Hey guys... I should let you all know that I am studying abroad in Jordan right now and the internet is extremely slow while I'm extremely busy. I don't know what this means for timely updates, but we'll see. My thanks to all the feedback including the criticism. I am going to give you an official author's warning: do not trust Ana's POV all the time. She is very wrong sometimes.

An itch that you can't scratch is, what I have concluded, the worst pain in the world. It tickled and tricked my entire face. The blossoming spidery web like sensations made my body cringe and twitch at random and completely inopportune moments. There was no way I could scratch it as the mask and bindings were solidly in place. To do so would risk infection and a hell of a lot more pain, not that I cared right now. I needed relief! The nerve endings seemed to be on the mend, but I could feel every little change taking place behind my mask.

This is how I have felt for the past three days. It started as soon as got back to my house. The world could kiss my ass right now because everything seemed to be centered on my itchy face. Once I had been told that there was nothing worse than having some sort of pain on your head. They're right! I could not stop rubbing the outside of the mask, hoping somehow I could scratch the area bothering me. It was of no use; I could rub the mask all I wanted and it would not budge.

You would think that they would have a cream for this, but the good ol' Dr. Stephens told me that it would impede the healing process and it could irreversibly damage the new skin. A few times I caught myself saying 'Fuck it! I don't care', but I could envision both of my parents giving me a pointed stare. I refrained with great difficultly.

The doctor didn't warn me about this. The moment I woke up the next morning, all of the drugs that he had pumped me with had worn off. I tried to take a conservative amount of the painkillers at first that he had prescribed so that I wouldn't spend more money on refills, but I found that the 'Pain of the Itch' was too much to bear. I am a little ashamed to say that I took three pills for every two that I was supposed to take.

As I entered Bills, I watched the chubby Marie double-take as she filled our grubby saltshakers. Marie's mouth opened and then she coughed suspiciously hiding her smile and laugh. At least I didn't eat obsessively, bitch!

Hurrying away as I punched in my timecard, I tried to not open my mouth and make my situation at the diner worse. I peered around the room taking in the gaping mouths and hiding waitresses. Ignoring them, I skirted around the flabbergasted oily dishwasher and walked out into the serving area.

Bill also paused while counting cash next to our out of date register, before completely disregarding my mask. He hired me because of my strong work ethic, and I was a valuable asset to his establishment. Most of the others messed around in the back. At least he had the decency to let me escape notice. Other than my fellow co-workers, not one of my patrons insulted, laughed, or hit on me. Of course they were terribly uncomfortable having me serve them without a face to look at, but they seemed to have felt some sort of sympathy for my problem. The most I got all day was of an old man exclaiming, "What the hell happ…" before he was cut off by his embarrassed wife.

On my bathroom break, it took me longer than usual to leave the mirror. I, for the first time, stared back at my reflection. Before, I never really glanced at my face and could hardly recall what I looked like. Of course, I knew what I looked like! But I didn't really know. My smooth blank black mask held no recognizable features. The eyeholes were half circles with the curve facing upward, there were two small slits for the nose and a half inch open rectangle opening for my mouth. My green eyes glittered uneasily behind the mask as I inspected. My lips were still healing from the ripped skin and it was unsettling to look at. I turned away in annoyance and self-pity. I was going to have to get used to this.

As I served throughout the night, I couldn't but help to let my thoughts drift to Paul. If I still had a face, I would have blushed. He was dashing and even though not educated, he was sharp and witty. It was hard to find a good sparring partner around here. In high school, I had one partner and her name was Lori-Ann Goodwin. She too was sharp, and thoroughly enjoyed our jaunts. It is a shame that it is all I have to remember her by. Just a buddy to trade insults with, not as an actual friend. She died just last summer from some freak accident involving a motor boat.

What made me recall her was that Paul had the same swagger that she held, but only he was a male and attractive. He was helpful at least, and interesting. Recalling the incident involving the cigarette made me shake my head as I refilled some Pepsi's, but I appreciated his uncaring attitude. Paul did exactly what he wanted to do and that was completely unlike me.

Speaking of which, how in the world was I not charged by the hospital? They always make sure they bill, but they somehow forgot. Not that I would remind them (I didn't have the money anyway), but it was unheard for them to not bill. And how did Paul get them to do that for me? Did he know someone? Or maybe he threatened them? That couldn't have worked though. He was just a street punk. Paul must have known someone; it is the only logical conclusion. Hospitals just don't forget or make a mistake like that period.

