Crimson Lies

4. The calm before the storm - Part 1

People would often label my actions as frivolous, but what they usually fail to notice is that frivolousness emerges when your back hits the wall, and all your options have run dry. It's not even a choice most of the time—it's survival disguised as carelessness.

That's how I ended up clutching my mouth, fearing my lip might have split open from the blow. The metallic notes mixed with my saliva burned my tongue, but I was too scared to move, too scared to check my hand for blood. The thick air descended upon me, making it hard to breath. I couldn't shake the unnerving feeling that I might be standing with tiptoes on the edge of the abyss that I called life. It was a royal mess. I noticed I was shaking slightly, probably due to the shock from what had just happened, or maybe it was the anticipation of what was to come.

The silence pressed heavily in on me, making me hope that someone would break it, so we can get this over with. I was doing a mental check of all the decisions I'd ever made thus far. My mind raced through the escape routes in the labyrinth of my mind, but each one halted before a dead end. I was screwed, for sure. Was this how it all unraveled? Not a week after I'd arrived, and everything was already crumbling down around me. The fragile sandcastle finally swept away by the disastrous wave.

Maybe I could avoid this somehow, find a way to escape the consequences, however, I knew better than to hope. I knew better than to even try. Perhaps I'd be okay if I just stood very still—like she used to do during storms. But look where that got her.

Deep down, however, I knew this wasn't the storm itself, no. It was merely the eerie calm before it. The kind of calm that makes your skin craw and your heartbeat echo in your eardrums. The tension was insufferable, as if waiting for the first drop of rain to fall after a year of drought, knowing it would soon be a downpour. I could sense it building, just beneath the surface, simmering, ready to tear through everything in its path. There was no stopping it. There was only the question of how long I could hold out before it swept me away entirely.

---

10 hours earlier.

I certainly wasn't the type to lie to myself. I'd always prided myself on having a sharp grasp on reality, but I never expected to be avoided like the plague. Don't get me wrong—I knew that father-daughter bonding was never really in the cards for us, but leaving for work at six in the morning, even on a Sunday, and returning long after I'd fallen asleep was pushing it too far.

My bedroom was just above the garage, so every time he snuck out, I heard it. The low rumble of the engine, the quiet click of the garage door closing—all was a nagging clockwork, a reminder that his world operated separately from mine. And every time, a small piece of me sank a little deeper. 

I couldn't help but wonder if this was part of my punishment. Was vanishing at the buttcrack of dawn my father's way of ensuring I felt utterly alone? Did he truly have somewhere urgent to be on the weekends, or was it someone—someone important—he'd rather be with than be stuck in this hollow mansion with his own daughter? The thought gnawed at me, a dark, unwelcome suspicion. All my nights since I'd returned had been spent wondering what—or who—could possibly pull him away. Maybe it was easier for him that way, less complicated. But for me, it resembled an outright rejection—a confirmation that I was not enough to keep him here. And the house was massive, so even when we were both home, the chances of running into each other were slim. So the thought that he might have found someone special, to call family, wasn't too far-fetched. My heart squeezed at the possibility in a way I never expected. It was a hurt I hadn't anticipated, but there it was, eating away at me, quietly eroding any hope I had left.