Dreams [PRN]

chapter thirteen

A week after my intense dream, Prince invited me on an unexpected outing that stirred a mix of emotions within me. He suggested we go shopping together—a gesture meant to be kind and supportive, yet one that inadvertently echoed a part of my past I had struggled to leave behind.

As we entered the upscale boutique, Prince's enthusiasm was palpable. He seemed genuinely excited to help me find new outfits, his eye for style and detail apparent as he picked out various pieces of clothing. "These will look fantastic on you," he said, handing me an armful of dresses and accessories. His tone was encouraging, but each selection felt like more than just an offering; it was as if he was molding my appearance, crafting my exterior to match a vision he had in mind.

The experience, though well-intentioned from his perspective, uncomfortably mirrored the days with Rosa, where I was often dressed up to suit the tastes and desires of others. Rosa, too, had often chosen outfits for me, each selection a tool meant to transform me into someone else's ideal, someone else's fantasy. The memories of those days were a stark contrast to my current life, where I had begun to cherish my independence and personal choices.

As I stood in the fitting room, surrounded by the soft rustle of silk and chiffon, the sense of being dressed up like a doll resurfaced, creating a strange dissonance within me. Each garment I tried on, though beautiful and stylish, seemed like a costume, a layer hiding the real me underneath.

Prince waited outside, occasionally asking how things fit and if I liked them. Each time I stepped out to show him an outfit, he would appraise it with an artist's eye, often expressing delight and occasionally suggesting another accessory or a different style. "You look stunning," he would say, his smile genuine. And while part of me basked in the compliments, another part recoiled at the sensation of being shaped and displayed.

The day wore on, and with each new outfit, I felt increasingly like a mannequin—dressed and redressed in a public spectacle that felt oddly intimate. Prince's enthusiasm never waned; he seemed oblivious to the internal conflict the shopping trip had sparked within me.

As we left the boutique with bags in hand, Prince chatted happily about how these new clothes would be perfect for some upcoming events and gatherings. He talked of introducing me to more people, of helping me establish connections that could further enrich my new life. His plans were kind and ambitious, and yet, they carried an undercurrent of control that left me feeling uneasy.

On the drive back, I gazed out the window, the cityscape blurring past as I grappled with my thoughts. The day had been a mix of luxury and discomfort, the joy of new experiences shadowed by the ghost of old ones. I knew Prince meant well, that his actions were far from the manipulative intentions of Rosa, yet the parallels were difficult to ignore.

Later that evening, in the solitude of my apartment, I stood among the shopping bags, each filled with beautiful garments that somehow felt foreign to me. I touched the fabrics, smooth and expensive under my fingers, and wondered if wearing them was just another way of conforming to someone else's idea of who I should be.

The question lingered in the air, heavy and unresolved. I was grateful for Prince's generosity and knew his intentions were to help me feel confident and integrated in my new environment.

As I lay in bed, the soft glow of the city lights creeping through the curtains, I felt a quiet resolve strengthening within me. Tomorrow, I would speak my mind.

...

The morning was overcast, a pensive sky mirroring the turmoil inside me as I picked up my phone. Dialing Prince's number, my fingers trembled slightly. The decision to speak up about how I felt had been weighing heavily on my mind, and the moment to voice my feelings was now palpable, charged with a mixture of apprehension and necessity.