His Slave

15. Shopping

"List? What list?" I ask James in confusion after she's gone.

"The list of people who are allowed to be here. Come on," he says, turning and starting towards the elevator again. I follow him and we ride up several floors in silence. We step off the elevator, onto a floor of women's clothes. I stare at the clothes nervously, wondering how this works. I've never been taken shopping before. At least, not that I can recall. I'm sure my mother did take us shopping when we were little, but I was probably too young to remember. "Um, exactly how does this work?" I ask, feeling embarrassed that I even have to ask that question.

James chuckles. "You pick things out and I pay for them," he says simply. "Whatever you want," he tells me as we peruse the aisles of clothes.

I absently grab the tag on a pair of sleep shorts, checking the price. Five hundred dollars. For sleep shorts. "Are you sure?" I ask him, wondering why he would just let me have free reign with his credit card like this.

"Erin, you could buy every piece of women's clothing in this store and it wouldn't even dent my bank account," he tells me, getting a little frustrated.

"I know, but I feel bad," I admit, my words a little whiny.

"Would it help if I left you alone?" He asks me.

Wow. He's actually offering to leave me alone outside of his family's property. That's a lot of trust. But I'm sure none of the security guards would let me leave the store anyways. I contemplate his offer, but for some reason, I don't want him to leave me alone. Besides, he could be testing me to see if I'll try and escape. I shake my head. "No," I say, thinking for a moment. "It's just I've never picked out clothes before. I don't really know what I like or what I don't like," I reply.

James nods in understanding, stepping over to a casual t-shirt. "Do you like this?" He asks me.

I stare at the t-shirt, realizing it's almost the same dull grey color as the one I'm wearing now. I stare down at my shirt with it's wrinkles and slight stains, and all it's bad memories. I don't want anything to do with that life anymore. I don't want to be reminded of how I was treated, or the fact that our clothes were practically rags. Tears sting my eyes and I decide that I don't like either - not the one I'm wearing and not the one James is pointing at. I don't like concrete grey.

I shake my head and James nods, stepping over to a flowy purple blouse. "What about this?" He asks me, though he makes a face which tells me he definitely doesn't like it. I stare at the layers of ruffles for a long time before deciding that I don't like it either. I shake my head again.

"See, you do know what you don't like," he says with a laugh. "Now try to find something that you do like," he tells me. I nod, searching the aisles of frilly blouses and basic t-shirts until my gaze falls on a shimmering, iridescent party dress, the folds of the fabric changing from white to purple to teal to gold under the light. I almost hate myself for liking something so generically feminine, but I've never been allowed to wear something like this before. I've never been allowed to dress up for anything, or care about my appearance. I think it would be nice.

"So you have a taste for the finer things in life," James remarks.

I'm about to check the price tag, but James catches my hand, shaking his head. "I already told you that price doesn't matter," he scolds, scanning the tag with his watch before I can protest.

"Shouldn't I try that on?" I ask, glancing back at the dress as I follow him.

He shakes his head. "No need. Persona scanned your DNA when you stepped into the store. It has your exact measurements stored in it's database, so it will tell the employee who fills our order exactly what size to pull," he explains.