Artbeat

Chapter XVII

- CARSON -

As my eyes traveled the interior of my dad's house, I took in the slightly scruffy but cozy atmosphere. The walls were a warm beige, and the furniture was worn but comfortable-looking.
The air was thick with the scent of old books and cooking oil, a familiar smell that brought back memories of my childhood. The house was cleaner than what I had to deal with back home, and I felt a sense of relief wash over me.

"Is she treating you well?", I asked genuinely about his new relationship as dad brought in a tray of food and side dishes. He just nodded, his eyes avoiding mine. "I had missed your company," he admitted, sitting down across me. I smiled to myself, trying to keep my emotions in check.

"But you never visited me," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "It's been a while, six months to be exact, since you left." I looked at him, trying not to get teary. I saw guilt all over his face, but he didn't say anything. He began to look at me again, his eyes lingering on the scar on my cheek.

"How did you get that scar on your face?" he asked, his voice soft.

I felt for the scar, my fingers tracing the raised skin. "Things happen," I began looking around the room to avoid his gaze. "Where's Greta?", I asked, changing the subject.

"She's out with friends," he admitted, his eyes dropping. I nodded in understanding.

The two of us sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the clinking of utensils as I began to eat.

My hands moved mechanically as I shoveled the food into my mouth. I didn't even taste it, didn't savor the flavors or textures. I just ate, as if hungry for three days.
My father's eyes watched me with a mix of concern and understanding, but he didn't say anything. He just let me eat, his presence a silent comfort.

The food was a distraction, a way to avoid the emotions swirling inside me. I ate as if I was starving, as if the act of eating could fill the void within me. My father's house, his presence, it was all so familiar, yet so... foreign.
I felt like a stranger in my own life, like I was just going through the motions.

As I ate, my mind wandered back to the past, to the memories I'd tried so hard to forget. The fights, the tears, the feeling of being abandoned and alone. I pushed the thoughts away, focusing on the food, on the sensation of eating, of being full. It was a temporary escape, a fleeting comfort, but it was something. And for now, that was enough.

I didn't even realize tears fall from my eyes until my father handed me a napkin.
You're okay, you're okay.
I took it, wiping my eyes, feeling a lump form in my throat. I tried to swallow it down, but it only seemed to grow bigger. I pushed my plate away, feeling a sense of shame wash over me.

I felt a sense of tension between us, a sense of unresolved issues and unspoken words.

Dad put my plates away after noticing I wasn't going to eat another bite. He left me to my thoughts for a minute before coming back asking, "What have you been up to?". I didn't answer right then, trying to shove away the emotions swirling inside.

"Just art," I answered truthfully, after a moment of silence. "I photograph here and there." I paused, collecting my thoughts. "I have decided recently to show my art on social media. I haven't really checked the updates yet."

My dad nodded, a hint of a smile on his face. I could see he was proud of my decision to finally get out of my shell. "I'm glad you're okay," my dad said, randomly getting relieved to see me in front of him like this.

He paused, his expression changing to a more serious one. "I came across this recently, before retiring from being a police officer," he said, pulling out his phone. He scrolled through his photos and showed me a picture.

A car crash.

A lot of damage was done, the car had hit a tree. The car was mangled beyond recognition, the front end crushed and twisted like a crumpled piece of metal. The tree it had hit was splintered and broken, its branches snapped like twigs.

I gasped, putting my hand on my lips. My eyes widened in shock, my mind reeling with the implications.

"This was a case I was working on," my dad explained. "A young woman was involved. She... didn't make it."

I felt a shiver run down my spine. The thought of someone losing their life in such a tragic way was heartbreaking. But why was my dad showing me this? What connection did this have to our conversation? I looked up at him, searching for answers.

"The thing is...", my father paused, gaining my attention before continuing, "She looked exactly like you."

My heart dropped like a stone, sinking deep into my chest. It was as if time had stopped, and all that existed was the weight of those words. The air seemed to thicken, making it hard to breathe.
The silence that followed was oppressive, heavy with unspoken emotions and unanswered questions.

My father's eyes locked onto mine, filled with a mix of sadness and regret. "I began regretting over and over again for leaving you. Seeing you lying there bleeding, I felt like carrying you all the way to the hospital" he said, his voice cracking with emotion.

A tear dropped from my eye as I listened to my dad. "What confused me was, a crowd gathered, a few calling her name... 'Aria Winters'" he said, his words hanging in the air like a revelation.

I put both hands on my lips, my hands shaking. My heart ached. He saw Aria.
I looked at my dad, appearing to have more to say.

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