Page 10 of The Blackmail of Denise Randall

THE FASHION PRINCESS

Hello beautiful people of the world!

Thanks for checking out my new blog. I’ve been going through some personal stuff, and my sister, who is a counselor, suggested I try writing as an outlet. Journals aren’t really my thing—but the idea of a blog I could get behind because I love to share fashion. So—let’s have some fun, shall we?

I’ll be posting on here as my schedule allows about my favorite fashions, makeup tricks and tips, and every now and then, a little piece of myself. Feel free to comment and share your ideas and thoughts as well.

Two months ago, I was in an accident. I’m fine, but my sister’s bridal shower was postponed. For now, let’s discuss outfits for any occasion. Check out this cute flowy Sunday dress. These types of dresses are so fun because you can dress them up or down, depending on your shoes and accessories. They’re really the best deal for your dollar.

Best part, this dangling necklace and bracelet are simple but add a fun flair to the dress. You can get these at any retail store cheap.

I love platform sandals. I’m not very tall so these add much needed height for me. Also, you don’t have to worry about twisting your ankle in these. Walk in confidence ladies ;)

What’s your favorite? Share pics of your favorite outfit for events!

Much love friends!

The Fashion Princess Blog

Before my courage fades, I click submit and wait for it to post. My first blog. Nobody close to me will know about this. Alice had suggested I start writing my feelings out last week when she drove to campus to check on me.

Honestly, her unwavering support surprises me. I’ve been nothing but a little bitch since Landon’s death. I wasn’t even that great of a person before his death. Sure over the summer, she checked on me when I was stuck at home with a sprained ankle and broken arm. But even then my insecurities kept telling me that she was only checking on me since she was there anyway. I assumed she was mostly there to see Mom and Dad. But then she came to see me at college.

Sitting in my apartment, I finally caved and broke down into tears. “You drove all this way.”

“Denise, I’ve come to see you before.”

“Once with Mom and Dad.”

“I’m sorry. Life gets busy, ya know. I should’ve come more. And I will. I promise to try and visit more often.”

“No. I wouldn’t want to come visit me either. I didn’t even talk about your engagement with you. I ruined your bridal shower by running out in front of a car. When you—when you first moved in with us, I never really talked to you about how you were feeling or adjusting. I’ve been a horrible sister.”

Alice wraps her arms around me. “Denise. You were a kid. Cut yourself some slack. You were going through a lot as well. A stranger moved in with you when you were fourteen, and you lost your brother in the same year. The following year, you became an aunt. You’ve had to deal with peer pressure and bullying. It’s a lot. Stop dwelling on every little thing you’ve done or not done. Now you’re a sophomore in college. Give yourself some grace. Maybe you need to write all these emotions and feelings out.”

“Like a journal?”

“Some people journal, or use a diary, or even a blog.”

So here I am, taking her advice, and starting my very own blog, The Fashion Princess. Complete with a little crown logo that I sketched on my tablet.

Since coming to college, I’ve found sisters in my sorority and made a few friends through classes. But none of them know the real Denise Randall. I don’t even know the real Denise. Maybe I can find her through this blog. I don’t have to worry about what I say or what anyone will think. There are no preconceived notions about me because my last name is Randall. Sure, in college, my sorority sisters don’t know about my family or name since I’m far enough away and they’re from all over—they know only that I come from a wealthy family. A few have recognized the name Randall from Missouri as the family of Sarah Randall, but not many. Those people ask, “the girl who had been kidnapped?” I usually press my lips tightly together and nod. That automatically translates in their head that I’m ‘the sister of the girl who had been kidnapped.’ Back home, I’m ‘the sister of Landon who died and caused the death of Luke.’ The Jamersons made sure everyone knew it was Landon’s fault. And let’s not forget I’m ‘the sister of legendary Trent Randall.’ Within my family, I’m the baby, the princess. With all of these monikers used to define me, does anyone truly know me for me? Do I even know who I am? Is this why I feel the need to act like a complete bitch sometimes? Does this drive my need to succeed and keep a pristine image because all my siblings have some scandal tied to them? My looks aren’t even my own because I look just like my mom. I don’t look like Denise; I look like Melissa. I’m in everyone’s shadow, yet put under a microscope with a target on my back. I hate every single label. I hate myself for feeling the need to play into peer pressure and caring what others think. This obsessive need to fill the role of the perfect daughter, when I’m anything but. This self-loathing only intensifies with every lie, which is ninety percent of every word spoken by me.

Here, I’m sorority sister, Denise Randall. Even this far away from home, I still have a label and an image to uphold to maintain membership as a sister. I need stellar grades, volunteer hours for charities that I care nothing about, friendships with girls who are as fake as me, and flirty encounters with only fraternity jocks. It’s exhausting always putting on a show.

This blog is finally my way to be the star of my own show.

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