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Frustrated, I pocket my phone again. I can't believe he's acting like this, and at the same time, I'm glad he is. He's making light of the situation. But all I can think of is my mother picking up Void and seeing the face she told me was ruined staring back at her from the cover. She would hate this. Hate my imperfections being exposed like this. After the accident happened, she thought I should move, go in hiding. She didn't want anyone to see her precious daughter ruined. Neither did I, and for a while, I took her advice. I locked myself in, didn't leave the house. I saw surgeon after surgeon, discussing my options. But there was nothing anyone could do – not even the insanely expensive, experimental, painful procedures would hide the damage done to my face.
That's when I started hating Parker Miller. I spent years wishing him dead, but when I got the news that he was gone, it didn't help matters much. I felt sad for losing someone I once cared about. The scar might've closed up, but the emotional wounds Parker left behind didn't. They rotted and festered instead.
Despite being upset with Raphael, I feel a frisson of excitement as I get ready for our date. I pick out a casual outfit – black faux leather pants and a pair of heeled black ankle boots. I decide on a black silky camisole with lace I would never usually wear, wondering whether I'm doing this because I know it accentuates my cleavage. Do I want Raphael to make a move?
I shake my head to get the thought out. I don't need a romance right now. I need to tell Raphael just how angry I am about the photo, in person.
I pair my outfit with a long, fluffy white cardigan to break up the all-black. But looking at myself, I decide I look too cheery. I keep trying things on and the pile of clothes on my bed grows as I discard items. Finally, I settle on a light gray cardigan over the camisole. I brush my hair, so it falls in rich dark waves down my back, and put on a slick of red gloss and some mascara. There. Done.
By the time Raphael arrives to pick me up, I've almost managed to forget about the mugging thing. But then I remember my bag reappearing in my bedroom. I still can't explain it, but I'm too afraid to bring it up with my date. I don't want him to think I'm crazy... There has to be a rational explanation for everything, and I'm determined to believe that. If I don't... I'll go mental.
Raphael opens the car door for me. This time, he's driving himself. The drive to the Thai place is quiet and tense. I refuse to look at him, and when he realizes I don't want to make small talk, he turns on the car radio. A ballad blares out on the speakers, and I stare through the window as we pull up in front of the restaurant.
He's booked us a table, and the waiter is already waiting with two steaming hot plates of food. My stomach rumbles and I groan inwardly. In my anger, I forgot about having to eat tonight. And this place is packed – every table is taken.
I watch Raphael eat with gusto, while I pick at my food. Even though it's my favorite, I can't bring myself to take a bite. Not with all these people here.
"So, you're mad at me." The photographer grins at me. "I promise I wasn't trying to piss you off or exploit you."
"Then why'd you do it?" I cross my arms defiantly. "Why did you put that shot on the cover?"
"Because it's beautiful," he answers simply. "It's art. Sometimes, art has to transcend your own feelings on the matter. Do you know that's the least edited image that's ever been on the cover of Void?"
I shake my head.
"Well, it is. They loved it just the way it was. They want to book you for another shoot with an in-house photographer."
"Pass," I mutter.
"Would you let me finish, woman?" He laughs, shaking his head. "Anyone ever tell you how stubborn you are?"
I shake my head again. "Of course not."
"No, no, of course." Raphael grins, glancing at my untouched food and motioning for the waiter. "Can we get the leftovers to go, please?"
"But you haven't finished your meal," I argue. He doesn't listen, paying for the meal again and taking the doggy bags in one hand, and my palm in the other.
I'm tempted to mention the mugging as we make our way to his car, but I'm too worried what he'll think of me. I'm also a little disappointed he's cut our date so short, but I guess I only have myself to blame. I've acted cold toward him all night.
