Aplayful smile curls my lips as I watch Mom in the mirror, her eyes wide with awe. The last strand of my hair falls free, and she gently brushes my wavy, dark locks to the side, her touch almost playful as she tosses them about.
I’ve always loved transforming my hair into beachy waves. Though my hair is naturally straight—and I believe it suits me—those waves add a beauty that feels just out of reach.
“This is wonderful,” she sings, and my smile widens even more. “Look at you—so grown up and pretty.” Her hands moveto my shoulders, fingers curling around them, applying gentle pressure to help me sit up straighter. “Venetia, remember what I told you before?”
The bitter taste of disappointment washes over me, causing my smile to falter and my eyes to blink rapidly. “Yes, Mom. Hold your posture and never hunch.”
She nods, slowly moving her hands to my back before leaning in closer. Her sweet perfume fills the air, and I close my eyes, inhaling the cozy, powdery scent that makes me want to wrap myself in it, letting it soak into my very being.
Her arms trail to my waist, and she gives a slight squeeze, pulling the fabric of my oversized T-shirt to mold against my body, revealing my silhouette like an X-ray.
“I bought you a dress,” she says softly, her hands forming a lock around my waist as she gently lifts my breasts. “It has a corset top. It’ll make them look bigger.”
My eyes drop to the table, cluttered with makeup and hair products, and a sharp spike of acidity rises within me. We spend so much time like this—selecting the best makeup, styling my hair, dressing me up—but it never feels like enough. Something is always missing, a piece I suspect can only be found through cosmetic surgery.
I’ve never felt pretty, not even a little. The girls in all those fashion magazines Mom adores don’t look anything like me. They’re all undeniably beautiful, while I can’t quite figure out what’s wrong with my features. I keep trying to understand why I can’t accept myself and feel more confident, but it always ends with me crying in the bathroom, the water turning on to muffle my sobs.
But Mom focuses more on my body than my face. Every day, she checks my measurements and weighs me, cutting back on my food if the scale goes up. I don’t mind this control; I know I wouldn’t manage on my own. Lately, I’ve felt sadder andemptier, always craving food. If it weren’t for Mom, I might have gained a lot of weight and disappointed her.
“Hey, honey,” her gentle voice pulls me from my thoughts. She cups my chin, lifting my head to meet her gaze. “It’s okay. Not everything comes naturally. Luckily, we live in a modern world. A couple of thousand dollars, and we can fix anything you’re uncomfortable with.”
The problem is that I don’t feel comfortable with many things about myself. I wouldn’t call myself ugly, but I wouldn’t say I’m pretty, either. Mom often reminds me that by my age, she had already developed her curves, her face was thinner, and her jawline was more pronounced. She was smaller overall. I honestly don’t understand why I’m so tall when everyone else in my family is petite. My dad is 5’6”, and my mother is a couple of inches shorter—the epitome of a real lady—while I’m already 5’7”.
Mom looks like the women in magazines, with a perfectly symmetrical face and an ideal body. If it weren’t for a few similarities between us, I’d think I was adopted. There’s no way a gorgeous woman like her could give birth to someone like me.
“Dad’s business is off to a rough start, but I know he’ll be fine,” she says, planting a kiss on my cheek. The warmth of her touch momentarily melts away my worries, pushing them to the back of my mind. With her hand still on my chin, she turns my face so our eyes meet in the mirror. “We’re going to earn a lot of money, and then we can fix everything you don’t like. How does that sound?”
Her playful tone urges me to smile, and while I think I want to, I can only manage a strained, barely detectable grin. “Yeah. That sounds good.”
“This world is harsh, Venetia. It won’t wait for you to catch up. It won’t tolerate weakness. You have to stand up for yourself and never show anyone your vulnerabilities.”
I nod, bracing myself for the rest of her speech. She often talks like this, and it always follows the same pattern.
“Even if something goes wrong, we’ll manage. We’ll get through it together. But for that, I need you to try your best.” She lifts my chin a bit higher. “Keep your head up, smile, and look perfect. One day, you’ll find someone who makes you happy, and hopefully, the price won’t be too high.”
“You’re whoring yourself out to him!” A shudder ripples through the room, punctuated by the loud crash that sends a wave of unease through me. Eyes tightly shut, I step forward, desperate for him to stop. But no words come—I can’t make a sound.
Eli’s breath comes in ragged gasps as he runs a hand through his hair, some strands standing on end. “This isn’t the 18th century! He can’t treat you like some cheap whore! He’s your father, for God’s sake!”
I know it. I know, but what can I do about it? I’ve never had the backbone to stand up to my parents. It’s as if that trait has been missing from me since the day I was born. I’m trapped bythe belief that he must know what’s best. He’s wiser, so I should just shut up and listen.
“Tell him,” Eli rasps, taking a few steps closer. “You’re an adult, Venetia. Just tell himno.”
I blink at him, hot tears welling in my eyes as my heart tightens with longing. I want him to touch me, to understand. To look me in the eyes, cup my face in his hands, and whisper that everything will be okay. That I’m doing well and he sees it.
That he seesme.
But he keeps his distance, disgust radiating from every part of him. I can feel the intense, boiling emotion rolling off him, see it in every twitch of his muscles and the way his face contorts when he talks about me.
He does nothing, just waits for me to fight my own battles. That’s what he always does.
Part of me had hoped he would finally snap. Not at me, breaking my fucking souvenirs, but at my father. I wanted him to tell my dad that he loves me, and if my father doesn’t approve, he’ll take me away from here. It sounds insane when I say it out loud—like a scene from a rom-com, where young lovers run off into the sunset with nothing but dreams.
But in our case, it’s possible. Eli is a lawyer who can work anywhere, and I have enough savings to start a business with him.
And he knows it. He knows we can run away and find our happy ending.
But he doesn’t choose me.
