Page 45 of Silas
“So gently,” he murmurs.
“I know exactly what you mean.”
“Yeah, I guess you would.” His deep, intense green eyes pierce mine, seeking, open, heated. He takes my hand in his once more and turns away. “Pick a top, now.”
It takes me a moment to reorient myself—I feel almost dizzy after the intense, prolonged eye contact. It feels like drowning, looking into his eyes, being searched by him. I could drown forever, in that case. Gladly. Willingly.
I turn away from him and find a rack of tops; the first thing that catches my eye is a plain white V-neck T-shirt with sleeves so short it’s almost a tank top. The one in front is too large, so I flip through until I find a size small. I hold it up against my torso and glance at Silas for approval.
He smiles, nods, and takes it from me. “Good. Keep going.”
“Oh. I…I can get more than one outfit?” My heart starts to leap—he can’t know how often I’ve dreamed of this, of being allowed to go shopping like a normal girl.
He must see it in my eyes, or written on my face. “Knock yourself out, babe.” His smile is encouraging. “Go nuts.”
“I…at night, after I served him dinner and cleaned up, Papa would lock me in my room. I had a few books and my Mama’s guitar. And I’d fall asleep just…dreaming of this. Of being allowed to just…be free to wear what I want.”
“He’d lock you in at night?” That spark of fury blazes in his gaze again.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I can only shrug. “So I couldn’t escape. Because he owned me, and he could. I don’t know.”
He just lets out a sigh. “A slow, painful death is way too good for that fucking monster.” A growl. “Too bad I can’t be the one to give it to him.”
I touch his bicep. “Don’t, Silas. You can’t think that way. You can’t break your vow—not for me.”
He looks down at me. “Doesn’t mean I’m not tempted.” He blows out a breath and shakes his head. “Come on. Let’s shop.”
He leads me to a rack containing yoga pants. “Every girl needs a good pair of yoga pants.”
I pick a black pair in a size that I think should fit me, but Silas adds two more pairs, in gray and white. He helps me pick a few more T-shirts in a variety of solid colors: purple, red, black, and gray. I choose a loosely-knit cardigan in a deep plum color, and a thick hooded sweatshirt in a brilliant white. He brings me to the jeans area, and here I find myself overwhelmed again by the sheer variety of styles and shades. Silas looks just as confused as I am, and we end up choosing a good half a dozen different kinds for me to try on. Lastly, he brings me to the dresses section, where I spend the most amount of time trying to decide what I want. I end up with an armload of options ranging from ankle-length and sleeveless to daringly short hems and plunging necklines.
Silas is loaded with so many clothes for me to try on that I have to lead him to the changing rooms. I spend a very long time trying things on. Some, I discard immediately if I don’t like the way they look or feel, others I set aside to find a different size, and others yet I keep. Once I’m done, I place the discards on the table outside the changing area, and Silas accepts the now much smaller armload of keep items while I take the ones I want to find in a different size. Once I’ve found the correct sizes, Silas takes those too.
“Now shoes,” he says. I hesitate, my attention going to the undergarments section—Silas’s gaze follows mine. “Oh, right. I guess you need bras and panties, huh?”
Without any sign of discomfort or embarrassment, he leads me across to the undergarments and turns me loose. “I can’t help you here, babe. Don’t know the first thing about how to help you find the right fit or whatever.” He grins. “All I know is what I like to look at, and I’m not sure that’s gonna be very helpful.”
Embarrassment flames up into my cheeks and down through my chest—I don’t even know where to begin. “I…” I grab a plain white bra from a rack and check the size, but even at a glance I can tell it will be too small, and I put it back. “I don’t even know what size I’m supposed to be.”
A woman is shopping within earshot; she’s middle-aged and a little portly, with a shopping cart full of groceries. She turns to me with a kind smile. “Could I offer you some assistance? I used to work in a lingerie department, ages ago. I’ve got a pretty good eye for fitting.”
I freeze, swallowing hard; I want to accept her help but don’t know how to say so. Silas wraps an arm around my shoulders. “That’d be great, huh, Naomi?”
His touch frees me from the paralysis of panic; I gulp for air and nod shakily. “Y-yes. Yes, please. Thank you.”
The woman’s gaze sharpens as she takes in my bruised and battered appearance and Silas’s protective body language. “The first thing is for me to see how your current bra fits. Come with me.” Taking me by the hand, the woman tugs me away from Silas toward the fitting room, hustles me into a chamber, and then turns to me. “I can help you get away, sweetheart. You don’t have to stay with him.” Her voice is a hushed, rapid whisper. “Just follow my lead, okay?”
It’s hard to speak up, to use my voice, to disagree with someone. “No, no, please. He—it wasn’t him. I promise, ma’am, it wasn’t him.”
Her brown eyes are sharp and assessing. “You’re sure?”
“Yes ma’am. He’s helping me.” I swallow hard. “It was my father. And my husband.”
“Oh, darling. You poor thing.” Her gaze slides over me, scanning. “You’re skin and bones, dear. And—my god, you don’t even have shoes on!”