Riaz didn't like being alone with his father.

He didn't know where his mother was but he was missing her. He was still frightened by what she had done the month before- he could still see the pool of blood surrounding her whenever he closed his eyes- but he missed her so badly.

His father scared him. He always told him to do things and when he didn't do it correctly, he would glare at him and scold him and send him to bed without supper. He didn't like going to sleep hungry but he was too afraid to sneak out of his bed and walk to the kitchen. His mother would always bring something with her when his father sent him to bed hungry. It was something small and stupid- a small packet of crisp or a stupid 2-piece milkybar but it made him full.

Now his tummy felt as if it was squeezing and folding into itself as it tried to quell its own emptiness but his father told him that if he heard even one sound from him, he'd have him skip breakfast as well. He couldn't skip breakfast though. He had to be full and happy when he finally got to see her. His father promised they would visit her the next day so he had to be on his best behaviour or he might just change his mind. He didn't know where she was just yet, though he heard the words Tara Hospital slip out of his father's mouth a few times.

He wished she would come back soon. He didn't like staying at their neighbour's house when his father went to work. They were old and strict and they didn't allow him to do anything except colour in pictures. He hated colouring. He wanted to play hopscotch and catches but they didn't believe in games so he had to colour. And they kept shouting at him if he coloured out of the line.

Maybe they were picking her up and bringing her back home...

He grinned at the idea before he turned over and pressed his hand to his stomach. If he went to sleep, when he woke up maybe she'd be back home and she'd be making breakfast for him.

He'd smell her oats on the stove and she'd shout him for eating it before she could mix it with his milk and maybe she'd bake biscuits for him too. It had been so long since he'd had a biscuit.

Maybe, just maybe.

He closed his eyes, excited to go to sleep.

But when he woke up, the house was absolutely still and quiet...

He woke up to the sound of hail pelting heavily against their window. They were ferocious in their attack and the sound of car alarms blaring in the distance only bore testimony to their actual strength. He rubbed his eyes as he reached for his watch on the pedestal beside him, glaring at the hour hand that had barely passed 1.

He looked to his side, somewhat envious at the sight of Tasneem sprawled out along her side of the bed. Their blanket had bunched up along her waist, allowing him to catch a glimpse of her back as she lay sprawled on her stomach. He sat up slowly, resting his elbows on his knees as rubbed a tired hand over his face before searching for the little Marlboro box hidden in his draw. Cracks of lightening illuminated their dimly lit room as he stood up and walked over to the window, surveying the hail-covered street below them. It looked almost like snow; every inch of grey below was completely covered by a thick layer of white hail.

It wouldn't last though. It was a temporary beauty that would be swept away as brown sludge as soon as morning peeked up over the night sky. He cracked the window open, leaving just enough space for the spirals of smoke to escape their room. Tiny hailstones veered off their path, finding residence upon the small squares of their tiled floor and melted around his feet. He yawned, stubbing out his cigarette before he turned around.

A flash of lightning illuminated their room once more, drawing his attention to Tasneem's back. It was as if the lightning acted as a spotlight upon her skin highlighting every dimple and curve of her bared skin. He walked closer, training his eyes to a spot on her lower back. There were small, oval shaped patches of darkened skin just above the waistband of her check pants. He traced her skin with his fingertip, light fleeting touches so that she wouldn't wake up. He knelt down beside her, pressing his hand gently against her back, closing his eyes as his hand perfectly matched the light green bruise.

He opened his eyes, dropping the lightest of kisses to her back before he stood up and returned back to his spot at the window.

He did this.

He needed to face the consequences of his own actions.

He lit another cigarette, inhaling the bitter smoke till his lungs began to burn

He did this

And only when he felt tears prickling his eyes, did he release the smoke into the hailstorm outside.

"Hi Mama." He smiled brightly at his mother. She was wearing a strange looking set of pyjamas. They were grey and boring and ugly and not at all like the pretty clothes she wore at home.

"Hi baby." Claire's eyes flicked hesitantly to Zaheer's, lowering immediately as she caught his gaze.

"I was missing you!" He admitted shyly as he crawled onto the dull duvet of her small bed.

"I was missing you too." She whispered into his ear, gathering him up into her as she lay on her side. "I think of nothing else but you."

Her words were meant for him alone, spoken softly within the cocoon she had created.

"Me too." His eyes flickered around as he rested his head on her chest, running his fingers soflty over the hair that had gathered over her arms. "Mama, I didn't know you could grow hair over here." He whispered, aghast at the revelation.

Claire smiled down fondly at her Riaz, dropping a lingering kiss to the crown of his head. "They don't allow me to remove it."

