Crimson Lies

6. Sincere as a sin - Part 1

Let me tell you something about how ridiculously ludicrous life is—how it can twist you upside down, bitch slap you, chew you up and spit you out. It is exactly as brutal as it sounds. I kid you not, I've seen it. It has a way of sobering you up, whether literally or figuratively, just when you feel like you're reigning on top of the world. When you're so happy that your feet no longer touch the ground, lifted above the city's streetlights, you stop noticing the dark clouds that others carry on their shoulders like backpacks. You forget about the ones that plague your existence.

Nonetheless, each cloud carries its own story, heavy with burdens, like fresh hail waiting to fall. Some people wear their sadness as if they've earned it, careful not to let it spill over onto those they love. Others carry guilt like a second skin, holding tightly to mistakes they can't undo. And then, there are those who hide their shame behind a thick mask, desperately trying to conceal every part of themselves, as if the world might actually notice the heaviness they carry.

Just when you think you've risen above it all, life has a way of reminding you that too much happiness is never a good sign. It pulls you back down, grounding you with the weight of your past. Because sadness, guilt, and shame are like invisible shackles—you might get away with walking a few miles in peace, distancing yourself for a while, but eventually, they'll pull you right to the starting point. No matter how far you stray, they always find a way to reclaim their hold, a constant reminder that no one can escape their own shadow for long. Even Peter Pan couldn't. Though I bet his male guardian wasn't running for mayor.

Looking at the poster, the words slipped out before I could fully grasp their significance, striking like thunder from a clear sky. "My father."

The realization hit us both at the same time and we looked at each other. Parker's eyes widened in shock, his mouth slightly agape as he took in the gravity of the whole situation. For a second, that felt as if it stretched for hours, quiet uncertainty nestled between us like a thick fog. The setting sun cast elongated shadows across the city streets that stretched as if they, too, were getting fatigued. Everything was draped in a surreal glow. The lampposts flickered to life, to do their due diligence for the night, and grace us with light, as the sky shifted from a burnt orange to a deep, dark blue, enveloping the city in twilight.

The world around us seemed to shift, the harsh reality settling in with brutal clarity. We were no longer drunk or tipsy. The sobering truth of the moment hit us with an undeniable force.

I couldn't fathom the words that had just escaped my mouth, howbeit they belonged to me. The voice that had spoken them seemed foreign, unrecognizable. The smudged marker on my father's picture did nothing to ease the turmoil churning inside me as I stared at him, plastered on the newspaper vending machine. The image of him, starkly juxtaposed with Parker's vehement criticism, was overwhelming. The magnitude of the situation crashed down on me, leaving me utterly speechless.

He lied.

"Your father?" Parker finally broke the silence, his tone barely above a whisper. 

I nodded, a mix of dread and resignation tightening in my chest. "Yes."

"So... Conrad Crimson Roe is your dad? You're Amara Crimson Roe?" His tone was laced with disbelief, as if he was bracing himself for me to laugh and reveal it was all a joke.

Nodding was all I could manage. I looked down with slumped shoulders, as my throat tightened, unable to swallow the truth. This was too much to process all at once.

"Huh. What are the chances?" Parker muttered, as his stare drifted absently into the distance. Then his expression shifted, suspicion creeping into his voice. "Did he put you up to this? To spy?"