Superficial (DE)

Four.

"It's okay honey— everything will be fine," Velma, Cerise's mother assured.

"No it's not— he's never been this mad at me before," Cerise cried, holding her phone with one hand and wiping her snotty nose with an over saturated tissue in the other as she sat at the foot of her king sized bed in front the mounted flat screen— watching herself get attacked by news reporters and journalists as she tried to leave the court house yesterday on the five o'clock news.

"Move GiGi! I'm not in the mood," Cerise shouted frustratedly, gently nudging her teacup Yorkie off the bed.

"You know your father baby— you just have to give him some time,"

"Mom but why do I have to give him some time— what did I do that was so wrong?" Cerise asked. "I feel like he's ashamed of me or something,"

"Don't say that Cerise— of course your father isn't ashamed of you," Velma said in scolding tone.

"So what is it then— why can't he just be proud instead of mad at me?" Cerise questioned

"He is proud of you—,"

Cerise huffed irritatedly blowing a loose strand of hair out of her face, balling up the dirty tissue in the palm of her hand as she began to grow tired of the conversation. Sometimes Cerise hated venting to her mom because her dad could never do any wrong in her mothers eyes— Cerise felt like Velma always took Michael's side, like it was them against her. But then again, Cerise would probably take her husbands side too if he was funding the type of life style that he is for Velma.

"I'll talk to you later— I don't feel like talking anymore," Cerise muttered, disconnecting the call before Velma could protest and tossing it onto the bed to get lost in the fluffy white duvet.

Cerise pulled her knees up to her chest as she watched the madness that unfolded after court yesterday on the news— paralyzed with embarrassment. She looked like fresh meat in a lions den getting bum rushed by those journalists and reporters.

Maybe Michael was right— maybe she wasn't ready yet. Or maybe this wasn't for her at all— people change career paths all the time, right?

She chewed on her bottom lip as she stared at the undeposited mound of cash on her dresser that Brandon paid her with— uncertainty and self doubt running relay laps around her mind, self doubt in the lead.

Cerise padded around the bed, feeling for her phone to dial his number.

"Hello?" Brandon answered on the third ring.

"Where can I bring your money back to?" Cerise asked bluntly with a tiny sprinkle of attitude, making the line fall silent for a few seconds.

"34 E. Market st. Give the doorman my name— I can't leave my home right now," He said simply before hanging up.

Brandon tossed his phone back onto the couch, rubbing his face as he stood in front of the mounted flat screen in his living room— listening as the news anchors slandered his name.

'Well known New York philanthropist, Brandon Valentino, being accused of using laundered drug money to donate to charity with'

Brandon clenched his jaw tightly, shaking his head subtly to himself. It seemed as if over night he'd gone from living a private, unproblematic and quiet life to being this 'drug dealing criminal' when in fact, he'd never touched or sold any drugs a day in his life— ever.