Fear became my constant companion

                                   Mia

I gasped as I came face to face with the most frightening man I had ever seen. He stood with his hands on the back, his face marred by ugly wrinkles, his rotund form in a grey suit with the coat rubbing uncomfortably on his belly surrounded by men whose stance belonged in a boxing ring.

He didn't speak for what seemed like an eternity; nobody did. Tony and Paulie stood close to each other on my left. Everybody seemed uneasy, everybody except me. I was terrified.

He took one step towards me, and my heart jumped up in a panic. He must have seen the fear that I couldn't hide because his lips curled up in a strange smile, suddenly I knew this was Stefano. He curled up his lips again, this time without the smile.

I took an unconscious step up back, wavering at his intense gaze. I blinked for two or three times trying not to look into his hard eyes or face. One guy coughed, and Stefano moved his eyes from me, turning his back to look at the guy who'd coughed- like it was a crime to do so. He didn't say a thing, but I got the sense none of the guys assembled in this little group was going to make the mistake of making any kind of noise.

"You look like your mother,". That was the first thing he said to me. His voice had a deep timbre, a tone that demanded obedience as the default settings to everything he said. "Look at me when I talk to you" he commanded, and I did, lifting my eyes to his while the palms of my hands clung to each other, scared but baffled.

We stood there staring at each other, feeling the sound of my heart beating at the fear of the unknown. I was aware that I was the recipient of everyone's attention, but I did not want to think about that, so I put all my effort into keeping my eyes on Stefano's.

How did he know my mother? How would he? I was convinced that this indeed was a case of mistaken identity.

My mother was an introverted, petite woman who was born and lived in a small country in Africa. Never in a million years would she ever be in any position to meet with this man either by mistake or design.

"You look like your mother," He said again, and this time I got the impression that he expected some kind of response. My brain went into overdrive trying to think of something to say, but what? Nobody ever said I looked like my mother; I didn't even think I did. My grandmother always said I look like sin- like sin had a physical appearance- but I guess what she meant was if sin had a face, it would resemble mine.

"Thank you" I finally said.

'It's not a compliment" he breathed in disgust, and now I was sure that this wasn't my fate because no-one who met my mother would think she was anything but pleasant, submissive, and docile. She was the kind who tried to please everyone but herself- easily malleable, which is why my grandmother was able to manipulate her.

"I'm sorry" I whispered, nervously wiping the sweat off my palms with my pyjama bottoms.

He nodded, sizing me up as he caressed his chin, accepting the apology like it was his god-given right, and I felt anger boiling up to the surface. Why should I have to apologize for resembling my mother? Where does he get off telling me of my looks, did he own a mirror? He was no Antonio Banderas either.

"You have guts" he smirked, walking to me, he smelled of cigarettes and beer. Standing in front of me with his hands on my cheek, he chuckled, a dry laugh that held no humour "Your eyes are breathing fire...she never had that" I wanted to move my head, slightly so he could drop his hand, but he must have sensed it because he grabbed my chin roughly "Don't!" One word which carried with it a command and a threat.

Nothing in my entire life had prepared me for this moment. Nothing. Not my grandmother's hatred, not my mother's inability to know or figure out how to be a mother or Musa's love for me. I was surrounded by menacing men, some of whom looked at me like I was a tasty morsel, and I was scared.

This couldn't be happening to me, I thought. This is just a nightmare, and anytime now, I will leap awake with my heart beating a million times per second. But I won't care or mind the sweat soaking up my beddings because a nightmare was preferable to the alternative. "Do you know who your father is?" Stefano's voice pushed me violently to the present, to the reality that was far from a nightmare. This was my life; this was happening to me. I guess God finally took petty revenge for the numerous times I questioned his existence.

"No" my voice trembled, I'm sure I should have been embarrassed for not knowing, but when you're brought up hating yourself for resulting from a sordid affair, you learn to hate the man who couldn't bring himself to legitimize you. While my grandmother hated my existence, I hated my father's. I figure if he hadn't lived, I wouldn't have been born.

"Would you like to know him?"

"No," I said, swallowing a knot of unbearable tension as I heard loud gasps from our audience.

"You would not?" his deep voice was rough with anger. I drew a shaking breath and slowly turned my face to his forehead before I could gather enough strength to rest my eyes to his face. Every person in the world has a look they make in different circumstances. Every face this man had since I had met were all evil.

"Too bad because you're gonna know anyway" I fisted a knot of my pyjama bottoms, pulling hard as I waited to hear what he had to say.

"I am your father."