15. Date Night

With her Oath of Silence behind her, Laramie dons her realistic head and joins Dave for her first night out on the town. His kind, gentle nature is endearing.

« 14. Head Practice | CONTENTS | Interlude: Cheering Up Ana »

I stand in front of the mirror in my black lace bra and panties, holding dresses up to my neck stem. Burgundy wrap dress? Too conservative. Sleeveless turquoise sheath? Too revealing—of my fake head, that is.

As I cycle through outfit options, I keep brushing the camera of my loquette, covering it up. Maybe I should be doing this with my new head, which has little cameras embedded in her eyes.

I’m trying to choose what to wear on my date with Dave, my first time leaving the Recovery Home since I arrived, headless, three months ago. My new head and the Oath of Secrecy will be put to the test out there in the real world. I’m nervous about so many things: making sure Dave has a fun time, someone discovering my head is fake, my loquette losing power mid-date, leaving me voiceless and sightless...

Finally, I pick a classic little black dress—conservative enough to hide my condition but alluring enough for a date. I take a breath and consider my appearance in the mirror. My pale shoulders are dusted with freckles, and my neck stem protrudes awkwardly. With a resigned sigh, I turn to the bed, where my prosthetic head awaits.

Gingerly, I pick up the intricately detailed silicone recreation of my former face and auburn hair. I slide it carefully over my neck stem, tucking the collar under my loquette and collarbone. Luckily, the high collar covers the seam between fake head and real chest. I adjust the wig, making sure no metal shows through.

“Testing, testing,” I say out loud, still amazed by the resonant timbre of my voice coming through the internal speakers. “Ground control to Laramie Strong. Testing…one… two… three…”

It’s so realistic, if not for the fact my lips and face don’t move at all when I speak. I turn side to side, noting how the head swivels rigidly to face forward, no matter which way my body faces.

I grab oversized sunglasses and a black mask, hoping they’ll help disguise my unblinking glass eyes and motionless mouth. A spritz of perfume on my neck, a Coach clutch ... I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.

“You’ve got this, Laramie,” I say to my reflection, steadying myself against my vanity counter. “Time to rejoin the world of the living. And if anyone thinks I look weird—fuck’em.” I nod, my head flopping over into an unnatural angle. With a sigh, I readjust it.

The doorbell chimes, startling me out of my reverie. I square my shoulders and open the door. There stands Dave in his typical flannel and T-shirt combo.

“Really? You’re wearing a Rocky Mountain Tuxedo for our first official date?” I tease, eyeing him up and down.

He grins sheepishly. “Hey, these are new jeans, at least. You look... wow. Stunning, Laramie.”

I step closer, pressing my hands against his solid chest. Rising on tiptoe, I brush my artificial lips across his stubbly cheek. It’s not a real kiss, but it’s a start. Baby steps.

Dave studies my face, brows furrowing. “Hmm, your head is listing a bit to port there.”

“What am I, a ship?” I quip as he gently lifts the silicone collar, unsticking it from my skin to adjust the angle and rubbing the collar’s adhesive back onto my collarbone.

“There, perfect,” he declares, offering his arm. “Shall we?”

I link my arm through his, allowing myself a moment to appreciate the warm solidness of him. We pass the Guild security guards at the elevator with a nod.

In the elevator, my anxiety spikes as it descends to the lobby. I’m really doing this. Venturing out in public for the first time as a headless freak. The urge to bolt back to my room almost overwhelms me.

Dave senses my tension. He covers my hand with his. “Hey. You’ve got this. I’m right here with you.”

I squeeze his fingers gratefully as the doors open. We stride through the lobby, past clusters of people that barely spare us a glance. I have no choice but to keep my gaze fixed straight ahead behind my dark glasses.

Out on the busy sidewalk, I press closer to Dave’s side, sure that everyone must be gawking at the unnatural stiffness of my head and neck. The dark lenses of my sunglasses hide my unblinking glass eyes, but I feel exposed and paranoid.

“Laramie, relax,” Dave says softly. “Look around. No one is paying any attention to us. We’re just two more faces in the crowd.”

