Silver / clay

⊱ 24 ⊰

"I didn't want you to be cold," said Caleb, following Amala to another rack. "In case you're out at night. Anywhere, that is; where ever, it doesn't matter." He raised his face enough to catch a response in her eyes. If it had generated a feeling, she hid it well.

But then he couldn't imagine her hiding anything.

"Your care and adoration is like silver," she said, weaving through the draped colours, mostly bright and vibrant, "but your purpose is through gold."

"I know!" said Caleb. "This is why-- I got that bonus, from work, so I wanted you to get it quickly, this way."

"And it gives you the opportunity to meet up with me, isn't that so?"

Caleb nodded, though with much less enthusiasm than he would normally muster.

Amala pulled a scarf out to better inspect the pattern under the light.

"Oh, here," said Caleb, presenting supine wrists up for her use.

At length, she delicately unfastened a selection of scarves and laid them atop Caleb's forearms. As she flattened them out, their texture felt rougher than he'd imagined, almost as if they were second-hand.

"Have other people done this?" he said.

Amala finished arranging the scarves she wanted to compare, then looked up at Caleb with an expression that suggested neither statement nor question.

"I mean," continued Caleb, "have they...shopped with you, bought you things? What you're wearing now, the jumper, did someone buy it for you?"

"You seem upset, my sweet," said Amala. "We were having a nice time. Don't you agree?"

"I know, I mean yeah, but, well, I saw you. At the club, I saw you, Saturday night, someone tried to, you know."

"Tried to what?" said Amala, resonating calm.

"Pick you up, I don't know."

"Yes," said Amala.

Caleb waited for her to say more. When she didn't, he tried to elaborate: "Did you-- Have you met him before? Or was this some random thing?"

"He has spoken to me before," said Amala.

"And did you-- I don't know. I don't understand. Are you seeing him? Why are you-- Why else would you be there, I guess..."

Amala leaned in close. "Right now you must listen to what I say," she whispered.

Her voice tickled his ear. The shot that tingled down his body was quickly counteracted by tensed muscles.

"Breathe in and out slowly," she continued, "slowly, that's right, yes, slow and deep. Feel the air rise into your body and then let it all out, your breath, your frustrations, expel them each time, feeling your shoulders lower, each time."

He listened, as he always did, and tried to follow her advice. He felt more in control, a little more in control, the world around him returning to his consciousness, no longer stuck within his fears.

"Very good, you're doing very well," said Amala. She allowed him a few extra breaths. "Are you devoted to me, my sweet?"

"Yes," said Caleb, a veneer of agitation resurfacing.

"Have I conquered your heart?" said Amala.

"Yes," said Caleb.

"Have you fallen completely for me?"

"Of course," said Caleb, his heart already softening.

"Do you think a goddess such as me could ever be venerated by just one person?" said Amala.

The answer seemed so obvious now. Caleb had simply never considered it. "No," he said. "Anyone you meet would want to devote themselves to you. Unless they were crazy."

"Yes," said Amala. "It is a new feeling for you, I know, and your heart may be stung with the claws of jealousy. They are not your competition, my sweet. You are an individual, and your desire to provide is not impacted by any other."

Caleb hadn't thought much about jealousy before. It was just a feeling other people got, nothing more, but why? From fear of losing someone? Fear of them escaping their ensnarement by leaving?

But he didn't own Amala. He was hers to own, if anything. And if nothing was going to change, if he could continue paying the vast majority of his income as tribute, there was nothing to worry about.

"You're right," said Caleb. "As always. Of course."

"We are not at the beginning of our journey, nor are we near the end," said Amala. "At each step you must overcome the artificial constructs that hold you back, you must loosen the bounds that restrict you from being truly free, to finally rid yourself of yourself."

"Are they..." said Caleb, hesitating. "Are they your slaves, then?"

"The only people I choose to keep in my life are those who choose to do so," said Amala.

She pulled the scarves from Caleb's impromptu shelving one by one, until his wrists held only the air. A chill hit his skin and he desired for that weight once more, for the warmth and, more importantly, as a societally accepted reason for him to remain in this position, as if offering up a gift to the gods. Which, in a way, he was.

"I am special to you," said Amala, eyeing her navy blue shoes, the ones he bought on their first shopping visit together.

She selected a stylish but muted scarf, dangling it against his bare wrists.

He gasped as the tingle shot up his arms and throughout his body, this time defeated by no opposing force

"There is nothing to fear," said Amala. "Your love will always find purchase. I will always be here for your adoration."

"You know, it was a big bonus," said Caleb. He proffered another rack of scarves for her attention. "I want you to have as many as you desire."