Guys, this is IT. I SO want to read this book! It’s my current before-reading favorite book (yes, it’s a thing). Just read the synopsis, and tell me how can you not want to read it. I dare you. Also, I have the Heroine of the story here with me!!!!
A diligent hand carved this hole in my face.
It stole my confidence, my identity, and ended my short-lived career as a broadcast journalist.
I am now unemployed. Alone. Ugly.
And expected to get over it and move on.
Go on living life as usual—as if the world doesn’t judge the grotesquely unattractive.
It’s been three years since I was kicked out of the Army for nearly killing the opposition’s militia commander with my bare hands.
I am now unemployed. Alone. Angry.
And expected to forget the nightmares that hold me hostage and move on.
Go on living life as usual—as if the world doesn’t judge a dishonorably discharged ex-soldier.
Don’t Look at Me is a modern-day Beauty and the Beast tale—reversed and twisted. Because even the ugly need a good story, and even the beautiful are ugly deep down.
And here’s Haven Quinn with me for a chat.
Hi Haven, and thank you for being here with m today. If you had a free day with no responsibilities and your only mission was to enjoy yourself, what would you do?
Drink tea and read books. Do you really have to ask?
What impression do you make on people when they first meet you? How about after they’ve known you for a while?
Well…BEFORE the ‘attack’ I always thought I made a good first impression. But now…AFTER…I don’t want to know what they think of me.
If you could spend the day with someone you admire (living or dead or imaginary), who would you pick?
Papa Hemingway. No, Jules Verne. No, Stephen King. No, Nicholas Sparks. No, J.K. Rowling. No…you know what? This question is too difficult to answer. Can I pass?
Do you think you’ve turned out the way your parents expected?
God, no. I’m sure my mother didn’t expect me to become this…this…this BEAST!
What’s the worst thing that’s happened in your life?
My attack, of course. I never want to relive that horror again.
What did you learn from it?
I learned that it’s what I feel about myself, and not what others think…not what Mother thinks, that matters.
Tell me about your best friend.
Marisela is theeee best! She is straightforward, gutsy, and fun. If I could be like anyone else in the whole world, I’d want to be like Marisela. I’m lucky to have her as a friend.
What would you like it to say on your tombstone?
Haven Quinn – she liked books, she liked tea, and she liked herself…let’s hope I can live up to that one.
Describe your ideal mate.
An ex-soldier with a chip on his soldier???
What are you most afraid of?
Being afraid of being judged. I don’t want to be afraid of being judged. I want to not care if someone comes to their own ugly opinion about me. I want it to only matter what I think of myself and my choices…and God. I care what God thinks.
Are you lying to yourself about something?
I was lying about something. Something my mother put into my head.
What is it?
Now, now…you wouldn’t want me to spoil my story now, would you?
Sorry, I understand! Thank you for being with us, and I can’t wait to read your story!
(I know all too well that transitions are difficult)
When I moved to Jersey from California, I had no idea that days would go by where I wouldn’t think of the incident that led to my being other-than-honorably discharged. For me, the events of that night have been branded into my brain—the consistent nightmares the hot iron that won’t let the scars heal. But since finding out about Haven’s attack, I find myself thinking about her more and more—why was she walking alone in the middle of the night? What was going through her mind when she was so viciously attacked? What is going through her mind now? Was she raped? It isn’t part of the slasher’s modus operandi to sexually assault his attackers, but he also doesn’t carve out whole sections of skin in the faces of his victims. According to reports I’ve read over and over online since learning of Haven’s attack, his approach is to leave two parallel slash marks down the right side of his victims’ cheek. From what I could see in the dark, the heft of Haven’s lacerations are on the left side of her face. It doesn’t make sense. The Stratford Slasher has only attacked each of his victims once, but if Haven’s wounds weren’t inflicted by this same man, could the one that did hurt her return to finish the job? I wish she’d take me up on my offer to help me in the store. Then I could keep an eye on her and make sure that doesn’t happen. But she barely stays on the phone with me for two minutes when I call her to ask. And the only time she’s ever called me was to thank me for the supplies she very much needed during the storm two weeks ago. I know she has a lot to work through since her attack, but I wish she’d let me help her to get through this transition from on-air personality to whatever she needs to do next. Because I know all too well that transitions are difficult. Especially when that transition requires living an entirely different life than before.
With Haven at the forefront of my mind, I can’t help but blurt out a question during one of our group sessions. “How can I help a friend who doesn’t seem to want my help?”
“You don’t,” Warren says at the same time Mary asks, “What kind of help does your friend need?”
“She needs help getting her life back. It was pretty much taken from her when some loser used her face as a canvas to do with as he pleased.”
“Poor girl,” Mary says while the others mumble something similar.
“And now she won’t go out in public. She has her food delivered to her. She only goes out in the middle of the night, wearing a getup she thinks hides her face.”
“Does she trust you to help her, Quest?” Mary leans forward, crossing her hands over her lap. Mary’s name suits her. She’s kind, soft-spoken, and nurturing. The Virgin Mary, my mother would say. The Mother of all mothers.
I answer honestly. “She hasn’t known me long enough.”
“Until she can trust you, I don’t think she’s going to accept your help. Is she getting counseling?”
“I don’t think so.”
“It sounds like she could use some professional counseling, but would she be open-minded about giving this group a chance? To get her headed in the right direction?”
My eyes go to the fluorescent lights on the ceiling. “I doubt it.”
“Then, just be her friend. Don’t try to help her overcome this, just be there for her until she finds her way.”
So, that’s what I resolve to do. Be her friend.