Chapter 4: Shopping
The silence after the book vanished felt thicker than the dorm room dust. One second Dakota’s fingers were brushing the worn leather, a spark jumping between skin and cover, the next – poof. Empty air. Just the faint scent of ozone lingering, a ghost of magic.
Dakota blinked, staring at the vacant spot on the carpet. Then, slowly, a grin spread across her face, wide and utterly unrepentant. She looked up at Damian, who stood frozen, jaw slack. "Oops," she chirped, the word light as a bubble. "Guess it's gone." A giggle escaped her, sharp and bright in the stunned quiet. "Well, that simplifies things! Shopping time!"
Damian found his voice, hoarse and strained. "Simplifies? Dakota, that thing just vanished! Where did it go? What did you do?"
She shrugged, the borrowed band tee slipping off one shoulder. "Dunno. Felt a little zap, then fwoosh! Gone. Maybe it got shy?" She bounced to her feet, radiating energy. "Stop worrying! It’s probably fine. Now, clothes. Real clothes. These jeans are a hazard." She tugged at the waistband threatening to slide down her hips. "Let’s hit the mall before your morning class. Chop chop!"
Resistance was futile. Damian knew it. The sheer, terrifying force of her will, combined with the lingering shock of the book’s disappearance, left him numb. He grabbed his wallet – depressingly thin – and followed her out into the world, his world, now irrevocably invaded.
The mall assaulted Damian’s senses immediately. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, reflecting off polished floors slick with tracked-in rain. A cacophony of voices, piped-in pop music, and the rhythmic thump of construction from a nearby renovation site created a wall of sound. The air hung thick with conflicting scents: buttery popcorn from the food court, sickly-sweet perfume samples sprayed by overenthusiastic employees, the sharp tang of new electronics, and underneath it all, the faint, persistent ozone smell from the neon signs – a disconcerting echo of the vanished book.
Dakota inhaled deeply, stretching her arms wide as if embracing the chaos. "Ahhh! Civilization! Smells like… credit card debt and questionable life choices. Perfect." She turned, her eyes sparkling. "Where first? Something cheap and cheerful? Or…" Her gaze drifted towards a gleaming storefront displaying minimalist mannequins draped in expensive-looking linen. "...something that makes this ass sing?"
"Cheap," Damian stated flatly, patting his wallet like a dying pet. "Very, very cheap."
"Buzzkill," Dakota sighed dramatically, but she linked her arm through his, steering him firmly towards a brightly lit chain store known for its student-budget prices. Her touch sent an unwanted jolt through him – warm, possessive, a reminder of the night before and the impossible reality of her existence.
Inside, the sensory overload intensified. Racks of clothes crammed every inch, synthetic fabrics whispering against each other. Teenagers clustered around graphic tees, families argued over jeans sizes, harried employees darted about. Dakota released Damian’s arm and plunged into the fray like a predator scenting prey.
"Okay, basics," she announced, grabbing hangers seemingly at random. A soft grey hoodie, a pair of dark wash skinny jeans, a simple black tank top. She held them up critically. "Functional. Boring. But a start." She tossed them at Damian. "Hold these."
He fumbled, catching the bundle. "Dakota, slow down. You need to try things on."
"Details," she waved a hand, already zeroing in on the lingerie section. She picked up a lacy black bralette, holding it against her chest. "What do you think? Too much?"
Damian felt heat crawl up his neck. "I think… I think you need underwear that fits. That’s all I think."
She laughed, a rich, throaty sound that turned heads nearby. "Prude. Fine." She grabbed several items – bras, panties, socks – adding them to Damian’s growing armload. "Okay, now we try on."
The fluorescent-lit changing room corridor felt claustrophobic. Damian leaned against the wall outside her assigned cubicle, the pile of clothes heavy in his arms, acutely aware of the muffled rustling sounds from behind the curtain. He tried to focus on a poster advertising flip-flops. It didn’t help.
The curtain whipped open. Dakota stood there, wearing only the black bralette and matching panties. The cheap lace looked incongruously alluring against her skin. She struck a pose, hands on hips. "Well? Does it sing?"
Damian choked. "Jesus, Dakota! Close the curtain!" He hissed, glancing frantically down the corridor. An older woman pushing a stroller gave him a disapproving look.
"Why?" Dakota tilted her head, genuinely curious. "It’s just underwear. Everyone wears it." She looked down at herself, critically smoothing the fabric over her hips. "Fits okay. A bit tight here," she gestured vaguely towards her chest, "but manageable." She disappeared behind the curtain again before Damian could formulate a coherent protest.
He slumped against the wall, wiping sweat from his forehead. This was hell. A bizarre, terrifying, strangely arousing hell.
The curtain opened again moments later. She was fully dressed now in the grey hoodie and dark jeans. The transformation was startling. The oversized band tee had hinted at her shape; these clothes clung to her curves, defining the swell of her hips, the dip of her waist, the firm lines of her thighs. She looked… ordinary. Beautifully, devastatingly ordinary. Like she belonged here, in this mall, in this world. It was more unsettling than her nakedness had been.
"Better?" she asked, doing a little spin. The jeans hugged her backside perfectly. "Definitely sings."
"Yeah," Damian managed, his throat tight. "Fine. Great. Can we pay now?"
"Almost!" Dakota ducked back in, emerging with her arms full of the discarded clothes and the new items she’d kept. "Just need shoes." She dumped everything back into Damian’s arms. "Converse? Or something with a little heel?"
"Converse," Damian pleaded. "Flat. Cheap."
She grinned. "Compromise. Platform Converse."
The cashier’s bored expression didn’t change as Damian piled the clothes onto the counter: jeans, hoodie, tank top, underwear, socks, the platform Converse Dakota had insisted on. The scanner beeped relentlessly. Damian watched the digital display climb with mounting dread. $12.99... $24.99... $9.99... $15.99... $29.99... $59.99...
He pulled out his wallet, extracting crumpled bills. A twenty. Two tens. A five. Some ones. He counted it out slowly, his fingers clumsy. $47. The total blinked accusingly: $112