"Oh." He snuggled into her warmth, closing his eyes as he took in her scent. She smelled like white soap and Vaseline. He didn't really like the smell of Vaseline but it was okay- he was with her and he was happy and that was all that mattered.

"Are you behaving like a good boy for daddy?" She asked softly, ignoring Zaheer's stern glare as he watched them.

Riaz's head bumped against her chin as he nodded softly. His father didn't like lying though, so he shook his head slowly, burying himself into her chest as if ashamed of his actions.

"Please be a good boy." She pleaded, her voice sounding thick as she whispered into his ears. "I'm not there to help you anymore."

He didn't understand what she really meant by that but he nodded his head anyway.

"Good." She stroked his hair, holding her tightly to him one last time. "Now give mummy a kiss and go and wait outside, okay."

He sat up, peppering her face with kisses, delighting in his mother's giggles before she gathered him in her arms again. She hugged him, squashing him to her body as if willing the hug to make a stain on her memory and remain there forever.

"Be my good boy for daddy." She whispered one last time in his ear before she set him on the floor and gently nudged him away.

Riaz walked outside and pressed himself against the wooden door. He didn't like this place his mother was in. It smelled funny and it was so dark inside. They had forgotten to change a lightbulb outside her room, only adding to his worry. He wanted her to be back home with him in their big, pretty house. And he wanted her to cook for him and bake for him and play hopscotch and hide-and-seek with him. She shouldn't be here.

"You know it's not my fault, Claire. This is all your fault."

"I know." Her voice sounded sad as she spoke. "You didn't do anything."

Tasneem dropped her towel as she picked up her small tub of zambuk from the counter beneath the mirror. They didn't hurt but occasionally she would feel them pull as she worked over the short counters in Mr Umar's kitchens. She looked at herself carefully; most of the bruises were fading, turning to shades of green or yellow, except for the one near her ribs. She remembered feeling his palm dig into her ribs as he held her, losing himself in her softness and she almost did cry out for him to stop that time.

But it would have been his mother's birthday that night.

She smoothed the green balm over her skin, wrinkling her nose at the smell of it. She never did like the smell of zambuk ever since she could remember. It warmed on her fingers as she rubbed them together, smearing on as a shiny coat over her wet skin. She needed to tell him, she knew she did, but she didn't have the heart to break him.

And if she ever told him that he had hurt her and bruised her skin more than once, he would shatter from the inside out.

"Get inside the house, Riaz." His father ordered as soon as he parked the car in their garage.

"Daddy?" He had to ask. He had to know where his mother was. "Why is mama at that place?"

"Don't ask questions you don't want the answer to." Zaheer said, brushing his question aside.

"But I do want to know." He struggled to undo his seatbelt, fiddling uselessly with the clip and button beside him.

"Your mother is crazy." He said bluntly. "That's why she's there."

"Crazy?" He had heard this word before but he couldn't really recall its definition.

"She's mad in her head."

Riaz screwed his face, glaring at his father's back. His mother wasn't mad. He ripped his seatbelt out of the clip angrily, barely flinching when the metal bit smacked the window pane beside him until Zaheer turned around.

And stared at the tiny crack along the bottom of the window.

"You cracked my window."

Riaz didn't know why his heart started to beat out of control or how to explain that his father's voice sounded like sharp knives to his ears. He didn't know what fear meant up until that second and only when Zaheer got out of the car, walking slowly to Riaz's door did he begin to cry.

He waited and waited for his father to walk around the car but the anticipation was what truly caused his legs to shake.

"I'm sorry daddy!" He screamed as soon as Zaheer opened his door.

"Sorry?" Zaheer smirked up at him as he knelt down besides his son. "No, you're not sorry. You're scared."

Riaz nodded his head, hoping that it would somehow appease his father if he agreed with him.

"But you see, being sorry and being scared are two different things. I'll need to show you what it really means to be sorry." He took his son's hand gently in his own, leading him into their house before he shut the door softly behind them.

And no one came when they heard Riaz shout and yell and beg for it all to stop.

No one came because nobody heard what went on within the walls of the white and beige mansion and that's just the way he liked it.

"Why didn't you tell me?" She jumped as she heard his voice behind her. He was gone long before she woke up and she hadn't expected him to return home before 7.

"Tell you what?" She turned around to find him leaning against the wall beside their bathroom.

"What do you think?" He walked up to her- slow , steady steps- before he gripped her gently by her hips.

"I don't know." Her voice was muffled against his chest as he pulled her to rest against him.

His hand slid to the knot in her towel, gently undoing it before allowing it to drop to floor. His hand brushed against her warm back, pressing lightly against the greenish bruise above the waistband of her underwear.

