Chapter Two
The tip of the blade nicked the tender skin of Otiti’s neck. The prick was more painful than she had imagined. The pain quickly reminded her that it was not easy to die after all.
Her mind cleared a bit. Kill herself for a man? It was a foolish thing to do. But she so wanted to die. Maybe that would end her travails. She would have to find a more painless way to do it. Stabbing herself to death was simply not the answer. She needed a friend, a companion. She needed a shoulder she could lean on; someone who would listen to her worries without judging her.
Wasn’t marriage supposed to have provided her with these? Now she was fully married and couldn’t even flirt or go out with other men. Yet the one man she had committed her entire existence to was never around. Whenever he came, he found a stupid reason to abuse her and go out again.
Otiti picked herself off the kitchen floor, climbed the stairs, and went back into the bedroom. She needed to do something. Anything! The ache in her heart was becoming unbearable; it felt like she had a large concrete block across her lungs. It was becoming difficult to breathe.
She searched her purse and brought out her blackberry phone. Then she fell face down on the bed. After a while, she turned on the bed and typed in her six digit password. Maybe she would sext. This might ease her tension.
Now she had a good reason to reply to some of the nasty messages she always got on bbm and WhatsApp. She couldn’t make up her mind. She was confused. Maybe Facebook would be a better option. She had posted a photo of hers about three hours earlier on Facebook. She went to her notifications and saw that she had gathered over two hundred likes. Imagine! The comments had risen to ninety-nine, ranging from ‘pretty woman,’ ‘you’re a beautiful bae,’ ‘can I have your number angel,’ to ‘are you single?’, ‘will you marry me?’
Otiti started typing something. But she deleted it almost immediately. If only her husband would let himself say one of these nice words to her? She dropped her phone and buried her face in the pillow. Thoughts of masturbation filled her mind. Her palms turned into fists as she pounded the bed repeatedly in utter frustration.
“Hello son. Good morning.”
“Good morning Sir,” a teenage Oboh replied as he walked inside the Mathematics teacher’s office. He didn’t know why the man kept calling him here. Perhaps it was because this office was far removed from the others.
“Hope you didn’t tell anyone what happened the last time you came here?”
Oboh shook his head in the negative, “no sir.”
“Good boy.” The man stood up and came round his office table. “You’re such an intelligent boy, very smart too.” He sat on the table and looked at Oboh in the eyes. “You see, you can’t tell anyone, because they would never believe you. It’s my word against yours. Make no mistakes about it. Besides, if you fail mathematics, you’ll have to repeat Jss 1. Do you want that to happen?”
“No sir.”
“Good boy. Now pull your shorts, and be very fast about it.”
Oboh’s hands shook as he struggled to carry out the command…
Someone shook him vigorously. Oboh raised his head from the bar divider. He had been dreaming. The dream had seemed so real. Perspiration soaked his shirt. He looked at his watch. Almost dawn.
“Night club don close bros. You fit come back for night again today. But for now? Go house abeg!” The bartender said, as he kept gathering bottles and rearranging overturned tables and chairs.
Oboh got down from the tall stool he had slept off on. Empty bottles of beer littered the place. He had been so drunk last night, or was it this morning? He wasn’t sure. Something was shifting inside his head, as though someone had installed a yam pounding machine in there. He instinctively tapped his back pocket for his wallet. His hand came up empty. He checked again, alarmed.
“No worry sir. Take your wallet.” The bartender smiled at him. “As I see your condition yesterday, I say make I pity your life. But erm, you need to sort me o. Your wallet for don grow wings by now if no be me. You know na.”
Oboh was so relieved. He dipped his fingers into the wallet and dropped two one thousand naira notes into the bartender’s outstretched palm. “Thank you so much my brother. I appreciate.”
“Oga, abeg try go house. Make you go rest.”
“Thanks again.” As Oboh left the place, he kept wondering how he would tell his wife the secret he had lived with for the most part of his life.
To be continued…
© Oselumhense Anetor, 2016
