The Ditches

Chapter Ten

I step out of the shower in an agreeable mood. Refreshed and more able to take on the pitfalls of my not-a-date with the woman I'm desperate to go on a date with. Funnily enough, standing in my walk-in wardrobe does nothing to preserve my better mood.

I need to look good. I need to look fucking amazing.

Okay. I can do this. The underwear in the middle drawer looks no more appealing than it did the last time I stood in this room. But I'm trying something new. I'm trying sexy.

I pick the plainest, blackest set and slip it on. My reflection stares from across the room. Not bad. Not laughable. Kinda okay. My hair brushes out effortlessly and falls in waves. I smooth it back into a high bun, with not a single stray hair.

The scars on my face shine like beacons to me. And I've seen plenty of people stare. Before Arrah, I hated my scars for other reasons, now I can add vanity to the list. My finger traces a fat silver one down my cheek, the blade went through and scraped against my teeth. It hurt like hell. My hand drops.

"Why am I doing this?" I say as I draw red over my lips and pull out a variety of tops. From lacy sheer things to vibrant floaty blouses. Hard pass.

Do I really think I have a chance with Hara? I stare at my face in the mirror, homing in on my black eyes. Hands down the ugliest eyes of any species of person. But I never thought Cantral had ugly eyes. I'm not going to make a move on Hara, that would be wrong. But if she makes a move on me ... yeah, that's not going to happen.

I slip on a pair of black trousers and a white shirt with too many buttons left undone. The sleeves roll up under my anxious hands. I roll them all the way back down and button the cuffs.

I turn as I look at myself in the mirror. Name five things you like, or just think are okay. I stare harder, come on Ramet, just five things you don't hate about yourself. I like my hair and my lips are okay. My body is strong, and every scar proves I survived. The fifth one? I don't fucking know; I guess I don't hate my hands.

I meet Hara downstairs, in the kitchen. She looks different, like a changeling with a vast array of skins. Blonde hair is piled in an elaborate up do and diamonds sparkle in her ears. Black trousers, black sheer blouse and heels. My god, she looks good in black.

She whistles. "Looking good, entra."

"Don't mock me." I meant to say it lightly, so it sounded like a joke. But I miss the mark, phenomenally.

"Hey, I mean it." She stands in front of me and undoes an additional button on my shirt. "Now, you look perfect. You're so beautiful." She stares into my eyes.

"Shut up," I say and push her away, gently.

A car waits on the gravel, engine revving, as Whyan said, at nine. A gentle breeze blusters through the open double doors as Hara and I approach, greeting us warmly. We pass over the threshold to outside and as Hara climbs in the back, I knock at the driver's window. Black glass rolls down and Stav grins at me.

"You drive carefully," I say, with a smile.

"Always careful, me. Best in the business. I've even evaded a police pod with my driving skills," Stav says, not missing the opportunity to brag.

"Great," I say, "but we're not evading a police pod. We're just going to a club. Stick to the speed limit." I straighten up and slip into the back before he has chance to say another word.

For a car, the interior is nice. The back is secluded, cut off from Stav's prying ears. Next to Hara there's a small black door, I lean forward and open it. A fridge, stocked fully with booze. I grab a bottle.