Thief

Mortification

Falisha’s POV

I felt alive.

After what feels like a long time I felt alive, it was like a burden had lifted off my shoulders. It was as if someone had been choking me the whole time, and wouldn’t let me breathe and now that I had let it all out I could finally breathe.

There was still this little part of me that felt rejected by the things he said, it was the part that was responsible for all the crying, but another and the bigger part of me felt better. Today I stood up for being his daughter; I stood up for him, in front of him. I felt proud.

I knew I had literally rebelled, but in my own twisted way I had taken a step towards him. He might get that, after all he was my father.

Who knew, he might take a step himself.

Knowing better than to hope for things that might never happen, I pulled the brakes of my train of thoughts and collected myself off the floor.

First jogging, then the outburst and all the crying left me tired and drained. I decided to take a nap before getting ready for the fair.

I had the most peaceful sleep.

After getting up, I took a quick shower and went into the closet and scanned for what I was going to wear. I wanted to go for something plain yet elegant. It was June, so I didn’t have to wear any jackets and coats; that means I can even wear a sun dress. I took out a dull yellow, ankle length, cap sleeved sundress and a pair of matching heels. I first decided to leave my hair straight but then changed my mind and curled it. I didn’t know why, but I wanted to look extra pretty today. The dress really compliments my skin. I applied a little kohl in my eyes and put on a bit of lip glows.

I took a final glance at the mirror and smiled. I did look pretty.

The violent sound of horns blasted from the windows.

It had to be Mustafa.

Doesn’t he know dad is home.

I quickly rushed towards the window and pulled the curtains aside. Mustafa was there, sitting in his black Porsche. He saw me and waved.

I eyed him and mouthed, “Dad is home”

Mustafa bit his tongue and put his hands on his ears, “Sorry” he mouthed back.

I rolled my eyes before gathering my bag and ran downstairs.

As I was walking towards the door, I quickly peeped inside the study. Father was there, sitting on his armchair, facing a black and white picture situated on the back wall.

It was my mother’s picture, an old one; my mother looked so young, beautiful and happy. I know my father missed her; she was one of the reason he buried himself in work, he thought if he busied himself, he wouldn’t have time to miss her. But he didn’t realize he would be missing a lot of other things while trying not to miss one.

I wanted to go in, to say I was sorry for the outburst or to tell him that I am going out but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. Maybe we both needed a little space anyway.

When I went outside the house, Mustafa had already got out of the car and was leaning by it’s the door. He spotted me and froze. His eye grew wide as he eyed me from head to toe.

I laughed, “What?”

“Nothing” he composed himself and smiled widely, “Let’s get going.”

Mustafa opened my door as I stepped inside, then he walked across the car and got in behind the wheel.

I was not in the mood to talk much so I turned the radio on; high by James Blunt was playing. I turned the volume up and relaxed. On our way to the fair we mostly remained quiet except for a few comments here and there but I could sense Mustafa looking at me every now and then. Maybe I was actually looking pretty today.