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“You will have very little freedom once you step foot inside your - could be - new home, so we allow you to select two items of footwear, including one pair of slippers. Six items of clothing, two bras and seven panties that you will feel comfortable in and two items of bed wear. We only permit these if you have any downtime, where you will remain within your room. If you have not been called on by one of the men and you do not have any lessons to attend. However, should a Harkwright man require you to service their needs then you will change into something more fitting for an Academy girl. There will be a full itinerary and a list of what you should and should not wear in your room. I will have no say in what you choose so pick it and take it to the register. The stores will be closed to the public until our business inside is complete,” wow her power is ridiculous.
We step inside and my eyes are bugging out at the styles of dresses they have on show, slut.com anyone!? I find a pair of cut-off jeans that could be comfortable but there's no price tag on them, is that because of me?
“Where is the price tag?” I ask quietly, not expecting an actual answer.
I can hear the woman behind the register snickering but one look from Ms Vanderbilt has her choking it back down.
“Listen Luna and after the past two hours I think I am more than permitted to use your first name. None of the boutiques on this street use price tags. If you’re shopping here, then you don’t need to know the cost. If you can’t afford to purchase without adding up the total, then you're in the wrong place,” she looks me up and down, as if I didn’t already know that I don’t belong in a place like this.
She walks off to collect ‘my clothes’ and I’m pretty much left to my own devices. I guess it’s the clothing first, but I don’t know what I want. None of these clothes are me, I don’t really wear dresses although there are a couple smart ones that keep drawing my eye. I really like the white blouse with a leather knee-length skirt but I don’t have the confidence for something like that.
“You don’t belong here,” my head snaps up and my heart hurts at the words as my eyes fall on a girl around my age; sporting a name tag.
“I know, I’m thinking that’s true of me no matter where I go,” it comes out low and I’m scuffing the toe of my shoe against the black tiled floor.
“Hey, I just meant this section. Don’t get me wrong I’m sure you could pull it off but none of it says you,” I go to cut her off, but she holds her hands up in front and I stay silent. “I know I don’t know you but I’m a personal shopper and it’s my job to know what clothes will suit a person. Follow me and I’ll help you find some clothes that you will love,” she smiles gently, and she feels so out of place to me. I guess she belongs here as much as I do, that or she’s just a lot nicer than the rest of them.
She leads me to a back wall that has my name written all over it, if I was loaded and never questioned the value of a dollar. That being said, these clothes were made for me, surely. Boy shorts, boyfriend jeans, oversized sweatshirts and jumper dresses. There are even a pair of grey leggings that are thick enough to keep any light from revealing my panties underneath.
“How many extra items are you allowed to select?” She has the kindest eyes, I wonder if any of the other girls will be remotely friendly or will they all be out for themselves.
“S-s-six,” I push the words out but all I see is understanding, she doesn’t even roll her eyes at me.
“It’s okay, I stutter sometimes when I’m nervous too. Just take a deep breath and count to ten if it feels like a bad one, but okay, six we can work with that.”
“I would go for a pair of shorts, at least one of the jumper dresses. You scream sweatshirt so we’ll grab one of those and I would say a pair of jeans and leggings, that leaves you with one last thing to pick. What’s calling to you?” Such an innocent question and my eyes instantly get drawn in the direction of the leather skirt dress, but I shake it off as a flight of fancy and look through the rest of the clothes in front of me.
“That isn’t your thing hon, but I have an idea. It’s a little out there compared to this stuff, but low key enough that you shouldn’t feel too uncomfortable. I’ll be right back,” she says with a smile, before bouncing away and I can see the glares she’s receiving from her boss from here.
I guess she doesn’t like her fraternizing with me, what does she think will happen? Being a loner isn’t catching, I’m not about to contaminate her or anything.
“Okay, here we go,” she comes rushing with a dress draped over her arm. She picks it up and holds it flush against herself and I?
??m not sure what to make of it, it’s stunning but I don’t think it’s really me.
It has a white ruche top with sleeves that come off the shoulders with a faux leather skirt - at least I think it’s faux -ankle length with a knee length slit traveling up one side. It isn’t ridiculously sexy or showing everything off, but definitely more than I would usually show.
“If you say no it won’t offend me, but I think it would do wonders for you. You just have to see yourself in a way that doesn’t scream frightened bunny rabbit,” she winks at me and I smile in return, but I'm sure it looks more like a grimace. I’m just glad she doesn’t take offense before she skips off and I take a couple of moments before I follow her and lay the dress she picked down on the counter with the rest of my pile.
Ms. Vanderbilt joins back up with me with the pile she has selected and I don’t even get to have a quick look before she’s sweeping me out of there and into the next store. By the time we’re finished I choose some modest underwear, made for comfort and nothing more. My bed wear is a tank top and shorts that will sit higher than I’d usually choose but it's definitely the most modest of the options, and my footwear is a pair of black Doc Martens and a pair of sneakers.
She leads me out one last time and we stand on the street with nothing but the clacking of heels of women who pass us by filling the silence. There are no cars driving by or people discussing, well anything. How can a town be so quiet at this time?
“We’re done here, the next selection is made through a telephone call but seeing as you don’t have a phone,” she pulls a box out of her oversized handbag and passes me a cell. “Call it a loan, if you get in you can keep it,” she glances at her watch before turning around and starts to leave me on the sidewalk.
“Ms. Vanderbilt,” I call out, and she stops in her tracks but she doesn't turn back around. “Why buy me the clothes if I’m not in yet. What If I don’t get picked?” Maybe she can hear the worry in my voice over the fear that I’ll have to pay back the cost, my palms are growing sweaty just thinking about it. She glances back at me before sighing and turning around fully.
“They’ll be thrown away if you don’t make the cut, the price will range in the five digit figure and that’s throwing away pocket change in our world. You won’t be expected to cover the cost,” she gives me a look that is borderline sympathetic, passes me a slip of double sided paper and returns to the building with my future lying firmly within her grasp.
The past week has gone ridiculously slow, there isn’t enough housework and baking in the world to make the days pass faster. I’m trying not to stare at my new cell phone but it’s burning a hole in my pocket everyday it remains silent. I haven’t even given the number to anyone else, I mean it’s only a loan so surely Vanderbilt is the only person who should have the number.
Although, if it takes much longer, I think I will drive myself crazy so I need to find something I can do to prevent me from obsessing over it.
I go up into the bathroom and pull out all the cleaning supplies and I don’t stop until the bathroom is sparkling and my hands are raw. Throwing the sponge into the garbage, I go downstairs to get ready to clean the kitchen again. I know I shouldn’t but it's my go to, has been ever since I realized I bring nothing to this family, other than eating the food that mom works so hard to pay for.
Pulling out the kitchen supplies I come up short. The problem is, this room is spotless. I could always go to my other method of keeping busy and knowing me, there will be a lot to clean afterwards.
Pulling out all of my baking supplies, I try to decide what I want to make, I can’t decide between brownies, cookies, and fudge. Oh screw it, I’ll make all three and take some down to the hospital for the staff. I won’t feel as though I’m using Poppy as nothing more than a reason this way and I can check on her. I need to make sure she’s okay and that she’ll remain that way while I’m gone, I can’t say if. Every time I do it feels as though I’m resigning myself to failure and I can’t let myself think like that. Not this time at least.
