Wednesday Story-Time. By Samson Olabisi-Violence
Dupe spied her husband as
he stepped into the bathtub. She wasn’t allowed to raise her head to look at
him these days. He had just come from work and was about to take his evening
bath. She looked back at the mirror and concentrated on drying her hair with
the electric hairdryer. Vincent claimed that the silent whir of the device
helped him relax so she timed her hair washing and drying to coincide with his
evening baths. Even though she could have done it at any point during the day.
She didn’t work anymore, as Vincent viciously pointed out each time they
quarrelled. But then, she couldn’t. She had lost three pregnancies in a row and
her doctor insisted that this time, she had to stop work and focus on herself
for the duration of the pregnancy. Vincent agreed with the doctor. He craved
that baby, more than anything else on earth.
After his bath, he would also dress up and they’ll sit at the
table to eat dinner. After dinner, they might watch television for an hour or
so before they retired. Hopefully, he wouldn’t find anything wrong with the
food, or the house, or anything else for that matter. If he did, she was in
trouble. It had been a long time since he last beat her. All of seven days.
Dupe knew he usually waited for the swellings to go down, the black eye to
lighten again before he found something else to get mad about. That was the
routine. She wondered if one got accustomed to things such as these.
Her hair was now dry and she was starting to feel the heat of
the dryer but she didn’t want to switch it off. Not until Vincent had finished
his bath and stepped out of the tub. She turned the control knob on the device
to reduce the heat.
Her mind drifted again to the last time he beat her. He had come
back from work that night to find that his dinner wasn’t complete. He always
ate a bowl of salad after each meal but this time around, his salad bowl was
not on the table. Dupe immediately explained that the batch she made the last
time had gotten spoilt because NEPA hadn’t brought the light for two days now.
She had wanted to go to the market but she couldn’t without his permission.
“Why didn’t you call me for permission then?” he asked calmly,
belying the storm that was to come.
“I did,” Dupe answered quietly, “I called you twice but you
didn’t pick up.”
“And you couldn’t try again later?”
“I’m so sorry, darling.” She said “I’ll go to the market
tomorrow.” She didn’t dare say that he had warned her never to call him more
than twice if he wasn’t picking up.
“It’s okay.” He told her. He picked up his fork and continued
eating. When he finished his food, he got up from the table and dragged Dupe up
by her hair, surprising her. He spun her to face him and gave her two quick
slaps. She tasted the blood in her mouth as her teeth cut her tongue. The
tasted the blood as it mixed with the rice she had been chewing. She swallowed
them all. He was going to kill her if she spat anything on the squeaky-clean
tiles. It didn’t matter that she was the one responsible for cleaning it.
Vincent expected everything around the house to be spick and span at any point
in time.
“Vincent, dear, I’m so sorry,” she cried, “it won’t happen
again.”
“How would I know that?” he roared into her face.
“I promise, honey, please believe me.” She begged.
He released her hair and sent her flying to the floor with
another slap. Dupe could feel her right eye swelling shut already.
“This is the only way to guarantee that it won’t happen again.”
He unbuckled his belt and pulled it off. Dupe cringed as he approached her but
she knew there was no escape.
“Please, honey,” she begged desperately, “I love you, I love you
very much.” She knew that wasn’t going to make a difference but she wasn’t even
thinking. She was just blurting out the words that came out of her mouth. She
really did love him but Vincent didn’t care about that. He only cared that he
didn’t get his salad.
He beat her with the belt until he was covered in sweat and she
in welts. He then stripped her naked and lay on top of her. The tiles were cold
and Dupe shuddered. She was too weak to resist as he spread her legs apart and
penetrated her. He grunted as he plunged in and out, his right hand crushing
her left breast. Her body screamed with pain. But the pain was bearable. At
least it receded after a few days. It was the humiliation that was killing her.
It was always there with her.
No matter the number of days that passed. How
could a man beat and rape his wife so brutally? She asked herself. How could I
have married such an animal? A few more thrusts and Vincent shuddered as he
climaxed. He got off her and walked to the bedroom without a word. Dupe reached
for her torn dress and manoeuvred herself onto it in a bid to lessen the chill
of the tiles.
She curled up in the foetal position and faced the wall as
violent sobs racked her slim body. Somehow, the fault is mine, she thought. It
has to be my fault. I probably turned him into the beast he is.
Dupe soon realised that she was weeping in front of the mirror.
She quickly opened the medicine cabinet and with the door obstructing Vincent’s
view of her face, she wiped her eyes. If he saw her crying, fresh trouble might
brew.
“Honey, pass my towel.” He said suddenly.
Dupe didn’t know if it was the term of endearment he used that
got to her but she didn’t wait to analyse it. She looked at the hairdryer still
whirring in her hand and smiled.
“Sure darling.” She replied as she tossed it into the bathtub.
It landed perfectly just inside the tub. With the plug firmly in
the socket, the electricity immediately coursed through the water and to
Vincent’s long body. She watched calmly as he twerked and jerked in the dance
of death. When it was over, she sat on the floor and started sobbing.
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