Unbelieving, and not listening, Jack feels his nose, his cheeks, his jaw. He winces as he presses at a tender spot just along the bridge of his nose, but it's no more than a bruise, easily healed in a few days, not--

He looks back up at Desire, uncomprehending.

"The fuck am I?" and it could be where, could be who, could be a fair many things, but Jack Twist, not yet twenty years old, is for once at a loss for words.