Him having a connection also explained the fast service that I received. Santa Carla was known for their slow admission in the emergency room. It was so well known that even I, with no health care, wouldn't go there if I had the choice.

Another thing however couldn't be explained. Why hadn't I had to fill out any forms or other evaluations? You know the kinds that ask about your allergies, medications, and history. It is incredibly dangerous and unprofessional for a hospital to do that. Shouldn't I report them to somewhere?

Like where, Ana?

I nearly frowned before remembering my destroyed face. Goddamn it! This was going to be a rough few months ahead of me. Speaking of which, my face was by far my biggest problem.

Would I be like the Elephant Man? Would children run screaming away from the mere sight of my face? It was a sure bet that my face would forever be scarred from the beating that I took. People would set me apart now by the sight of me. Already, I noticed my co-workers taking subtle digs at me, and the uncomfortable avoidance of my customers made me grateful at their lack of pinching but attentive to their discomfort. They clearly were curious about my face, but no one was brave enough to ask, both too polite and uncomfortable about my face. I could understand the Elephant Man's plight. I am now not only an outcast socially, but it would be set in stone by my face.

Just as I began to feel sorry for myself, I was reminded of the banter between Paul and me. Even if I never caught Paul's eye the way that I would like to (not like the red-dressed girl), I could allow myself to hope for a tentative friendship. A friendship based on quips, not humps. He at least, saw no problem in a friendly jibe. Since Lori-Ann, I had given up on any sort of human contact. The world appeared a little brighter despite my predicament.

Sally and I were the last waitresses to leave for the night. Tiffany sung Sally's name from her new Honda, and Sally delightedly whooped before running to the car. The fiery red-head Sally had been the only waitress to not snicker or react at my mask for the entire night, excluding her double-take and Bill. I reminded myself that she was the only reasonable human-being among my co-workers. They drove off basking in each others gossip and collective giggles, fully planning on attending some bonfire party.

Left horribly alone and paranoid since my attack, I booked it to my Jeep and peeled out of the lot while cursing Sally for not having the consideration of walking me to my car. My destination was the boardwalk where Chico's Café was located. It was the only coffee shop still open at this time at night. The drive was quiet and safe, but when I neared the boardwalk the crowd picked up along with the traffic.

I must have had hundreds of double-takes that night, along with stares and pointing going on. I did my best to ignore, but who am I kidding? I felt self-conscious about it. Parking in the full lot away, I leapt out of my car and purposefully strode into the crowd. Doing whatever I could to distract myself from the looks, I counted light bulbs on the arcade, and that's when I noticed the neon-colored missing posters. I even stopped and read a few.

Jesus! How many of them are there? Hundreds must have lined the walls of the boardwalk. How could I not have noticed? I mean, I always knew that many went missing, but this much? All of those families waiting to hear back from their loved ones, but never getting another phone call from them again provoked an unusual emotional response. I was sick with compassion. The oldest poster (at least on the top layer) was dated from 1960, and it said that the woman was still in the area and also claimed she needed psychiatric care. The pattern was astounding. Maybe that's why the police are so horribly behind on things? Perhaps I shouldn't judge the police force so harshly…

Nah! Those bastards could do better.

Reaching the coffee shop, I dropped my train of thought just like every Santa Carlan and bought my coffee. It was quick, and I left sipping my hot and milky coffee through my hole. The movement of drinking was awkward and I was sorely tempted to get a straw, but I wouldn't suffer the indignity. I lost myself in the flow of the crowd back to my car.

"You Miss," I heard a rugged whisper from my right. I paused, which was highly unusual because it took a lot to stop me on the boardwalk full of solicitors, bums and runaways, and glanced at an equally rugged old woman's face. Her face was weathered, sunken, and cracked from old age. Obviously she had seen a hard life, and was capable of living to an even greater age. She was gypsy and an obvious fortune-teller. With black bushy hair, she was wrapped in a hole-ridden and frayed purple shawl covering her entire body. Her long droopy earlopes were pierced with gold and she wore many gold and silver bracelets. What a cliché!

