, combing a strand of blond hair back from his face. I screw the bottle of antiseptic shut, though the scent of alcohol still hangs in the air.

    "What about me?"

    "You didn't get hurt?"

    I swallow, remembering the crunch of my nose underneath the guy's fist. "I think he broke my nose," I say, reaching for a butterfly bandage, "but I healed it."

    Noah is silent for a moment. When I look up at him, his eyes are round, mouth half-open. "I wasn't aware you could do that."

    I exhale. Monster. Monster. "Neither was I."

    "But if you think about it, it makes sense, doesn't it? You change the bones in your face all the time," Noah says as I press the bandage to his skin, sealing a cut closed. He watches my fingers as I pack up the first aid kit and click it shut. "So why couldn't you just rearrange your nose?"

    I shrug, silent.

    There's a quiet shuffling noise as Noah slides the first aid kit down the lacquered wood table. Underneath the gold light fixtures, his bruises are a shimmery, deep purple-blue. There's rage somewhere within me. Bubbling, warm, about to burst. My brother's spent his whole life protecting me, and now he gets his face beaten in for it. Monster. Monster.

    "Ginger Snap?" Noah says. He taps the table once with his finger; I force my eyes to his. "Are you okay over there?"

    I want to cry. I want to scream. I want to fall down my knees and say I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. It's all my fault. More than anything, I want to disappear forever.

    "Hey," Noah says, and the second his arms come around me, all of it comes tumbling out.

    "He called me a monster, Noah," I say. My cheeks are wet, though I don't remember feeling the tears fall. I swipe them away angrily. Monster? Sure? But what monster was ever this pathetic? "I was just trying to get them away. I was just trying to fight them off, trying to make sure both of us lived. And he called me a monster, and I realized, God, he's right. I am a monster, aren't I?"

    Noah jolts; I hear his heartbeat jump underneath my ear. "Simon, no."

    "But it explains everything. Why Mom and Dad always looked at me like they were scared of me. Why Abbie always used to cry whenever I held her. Why all the doctors said they couldn't help me. People don't do this, Noah. People don't change their faces and bodies on a whim. It's not possible," I say. My throat's dry, too dry; I swallow, trying to choke out the words. Everything in me feels scraped bare. It's a terrible, terrible feeling. "Larry's right. People like us—we just aren't made for this world we're stuck in."

    For a moment, the dining room is utterly quiet, wordless. Sirens wail distantly outside; somewhere else is the low, low warble of a nightly television show. But Noah says nothing. But I say nothing.