“And you know what, Fran? That’s how I feel. Completely disfigured. Covered in bulky, disgusting sores that never heal. That will always cause disgust. Inside me. Neither hugs nor caresses nor anything else is comforting, because I feel so disgusted. When someone touches me, I feel scared, repulsed. Like I might dirty that person with my pus, like they’re going to infect my wounds. Any mention of intimacy fills me with dread.” And she paused. “It’s different with you. I don’t know why, but it’s like, with you, things are better.”
