I heard him and hid inside my closet. There were men asking my father for something. My closet, which I always found big, suddenly, felt too small to breathe in. I could feel my heart pulsating. I could hear my heart beat and the sound of me exhaling and inhaling. I could feel the movement of my diaphragm and thoracic cavity. Soon, the conversation of the men turned into violence. I could hear them using harsh words and hitting my father. I closed my eyes pretending as if it were a nightmare but my eyelids felt like they didn’t belong to me anymore. They felt foreign as if they wanted to make me feel every pain and engrave them in my memory till my last breath. I heard a gunshot. Everything went quiet, even my breath and my heart. I could hear nothing as if my mind was static. I tried to open the closet door but I could feel nothing against my skin, not even my clothes that I was wearing. It was as if I was floating in a vacuum naked.

The closet door swung open. Cold stone met warm flesh, causing an involuntarily jerk as I stepped out into the bedroom. The sensation created a vibration through my whole body. My father, a gaping hole in his chest, lay propped against the bed frame. Good riddance. The grotesque wound made me laugh like a maniac. He was dead and I enjoyed every second of taking the breathtaking view into my memory. I needed to call the police otherwise the putrid body would make it difficult for me to breathe.

I walked into the bedroom and stood in front of the mirror and stared at my reflection. I was dressed in lingerie with the cloth material barely making any efforts to hide my body. It was blood red just like the bullet wound in my father’s chest. I started to love this lingerie even though I used to hate it before. It reminded me so much of my dead father. There was a festering wound in my inner thighs with pus coming out of it. My eyes shifted to the whip lying on the ground. I still have the scar that the whip had lacerated on my stomach. There were bite marks all over my shoulders which reached below my chest. All the pain suddenly seemed to vanish. The pain was replaced by happiness. Happiness of finally escaping the prison realm of sexual assault. I dialled the emergency number on my father’s phone and informed them about the murder. While the police and paramedics were coming here, I got dressed in something more suitable. I stood next to my father’s body and soon tear droplets escaped my eyes. They rolled down from my face. Some of them made contact with the cut near my lips and caused pain which was nothing compared to what I’ve been going through for years. I was finally free from the demon. Soon enough I could hear sirens.

The police and paramedics burst through the door and rushed to the dead man’s aid. Funny how people try to save devils instead of the ones who are hurt by devils. The paramedic checked my father’s pulse and declared him dead as if I had no idea. They took his body away while the police called me for interrogation.

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The interrogation room wasn’t like the one I always imagined it to be. I always used to think interrogation rooms would be grey in colour with a big glass on the wall through which people behind the interrogation room could watch the conversation.This interrogation room was small, had no mirror and the walls had cracks on the corners. This room felt like a spacious basement rather than an interrogation room.

“So, you are Eva Roux, daughter of the famous poet, Hugo Roux.” The policeman seated himself across from me.

Yes, I was the daughter of a poet. A poet who did not even hesitate to drag his own daughter into the clutches of hell. A poet who sexually pleased himself with his daughter. A poet who killed his daughter’s soul each and every day for four years. He was able to fool the whole world into thinking that he was just a romantic poet who was a single parent and loved his daughter a lot but when I was alone, he unleashed all his inner demons on me. He pounced on me like a hungry lion and tore off every piece of humility I had. I am Eva Roux, daughter of the most prestigious poet in the world.

“Yes.” I answered.

“I know it must be hard for you, if you want you are free to answer us anytime you want. You are free to leave right now.”

“No, I must let the whole world know what a horrendous man he was.” I watched the officer’s reaction while speaking. It must have taken him a moment to process everything I said. His expression was clearly visible by the linings between his eyebrows, widening of his eyes and a “What?” that escaped from his mouth silently.

“He raped me for four years. Whenever I used to retaliate, he would tase me.” I rolled up the sleeves of my shirt to show him the bruises. “It all started the day he said that he wanted me to be his muse for his poems. Like any other person, I was elated to hear that. I imagined millions of people reading poems that my father has written about me. He took me to his study and made me sit on his lap while his one hand rested on my stomach and the other hand rested on my thighs. His hands slowly crept up making their way up from my stomach to my chest. I still remember the exact moment. I jumped off of him and asked him to stop what he was doing. I tried to run away from the room but the door was locked. That day I did not see my father, instead I saw a lustful demon.”

I went on telling everything to him. I was not going to conceal it anymore. If only I would have been brave enough back then and escaped when I had the opportunity. I was sent to the doctor for some medical tests. They won’t elaborate but I know they are going to perform sexual assault forensic exam on me.

Soon the whole world will see the truth. Soon I’ll start my new life.