ADAMAWA STATE, NIGERIA.

Fortunately, she drove back home drunk and without causing an accident. What an ill fate she's got. When she was sober and perfectly in a good big mood, she had to cause an accident but when she got all batshit drunk beyond recognition, she drove herself home safely. Or is it because she has a lot to say to her father?

Her drunken walks came to a halt in front of her father's room, she stared blankly at the frost soundproof elegant door in front of her. She didn't know what to do for a second there, just stood and watched as the remains of her perfected cerebrum worked on it's own, without the help of her inebriated and intoxicated head. She was grateful for the best side of her that knocked hard on the door.

Normally, she is never one to go to her father's room for any reason. Whenever they are supposed to meet, they'd meet outside the wing or whenever they bumped into one another. He is hardly home, stay off in abroad and sometimes with his wife and her half siblings. She'd say it hurts, but then she doesn't have any right to feel so. Then again, why does it hurt so fucking much that she wants to cry her eyes out?

What the heck! Just with that thought, her head began turning in wicked circle, monochrome. Emotions whirled around her like a tsunami, she didn't know which of them to carry out. They are too much, mending in the same colour like those in magnetic field. It makes her head ache and brain to pound if that were possible. She hates how she feels, it is frustrating her.

Just when she was about to change her mind, the door got yanked open by her father and nostalgia hit her all over.

Her eyes watered, a slight smile curved her lips in wonder, she cocked her head to the side for more focus. Her eyes even brightened for a nanosecond when she remembered one of the memories she's held dear to her, to impress her that her father was not a monster then and that he'd loved her. She has a photo from that memory or she wouldn't have believed it herself.

This excited weird flutter rumbled in her belly. The desire to desperately clutch onto that father he was and revisit those memories time and time again swept her off her feet. It keeps proliferating and augmenting, sucking her into it's abysmal debt. That was not what she is there for, she is there for business and business she shall talk.

"Hi there, father..." She waved her fingers in front of him, casually slinging off the cap of her liquor to the end of the corridor where she's sure maids are waiting to sweep off.

Her father, Alhaji Musa Babagana is standing in all his glory of five feet six, not very tall but not short either. His aristocratic nose is straight and not in anyway crooked from any side, giving him half mark on his face. His lips are full like hers, skin dark just like hers and his eyes, they are almond but same colour as her own! It's practical that this man is her father even if she doesn't want to believe it a-times.

He came out wearing one of his many thobes knowing no one other than his children will visit his wing and have the audacity to knock him off his comfort zone. Fatima never tried that so the look of surprise on his face didn't shock her, why would it? Nothing he's done had ever shocked her, it galvanises her in ways she can't verbalize.

His head is bald, concealing the white hair growing but his face showed the signs of aging. Whatever age it is, he is still a man who many women on social media crush on. They like her father, it makes her nauseous to even think about what they see in him. Or is it because he is her father? Or because he is not kind to her?

"...No, don't even say anything." She stopped him from talking, his mouth has opened to say something before it pursed to the side. "What is it that your children call you?" She used her forefinger to hit her cheek in wondering gesture.

"Father? ... Daddy? ... Dad? ... Baba? ... Abba? ..." She shook her head as if she is not getting what she is saying herself. "Maybe best father in the world and saved as hero in their phones? Hmm, not my hero anyway." She giggled, seeing the question marks on his face regarding her behaviour.

"Fatima, what are you doing here and why do you look disheveled?" He surveyed her from head to toe, eyes as calculating as ever. There goes the businessman with calculative mind and move.

She smiled again, her eyes twinkling in mischief. "You know..." She trailed off, blinking off the drunkenness in her eyes that is making her sleepy and tired. She needs to do this when that is inside her system. "I should call you Alhaji Musa too, that'd be less weird. Calling you father seems wrong, talk less of saying daddy... Yuck."

He scrunched his brows, he knew she was drunk from that moment. Fatima has never talked to him like that no matter what he will do or how differently he's taken her amongst his other children. This is not his daughter, she is intoxicated. Shuffled walks, lunching over and leaning closer to him, it is not right.

"Fatima, go to your room and lie down. We will talk in the later during dinner." He commanded in that strong voice that always makes her cower and comply immediately but not this Fatima. She didn't even flinch, just rolled her eyes and giggled some more.

