For all her life, Wendy was used to being in the spotlight. To being showered with attention and expensive gifts and living a lavish lifestyle. Has been from the moment she was born, because her father is the first to do so.

But not everything he gave her is for a positive reason. For every mistake, every disappointment he causes, he covered them all up by giving her the most recent model, most expensive handbag faster than people can say ‘sorry’.

And Wendy, being the naïve sixteen year old she is, thinks this is how you’re supposed to apologize.

How you show people affection.

By showering them with the priciest gifts imaginable without so much as batting an eye in order to gain their favor.

It’s the world she grew up in, where people throw her compliments left and right, expressing their agreement and awe when she flashes her latest Louis Vuitton handbag.

Where her friends drip with gold and diamonds, riding only the most luxurious cars driven by a personal chauffeur provided by their parents.

Where the topic of conversation in school is about the latest line of perfumes and upcoming trips to foreign countries and shopping sprees in the most exclusive of malls.

Questions about your personal life, your family, or your well-being are never asked. It’s always about the latest fashion trends, which piece of jewelry would best fit this outfit, or when is the latest line of perfumes coming out again?

Always about how flashy you can be in an equally flashy city with all its bright lights and grand splendor.

So Wendy thrives in that power, plasters on her fake smiles as she goes along with whatever trend her group follows next.

(If they only knew the reason why she’s been getting more and more expensive bags as of late.)

(Wendy figures that her father would be arrested in the showiest way possible; with people wearing their most expensive suits and dresses to witness him being cuffed and dragged away by the FBI.

The lights have become more blinding all of a sudden, and Wendy can only look on helplessly as she watches her father fade away into the distance.

And just like that, the attention she gets from that point forward are all for the wrong reasons.

She suddenly hates New York’s bright lights and flashing signs and loud noises.)

People say that home is a feeling. A sense of security, of comfort, of familiarity you find in another person. How, when, you’re with them, you feel protected. Safe.

 Loved.

Like nothing can touch or hurt you.

Except, Wendy doesn’t feel those things anymore whenever she thinks of her father. When she closes her eyes, all she can see is the police dragging him away in handcuffs. When she looks at the expensive gifts he’s given her, it reminds her of the money he’s stolen, how he’s used them to win her favor time and time again whenever he makes mistakes.

(All she feels now is pain and anger and betrayal and how stupid she was for thinking that being given the nicest, most expensive things was love.

Because it isn’t. It never has been, and it never will be.

She wishes it hadn’t taken her sixteen years to realize that.)

So when she reads her mom’s text that her father is going to call later that night to catch up, Wendy has an overwhelming urge to laugh bitterly because he acts like nothing has changed.

Like he’s just away on some business trip and isn’t locked up in prison.

God, how much more messed up can this be?

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Read the rest on my BlackVelvet Tumblr blog! It's called BlackVelvetShipShots. Here is the url: https://blackvelvetshipshots.tumblr.com/. Enjoy!