"Why didn't you tell me that I was hurting you?" His whispers sounded anguished to her ears as kept touching her, finding new bruises he had never known existed. His hand sought the hooks of her bra before he unclipped it and stood back to look at her, truly look at her.

She held onto her bra, scared of allowing it to fall- of allowing him to see all that he had done.

"Please, Tasneem." He held on to her hands, gently guiding them away, before he carefully pulled the straps down her arms. His heart constricted and his lungs swelled at the deep breath he had inhaled as he looked at her. Her right arm was crossed against her belly as she held onto the elbow of her left, looking down at her feet as he looked at her. "How many times?"

She knew what he meant but how could she possibly answer him.

How many times had he bruised her as he made love to her?

She shook her head, unable to answer him.

He cupped her face in his hands, lifting her head gently to look at him. "Don't look down." Never had he sounded as frantic and panicked as he had in that moment. "Please don't look down when I'm talking to you."

Flashes of his mother looking down as his father spoke to her burst into his mind, exploding in front his eyes as he watched Tasneem looking down before him.

I'm not my father.

I'm not my father.

I'm not my-

But why does she have bruises all over her body?

"How many times, Tasneem? Please tell me."

She looked at him, biting her lip in hesitation. "Almost every time."

His hands left her face, stepping back as if she had pushed him.

He needed to forget. He needed to forget the feelings building up inside of him but holding her wasn't helping. He held her just a little tighter, gripping onto her waist as if her body against his would force his mind into forgetting.

Still, he couldn't forget.

He pressed himself against her, holding her, gripping onto her soft curves, biting at the juncture between her neck and her shoulder...

Something, anything just to forget.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He stepped forward once again, tracing a light yellowed mark between her breasts.

"It wasn't your fault."

It wasn't my fault.

It wasn't my fault.

It wasn't my fault.

It wasn't your father's fault. I made a mistake.

It wasn't my fault.

Your father didn't know he was hurting me.

It wasn't my fault.

He was just showing me that he loved me.

It was my mistake. It was never his-

"It was my fucking fault!" Her eyes widened as he yelled at her. "You sound like my mother always defending my father for his fucking actions."

"Riaz, listen-" She held onto his arm only to have him brush her off.

"Why the fuck didn't you tell me?" He was angry. He was so, so, so angry that it built up, raging inside of him as if it were an uncontrollable storm. He could feel himself shaking from all the rage within him. He could barely see anything besides the bruises on her body and the fact that he was the one to put it there.

"I'm sorry." She grabbed her towel off the floor, wrapping it haphazardly around her body before she took a step towards him once again.

"Why are you apologising?" He was trying to breathe through his painful gasps as she kept walking closer and closer towards him.

"I'm sor-"

"Stop apologising!" He kept backing away from her, bumping his back against the side bureau, yet she kept moving closer and closer towards him.

"Listen," she took his hand gently in her own, "You didn't know what you were doing, okay. It wasn't your fault."

"You're fucking lying!" He wrenched himself out of her hold, grabbing onto the vase beside him before he smashed it against the opposite wall. "Tell me that it's my fault!"

She shook her head, adamantly refusing.

"Tell me." He grabbed onto her arms, causing her to stumble as he pulled her towards him. "Tell me that it was my fault and that I hurt you."

"I don't want to." She looked up at him, hating the way she was hurting him. But she couldn't tell him what he needed to hear. She just couldn't tell him that he had hurt her because she never saw it that way.

She saw it as him holding on too tightly in order to forget. She saw it as him gripping her arms and her thighs just a little too firmly because the thoughts in his mind were driving him insane. He didn't hurt her because he wanted to. He hurt her without ever knowing because he was hurting too much to notice.

"I am begging you," He pleaded once more, "Tell me that it was my fault and that I hurt you."

She didn't want to.

She didn't want him to think that he was turning into his father because he never was.

"Please."

She stood up on the tips of her toes, brushing her lips against his. "It was your fault." She breathed the words against his lips, tasting his tears as they fell into her mouth. She moved back, brushing stray tears away with her thumbs before she pressed her lips to both his cheeks.

Don't make me do this.

She kissed him once again, kissed him till she was breathless but had forgotten how to breathe. She kissed him till she memorised the taste of cigarette smoke on his breath and the taste of his anger and hatred and self-loathing that had begun to flow from every pore of his being.

She kissed him, hating herself for the words that would spring from her mouth.

"It was your fault," she brushed her lips against his one last time. "It was your fault and you hurt me."

And she closed her eyes, hating every sound of glass that broke as he tore their room to pieces once again.