His father's arm was wrapped around his mother's waist as they walked in carrying what looked like a cushioned chair covered by a thin blanket. He heard a tiny, hoarse wail come from beneath the blanket and it was sheer curiosity that carried him over to where his parents stood. "Say Hello to your sister." Claire winced as she knelt, still sore from the stitches beneath her navel, watching Zaheer walk back to the car for their things.

"What's her name?" Riaz looked down in awe at the sight of the little, red human before him. She had a tuft of dark hair and as her yells grew louder and louder, her face became more and more red with exertion.

"Farhana."Claire gently grabbed Riaz's hand, pulling him a little closer. "She won't hurt you, don't be scared." She smiled, amused at his hesitant movements.

"But," he looked down, reaching his hand ever so slowly towards the little person.

"But what?"

"Dammit Claire! Stop wasting time and feed her." Claire jerked at the sound of her husband's voice behind her.

"I'm sorry." She said quickly, standing up without a second glance at Riaz as she snatched the car seat in her hands and rushed to her room.

Riaz watched his father walk away, trembling still at the anger he heard in his voice. He wondered if Zaheer was always like that. Or was he like Riaz once upon a time?

He didn't ever want to grow up and be like his father.

But what if his father grew up never wanting to be like this either.

He could hear his sister's wails coming from behind his mother's closed door, wondering what it could be that caused her to cry as she had. What if he ever made her cry like that?

"What if I hurt her?"

He asked, questioning the empty walls of his kitchen. They saw and knew everything and if he ever hurt her, they would remember that as well.

Tasneem was already sleeping when the door creaked open silently. A soft glow from the hallway bathed the room in light before he closed it gently behind him. He shed his clothes as he walked closer and closer to their bed, intent only one thing.

Being with her again.

He had just pushed off his jeans and socks before he reached the small wooden pedestal, covered in all her tiny knick-knacks that she insisted on keeping. He looked at the tiny pendant glowing beneath the lampshade, picking it up delicately between his large fingers. He had bought it for her on a whim- he had seen the little sunflower glinting at the very corner of a second-hand store and thought of her. Money was still an issue but he wanted her to have it.

He could still remember the look of sheer delight when she saw it dangling from a thin golden chain, immediately fitting it over her head. It had gripped a few strands of her hair on the way down but she barely even noticed as she looked down at the little flower, sitting squarely between her cleavage.

There was hardly a day that went past when she didn't wear it, always reminded of him as she looked down at it.

He set it down softly before pulling back the covers. He could make out the tell-tale shivers that raced down her back as it met with the icy air within their room. She had taken advantage of his absence, utilising the entire bed as she slept across the mattress. He nudged her gently, shifting her just enough to make space for himself before he settled in behind her warming her up almost immediately. "You're back." Her voice was soft, still immersed in her sleep as she reached for his hand behind her.

"I'm sorry-"

"Shh," she brushed a kiss over his knuckles, "Tell me tomorrow, okay."

He nodded his head, even though she couldn't see, before he closed his eyes and joined her in sleep.

"Riaz." He couldn't understand why his father was holding the baby. He had never watched his father so much as tickle her belly as she squealed or brought her dummy to her mouth as she wailed.

"Yes." He stood at the other end of the kitchen, watching his mother trying to catch her ragged breath as she hunched over on the floor.

"What did I tell you about coming between us when we're talking?"

They weren't talking. He was hitting her and she just took it.

"I'm too small to do anything." He repeated Zaheer's words that had been said to him over and over again.

"Exactly." His father's cigarette dangled from between his index and middle finger of his free hand as his gaze flittered hauntingly over his son. "Did you listen?"

"No."

"Did you not understand me when I spoke to you in plain English?" His voice scared Riaz more than anything else. When his mother screamed and shouted at him for destroying her plants, he was never frightened but his father never yelled nor shouted at him. His voice was always soft and gentle as if he were speaking to a child but the meaning behind his words were far too perilous for a child to truly understand.

"I understood you." He tried not to shuffle or fidget. His father hated when he shuffled and fidgeted.

"Must I speak to you in another language?"

He shook his head, quickly remembering to use words instead of actions, "No."

"So why does a simple concept like mind your own business not seem to go through your head?"

He could feel his fingers trembling behind his back as he held his hands together painfully tight.

"I don't know."

"You do know. Don't lie to me." His father hadn't tapped the cooled ash off his cigarette, allowing it to fall over his lap and onto the dusty white tiles instead.

Riaz licked his lips, watching as the light grey particles danced around the tiles as the gentle breeze from the opened door blew through their kitchen. "I-" his voice was stuck in his throat. He didn't know how to answer the question his father had just asked.

"I what?" Zaheer finally brought the cigarette up to his lips, breathing in its toxic, bitter smoke into his lungs.