I risk a glance up and realize he’s right. The pedestrians flow around us, wrapped up in their own little worlds, eyes on their phones or fixed straight ahead. Not a single double-take or lingering stare. The knot in my stomach loosens slightly.

Maybe, just maybe, I can pull this off with Dave beside me, making me feel almost normal again. I lace my fingers through his.

“Lead on, Magellan! The world awaits.”

Free at Last

We stroll hand-in-hand down the strip, just another starry-eyed couple taking in the dazzling lights and honking traffic. The famous Bellagio fountains catch my eye cameras, jets of water leaping and dancing in mesmerizing patterns. Dave tugs me closer to watch. His arm is warm around my waist.

For a few minutes, I almost forget my condition, lost in the music and kaleidoscope of color. Almost. Then, a passing child’s shrill voice snaps me back to reality. “Mommy, why does that lady’s head look like plastic?”

I stiffen, but Dave just chuckles and steers me away before the mortified mother can shush her offspring. “Kids. They say the darnedest things, right?”

“Yep. Out of the mouths of babes,” I mutter.

The carefree mood feels shattered, though. Paranoia crawls across my skin again. I find myself scanning the surrounding faces for any hint of disgust or suspicion.

We hit a few more tourist hotspots—the pirate-laden Treasure Island and the towering High Roller observation wheel. But my restlessness grows with each passing minute. The lights and crowds start to feel more oppressive than exciting.

“Hey. You okay?” Dave keeps asking. After the third time, I tug impatiently at his hand.

“Yeah, I just... can we get out of the hustle and bustle for a bit? Find somewhere quiet to chill?”

“Of course. I know just the spot.”

He leads me off the main drag down a less populated side street. We come to a small park, little more than a patch of scruffy grass and a few spindly trees, but it boasts a clear view of the glittering cityscape.

Dave picks out a pocket park. We sit, thighs brushing. I angle myself to face him, folding my legs up criss-cross applesauce. I feel the residual desert heat from a smooth concrete bench.

“So. Here we are. On a real, official date.”

He ducks his head shyly. “I know. Hard to believe, right? After all the time we’ve spent together at the Home.”

“Practically every day for three months,” I agree. Dave has been a fixture at my side ever since I woke up at the Survivor Recovery Center. First in his official role as my technological support system, then as a friend and confidant. And now, something more? The thought unleashes a swarm of butterflies in my stomach.

“I’m glad we’re finally doing this,” Dave says softly. “I would have asked you out sooner, but I wasn’t sure if you’d be interested. I mean, so many survivors come and go from the Home. I’ve learned not to get too... attached.”

My heart squeezes at the uncertainty in his voice. Unthinking, I reach for his hands, guiding them to my knees. He startles at the intimate contact but doesn’t pull away.

“Dave, listen to me. You’re not just some passing ship in the night, okay? Whatever else happens, you’ll always be important to me. I’ll always want you in my life, in whatever way you’re comfortable with.”

I punctuate my declaration by squeezing his fingers tighter against my legs. Our eyes lock and the connection feels electric, unwavering. Because my prosthetic gaze literally can’t waver, I realize with an internal wince. But Dave doesn’t seem to mind my unblinking stare. If anything, the intensity makes his pupils flare.

I decide to press my advantage while I have his undivided attention. “Look, you already know basically everything about me. But I feel like I hardly know anything about you.”

Objectively untrue, since he’s shared plenty of fanboy during our long talks in his office. But not the stuff that really matters. Not the deep-down details that define a person in full, varied hues, not just broad strokes.

“So tell me. Who is Dave Kreuzberg, underneath the leet hacker skills and terrible taste in flannel? What makes him tick? Any juicy romantic history I should know about?” I wish I could waggle my eyebrows. Hopefully my playful tone gets the point across.

Dave laughs ruefully. “Ah, yes. My sordid romantic past.” He shakes his head, smiling slightly. “Not much to tell, honestly. I’ve had a couple of girlfriends, but nothing serious. It never seems to last long.”