Leisurely tilting her head to the side, her whole posture relaxed and carefree, she jabbed. "I came here to pour my heart out and this girl ain't going nowhere without doing so." She slurred back another giggle, her high heels starting to disturb her.

"Pour your heart?" Alhaji Musa asked, wondering what she is getting on with. Why would she need to get drunk to pour her heart out? He is sure she's seen the disapproval in his eyes.

She nodded, a lazy doggish grin spread across her lips. "Aye, Alhaji!" She giggled, closing her lips with both her palms in a child-like gesture.

A tingling and fuzzy feeling is slowly creeping up her body from the legs up to her head, every single strand of her hair. She felt the room spinning underneath her feet for a few seconds and then she is steady again. The nausea that'd came earlier with full speed also dematerialized like it was never there to begin with.

"I have so many things to say to you, but I don't even know them now." She frowned, sloppily fell on the floor and sat down on her buttocks.

"Say them out." He crossed his arms over his chest, imagining how he is going to troll her in this matter. Getting drunk? Seriously?!

After been arrested for three days, she got the drunk day she got released? This is unacceptable!

He knew about the arrest and didn't do anything nor permit his wife to dare do so. Fatima needed that little toughening up so she knows how the world spins and when money doesn't work. He knew he could've brought her out no matter the offense if he wanted to, he didn't. He wants her punished for a few reasons about the past, but not to the extent where his name would be tarnished.

"Are you out of your mind, Fatima? Stand up and go to your room." He doesn't want to listen anymore, she is trying to lie down on the Persian mustard carpet.

"No, Sir. I'm not out of my mind, just too much calculations and manipulations like yours." She grinned cutely, her rabbit teeth showing themselves, something that happens once in a year.

She never smiles enough to show those pretty longer two front teeth, always hide it to keep people away from talking. Many people think it makes her ugly but five percent believe that it made her more unique. Someone that is trying to hide her insecurity, she cannot be so sure about what they say. Ninety five percent don't believe it too.

Her father gave her a hard glare, one she's forgotten how it looks like. He was never harsh even after what has happened years ago. Yes, he maybe a bit out of the way in showing the difference between her and her half siblings but never intent on beating or sending fierce stares her way. Just cold and blank whenever she is concerned and force himself to be nice when need be. Then one horrendous incident that took place years ago.

"Don't talk like that to you father Fatima." A soft tone came from within the room and her stepmother came into view wearing only a bathroom robe like she just finished bathing.

Anger filled Fatima, she boiled hundred degrees if not more but didn't stand up from her position on the floor, she felt too weak to do so. Her limbs are all weighed down with her on the floor, she cannot move much with the liquor moving much more rapid within her. She would love to put the woman back in her place in that state. It will be worse than when she was sober.

"Don't preach to me about how I should talk to my father. I know damn well who I'm talking to and how I'm doing it." Fatima snapped, her teeth gnashed so hard that it promised sourness later when she lie down on the bed deep into the obsidian sky.

"Fatima, go to your room, I don't want to repeat myself." Ah, the possessive husband always taking over his wife's side than his daughter's. This is no different, she is used to it now. Or is she?

She blew off the comment with a swing of her hand. "As I was saying... Sharp minds are not inherited because clearly, I didn't get yours or I wouldn't have committed that crime years ago. A kid without sense." She gave a loud round of giggle then burst into tears that she couldn't hold on.

That memory hurts! How could her own parents abandon her because she is a murderer? How could a kid of three to four know how to murder? That hatred still burns through the seams of their veins, they never forget and it seems like they won't ever do so. Her mother had to leave the continent because of her! What hurts more than this?

Her father also tries his best to keep the distance between him and his murderer daughter by flying around the world to get more wealth than the next generations would need. Her father is sufficiently and abundantly rich to buy a whole country but that is not enough, he still wants more, she didn't understand before why he needed more but later did. To be away from her, he needs excuse for his wife and new children.

"FATIMA!" He bellowed, his face yawing into a deep ugly scowl that she is sure the crowd of swooning ladies waiting for him to notice them will find sexy.

With that thought, she giggled again while crying. It fucking hurts being emotional in front of the man that doesn't care. What are her tears thinking rolling down from their sluice like that? When she wants to cry, her eyes will feel as though nothing existed there but now, it is coming out with full vigour of command.

