7 Lollipop

Entering the thrift shop, I was immediately struck by the eclectic array of clothing and items on display. It was a stark contrast to the upscale boutiques and department stores I was used to.

The thrift store exuded a nostalgic charm, its exterior adorned with weathered wooden panels and a faded sign that creaked softly in the breeze. Stepping inside, I was enveloped in a kaleidoscope of colors and textures, as rows of clothing racks stretched out before me, each one overflowing with a unique assortment of garments.

The air was filled with the faint scent of mothballs and old books, lending the space a cozy, lived-in feel. Sunlight filtered through dusty windows, casting a warm glow over the eclectic mix of items on display, from vintage dresses and faded denim jeans to retro furniture and knick-knacks from decades past.

The aisles were narrow and meandering, inviting exploration and discovery at every turn. Stacks of vinyl records leaned precariously against one wall, while shelves groaned under the weight of antique teapots and mismatched china. Everywhere I looked, there were hidden treasures waiting to be unearthed, each one bearing the stories of its previous owners.

Travis brought me over to the clothes and told me to pick out a few things, but quickly took over as he saw that I had no idea what I was doing. Travis, with his flair for fashion, effortlessly navigated the racks of clothing, his keen eye picking out pieces that caught his attention. He moved with purpose and confidence, his fingers grazing over fabrics and patterns as he curated a selection of garments with expert precision.

As he pulled out various items and held them up for my inspection, I couldn't help but feel a sense of inadequacy, my own lack of sartorial knowledge painfully apparent. I watched in awe as Travis effortlessly paired together outfits, mixing and matching colors and textures with a creative flair that was both inspiring and intimidating.

With each new addition to the growing pile of clothing, Travis offered gentle encouragement and guidance, assuring me that we would find the perfect ensemble to suit my style. And though I felt out of my depth in this unfamiliar world of fashion, I couldn't help but be grateful for Travis's expertise and support as he patiently helped me navigate the process.

Travis's playful demeanor and maternal encouragement brought a smile to my face, despite the lingering uncertainty that still gnawed at the edges of my consciousness. "I can see you doubting me. Just trust mommy's judgement and go try the clothes on."

With a nod of understanding, I took the pile of clothing in my arms and made my way towards the fitting rooms, eager to see how the outfits would look once I tried them on. As I disappeared behind the curtain, I couldn't shake the feeling that, in Travis, I had found an unexpected ally in this new chapter of my life—a guiding light to help me navigate the challenges that lay ahead.

Even if I had to call him Mother.

Despite my protests after thirty minutes of changing clothes, Travis remained adamant, insisting that I try on each and every item he had selected. With a playful grin and unwavering determination, he urged me to embrace the experience and trust in his fashion expertise.

Reluctantly, I began to slip into the various garments, each one offering a new perspective on my appearance and eliciting a range of reactions from Travis—ranging from enthusiastic approval to playful teasing. Despite my initial reluctance, I couldn't deny that there was a certain thrill in experimenting with different styles and shedding the familiar confines of my prison attire.

As I emerged from the fitting room in each outfit, Travis would scrutinize my appearance with a critical eye, offering feedback and suggestions with an air of theatrical flair. Despite my grumbling and protests, I couldn't help but appreciate his unwavering enthusiasm and genuine desire to help me find my footing in the world outside of prison.

By the time I had tried on the last item, I couldn't deny that Travis's persistence had paid off. With his guidance, I had discovered a newfound confidence in my appearance, and I couldn't wait to see where his mentorship would take me next.

"I'm glad to see you out of those prison clothes. Throw them out, it's bad luck to keep them," Travis fanned himself.

"You knew?"

"Duh, you aren't the first little jailbird I've picked up. I also know you only agreed to come with me because I don't have any connections to your family. I actually heard you were dead." Travis confessed.

Travis's confession caught me off guard, and for a moment, I struggled to find the right words to respond. His nonchalant demeanor belied the gravity of his revelation, leaving me feeling both surprised and grateful for his honesty.

"Yeah, I figured it was safer to stick with someone who wouldn't rat me out," I admitted, feeling a sense of relief at being able to speak openly about my situation.

Travis nodded understandingly, his expression softening with empathy. "I get it. It's a tough world out there, especially when you're trying to stay under the radar."

As Travis shared his observations about my siblings' reaction to my supposed demise, I couldn't help but feel a surge of bitterness rise within me. The realization that they had likely used my death as a means to further their own agenda filled me with a mix of anger and resentment.

"Yeah, they're good at putting on a show," I muttered, my voice tinged with sarcasm. "But I guess that's what they do best—manipulate situations to their advantage."