Riaz kept silent, fingering the tiny, red circles dotting his wrist. To answer his father's question would only spell death for him.

"What Riaz?"

He still kept silent, unable to say the words bubbling up in his throat.

His sister began to wail as Zaheer gripped onto her waist just a little too tightly.

"What?"

He shook his head, her screams deafening him as his father lifted her up to sit against his stomach.

"What?" he asked once more, lifting the reddened end of his cigarette to Farhana's chubby, opened leg. "Riaz answer the question."

His eyes widened as his father's hand descended lower and lower, ash falling from the tip of his cigarette onto his sister's skin causing her to wail even louder.

But how could he answer the question when he knew his answer would only get him hurt even more.

He stood silently, watching as the heated tip met her skin- rendering her absolutely quiet as the shock from the burn froze her form. The tip stayed on her leg, never moving until, she too, would be tattooed with a similar round circle to match her older brother's.

The pain of the burn seemed to have registered on her face as she fussed and moved within her father's arms, screaming painfully before choking on her own saliva as the pain seemed to consume her tiny being. Zaheer lowered his hand once again to her other leg, scarce millimetres from her skin before Riaz jerked forward towards them.

"I don't like watching you hurt my mother!" He screamed, yelled till his voice was raw as his father burnt his sister once again. "I don't like watching you hurt my mother."

I don't like watching you hurt my mother

I don't like watching you hurt my mother

I don't like watching you hurt my mother

Her little lips were puckered as her face screwed up in fear and terror in the arms of the man who had given himself to her creation.

"Now was that so hard?" Zaheer asked, watching as the child in his arms cried herself to utter exhaustion- her chest rising and falling rapidly in her sleep as her dreams of being burnt over and over again plagued her mind.

"No, Dad. It wasn't." His voice were shaky and his eyes blurred as he began to cry.

"You shouldn't lie to me." Zaheer stood up, depositing the baby in his wife's lap as he walked over to his son. "You know you shouldn't lie to me."

Riaz watched his father's figure kneel down before him, grabbing his arm gently in his hold.

"Yes Dad, I do."

Zaheer patted his hair, almost as if he had approved of his son's answer. "Good."

And Claire closed her eyes, bending over her baby, hushing her as she began to cry once again.

It was still early. The sun had barely begun to rise, washing over his back with its soft, warm glow. Tasneem looked down at him, gently tracing the light, red circles along his spine before watching her fingers disappear into his thick, blonde hair. She watched the muscles of his back rise and fall with his steady, even breaths as he gripped the bottom of his pillow beneath his arms. She layed down beside him once again, her hand still running through his hair as she shifted closer to him.

Nothing existed in sleep. There was no pain or anger or sadness. There were dreams but even dreams could fade with the passing of a second as the mind simply discarded it from view. Dreams weren't like life. Dreams were a distorted reality and were forgotten as soon as the eyes opened.

There were times when she wondered if her entire life was nothing but a dream. Would she one day wake up and have her life vanish before her eyes as she awoke to her true reality. Would she wake up next to him having lived an entirely different life, only dreaming about this life of theirs together? It was odd and sometimes she wished that it was the truth.

She wished it was the truth the day he left.

Riaz was so, so angry.

When she opened her eyes, their room was destroyed. The curtains had been ripped off its rails and their tables and pedestals had been knocked over. Every single thing in the room that was standing had been laying on its side as he ripped apart their room piece by piece. He could barely catch his breath as he sat, huddled in the vortex of his self-made tornado. His face was buried in his hands as he sat on the ground, rocking back and forth as if to run all the thoughts from his mind out into the open. He didn't want those thoughts in his mind. He wanted them gone.

He wanted to forget he had ever thought those things.

He ran his fingers through his hair as his knocked his head against his knees, trying hard to make sense of anything at all. He felt her behind him, felt her mold her body to his back as she wrapped her arms tightly around his waist. He could feel her breath in his ears as she whispered unintelligible things to him, calming him down. She held onto him, holding him till his rocking had decreased to heavy breaths and the thoughts had slowed to a trudge of mere nothingness within his mind. She rubbed her hands over his arms, gripping onto his fingers as she tried to loosen his clenched fists. Everything about his body was tensed. She could feel the muscles in his back as they tightened to rock, to the muscles in his arms and stomach. She kept rubbing her hand over his arm, across his shoulders, over the veins that had popped out across his neck. Still mumbling sweet-nothings in his ears...

Till finally, Tasneem felt him relax slowly in her arms.

Nothing was said.

Nothing was spoken as they sat in the calm aftermath of the storm.