Blurrily, she saw her stepmother placing a docile hand on his shoulder in an attempt to calm him down, she snorted. That witch knows just the right time to act and she is doing so too right then.

"Take her to her room, she needs rest." She heard her whispering to another person standing atop her head. The blurriness is thickening into mosaic, she's not seeing well and her head feels distant.

Fatima allowed the person to accompany her down the corridor but something broke within her before she turned the corner and with a loud outcry of protest, she yanked herself away from the person holding her with strength she didn't know she possessed or because the person holding her thought she's too weak to try anything funny. Guess the person was wrong after all.

She ran back to where her father is -having stepped out again to see what is going on, the door was still open behind him so he was able to hear her- currently standing.

Myriad of emotions entangled in her eyes, the ones she didn't allow to present themselves. She is a kind of drunk that have this itch to pour her emotions out in the open, that is something she's noticed about herself and alcohol. Her eyes have always been depleted, void of any emotion but at that moment, she cannot grasp any of them. They are all running helter skelter.

"I'm not done!" She wiped the tears from gushing down, sniffed three times to keep the mucus at bay before raising her head again.

Her father stepped out and did something she couldn't see clearly to his wife who reluctantly locked the door behind her and entered inside the room, leaving him alone with her. For a second, her heart dropped to her chest in fear that he is going to strike her or do something terrible. It will ruin her love for him and liquidate any solid thing she's ever felt for him.

That will be her last straw but he didn't do that.

"Fatima, go and sleep off that alcohol and let's talk about everything later." Surprisingly, his voice is calm and extremely soothing to say the least.

Galvanised off her wit, she made a startled move and pushed herself to stand much more erect with wide eyes, she can't have them betraying her. His eyes are equally emollient and so not like the ruthless business man from the past years. Fatima swayed in a drunken move, shake her head -the veil tied on it started shaking as though it is about to fall off but the pins held it in place.

"Don't try that voice now, it's too late." She bite back the bitterness she felt in her mouth, it is so raw and sour that the taste of it brought forth nausea again.

Alhaji Musa Babagana only stared at her, truing his best to keep away the past from blinding his vision and all he could see is the murderer in front of him. He's tried to forget about that incident all those years ago but whenever his eyes settles on hers, everything turns upsidedown! He sees what has happened twenty years ago in a more different place than they are now, different country.

He stays far away from her to avoid doing things he'd regret or maybe not. He doesn't know what he feels about Fatima, she is just there for the sake of her being there but nothing else. No compassion or any connection nor bond, he doesn't want to build anything with her. He wants her far away from him, he is tired of traveling so he will have to get a new way to get rid of her. He wants to be with his wife.

A thought crossed his mind but disappeared when a sharp cry came again from Fatima, it was a sob filled with emptiness and shallowness, anguish mixed with contempt. He's never understood Fatima since when she was a baby neither does he now. He cannot point out the reason why she is crying even though he has many options to chose from related to him.

Either because of his lack of attention, or the memory is haunting her too, or something entirely different is wrong with her, or the alcohol is finally taking it's toll, or she just wants to create drama and be pampered like a small bairn.

She dared to jab her hand on his chest, her nail probably leaving a mark his wife would've thought he got from another lady. That thought soon dematerialized from his head when she glared at him hotly, eyes fierce and lightest shade of brown like his. Her posture is now stiff and rigid, she doesn't look drunk now. Has she sobered already? But she wouldn't do this while sober!

With a scathingly shaky voice, she whisper-yelled... "You are nothing but a monster! Blaming your own daughter for another persons death and allowing me to pay the price with every step in my life. Whatever I become today is because of you Alhaji, you get it? It is because of how you brought me up with no love nor attention a child should've gotten! And you did what? Shatter me beyond repair, thank you very much sperm donor! I'll be under you and make you suffer every little thing I went through. I'm done being the nice daughter searching for attention. Watch and see me, Alhaji."

She rushed down the hallway, her threat hanging in the air, sending shivers down his back. Her eyes were determined, now he is afraid of what she can do to him. Women are trouble, you should never get on their bad side. Especially his daughter, he needs to tighten up and stand.

What would Fatima ever do to the person that gave birth to her? Whom she obviously doesn't love.