Crimson Lies

7. Sincere as a sin - Part 2

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 on 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 thoughts 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.

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.

You're probably wondering how I ended up here. Well, I did something stupid. A lot of stupid things, actually, but it was one in particular that got me into this whole mess. It wasn't the kind of thing you do when you're madly bored or when you are trying to impress a friend. No, this was the kind of a thing you do when you think you're untouchable. When you have convinced yourself that you can play with fire and not get burned. Except, of course, as luck would have it, you do get burned. 

After spending the day with Parker sipping cocktails from cardboard coffee cups, wasting a shit ton amount of money, and unraveling small-town mysteries, I felt a decent sense of normality. I was light as a feather, just like how I used to be back in the days when I attended boarding school. My worries seemed to have disappeared behind the horizon, with the sun that had been warming our skin and, suddenly, I was 15 again. Getting in trouble for stealing test answers, or getting drunk during music class was my normal. This day reminded me of the carelessness I had knowing that whatever I did, my father would not allow me to go back home, so being expelled was never an issue.

When we reached the taxi stand, Parker helped me get into a yellow New York-looking cab. He opened the door like the perfect gentleman he was and held it for me as I slipped inside and we exchanged our goodbyes.

"Text me when you get home, okay? Promise." His voice was soft, but there was a hint of concern that didn't quite match the excitement he had shown earlier. I could sense that, despite the thrill of sharing what he knew about Dominique, something was pressing on him.

"Sure thing, Nancy Drew." I responded with a playful grin, hoping to ease his tension. My eyes bore into his, searching for an answer, a sign—but he was quicker, a smile bright and disarming lit up his face, trying to brush away any lingering doubts.

I chose to let it slide. I got into the vehicle, waved him off, and allowed myself to sink into the fleeting comfort of the ride home. Darkness had already consumed the town and the only light was coming from a few restaurants and the streetlights along the way. Everything would be fine—I tried to convince myself. Yet, in the back of my mind, a nagging feeling persisted, quietly pondering what really was going through Parker's head. What was troubling him so that his mood kept changing every few seconds?