"You must sit and talk with me, your destiny is calling me," she demanded while turning to a young woman who had the same black bushy hair that pulled out a chair for her. I paused, before shaking my head and walking off without a word. I did not stop to turn around to see their expressions, but I did hear more demands from the woman using the same line on some poor paranoid woman.

Dodging the crowd, I sharply turned left into the parking lot when a firm hand gripped my arm back behind me. "Where do you think you're going?" A hot voice demanded as he roughly turned me around. I raised my fist ready to strike when I realized it was a grinning Paul. I froze as his grin widened. If my heart had no beat, it certainly had one now. Even my toes were warmer.

Oh, no… OH NO! I have a crush. How utterly... Humiliating.

"Aren't you happy to see me an' all," Paul gloated. I paused before being completely embarrassed at myself. How could I like him? I didn't even know him. He was clearly unwashed, unclean, and utterly unlike myself. No goals, no education, and a clear disregard for the law. "Uh… Hello? You in there, Ana," Paul waved his hand in front of me when I snapped out of my inner defense. I was determined to not like him. But oh, the way he said my name…

"You sure you're not a bit rattled up there or somethin'," Paul continued motioning to his head, while my inner shiver stopped.

"Fuck off," I muttered before turning away. Paul grabbed my arm again, forcing me to stop and turn to him. His eyes were confused, but determined to speak to me. Didn't he get it? Or was he just plain stupid. Did I have to physically push him away?

"You alright," he asked, cocking his head to the side. It was so adorable that I stiffened visibly, trying to stop myself from melting, and looked away from him. Paul let go off my arm and awkwardly stared. "Well, I'm sorry I bothered you. Just wanted to give you this," he reached into his pocket and pulled out a black and red lettered slim cylinder. It was pepper spray. I glanced back up to his diverted eyes and realized how really sweet this guy was. He appeared to have a shy visage of a disappointed cute little boy. But then again… I knew better. He was trying to manipulate me. Only… I am so stupid.

It worked.

"Oh… Um…" I sputtered unintelligibly and witnessed Paul brighten in hope. I couldn't disappoint him, and I suddenly my decision was made, no way of going back now. "Thank you, I had no idea you would do this for me…"

"Of course! Couldn't leave you defenseless. Besides, this will help you if any monsters decide to attack and I am not there to protect you damsel in distress," he snickered. Immediately, I huffed in an equally childlike fit.

"I am no damsel."

"Uh… yeah, I guess you're right," he scratched his chin with the pepper spray in hand, ignoring my antics. "Otherwise, you would be the beauty and not the beast," he remarked dryly, when his glittering blue eyes met mine. Oh… a challenge. This is the time that I cracked my proverbial knuckles.

"I would have been the beauty, if you weren't for your bad timing hero," I shot back.

"Let's just say that I like to take my time," he replied breathily. His eyes danced with life and I felt a twitch at my own lips.

"Well, that's not what I heard," I let a sort of smirk filter through my voice. "I hear that taking your time is so impossible that a few seconds is all that it takes," I whispered in a mock secret. His nose crinkled at the thought.

"Would you like to find out," he offered slyly, stepping directly into my personal space. My body flared high in temperature at his offer, but I couldn't play this particular game with him. I had no experience.

"Just give me the pepper spray," I changed the subject quickly. He grinned at his undeclared victory before stepping back a couple feet.

"Ok,"and without warning he pitched the pepper spray four feet above my head that I didn't even think, but only reacted. Springing up, I caught it perfectly in my hand. Landing, I nearly pumped up my fist in triumph when I spied Paul's hanging jaw. His eyes stared at me in amazement and what I could only describe as suspiciousness.

"What the hell was that," he remarked with furrowed eyebrows. I paused before feeling uncomfortable. He eyed me with mistrust, and something akin to looking a freak. I hated those looks; I had received enough today for a lifetime.

"Oh that was just me being awesome," I hurriedly said while trying to maintain my self-assured air and hide my discomfort.

"Did you… How did you…" He blubbered and I realized he wouldn't let it go if I played it off that way.

"Oh, forget it," I cut him off before retreating into the parking lot. Of course, Paul didn't know when to stop.

"Hey! What was that? Shouldn't you be bed ridden or somethin'…"

"I said, 'FORGET IT'," I forcefully supplied while glancing at him following me. He stopped dead and did not follow.

The ride home was a quiet one until an unsettling thought entered my mind which was the reason for Paul's reaction.

Why was my body not in pain?