Girls can be so naive sometimes, the words uttered by the society often ring in my ears. In the eyes of every girl, her Dad is nothing more than a hero, her pre-marriage Prince Charming and what not. But what I learned in the hard way is that I did not belong to his blood and neither his kith and kin. His foul play at first ceased to exist but then it brought forth the face,which I could not recognise. A face marred by deceit, lies and betrayal.
Since my birth,I had been raised in an orphanage. I had never known who my real parents were and neither I had seen them. When, at times, curiosity would take better off me and I would pester the mistress about them, she would brush me off, her face etched with every line of dislike and scoff, “They committed suicide when they realised they couldn’t stand the sight of you.” Crestfallen, I would hopelessly drag my feet to my room, with my insides shattered. This continued until the age of 10. It stopped when he arrived. And his presence changed everything.
His showing up must’ve thrown the mistress off guard because she could not stop gawking at him. He was tall and muscular, with caramel coloured skin and green almond shaped eyes. He seemed to have a striking personality, with one hand in his pocket and cool shades which were giving off an air of smugness.
Though she had shown him around, he had taken an instant liking to me despite my scarred face. Thus, he became my adoptive father at the age of 30. But my fate was soon to unravel his secrets.
My adoptive mother had also tagged along with him who was much younger. Amira worked as a fashion designer while her husband,Hasib was a successful businessman. As one could possibly imagine, they had hit it off perfectly and were now rolling in money. Barely three years after my adoption, she died in a freak car accident and her once flourishing business took it’s bidding too.
I was too timid and dim-witted at first to fathom the harsh reality of life that had grasped me. As long as my so-called Dad took care of me, I was left feeling contented. He had disillusioned me so aptly that even to this day I still believe that he loved me deeply.
At first the presence of woman accompanying Dad at the mansion late at night nagged me but it was extremely difficult to get accustomed to them. At their arrival, the cook would say in a hushed voice to me to go to my room while I’d be watching TV in the living room. I was told to remain there either to brood over my mom’s death or concentrate on my studies.
At times I would peep out of my room very quietly, tip toe over the stairs and often catch sight of them smoking together. I daresay he had a disgusting taste when it came to women as like them he was too a perv. I wondered if these women spent the night here but a wave of nausea ran through me every time I thought about them.
This went on for another 2 years and I had still not plucked up the courage to ask him. It was an absolute torture going through all of this. I did not want to do it but my intention had purely been motivated by anger. Visiting my parents’ room was out of bounds unless it was a matter of life and death. I was determined to find a trace as my very own Dad had become so withdrawn from me.
I sneaked into his room as he went downstairs for breakfast. I had hastily made up the excuse of completing my homework to let him off the hook and leave my pathway clear. First I checked under the mattress but I found nothing. Then I scrouged through the drawers, desperate to find a hint. I kept looking back to check no one was coming. At last I found what I was looking for: a lipstick and a ladies handbag that looked way too tacky. Mom never wore any cheap stuff. I quickly slipped the lipstick in my pocket.
A sharp voice shot me out of my reverie,” What are you searching for in this room? You have no right to be here!”
I nearly jumped and my heart stuttered in my chest. I slowly turned around to face the door.
It was Dad.
He looked clearly demented as he was breathing heavily with his eyebrows narrowed with anguish. His gaze moved on the second drawer which was open.
I remember the chill that ran down my spine and the fear that spiked through me. I remember his voice hitting me like a rock and him challenging me to throw him in jail after showing him the proof. He had set it all for me to chuck me out of the house.
I had finally altered the lines of destiny. I knew all along that the mansion was not my home but my 2 room apartment is.