Page 93 of Coerced

He said nothing.

“Dad,” I called, my impatience getting the best of me.

“We can still fix this, Aria,” he insisted.

My brows shot up. “Oh yeah? We’re prisoners in our own home, in your home. And despite not telling any of you where I moved to, these people found me. How is it even reasonable for you to believe we can get out of this mess?”

He shook his head slowly. “That’s why they are giving us this hour. I need to convince you to come back, to paint again.”

Feeling wildly disillusioned, I turned around and walked to the other side of the room. For far too long, I’d been doing everything I could to stay in control of my emotions, to bottle them up around my family. I fell in line, did what was expected of me, and never complained.

I did it because they were important to me, because Iloved them. I did it because, even if whatever I was doing wasn’t always what I would have wanted to do, I realized it could always be worse. Mostly, it was that I never wanted to disappoint them.

If ever there was a time for my family to be able to prove the same for me, now was it. And while it was clear my mom and Jasmine still had no idea what was truly going on, my dad did and couldn’t be bothered to do right by me, to not want me to have to sacrifice my morals. Why didn’t he care? Why didn’t any of them care?

After pacing the room for a few seconds, I stopped, turned to face them, and declared, “I’m not painting again. You already know that.”

“You have to,” he said.

“That’s just it, Dad. I don’t. And I’m not going to.”

“Is that what these men want?” Mom asked. “They want Aria’s paintings?”

Dad nodded. “Yes, Florence. They want her paintings.”

“If she painted, they’d leave us alone?”

Mom’s disbelief was on another level. I couldn’t say I didn’t understand her reaction. The reality was that it made no sense why these people were only interested in my paintings, especially to the point they’d tie up a family and put their resources toward locating the estranged daughter who had moved more than two hours away.

“Yes,” Dad confirmed. “All she has to do is paint.”

For the first time since I’d been tossed into this room, Jasmine spoke. “Why are you being so selfish, Aria? You can save your family, and you’re choosing not to. Why?”

I returned my attention to my dad, shooting him an expectant look. He offered a slight shake in response.

That was it.

I was done.

He’d had plenty of opportunity to share the truth, to control how this news was delivered. He hadn’t done it, and it was clear he never intended to reveal what he’d done. And he didn’t care that he was doing that at my expense.

So, I turned my focus to Jasmine and our mom. “You’ve called me names for months now, and I’ve refrained from sharing this truth with you. I was willing, once again, to take it all on my shoulders and be the scapegoat. Anything for my family.Anything. But I’m done. I moved away, and these last couple of months have been some of the best of my life. I’ve made a new life with friends who care about me. I’ve met an amazing man who treats me right, who’s the only reason Ronnie didn’t manage to hurt me weeks ago. And I’ve got two great jobs that I love, jobs I can be proud of, working with people who are loyal, decent, and kind.”

“So, you’re standing there rubbing your new life in our face?” Jasmine asked. “You make it sound like you had such a horrible life here.”

“That’s rich coming from you, Jazzy.”

“I don’t get what your problem is. These guys want your artwork. You want to be an artist, and they’re paying for it. What is so horrible about this deal for you?”

“Drugs, Jaz. Drugs. These men don’t care about my paintings. They’re using them to move drugs, and Dad’s known about it from the beginning!”

My mom gasped. “What? Melvin, tell me she’s joking.”

Defeat washed over him. “I couldn’t lose you or this house. I didn’t want you to have to worry about moving in the midst of the cancer.”

Her eyes nearly fell out of her head. “Are you telling me this has been going on from the start? What about the art dealer?”

The silence in the room was deafening. It went on and on for so long, and it became obvious my dad had no intention of responding.