You assume you are a ‘good’ girl. You go to church every Sunday. You pay your tithe and offering regularly and you give to the poor. You have never had a fling, and you haven’t had sex with more than two guys -your two ex-boyfriends- to be precise. You occasionally club, but, with your girlfriends or close male friends. So, there’s never been the mishap of a guy slipping tablets into your drinks at the club or tying you up and having his way when you stay over at his place after the night’s rendezvous.
All is well, you think. And so it seems; until some 3, 4, 5 or 6 robbers barge into your house immediately after family prayers. Daddy gives them the money they know he has stowed at home, but they still won’t leave. All it takes for your world to come crashing down is a look at your night wear by one of the night workers. His colleagues in crime watch as he derives pleasure from you and conclude that they deserve to have some as well. They all take turns in driving their conclusion home.
You really can’t remember the blurred details anymore. You can’t remember how many robbers there were; neither can you remember the minutes of pounding or you staring blankly into space for weeks after. You feel it’s not just your subconscious playing tricks on you, you truly cannot remember. The Doctor says until you bring yourself to terms with it, you can’t heal.
Mama tells you she married your dad as a virgin, and that’s the story behind the winks they still secretly share. You can’t remember not hearing their love tales since the lining of your uterus started breaking. You wish for the kind of joy and laughter your parents share. So you vow to keep yours until your wedding night when the chosen one will take what has rightfully been yours. Even though you watch in pain as man after man walks away from you because you won’t give up the cookie, you hold on and wait for the right person, the chosen one.
The much awaited wedding night arrives. Nobody tells you it feels like a rod hammering into tender but resilient muscles. You do not expect the blows that visit your face when food is not on the table early enough. You wonder why your virginity is not performing the wonders you were told it would. You wonder why you are not as lucky as your Mama. You wonder if your virginity was ‘jazzed’.
Your Uncle Sam and Aunty Kate have asked you to spend part of your holiday with them. You are so delighted, you can’t suppress it. Your Mum does not have to remind you before you have your bath and brush your teeth. You bask in your excitement till Uncle Sam finally comes to pick you up. What happens the days after is beyond your innocent imagination. Uncle Sam works from home. Every couple of hours after Aunty Kate leaves for work and you have had your bath, he drops you on his laps. You expect him to throw you up so high, you feel you can touch the skies, just the way he usually does when he visits your mum at home. Instead, all you feel is something strong moving underneath you.
The days after are worse. He slips in a finger at first, then two. It will later become three fingers and more painful. The day you can’t take it no more is the day you can’t breathe while you are forced to suck his big part. You tell Aunty Kate when she comes back from work that you can’t take it anymore. She calls you a liar and takes you back home that night where she calls you Jezebel in front of your Mum. Your mother calls in your neighbour who is a doctor. He examines you and says there are bruises around the area. Aunty Kate leaves shocked and angry. Mummy never relates nicely with her family anymore; they accuse you of being a witch and seducing your uncle. You sometimes think its true, even though you are 19 years old now.
You feel you don’t know what to do…
You know what to do…
To heal, to walk away, to sue.
Thanks to ’Tayo Sangofadeji for sending this in. It’s unedited and we’ll like your honest feedback. You can also send in your short stories to hello [at] thenakedconvos [dot] com. Please keep submissions between 1000-1500 words. Cheers.
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