Chapter 6 - Mirror, Mirror

He looked like his uncle Carmine, who was 65 and used to box. His nose was flatter. So were his cheekbones. His jaw was just as square, but softer in a way he couldn't quite identify. His eyebrows were the same though. A DiNapoli signature feature that he didn't think any amount of plastic surgery could change. Not that he planned on doing anything about them. If they were the only thing he got to keep, then so be it. His hair was basically gone. Cut off for surgery and only now growing back to cover the rickrack of scars his stitches had left. He had a feeling that at some point he'd have to find a new look as his curls would be too easily identifiable.

He felt like someone had erased his face. It was all still there only less delineated. He hadn't noticed initially. At first it didn't occur to him to ask for a mirror and he wasn't actually making trips to the bathroom. Later, it took so much effort to stand and keep nurses out, who were hoovering outside the door, looking in the mirror just wasn't a priority. But one day he looked up from washing his hands and caught his reflection in the mirror. It was jarring. He was so thin he bordered on emaciated. His skin was nearly translucent he was so pale. He had teeth missing, scars in his hairline and deep bruising under his eyes.

It actually took him a moment to realize the ugly wreck he was seeing in the mirror was who he was now. Blaine Anderson. It certainly wasn't Dominick DiNapoli whose nonna used to tell him how pretty he was when she played with his curls. He had hobbled back to bed in momentary disbelief. Bitterness over took the numbness he had briefly been feeling as he couldn't help thinking that if he had to have plastic surgery they could have at least asked and made him better looking, not ugly. But, he used to be the spitting image of his father. While no one had said anything about plastic surgery as part of his new identity it made sense it was part of the package. He assumed McNulty or Erickson forgot to mention it.

He was irrationally tempted to call McNulty and demand that the lawyer tell him why they had done it. But he already knew the answer. It was for his protection, or more likely, for his father's. No one could ever find out that his son was still alive and that Vincent DiNapoli had actually spirited him away, only to allow everyone to believe he had actually put a hit on his own son because he was gay. It was just another safety precaution to make sure no one ever learned the truth.

Later during his session with Dr. Erickson, Blaine asked why no one had mentioned the plastic surgery during the many meetings he had been subject to regarding his treatments.

"Blaine. We discussed how portions of your face had to be extensively restructured. That's why you're still getting dental implants. We needed to wait until your jaw and face had healed enough before they could be inserted," Dr. Erickson explained patiently, not sure why this was suddenly a concern.

"You mean you didn't make me look like this on purpose?"

"Look like what? What are you talking about?"

"Plastic surgery. I don't look like I used to," Blaine said flatly as if it were completely obvious.

Erickson paused for a moment before saying, "All of your surgeries were necessary. None of them were for purely cosmetic purposes. The damage to your face was considerable. You know your nose, and cheek bones were essentially rebuilt."
Blaine's brows scrunched in frustration. "So you mean I look different because it just worked out that way. You didn't give me plastic surgery just to make sure I don't look like my dad anymore?"

Erickson answered gently, suddenly understanding, "No Blaine. No one did anything on purpose, other than try to heal you. If you look different it's because of your injuries. While you did have plastic surgery, it wasn't for purely cosmetic purposes, but to ensure your bones and faces healed correctly. Without it you would never have healed properly."

The young man sitting across from him relaxed slightly back into his chair with a quiet, "Oh."

"Does your appearance concern you?"

"I just...I don't look right," the teenager mumbled.

"Blaine, after what you've been through, it would be difficult to return to your past appearance. I'm sure your surgeons did everything they could to make sure you healed fully but also retained your original appearance as much as possible. Do you really look that different?"

"I look like my uncle Carmine," the boy scuffed.

"Which isn't something you like?"

"Well considering he's a retired boxer, no, I can't say I really want to look like him."

"Alright," Erickson said with an understanding nod. "But have you considered that your appearance right now isn't how you'll look in just a few weeks? Once you get the rest of your implants and you put on some of the weight you've lost and your hair grows back. Once you've recovered and finished with your physical therapy you won't look the way you do right now. You just need to give yourself time to heal."

Time to heal. It was going to take months. He had graduated to robotic like hand and finger braces on both of his hands in an effort to begin his physical therapy. He still had his cervical collar for his neck and back and would need it for months to come. He really wasn't happy with who this 'Blaine' person was at the moment.

Looking in the mirror had become a slight preoccupation. Now he looked more like his older brothers, Nick and Anthony who emulated the typical larger featured, swarthy, dark Italian. He used to have at least a passing resemblance to Tommy who had the finest, most chiseled features of all of the brothers, having taken after his fair, more delicate mother. Blaine had always been a balanced mixture of his Italian father's features and his mother's softer Filipino visage and curly hair. Now the balance had been lost and if anything he thought he looked even more like he belonged to the family then he did before. Only now he looked like he had been in a few street fights, like his cousins and uncles.