I make an encouraging noise, silently urging him to continue. He shrugs, suddenly finding his scuffed sneakers fascinating.

“I don’t know. I guess I have a bad habit of getting too wrapped up in my work. And the stuff I do, well. A lot of people don’t find it very interesting.”

“I dated a few girls from the office, thinking that would help. But we’d both just end up hyperfocused on the job. It didn’t leave much room for, you know, actual couple stuff.”

He sighs, kicking at the ground. “It’s only gotten worse since I started at the Guild. I mean, I love what I do, but so much of it is classified. Makes it hard to connect with anyone on the outside.”

I nod slowly, processing. It makes sense. Dave has one of the most demanding and sensitive jobs in the magical community. I scoot closer to Dave on the bench, angling my shoulders so I can face him directly.

“Well, I find your work fascinating. And not just because you gave me back my voice.” I tap the side of my prosthetic head for emphasis. “Or these lovely faces I get to wear now.”

Hand in hand, we continue our walk through the neon-lit streets. The crowds part around us like water, but for once, I don’t feel the need to hide behind sunglasses and a mask.

Let them look.

I feel a little oath-queasy at the thought and quickly suppress it.

Dave squeezes my fingers, drawing me back from my thoughts. “Hey. Penny for your processors?”

I laugh, bumping my shoulder against his arm. “Just thinking about how much has changed. How much you’ve changed...everything. For the better.”

“Well, that goes both ways, you know.” He says it softly but with conviction. “You’re pretty life-altering yourself, Laramie Strong.”

I turn to look at him, and even without facial expressions, I hope he can feel the warmth radiating from my unblinking gaze. “Back atcha, Kreuzberg.”

Dinner for Two

We find a quiet corner table at an intimate Italian bistro, the air heavy with the scent of garlic and herbs. Dave pulls out my chair like a true gentleman before settling into his own seat. His hand immediately finds my knee under the red-checkered tablecloth, his touch sending tingles up the thin barrier of my tights.

“So,” I say, leaning in conspiratorially, “I feel like you’ve got me at a bit of a disadvantage here, Kreuzberg. You’ve read my files, seen my neural profile ... you probably know my shoe size and how I take my coffee.”

He chuckles. “Black, two sugars. And you’re an 8 1/2.”

“Ooh, he’s good.” I nudge his shin with the pointed toe of my shoe. “But seriously, I barely know anything about you in comparison. Spill. I want all the juicy details.”

Dave holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay! But pace yourself, Strong. We’ve got all night.”

“I’ll be the judge of that. Let’s start with the important stuff—past loves. Are there any girls? Boys? Daring office romances?”

Dave leans back, folding his arms over his chest. “A couple girlfriends, but nothing too serious or long-term. I don’t know. I guess I have a tendency to get really wrapped up in my work...”

“You? A workaholic? I’m shocked,” I deadpan.

“Ha ha. But really, a lot of people find the ins and outs of what I do kind of boring. I tried dating a few coworkers, thinking they’d get it, but it’s way too easy to just talk shop 24/7. No work-life balance, you know?”

I nod, my shoulders bobbing. “Makes sense. But the Guild stuff...that must make it extra tricky, right? Having to keep all those secrets bottled up...”

Dave sighs, his fingers absently tracing circles on my knee. “Definitely. Especially when so much of my job revolves around helping magical survivors navigate this new reality. It’s the most important, meaningful thing I do, but I can never talk about it with anyone on the outside.”

“Well, I’m on the inside now,” I say softly, covering his hand with my own. “And for the record? I happen to find your work very interesting. Seeing as I’m living proof of your skills and dedication.”

His eyes meet my artificial ones, and I swear I can feel the charge arcing between us.

“I’m really glad you ended up here, Laramie. Meeting you... it’s been life-changing. In the best possible way.”

My heart melts as I give his fingers a squeeze. “Ditto, Dave.”

We gaze at each other for a long moment, lost in this shared understanding, this undeniable connection. I’m seized by the sudden urge to kiss him. The arrival of our pasta-bearing waiter breaks the spell.

