She'd need new clothing, and nothing like the ragtag clothes she'd fled the compound in but at the same time, nothing that would draw unnecessary attention to herself. No, she wanted to be . . . normal. Blue jeans. Nice ones without rips or holes in the denim. Ones that fit her and weren't several sizes too big, making her look like she'd dug them out of a Dumpster and had to settle for whatever she was lucky enough to find.
Her tops needed to be oversized, at least two sizes too large so they showed nothing of her curves. She'd long cursed her ample breasts, curved hips and plump ass that men seemed to like staring after with a look in their eyes that scared her almost as much as the elders did.
Sweaters would be perfect and it was wintertime, though the temperature never got that cold stretching from southeast Texas to well on the other side of Houston. And sweaters were bulky enough that she wouldn't have to worry with a bra.
She winced because she'd forgotten all about shoes, and shoes were expensive. But maybe she could find some for a decent price at the Goodwill store or the Salvation Army when she went to look for the other items needed to complete her disguise.
And then another thought caused her to cringe. As Isaac had so patiently explained to her, it wasn't realistic for her to simply disregard ideas that had been part of her life since before she could remember. Only in time would she be able to see how the real world worked and allow herself to play by society's rules and not the twisted, disgusting teachings the elders impressed upon young, impressionable people. In time, and by time he didn't mean an immediate turnaround. He'd said it could take weeks, months or even longer to recondition herself and be able to admit not only to herself but to others that the people who'd imprisoned her had shoved lie after lie down her throat.
Shaking off that worry and the guilt over the next part of her plan, she knew she needed to either buy makeup and experiment with it or go to a professional and learn how to use it to alter her facial features.
She'd always worn her hair down, not by choice, but by dictate of the elders, and now she was dying to put it up in the number of ways she'd seen other women wear their hair. She thought it looked pretty. Carefree even. As if they didn't give a single care as to what others thought of them and wore their hair however they were most comfortable. What Jenna wouldn't do to have that kind of confidence and assertiveness.
As she went over the list in her head again to ensure she hadn't forgotten anything, her chest fell and foolish tears burned the edges of her eyes for even allowing herself the dream of being normal, of not having dangerous, maniacal people after her who would stop at nothing, even killing anyone who tried to help her. It was an impossible dream and she wiped her wet cheeks with the back of her hand, furious that she was sitting here feeling sorry for herself when she should be working on a way to get out of here now.
She had no money and when the idea hit her, her stomach revolted and she shook her head against her knees. It was obvious that Eliza's husband had plenty of money. For that matter, none of Isaac's men or even Isaac himself seemed hard up for money in the least. Would they even miss a few hundred dollars? She would take only enough to make the needed changes to her appearance and then she could begin looking for a job. But that thought only dug the knife deeper and heightened her despair.
She had no birth certificate. No ID. No idea exactly how old she was. No clue what her last name was and no job experience, save being a veritable slave to megalomaniacs, and she hardly thought that kind of experience on an application would get her very far.
Besides, she didn't want the kind of job that would only remind her of past shame and humiliation. Beggars shouldn't be choosers. She knew that well. She recognized on one level that she should be grateful for any job given to her, but every single part of her rebelled at ever being treated like she was so much less than everyone else. Like she was nothing.
She closed her eyes and began to rock harder, her tears soaking the knees of her jeans. Then she frowned, recalling a distant memory. It was a few years back, one of the few times she'd been able to sneak into one of the elders' offices undetected. She'd studied the layout and schematics of the compound, her best route of escape, but then she'd seen a recent newspaper and unable to contain her curiosity, she'd quietly and carefully thumbed through the pages, stopping on an article about more and more businesses opting to pay employees under the counter without requiring references, ID, work experience or even age. Who in their right mind would consider hiring her without knowing anything about her even if the pay was under the table?