Page 43 of Silas

Slowly, as I breathe and hold onto Silas, the vise relinquishes its grip on my head and chest, and the dizziness fades, and my vision clears.

“Better?”

I nod. “Yes,” I whisper. “Thank you.”

“Can you tell me what set it off?” He keeps hold of my waist in a loose, casually familiar way that I find myself not minding at all. Perhaps even enjoying.

“Too many choices,” I whisper. “I’ve never…” I shrug, embarrassed to admit the truth. “I’ve never been clothes shopping before.”

Silas blinks a few times. “You fuckin’ shitting me?”

The anger in his tone makes me cringe away in instinctive fear. “I’m sorry.” It’s automatic.

He sighs. “No, no, shit—I’m sorry. I’m mad at them, not you. You’ve never been clothes shopping before?”

“No. I wasn’t allowed to leave the compound except once a month to go grocery shopping with Papa’s supervision. And then Jerry, after I was married off to him.”

“Then where’d you get those clothes?” he asks, gesturing at me with a lift of his chin.

“I made them. Mama made all her own clothes, so I used the same patterns and fabrics.”

Silas just nods. His brow furrows as something occurs to him. “Did youwantto marry Jerry?”

I shudder. “No,” I whisper.

“Weird question maybe, but…was it a legal marriage?”

I frown up at him. “What do you mean?”

“Like, did you sign any documents? Were you married by someone licensed to perform a legal marriage?”

“I…I never signed anything. And Papa performed the ceremony. I don’t know if he’s licensed or whatever, but I doubt it. Why?”

“Because it would mean you’re not actually legally married. Just because you got up there and someone made you say some bullshit doesn’t mean you’re legally married. You could call it a…a spiritual marriage, but it’s not a legally binding one.” He shrugs. “Not sure what that means to you or not, but it just occurred to me.”

“So you’re saying if I didn’t sign any documents, I’m not actually married to him?”

He tilts his head to one side in a minimalist shrug. “Not legally, no.”

“Oh.” I’m not sure what to think. “So…he—he doesn’t own me?”

His green eyes narrow. “Own you?”

I should be terrified of the crackling fury in his eyes, the razor-sharpness of his voice. “He…Papa always said that he owned me. That I was his to do whatever he wanted with. And when Jerry married me, he owned me.”

“They used that actual word? Own?”

“Yes.”

“Jesus fuck.” He turns away from me, hand pawing down his face. His broad hard shoulders lift and lower as he releases a harsh sigh. “No human being isownedby another, Naomi. That’s…I don’t even have fucking words for it. They think theyownyou? Why? Because you were born female? How thefuckdoes someone end up at that conclusion?”

“I never really understood it,” I whisper. “Why Papa treated my brother like a king and me like a slave.”

“I don’t have an answer for that, honey.” He turns back to me. “And to be perfectly honest, I don’t even want to try to figure it out, either.” He grabs my hand. “Come on. Let’s teach you how to shop.”

He pulls me into the maze of racks and for a few minutes, we just walk around, looking at the seemingly infinite variety of clothes.

“See anything you like?” He asks.