As I watch Dave dig into his spaghetti, I contemplate the mechanics of consuming long noodles with only a little eating box. Love in the time of loquettes. Leave it to me to finally find a great guy when I’m sans skull.

Still, as his foot playfully bumps mine under the table, I can’t wipe the invisible smile off my face. No head, full heart? I’ll take it.

My gnocchi comes out, and I hungrily pop a few into my eating box while Dave is occupied with his pasta. The savory, pillowy dumplings are a delightful contrast to the café sandwiches and nutrition bars I’ve been subsisting on. Yet another thing to thank Dave for: he’s expanding my culinary horizons.

The Big Question

As we linger over the remnants of our meal, I scoot a little closer to him, angling my body to face him directly. “So, I’ve been meaning to ask...what exactly is the Guild’s policy on dating survivors? I mean, hypothetically speaking.”

Dave sets down his fork, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “Well, the Guild actually encourages it. Helps keep the secret in the family, so to speak.”

“Is that so?” I trace invisible patterns on the tabletop, feigning nonchalance. “And... are we? Dating, that is?”

He leans in, his gaze intense. “I don’t know, Laramie. Are we? Does this... does this make you my girlfriend?”

My non-existent heart skips a beat. I place my hand on the small of his back, steadying myself. “Hmm. Have you actually asked me, Kreuzberg?”

He straightens up, then turns to face me fully. I awkwardly swivel my shoulders to meet his eyes, silently cursing my immobile neck.

“Laramie Katarina Strong,” he says softly, earnestly. “Do you want to be my girlfriend?”

I wrap him in a fierce hug, my prosthetic face pressed against his shoulder. “Yes, you adorable nerd. Took you long enough to ask.”

He returns the embrace, mindful of my precarious headgear. And even though I can’t feel his touch directly, the warmth of this moment suffuses every inch of me.

Girlfriend.

The word feels foreign and thrilling on my nonexistent tongue. Leave it to me to finally make things official in the midst of such uncharted territory. But with Dave by my side, I know I can face anything.

Even a world seen through artificial eyes, with a heart that beats in my chest instead of my head. Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that love doesn’t play by the usual rules.

And I’ve never been one for following rules anyway.

The Afterglow

We eventually disentangle ourselves and resume walking hand-in-hand, giddy with new relationship energy. The neon lights of the Strip blur together as I float along on a cloud of unexpected happiness.

“So,” he ventures after a comfortable silence. “You mentioned having a girlfriend in high school?”

I chuckle. “Ah yes, the pitfalls of being a theater kid. Spend enough time pretending to be in love under the stage lights, and it starts to feel real.” I shrug. “Honestly, I’ve always been more attracted to the person than what’s between their legs. But I can’t lie...”

Feeling bold, I turn and put one flattened palm on his hard chest. “There’s just something about a man’s body that really revs my engine.”

To emphasize my point, I walk my fingers playfully upward, delighting in the hitch of his breath, the darkening of his eyes behind his glasses. He leans forward almost involuntarily, and I match him, drawn together like two ends of a frayed rope, finally finding their place of belonging.

The almost-kiss only breaks when my prosthetic nose bonks awkwardly against his cheek. We collapse into laughter, the heated moment settling into something warmer, cozier.

“Guess that’s another thing to add to the ‘needs practice’ list,” Dave teases.

“Hey, I’m always down for extra credit.” I try to wink at him and groan internally at how unnatural I must look with my fixed eyelids.

But Dave just grins at me, unbothered. And I realize that with him, I don’t have to pretend to be anything other than what I am.

Going Deeper

As our laughter subsides, the conversation takes a more serious turn. Dave has always dodged my questions about his family, but I am not one to take “no” for an answer. As we walk hand-in-hand, I finally get a response out of him.

“My mom... she was an alcoholic,” he says quietly. “It drove my dad away. And then he had trouble getting visitation because of her interference.”

His shoulders hunch inward like he’s trying to fold himself into a smaller target. “It was awful. Made me not like either of them very much.”