Travis nodded sympathetically, his expression mirroring my frustration. "It sucks, but sometimes you've got to play the game, you know? Keep your enemies close and all that."

I grimaced at the thought of having to maintain any semblance of a relationship with my conniving siblings, but I knew Travis was right. In a world where survival often depended on one's ability to navigate social dynamics, sometimes it was necessary to bide your time and wait for the right moment to strike.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," I conceded, forcing a tight smile. "But for now, I'm just grateful to have someone on my side who's not in it for their own gain."

Travis beamed at me, his enthusiasm infectious. "You've got me, honey! And together, we're going to take on the world. Your siblings are idiots. They're even throwing a succession party."

Travis's words echoed in my mind, stirring up a tempest of conflicting emotions. The realization that my brother's ascent to power would overshadow any contributions I had made filled me with a sense of frustration and resentment. It was as if my efforts, my sacrifices, were being swept aside and forgotten, rendered insignificant in the wake of my brother's success.

The thought of my family basking in the glory of my brother's achievement while I remained relegated to the shadows fueled a burning desire to reclaim my place in the spotlight.

"I've got good blackmail," Travis giggled. Travis's revelation sent a jolt of intrigue coursing through me, momentarily eclipsing the bitterness and resentment that had consumed my thoughts. Dirt on my brother—a potential leverage that could tip the scales in my favor and disrupt the carefully constructed facade of his untarnished reputation.

As Travis spoke, outlining the details of the information he possessed, I listened intently, a flicker of hope igniting within me. The prospect of exposing my brother's secrets, of tarnishing his image and undermining his authority, held a tantalizing allure—a chance to level the playing field and assert my own influence in the power dynamics of my family.

With each revelation, Travis painted a picture of vulnerability, of cracks in the facade of my brother's carefully curated persona. It was a portrait of deceit and corruption, a stark contrast to the image of honor and integrity that my brother projected to the outside world.

In that moment, I realized the magnitude of the opportunity that lay before me. Armed with this newfound knowledge, I could strike a decisive blow against my brother's authority, eroding the foundation of his power and paving the way for my own ascent.

But even as excitement coursed through me, a voice of caution whispered in the recesses of my mind. Exposing my brother's secrets would not come without risk, and the repercussions could be far-reaching and unpredictable. Yet, weighed against the potential rewards, the choice was clear.

"I can't believe you have all this," I muttered, my mind racing with the implications of Travis's revelation.

"Oh, honey, you have no idea," Travis replied, a mischievous glint in his eye. "I've been collecting these little treasures for years. Your brother never suspected a thing."

"But why?" I asked, struggling to comprehend the depth of Travis's vendetta against my brother.

"Let's just say your brother and I have a long history," Travis said cryptically, his lips curling into a sly smile. "And now, it's payback time."

The gravity of Travis's words hung heavy in the air, the weight of his vendetta casting a shadow over our conversation. Yet, beneath the surface, I couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope—a glimmer of possibility that with Travis's evidence, I could finally turn the tables on my brother and reclaim what was rightfully mine.

"So, what's the plan?" I asked, my voice tinged with a newfound determination.

Travis grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "I was hoping that you had one. You are the best at things like this."

I told travis that we needed to find a way onto the property. Surely the party had a staff, and since my parents were so vain, they made all serving staff at parties cover their face with a full mask. It would be easy to sneak in and somehow expose the blackmail and ruin his party.

"Brilliant idea," Travis exclaimed, his excitement matching mine. "And lucky for us, I happen to know just the person who can help us get past security."

My curiosity piqued, I raised an eyebrow in question. "Who?"

Travis leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "There's a bartender at the venue who owes me a favor. He's been dying to get out of his contract with your brother's company. I think he'd be more than willing to lend us a hand."

A smile spread across my face as I realized the pieces of our plan were falling into place. "Perfect. Let's pay him a visit."

"Lollipop, I've got fresh meat for you!" Travis called out.

"Anything for Mother's new project. She looks wild," the cashier quipped, eyeing Travis and me with exaggerated interest.

"I'm a man," I interjected, feeling a pang of indignation at being mistaken for something I wasn't.

"I can see that, sweetie," the cashier replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm. It was disorienting, to say the least. "What can the wild child do?"

"Loss prevention. He's got a good eye and he can hold his own," Travis chimed in, coming to my defense.

"You don't have to beg, mother. I'll see what he can do tomorrow morning," the cashier responded, his demeanor shifting slightly.

"What's your name?" he asked, turning his attention back to me.

"Alex."

"How old are you, Alex?"

"22."

"Prove it."

"I'll get you his documents. He's fresh out, so he needs the help," Travis explained, effectively sealing the deal.