Brightly Grim

Cassie: Honesty

John lights a spliff and gazes upward, his eyes tracing the path of the sun.

"You tried these shrooms before?" I inquire, genuinely curious.

"I got these just yesterday, but I've had some back in Mexico," he responds, taking a drag from the spliff.

"You're never short of Mexico adventure stories, are you?" I remark with a hint of a frown.

"It's actually helped me realize that fighting isn't enough. That I have to go back home," he shares, looking at me intently as he passes he the spliff.

"Yeah, I've noticed your emotional quest ever since you won the title. The twelve-year-old girl in me applauds your efforts, but I find it a little pathetic," I admit, and take a puff.

"Oh, so now I'm pathetic?" he raises an eyebrow at me, caught by surprise.

"Yeah. Be proud of what you achieved. You're the champion of the fucking world aren't you?"

"Pride doesn't make you happy, Cass'." He says, and I laugh at him.

"Because there is no happy. There is weak, and there is strong." I reply firmly, hearing my voice echoing inside of my body. "Pride makes you strong John, embrace it."

He chuckles in response, shaking his head. "That's a lot of father's mentality, even from you."

"It's just realism. What people mistake for happiness is simply the sensation of feeling superior to those around them."

"Sometimes you act like it, but having lived most of my life with you, I know it's not your truth," he counters.

I sigh and sink back into the chair. To my surprise, the tension is quick to dissipate, and I feel my fists unclenching. My body feels lighter as I soak in the gentle warmth of the sun. My eyes have fallen shut, yet the rays of golden light persist to glow within my mind.

"The shrooms are nice," I remark, a gentle smile playing on my lips as I feel the gravity shifting in my brain, tilting my head from side to side.

"Yeah, they are," he agrees, stretching beside me. I hand him the spliff, which I had forgotten clasped between my fingers. In the ensuing silence, I can hear the herb crackling as it catches fire and swirls with John's breath into his lungs.

"What makes you so sure?" I find myself asking, my voice barely a whisper.

"About what?" he responds, curiosity lacing his words.

"That I'm not like him?" The question slips out, laden with vulnerability.

"Because you got him out of here, Cass. You're the one who made this place a home," he says, looking at me with tenderness that tightens my chest and threatens to moisten my eyes.

"But I couldn't do it. In the moment of truth, my pity for our lousy father broke me, and you stayed strong," I confess, a tinge of regret seeping into my words.

"It wasn't about strength or weakness. I simply believed in you more than you believed in yourself. You said we had to kick him out, so we had to, and that's it," he explains, shaking his head with a smile.

"I'm still a bit pissed that I couldn't do it myself," I admit, my voice tinged with lingering frustration.

"Yeah, I know. Because you've always tried to shoulder everything on your own, just like you did when we were kids."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask, my curiosity piqued.

"I mean, you were the one who packed our lunches for school, made sure Damien stayed in his room when our father turned the house into a brothel, and held us together when Mom got sick," he reveals, his words washing over me slowly.

I blink at him, absorbing his words. "Do you keep

a diary or something?"

He snorts a laugh. "Damn, it's hard to give you a compliment."

"Should be. An ego of my size could crush all of you if it got any bigger," I reply, a playful grin forming on my face.

He laughs, and I join him, the weight of our shared childhood here lifting momentarily in the haze of the shrooms and sunlight.