Screams


Loud, piercing screams into the night.

There were sounds of crashing plates and items hitting the walls. The neighbors’ lights remained off. No one called the cops.

Why should they?

No one wanted his trouble. No one wanted to be beaten up by a bunch of thugs from nowhere even though they knew who had sent them.

No one wanted to be involved in that drama as they had tried previously to intervene only to be hurt in the end.

‘Let go of me!’, she yelled to his face, beating his sturdy chest as hard as her weak limbs could.

Blood ran down her nose to her lips into her mouth mixing with the tears that flowed from her eyes. His grip around her slim waist was tight. She felt if he held it any tighter she would break in two. She scratched his rugged face and cried out for him to leave her alone but he replied with another blow to her already bruised face. He pushed her to the floor as she tried desperately to find something, anything to hit him with but the lamp, the stool, or the shoes were just too far from her reach.

He rammed her head to the wooden floorboard and ripped off her gown followed by her underwear which had stitches in various parts.

There were cuts and bruises around her groin; evidence of the previous incessant assaults she had been receiving. He grinned and licked his lips at the sight of her private part. A part which wasn’t private anymore for it had been violated, consistently by a man that was supposed to be her all.

He was to be everything positive in her life. Her shining light; the one to wipe away her tears when she cried at night, to tell her everything was going to be okay; the one to smile at her when she felt weak; the one to give her a reason to live but instead he had become her worst nightmare.

A monster under her bed, in her closet; a demon that haunted her every footstep… a thorn in her heart.

She bit her bruised lower lip as he forcefully entered her causing so much pain inside. She felt her thighs go wet. It wasn’t him. She knew it because she had felt it before. Blood ran down her thighs as he thrust inside her deeply. There was no point trying to reach for anything. It was already too late. The tears couldn’t flow anymore.

What tears did she have to cry?

He had beaten it out of her. She laid there on the floor, her face away from his trying to avoid his grunts and breath which reeked of alcohol and weed.

SURPRISED? She wasn’t.

It was his signature scent. The one he carried in and out of the door. The one he leaves on her after he is done breaking what remained of her fragile bones.

She stared at the base of the door, through the opening between the door and the floor. She could see the street lamp and the light that it shone.

The light she had been deprived of, that she hungered for so much.

Tears began to flow but it wasn’t caused by the pain in her belly or that from her badly bruised lady parts but from the one in her heart.

He thrust even harder now.

The pain increased but she didn’t flinch. She had found a bit of solace in that light. The one she lacked in her life; a life that she felt seeping out of her slowly.

She cracked a weak smile. It had been a long time since she smiled or felt harmony in any part of her shattered life.

He moaned out loud as he released inside of her and let out a devilish laugh when he was done. He collapsed on her, breathing heavily and letting out sighs of satisfaction. He got up and buckled his pants. He spat and kicked her open legs close together.

‘Clean this mess up you lazy worthless whore. You’re just like your mother. Only ever useful for one thing’

He grabbed the left over bottle of beer which had been on the table behind him and walked away.

She lay there as still as a corpse. Her face bruised, her lips swollen, her clothes torn and her lady parts bruised with blood seeping out slowly but in her heart she felt peace; she felt hope and calm.

She was hurt but amazingly had nothing against this man.

She felt joy as she stood at the lamp post, staring at her battered body lying on the floorboard through the space between the floor and the door from that house across the street where no one tried to help for fear of their lives.

******************

Classic case of another father – daughter relationship that just went beyond what it is supposed to be.

Most times, since it doesn’t affect anyone around us or close to home we don’t know the effect it has on people, the trauma it causes.

These things happen so much around us but victims are scared to confide in people, seek help and report the offender.

And frankly do we blame them?

If you were in their shoes, what will you do?

How can we help such people?

What role can we play in reducing the amount of such cases and getting people to step forward if and when abused.

Please use the comment box to speak your mind and share a view with us.

Cheers.

P.S this was written by a friend who has chosen to remain anonymous and myself.

2days To Go

2days To Go

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Who Is The Victim?


Frustration

No need for any introductions, @Terdoh has my entire blog to himself today, Enjoy people.