It was a few hours later when they found themselves in bed. Their room was still wrecked but she didn't have the heart to clean it in front of him. He would only feel worse had he seen that. She was awake, still running her fingers through his hair as she watched him fall deeper and deeper into sleep. She wanted to wait just a little longer before she got up to clean the room.

It was still too early and he might still hear her had she started just then.

But the night too calm and peaceful for her to stay awake.

And when she woke up again, their room had been cleaned and he was nowhere to be seen.

Riaz looked over the edge of the crib, watching his sister sleep. His arms still burned from his father's punishment and as he looked down at the little person in the cot, he could barely understand the anger and the hatred he felt for her just then.

He didn't know why he was angry. All he knew was that if she wasn't there, his father would never have forced him into telling the truth and he would have never hurt him again. His gaze narrowed into slits as he watched her suck at her dummy, watched the dummy move continuously as she slept peacefully. All pain had been forgotten as she slept- but he couldn't forget.

He could still feel the stub deeply embedded into his skin, feel his father's grip so tight around his arm that he thought it would snap.

But she didn't feel it anymore.

He wanted her gone. She should never have been born because if she was never born, his father would never have discovered a new trick to play on him.

He reached into the crib, poking the little circular mark on her leg. He watched her squirm just a little before he poked at it just a little harder. She jolted awake, crying immediately as she was reminded of the pain in her leg. "Shut up." He whispered, watching the doorway.

Yet still, she yelled loudly enough to herald attention from anywhere in the house.

"Shut up!" He picked her up; his small arms felt awkward around her and she didn't like the way he carried her. "Shut up!"

Her piercing shouts could be felt in her chest as he held her just a little tighter, watching her choke on her spit once again.

"Shut up!" He shook her once, trying to force her into keeping quiet.

He shook her again, praying it would work. Still, it didn't work.

"Shut-"

"Riaz!" Claire ran in, grabbing her daughter from his arms, immediately rocking her gently in her arms.

"It's her fault." He looked up at his mother, daring her to argue with him.

"It's not her fault." She sat down on the bed, balancing Farhana in her hand before she gently pulled him to her side. "Why did you want to hurt her?"

He shrugged his shoulders, unable to explain the anger he still felt deep within him.

"Tell me, please."

"I don't know."

"Because," her voice sounded sad, regretful for the first time in a very long time, "Because for you, it's normal to hurt someone when they do things that you don't like."

He looked up at her, the tone in her voice confusing him.

"But you need to remember something." She gathered her close to her side, hugging him tightly, "This life is not normal and one day you'll need to make a choice about whether or not to hurt someone and I want you to choose not to hurt them."

He wouldn't understand her words just then.

He was too young, but her words would echo in his mind till the day he died...

And always, he would make the right choice.

Always.

"Who walked you home when I wasn't here?" The sun was high up in the sky, reaching its peak when they finally spoke.

She smiled at him though it was hidden behind her wide coffee mug. "Mr Umar's grandson."

He nodded his head, looking down into his cup once again.

"Was your week at Mr Davenport's house okay?"

"Yeah, it was fine." He tapped his fingers along his knee, unable to process a single thought to explain why it was that he had left. "How did you know I was there?"

"He phoned me to tell me not to worry."

"Did you still worry?" He quirked his lips, teasing her.

"Yes, of course I was worried." She reached across the table, tweaking his nose gently. He caught her fingers, nipping lightly on her fingertips before he let her go.

She watched the humour and light fade from his face as his thoughts began to swell in his mind once again. "Do you ever feel scared that you're going to hurt someone the way your brother hurt you?"

She set her cup down, watching him pensively.

There were times when she was scared that something in her mind would snap and she would want to touch someone the way she was touched. She would want to take their control away and she'd want to hurt them. The thought had passed through her mind so many times and there were times that she was truly afraid it would come to be but she had never voiced those thoughts before.

"Yeah, all the time." She admitted truthfully.

"And do you think you'll ever do it?"

She thought carefully, never imagining she would ever answer such a question. "No," she finally replied, stirring her coffee as if to distract herself.

"Why?"

"What he did to me shouldn't influence my actions." She spoke slowly, regarding each word she had said. "I have a choice, Riaz."

Choice

"And I can choose whether or not I want to hurt someone. You have a choice too and you can choose-"

Her words were cut off by the ringing of the phone hanging on the wall besides her. She answered it, listening before she passed it over to him. "It's for you."

"Who's it?" He asked, taking the receiver from her.

"I don't know."

"Hello?"

"Am I speaking to Riaz Adams?"

"Yes." The sound on the line was grainy, agitating his ears as he listened to the deep voice of the man on the other end.

"You're speaking to Dr. Mark Witman. I'm phoning from Bloemfontein Medi-clinic..."

And Tasneem could only watch as his face darkened before he handed her the phone. He stood up, carefully pushing in his chair before he walked into the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind him.