It's Christmas and I wish you were here.

The atmosphere is charged with celebration in our small house.

The tree is up, the presents are laid under it, and the air smells like chicken pepper-soup - daddy’s favourite.

But the stench of unease is still in the air and every sudden sound makes me jolt like a soldier with PTSD.

And the occasional, celebratory fireworks don't help.

Mum notices my uneasiness and stares at me with moist eyes which glisten with overflowing sadness.

I stand to leave because, seeing her like that… I will break.

I know I have to stay strong… for her, for our family.

Trying to walk away, she holds my hand, “I'm sad too Angel”, her soft voice barely a whisper.

“He was your father and we lost him. But please. For us, try to be happy.”

My father. 

He was more than my father. He was the first man I ever knew and loved. 

My first guardian.

How could I be happy knowing how empty our family felt now?

But I just smile and say, “yes mummy. But I just want to go out, I'm okay”. 

Happy she can't see my clenched, angry fist.

I must remain strong for her, for everyone.

After I pull myself from her concerned gaze, I walk briskly to the front door. 

Afraid that if I stay any longer, I’ll explode and ruin the already sour mood.

“I'll be back soon”, I reassure quietly.

This was not her fault.

“Are you still looking for him?” Her question drives me to a halt.

“He's gone Angel,” I can hear her tears.

He IS gone. 

The man I had known and loved my whole life has gone like he never existed.

“It's been three weeks!"

"His car was abandoned and soaked in blood, and the police have stopped searching!” My mother's watery screams fly across the room.

“What could you still be looking for eh?”

My hands grip the door handle, “I'll be back later mummy”.

I walk out and away from her quiet sobs.

It's fine. She'll be fine.

She'd never understand that I need him more than my life.

*

In my car I drove to where I could clear my head. 

Even just the driving itself helped. The breeze hitting my face reminded me of when daddy took me out on rides.

Most times, the trips to get ice cream were quite sudden. He would yank me from my toys and smile.

Telling me to pick 3 flavours I wanted. 

Oftentimes, he would introduce new ice cream flavours to me.

And other times, he would take me to my favourite aunt’s place for the weekend because he and mummy needed to relax.

I smiled tearily because I remembered throwing little tantrums - I wanted to relax with mummy and daddy.

And he always bribed me with some new toy or another gift, or a girls spa day with mummy.

But my hands tightened against the car steering wheel when I remembered that one Christmas in particular.

It was a really hot December, but mummy wore long sleeves.

I asked her numerous times how she wasn't hot. 

But she stared into space; emptiness in her eyes until daddy told me to stop disturbing her.

I left them to play but came back to find daddy dragging her into their room, and the door slammed shut after them.

After some time, mum came out with a short sleeve shirt, a smile on her face, and brown makeup powder on her arms.

Her smile grew harder as she lifted me up in an embrace. While daddy smiled and leaned against their bedroom door.

Admiring his beautiful family.

That image plastered in my mind for years but I never believed what I saw.

There was no way he did anything bad to mummy.

Daddy is good. 

Daddy buys me ice cream.

Daddy reads me ‘Alibaba and the 40 thieves’ before bed.

Daddy is kind.

I repeated in my head as tears filled my eyes and I neared my destination.

Daddy would never do that. 

I remembered trying to talk to mum once about that image I tried to forget, but she reiterated how good daddy was.

“Your daddy is a good man”.

Lies? 

I heaved a big sigh as I parked my car at my destination. 

It was a simple, isolated, makeshift rageroom that suited my needs.

I could scream and shout as loud as I needed - and heaven knows I needed to let out some steam.

For in this insane reality, I needed somewhere I could unleash my madness.

I had arrived.

My makeshift rageroom.

A caravan that sat at the edge of an abandoned pit where no one goes. 

Where no one can hear.

The police stopped searching days ago. 

His abandoned, blood soaked car, and the broken phone in the river, they think he wandered off and died somewhere. 

They'll never find what they're looking for.

Stepping out of my car with my iron rod, I could feel my body tingle with excitement.

I opened the caravan door and a terrible smell oozed from it.

It's Christmas and you’re here. The REAL you, not the lie.

*

“Daddy migwo”, I knelt in front of daddy and greeted with a smile on my face.

No reply.

I rolled my eyes as I stood up and I walked in circles around the man tied up on the only chair in the room.

“Are you still angry at me?” 