Four score and two decibels ago, my parents used to beat me. It was love at first crack (of the whip). They could beat me for not farting, beat me for farting, beat me for waking up too early, beat me for sleeping late, beat me for eating too much, beat me for wasting food, beat me because they hadn’t beaten me that day, and beat me because they just did.

And I took it. Like a tiv man should.

But in this age, we are encouraged not to ‘beat your kids’, encouraged not to use violent methods or techniques, encouraged to talk to them, encouraged to spare the horse whip and use the tongue tip. We are encouraged to spoil our kids and that is what we do. That is what I DID.

It is my undoing. If I didn’t heed the ‘encouragement’, I wouldn’t be sitting in this cell. Here’s how it started:

In the beginning, God made the heavens and the earth. But you guys already know that, so let’s skip to a more recent time.

I got married 20 years ago. Long time isn’t it?! It was lovely. It was love at first sight when I saw her afro swaying in the haze of the club light and I knew that I wanted her. And after spitting all the game I had accumulated from FIFA Sports over the years, I finally got her to do the windeck and plank with me. Best night of my life. Jamie Foxx wouldn’t understand!

Then she got pregnant. I didn’t mind. I got to keep this goddess of beauty and frankly, I considered myself lucky! We got married a couple of months after, and then she had my baby.
And died during childbirth.

Too bad the little ‘angel’ didn’t go with her. I was devastated, but I decided that my crown jewel would find both a father and a mother in me. So I brought her up myself, and I pampered her silly! I would never let anyone or anything hurt her. I recall fighting with numerous teachers on her behalf and she could always run to me for support. I was her refuge, her knight, her best friend, her dad.

I should never have forgotten that. I was her dad. I should never have let it get to that point. “What point” you ask? Lemme explain. She grew up to look just like her mother. (Don’t they all?) And one day, this happened;

She wanted to go on tour with her ‘celebrity’ boyfriend. And for someone who particularly loves that annoying song with the words “dull” and “don’t”, I wasn’t going to allow her run loose without my watchful eyes on her. I wasn’t being overprotective, I was being a father. So, of course, I said no.
Then she slapped me.

At that moment, when I looked at her face, I saw my wife. I just stared, dumbstruck at her, and I couldn’t lift a finger to do anything. She went on the tour without my permission, but that was only the beginning of my problems. After that incident, it became a daily routine. Wake up in the morning, bath, brush, dress up, eat food that I cooked, ask me for something expensive, and if I decline or deny her, slap me.

It got to a start one day when she said she wanted to change her Peruvian hair to Brazilian in the space of two weeks.

Her: Femi, I want to change my hair. (Yes, we were on a first name basis. BFFs and tins.)
Me: But you changed it last week, and it cost me two fortunes and one antique painting. I don’t even see what the difference is.
Her: This is Peruvian and I don’t like it. I want a new one. And I don’t expect you to fuck me up like you’re used to doing.
Me: The answer, honey, is no! I could buy you a hair pin that says “Brazilian Hair” if that will make any difference. But as far as getting Brazilian hair for you is concerned, you are On Your Own like a house in Ibadan.

And this is when she slapped me…for the last time.

I have never been so angry before. I pushed over the kitchen table, and started beating her to a pulp! How could she dare?! Lay one more finger on me again? I think not! I grabbed a kitchen knife and cut them all off! But why stop there? I cut off her limbs and gave her a nice H&M short sleeve look to sport. Then that head…that head that just had to have Brazilian hair. That head had to go!
By the time I was done, she looked like she was fresh out a thriller video. Then the gravity of what just happened hit me

Now I’m in this cell wondering if I could have continued to bear what was actually my fault and avoided this.

But pause to ask yourself, who is the real victim here?

This story is purely fictional, Maybe? At least in this part of the world it’s really not that prominent, but i have seen children disrespect and show total disregard for their folks by the use of words which i have to say can at times be worse than any physical abuse or at least a decent substitute.

What Could have been done differently?

If you were FEMI, what steps would you have taken to avoid this or what do you do now?

what role does our Up-bringing play on who we become later on?

Have you witnessed an abusive relationship before? How did it affect you?

What did you do to overcome the trauma?

Do share an opinion.(‘Firsts’ and ‘Nice Posts’ are only acceptable as long as you come back to say something.)

Cheers People.

Its Date Days Baby