The Monster I Call Papa

It has been two years since Mama married Papa. My real father died three years ago. From the moment I saw him, I knew something was wrong. I told Mama he was a criminal but she didn't believe me. I told Mama he always brings Indian hemp to the house but because she neither smelt nor found anything, she didn't believe me. As far as Mama was concerned, I was carrying out my threat to make the life of anyone who tried to take my father's place miserable.

Yes, I made the threat but I was only a grieving 6 years old girl. Now, I'm serious. Only this morning, Papa walked into the bathroom and said he wanted to help me with my bath. I refused but he wouldn't let me be. He fumbled with my body and then tied my face with a towel before inserting something long, fat and warm into my mouth and commanded I suck on it. I want to tell mother about it but I know she won't believe me.

I have to live with the monster I must call Papa because, to mum, I'm only a child who cries wolf.