Crimson Lies

3. Dangerous waters

For the longest time, I've faced the consequences of actions that were never my own. But this time was different. 

Just as my father had warned a week ago, the price for my defiance was now due. His retribution arrived not with shouts or confrontations but in the form of cold, calculated financial deprivation. My cards were blocked, my accounts frozen, and I was left to fend for myself in a house that had everything. The irony wasn't lost on me: a fully stocked fridge and all the luxuries money could buy, yet not a cent to my name.

Oh, the struggles of a poor little rich girl.

This was his punishment, his way of reminding me who held the real power.  It saddened me to realize that this was the only tool he had left to try and control me. His love, if it ever existed, was always conditional. And when that failed, he turned to his wealth as a substitute, a way to manipulate and constrain. But money, for all its power, couldn't buy respect, connection, or trust. And certainly, it couldn't force me to bend to his will.

He probably thought that by cutting me off, he'd back me into a corner, make me get on that plane and never come back. So in his mind, this was justice—severe, uncompromising, and deserved. But to me, it felt like nothing more than a slap on the wrist. Sure, the lack of funds was annoying. I had returned with only a few belongings and needed to buy essentials, but it wasn't the end of the world. This was just a temporary inconvenience, not an insurmountable obstacle—if anything, it only fueled my determination. If I was pissing him off, that meant I was probably doing something right.

Without any immediate plans, I realized that finding a job could be a way to fill the void and give me some purpose. Even though I hadn't graduated, perhaps the local newspaper might be interested in hiring me to write a few articles. It seemed like a long shot, but it was a tangible goal that could help me escape the monotony of my current situation. Besides, who knew what juicy stories or local events were unfolding in Glenford? It might be a chance to connect with the community, or just have fun and be in on the gossip. It would certainly give me a reason to get out of the house and help me make some fast cash.

The only catch was getting downtown first. Our house was tucked away in a secluded part of Glenford, nestled within a gated neighborhood where the concept of neighbors barely existed. All of the properties were hidden behind a towering wrought-iron gate, and they belonged to the same owner. They stood empty and lifeless—much like everything else in this place. Much like him. The isolation was a curse. I just hoped that it turns out to be a blessing as well.

The roads leading into town were long and winding, flanked by dense forests that obscured any sign of civilization. There were no streetlights or sidewalks, just an endless stretch of pavement that seemed to disappear into the horizon. I wondered how long it would take to walk it—an hour, maybe an hour and a half. Even though it wasn't that far, it would likely feel like an endless journey under the relentless sun, so going on foot was definitely out of the question.

But despite the isolation, there were two things keeping me sane. One was, surprisingly, Parker. Before I had to wash off his message from my arm—didn't want my dad seeing it—I snapped a picture of it, preserving the small but significant connection we had made. We'd been texting back and forth every day since, and it was like a lifeline, something that made me feel less alone in all of this. Our conversations were a strange mix of light and deep—sometimes just banters, other times we were digging into things that mattered.

Though we hadn't known each other for that long, we were growing closer. It felt good to have someone to talk to who wasn't entangled in the complexities of my family. It seemed like we both had our own issues and secrets; there were moments when his words spoke volumes without saying much at all. But in those times when we would chat about mundane topics or trivial aspects of our lives, like men, every worry seemed to melt away. He was my reminder that I had someone beyond these gates, and beyond the suffocating expectations that had always surrounded me.

My other saving grace was the beach just behind the house—my sanctuary. The waves crashed rhythmically against the shore, a sound that felt like a heartbeat—steady and reassuring. The smell of salt in the air, the cool breeze on my skin, the scent of sunscreen. It all offered a sense of peace. Despite it being right in my backyard, it felt like an entirely different planet when I was running along the shore each morning. The stretch of sand was endless, unmarked by anyone else. There were a few houses scattered about, but I knew they were empty. Here, I could pretend that this isolation was by choice rather than circumstance.