As she slept, her chest rising and falling too quickly, and then evenly, her body grew familiar to the air she breathed in. The front door made a soft ‘click’ as it closed, one foot dragged itself quietly behind, and then in front, of the other foot. She couldn’t see it, but his eyes were slits of white dotted black in the centre, trying to focus in on the surroundings so as to make it to the bedroom without walking into anything. The woman’s photograph lay hidden under her mattress- she had seen it but mother hadn’t. The breath filled with a heavy heart and a past with too many regrets filled the air as her bedroom door got opened, callous palms shaking her silky caramel skin back to consciousness.

He called her by his nickname for her, one born from that one afternoon he bothered to actually be a father. One he didn’t realize had grown old because he spent too long not realizing that she was existent and evolving. It used to lift her spirits, now it just woke the sleeping demons that lay at the floor of her memories of him. Eyes open made contact with the head leaning against the wardrobe, reminding her why she shouldn’t be there to begin with.

He used to bring her a full chicken and chips with a Coke meal from Nando’s on paydays, and Chicken Licken meals in between paydays. He used to let her sit in his lap while he read the newspaper. She always was inquisitive- asking what that little column to the left of the page was about, offering her own naive and miscalculated opinion about what he would say. There was a time when she could also say that her dad took her to the mall that past weekend, but that was when her shoe size was still a kiddies 12.

The last event they shared was a funeral. His dad’s coffin being lowered with his mother’s soul, her body following his a mere 2 years later, both taking his life with them. It was them.

She knew what the word empty meant, but Tumblr told her it could also be an emotion. She first saw it in him, then felt her body absorb it as it made its way down her throat along with the anti-depressants she eventually had to take to stay alive.

She had taken them that morning, and now she was reminded why she shouldn’t have been there to begin with. She kept her eyes shut, pretending to be in a deep sleep. He left. Mother’s yelling woke her up. She could almost guess what she would say next- this being a rerun of the past two years.
“What makes you think it’s okay to show up at 2 in the morning, o tsose bana ba robetse?!”
Turned to,
“Your problem is that you only care about yourself. She invited you to her prize giving and you went to to clean your friend’s cousin’s grave with your friends instead. She made prefect, wa tseba? Do you even remember hore she’s still in school? O hlabisa dihlong!”

The slap that followed snuck into her room through the keyhole. Her body jerked awake and out of bed to mother’s aid, but only got pulled back by the same callous hands that tried to wake her mere minutes ago. Minutes ago- it was only minutes ago. Her one leg kicked while the other struggled to breathe in his hold. An intoxicated hold that couldn’t see straight that couldn’t drag straight that blamed the walls for being too straight that blamed the walls for hurting her body. Of course it was the walls.

She had been in grade 6. Telling her friends that her dad worked in the police force excited her. One morning, he picked her up when her transport driver didn’t show up. She watched with glee as her peers peeked through the window to see who the police van came to see. She walked out, struggling to contain the satisfaction on her face, nodding as her dad explained why she was late- all this while he wore his blue uniform with the gun peeking from his side. That afternoon, she laid her head down to take a nap and found the gun under her pillow.

Of course it was the walls. She and her mom were locked in her bedroom. Even though she knew that he couldn’t break the door down, her thoughts still pumped irrational thoughts of him breaking the door down and breaking her bones as well. Her sister was starting the car and they had decided that the windows were big enough for them to leave through. His banging subsided, sobs filling the space of the violent action. Mother slept next to her that night. Mother slept next to him the following night.

She had been in grade 8. Her wrists were littered with scars. Ah, those sacred moments, the only ones where she could feel. Mother got angry because the family name couldn’t afford to be tainted because of her. She brought the family so much pain and shame, she was told. How could she do that to them? How could she, the broken little girl who had her innocence dragged from her as her body was dragged across the tiled floor, hurt them so deeply? It was her, now. It was her.

She got saved. Her god told her to forgive. Dad didn’t drag her anymore. He didn’t slap mother anymore. He fell and his jaw collided with the concrete floor outside. It wasn’t the walls. It was the ground.

No, it was never him.

It was them.

Of course, it was the walls.

Mother slept next to him the following night.

It was her.

It was the ground.