My heart clenches. I want so badly to reach out and smooth the worried creases from his forehead, to kiss away the sadness lingering at the corners of his mouth. But all I can do is squeeze his hand, hoping the small point of connection is enough.

“I’m so sorry, Dave. That must have been really hard.”

He shrugs but turns his palm to lace our fingers together. “It is what it is. I survived.”

“Yeah. I know a thing or two about that.” I take a deep breath, steeling myself. “My parents ... they were okay, but kind of distant. Like two ships passing in the night, you know?”

Dave nods, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against my skin.

“When my mom died, my dad just ... fell apart. Started drinking heavily.” The memories rise like bile in my throat, but I force them down. “I learned quick how to read the warning signs. The empties piling up, the way his temper would spike at the smallest thing...”

“You were always on edge,” Dave finishes softly. “Waiting for the next blow-up.”

“Exactly.” I squeeze his hand, anchoring myself in the present. “But we made it through, didn’t we? We’re still here.”

“We are.” He lifts our joined hands to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to my knuckles. “And I’m really glad we found each other, Laramie.”

“Me too,” I whisper. And for once, the ever-present knot of anxiety in my chest loosens just a bit.

Goodnight Kiss

Our footsteps echo in the quiet hallway as Dave walks me to my apartment door. At this hour, the 13th floor is deserted, and suddenly, the thought of being alone makes my throat tighten.

“Hey, um...” I fidget with my keycard, trying to sound casual. “Do you want to come in for a nightcap or something?”

Dave’s eyes widen slightly, but then he smiles, soft and regretful. “Maybe not tonight. But soon, okay?”

Disappointment ripples through me, but it’s tempered by a rush of affection for this gentle, caring man. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

“Please do.” His gaze drops to my lips—well, the motionless silicone facsimile of my lips—and he starts to lean in.

I tilt my face up automatically, momentarily forgetting about my ... condition. Dave’s mouth meets mine at an awkward angle, and I feel my head slipping backward, the adhesive losing its grip. It falls all the way back and rolls a few feet on the hallway carpet.

“Shit, sorry!” Dave jerks back, looking mortified. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” I assure him, but my voice is coming from the direction of the floor. I feel unbalanced, because I have a sudden view of my Jimmy Choos and his sneaker. My eyes are still broadcasting to my loquette from the ground level.

As I steady myself on the wall, Dave retrieves my head and helps me get myself resettled. I turn toward him, neck stem burning under its silicone flaps, grateful that he can’t see me blushing.

“Guess we need to schedule a make-up date to get that goodnight kiss right, huh?”

“Definitely.” The tension eases from his shoulders as he returns my smile. “I’ll practice on a mannequin head or something.”

“You better!”

Impulsively, I place my hands on his solid chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath my palms. “I just...I want you to know how much tonight meant to me, Dave. Being out in the world with you, like a normal couple ... it gave me a taste of everything I thought I’d lost.”

“You haven’t lost anything,” he says fiercely. “You’re still you, Laramie. Beautiful, brilliant, and brave.”

I step in closer, my head suddenly feeling like an unwelcome appendage. “You’re such a flatterer. But...thank you. For believing in me even when I don’t believe in myself.”

“Always.” His arms come around me, gentle but sure, and I melt into his embrace. We stand there for a long moment, just holding each other, mindful of the delicate balance of my head.

Finally, reluctantly, I pull back. “I should let you go. But here...”

I fish in my purse and extract the extra keycard I had made earlier. “I want you to have this. Any time you need a break from work or just want someplace to crash... mi casa es su casa.”

Dave takes the card, his eyes suspiciously shiny. “Thank you. I’ll definitely be using this.”

“Good.” I stroke his cheek, savoring the rasp of stubble against my fingertips. “Goodnight, Dave.”

“Night, Laramie.” With a last lingering look, he turns and heads for the elevator. I watch him go, my heart so full it feels like it might burst.

Inside my apartment, I kick off my shoes, remove my head, and twirl around in stocking feet.

I’m his girlfriend!

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