My smile thinned as I tore away the tape from his mouth.

Immediately, he drew a deep, long breath.

“Angel what is this?” My father’s angry voice echoed across the empty caravan.

“Daddy, remember Christmas of 2002?” I ignored his question and continued to walk around him.

Caressing his restrained body with my iron rod and smiled as he flinched.

The same way I saw mom flinch when he reached across the table during one Christmas dinner.

“You bought me that Barbie dollhouse, and I thought you were the best father in the world.”

I saw recognition in his eyes.

Of course he remembered. All his gifts were calculated.

A big gesture for a big beating.

“Angel, that was between me and your mother…”

“But Mummy was wearing long sleeves in the December heat, way too much makeup inside the house, and her hair was balding unnaturally.”

I stopped and crouched down until I was at his eye level.

“I didn't notice it then, but I notice now."

He noticed my voice is dangerously low.  “Angel, listen…”

Clang! I use the metal rod to hit him on his left kneecap.

His screams exploded throughout the empty caravan.

“YOU BEAT HER AND PULLED HER HAIR!” Tears streamed from my crying face.

“Angel that’s not how it went”, he cried between his screams.

“It was just… I used it to relieve stress.”

I felt my brain twitch when I heard that.

“You men!” 

Another clang.

“You use women”.

Clang.

“Referring to mother as an ‘it’, how DARE you?”

Clang.

“Where is the man who taught me to ride a bicycle?”

Clang.

“He never existed, did he?"

Clang.

“He just uses women!”

Clang.

“He used his daughter to feel compassion.”

Clang.

“And his wife to RELIEVE STRESS.” I screamed an octave higher to ‘relieve stress’.

“AH!” I threw away my iron rod out of disgust.

My hands flew to my head as I screamed in pain and anger.

My sight was blurry now. 

The first man I loved has become the first man I have come to hate with my entire being. 

And if a man - my father - could hurt a woman - his wife - like this.

Which man is safe?

Is any man safe?

“Angel please,” his weak voice whimpered. Weak from screaming his lungs out due to the pain inflicted by me.

“I am still your father”.

“And you are my baby girl. You’re  ‘daddy’s girl’, remember?”

A bitter laugh escaped from my throat.

"My name is Angela daddy.” My hands fell from my head and wiped my tears with my sweat stained shirt.

“Angel died when I found out who you really are."

He stuttered in confusion.

Good. He doesn’t need to understand.

He just needs to know that the one person he tried to look like a saint in front of, finally saw him for the devil he is.

“Mummy is someone’s daughter too”.

“But it never mattered to you, did it?” 

“Only the woman who shares your blood deserves love and care?”

No answer. Just his whimpers of pain. Pain I inflicted. 

I hated it but I picked my iron rod back up.

He had to pay.

“Mummy and I grieve for very different men you know.”

I continued, now staring upward as the tears continued to run down from the corners of my eyes.

“She mourns a monster she's still defending”.

My face came down to face him.

“While I mourn a father who never existed."

“Angel…” I raised my rod in anger.

He swallowed, “Angela…please, I exist, I am here.”

“You’re not!” My anger was about to explode again.

“You never existed, and I have come to accept that.” I let the rod fall to the caravan floor.

“More than acceptance actually,” a sad smile crawled to my lips as I made sure to stare into his eyes.

“I have made sure of that.”

“An…Angela what did you do?”

I continued staring, "Everyone thinks you're dead.”

“Your car is abandoned, drenched in blood I should add, and the police stopped searching a week ago." 

His eyes widened with understanding. "You... you staged..." 

"I learned from the best.”

“You taught me how to hide the truth, daddy. How to make people believe a lie."

Silence.

My thin smile remained plastered on my lips, as I watched his eyes absorb the shock of my words.

“I left you alone for 3 days last time,” I stood, about to leave.

“This time, I will leave you forever.”

“Ang…Angel you can’t do this.” He tried to plead one last time.

I turned and started walking out.

“ANGELA COME BACK HERE. I AM YOUR FATHER!”

I heard the sound of the chair he was tied on, scraping against the metal floor.

And I stopped and turned to look at him one last time.

He still looked defiant and proud despite all this.

He cannot be saved.

I know that now.

“Goodbye daddy,” the sound of the heavy metal door closing was not enough to cover his angry screams.

It's Christmas and you are here. Finally trapped as mother was trapped.