Captured

I watch as my mother fixes her hair in her large gold framed mirror, even after the designer’s work. She treats these events far too importantly.

“Are you done?”

She rolls her eyes and looks back at the mirror. “You don’t know what it truly is like to be attractive, Ada.”

If it wasn’t for my mother’s massive ego, I would have been out of here long ago.

“How do I look?” She asks, turning around to face me, expecting me to admire her outfit choice.

“Like a person who is getting ready to attend her own funeral.” I retort, getting up from the chair she confined me to for the last 3 hours.

“It is couture, darling, not like YOU can understand what having people who, adore you capturing your soul in a fucking camera is like, hm?” She slaps on a fake smile, which compliments her unlikeable sense of style.

That’s my cue to leave.

I thrust open the door, almost going headfirst into one of her bodyguards.

“Is Madame Hall there? We were instructed to meet her here.”

I lift my head to look at his big, expressionless face. “Why do you waste your life escorting a ‘famous’ old lady around? What even is your salary? I bet you guys get paid minimum wage....”

“Enough, Adalia.” My mother says firmly, as she approaches the men calmly, like she owns them, well technically, she does.

They start talking about arrangement plans, which leaves me to pick an outfit for the idiotic event. What the hell even is a press conference? Whatever it is, I highly not appreciate the fact that I have to be dragged around with my egotistical mother.

I enter my bedroom and start to piece together an outfit with what I can find. Despite my mother’s horrible sense of style and insatiable need for attention, she has many people practically bowing to her like a queen. I pick out a jumpsuit and a black leather jacket, and tie my hair up in a braid, with my bangs meeting my face. God, I want short hair.

My mother believes that my image is important for the impressions on her, and that if I look like a ‘gangster from the side of the street’, she will disown me, but then, the press likes to nose into everything.

I look into my mirror, less encrusted with expensive material. I look trash, but all the eyes tonight will be on my mother, I doubt I have to worry.

I step out of my room, ignoring the revolted look on my mother’s face. “So many costly outfits, dresses, gowns, and THIS is the bullshit you choose? Stab me, goodness.”

“I am not really in the mood to look as ugly as you today.” I snap back at her.

“Miss, I need you to stop....”

“Mate! I’m not a paparazzi harassing her! I am her freaking daughter, do you mind letting me TALK to her like a person?” I stop there, because this bodyguard probably has some background of a wrestler, and I am not exactly willing to end up on the front over of some crappy magazine for being a ‘rebel”.

“Adalia, you listen here,’ my mother steps in front of me as the guards move to make way for her, “You dare say any insignificant word to MY career, and I will end you, you hear me?”

I flick my bangs out if my eyes and walk out to the limo outside. Thankfully I am NOT important enough to have all these asses having to protect my every move. A flash from a camera and a click of a shutter sounds but they most likely got the wrong person. I look around to try spot this insane fan, but they seem to have disappeared. Classic move.

My mother and her ring of burly bodyguards soon exit, luring all the paparazzi her way, getting everyone to head into the car before any photos are taken.

I am placed miserably in front of my mother, who looks at me for a second. “Your hair is too short.”