Crimson Lies

2. Broken record

My fist hovered in midair, poised to knock on his office door. I had no idea how long I'd been standing there, lost in a whirlwind of thoughts. When I first arrived at the house, the help was lined up outside like dutiful soldiers awaiting inspection. They looked more like little plastic figurines, perfectly dressed in their work uniforms, placed at the front of the grand entrance. They resembled dolls, part of Barbie's dreamhouse more than actual living, breathing people. Their heads were bowed, their gazes fixed firmly on the ground. The warmth I once associated with them had evaporated into the oppressive heat of the afternoon. I tried to break the silence, tell them how much I missed them, but not a single pair of eyes lifted to meet mine. My words hung in the air, unanswered and unacknowledged, leaving me with an uncomfortable realization—this place and its characters had probably resumed their commercial roles. Everything was back in its designated place, and the nuclear "pink" house, once bursting with life, now felt as if it was ready for sale again—stripped of its warmth, polished for the next stranger.

But they weren't just the help back then; they were family. They were my Dorry, who used to sneak me cookies after dinner, her hands always dusted with flour, who never missed a chance to scold me when I was naughty, but always with a twinkle in her eye. Marcus, who promised to grow red carnations for my mother, even though she never got to see them bloom, always patient, always kind. And Beth, who would sing god-awful duets with me, both of us so off-key that we'd end up in fits of laughter, our voices lifting us out of the suffocating quiet of the house. Now, all that familiarity had been swallowed by something. Probably by time and distance.

Standing there, I pondered on how much exactly had slipped away from me, how much had changed while I was away. Everyone was still here, but they weren't really my anything anymore. Was I an intruder to them-someone from the past? Or mayber just a visitor—an outsider trying to reclaim something that was no longer theirs? Was it ever mine to begin with?

I shook my head, trying to chase away the fog of memories and doubt that clung to this place. At last, I forced myself to knock, breaking free from the trance that had held me captive for what felt like forever. A stern but simple "Come in" echoed from the other side, grounding me in a reality that I was not ready to face.

I ran my fingers through my hair one last time, trying to make myself look somewhat presentable for him. I'd done my best in the car, before I got out of it, but after the long ass flight, there wasn't much more I could do. There was simply nothing to work with. My shirt was wrinkled, hastily tucked it into my shorts, no deodorant, no mint, no nothing. I felt disheveled. Nothing could mask the nerves as I reached for the doorknob.

Putting one shaky leg in front of the other, felt like learning how to walk again. I crossed the threshold into his office, a place that had always been off-limits for me. It exuded an elegance and luxury that mirrored the rest of the house, yet here, the atmosphere was starkly different. The warm beige and white tones that softened all the other rooms were replaced with walls cloaked in deep shades of black and charcoal. The faint glint of gold accents and the muted warmth of brown leather were the only things that illuminated this place. In the center of the room sat a large Goddard and Townsend wooden desk, with its sharp lines and polished surface cutting through the gloom with an air of authority. I remembered seeing it just once when it was delivered, wondering why my mother had chosen such a hideous piece. In my defence, I wasn't inpressed by anything if it wasn't pink back then.

Standing now before it years later, I understood why my mom had chosen it—it was a perfect reflection of him. Like some kind of a testament to his meticulous nature and the rigid control he exerted over every aspect of his life, and, by extension, mine.

A man in a suit as dark as the room itself rose slowly, from his place, behind the desk. His gaze remained on the papers in front of him as he adjusted his cufflinks. with precise movements. I instinctively opened my arms, ready to meet him halfway with a hug, but he sidestepped the gesture. Instead, he grasped my hand firmly, shook it, and then leaned in to give me a quick, formal peck on both cheeks. The warmth I had hoped for dissipated, leaving me stunned. Without even meeting my gaze, he turned his back to me and made his way back to his chair, gesturing for me to sit as well. His attention was already back on the papers in front of him.

"So, college is finally over. You must be happy. '' His tone was casual, almost dismissive, as he absently flipped through his documents.

"Happy is an understatement." I sighed, dragging the words out as I tried to absorb every detail of the room. I paced around, trying to calm my breathing, picking up and inspecting a few objects, searching for any trace of my presence, any sign that I had once been part of this place, this house, his life.