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Wednesday 11 February 2015

The Night Before




Tiny tears find their way down her swollen cheeks as she remembers the night before. It is so much to take in for a 14year old. She clutches her fist as if to fight but there was no one there to be fought. As she releases her fists more tears roll down. She is surrounded by people yet she feels all alone, she sees everyone around as loving to hate her. It was already morning and she still felt she was back in the night, the night it all happened, the night she would never forget, the night that made her feel dirty, the night that all she wanted was to die but unfortunately, she didn’t, she was left alive to feel the pain, the agony, the dirt, the trauma.
She got up to go wash herself for the 7th time that morning but the smell of him never seemed to have washed away from her body, she scrubbed harder with every time she went back for a wash. She still felt dirty. She wondered, how much scrubbing it will take to wash away the way she felt, 10? If it was, then she’d scrub 10times. As she scrubbed herself crying in the shower, her hands over her breasts brought back the pain of the night before, she could see him in her head, his hard dark face, bald head, dark skin, black hovering eyes, muscular body, big hands, a scar on his back, the big bite she gave him on his shoulders, the red eyes as a result of the pepper spray she lashed in his eyes but all to no avail, the picture of her murderer.
Just like in a trance she remembered vividly, she was all alone in her room when he walked in, said he needed a favour, she obliged and asked. His hand hitting her face so hard it felt like a truck brushed her. She landed on the floor and passed out for what seemed like a slight second. She awoke to him trying to tie her up and she put up a little fight, bit his shoulders hard enough to tear his skin, reached for her pepper spray which usually sat next to her bed and sprayed his eyes. In her bid to run, she found her legs numb, she had been injected with lidocaine. She cried out, unfortunately everyone was on the other side of the house entertaining guests, she cried and cried.
He got up in anger with his eyes red, was going to hit but stopped himself, took off his shirt and showed her a scar on his back telling her he got that from a fighter just like her but he still won because he is a man. She continued to shout but seemed like she was a mime as no one could hear her voice, just then did she wish her house wasn’t sound proofed. She could remember him laughing at her, seeing her being vulnerable and begging to let her go, promising she’d never tell anyone of this happening, but it all fell on deaf ears.
He pounced on her, his heavy body all on her skinny figure, she could swear she felt a bone in her body cry out. He slightly and gently said into her ears “I’m an ass-man”, she didn’t know what it meant until he turned her on her back and she cried out, put up a little fight but none was working and the pillow soaked in all her tears. He tore her panties and said he would be gentle, as he parted her legs, she knew exactly what he meant now, she cried and begged and shouted, she tried to kick and wished her legs could move.
He first shoved his fingers up her vagina and she groaned wished she was dead, begging and praying for death but no she was still alive. He pushed himself in and shoved further and further holding her neck down to the pillow so she could not move, she had given up and laid there like a lifeless human but that didn’t seem to stop him. He shoved in deeper and she let out a cry but she couldn’t even hear herself cry. After satisfying himself, he turned her again and composed her, straightening her back and arching her knees, he noticed she had passed out but that didn’t stop him, he pressed into her squeezing her breasts hard and when he was done, he left her lying in her own blood.
She opened her eyes but couldn’t move even as bad as she wanted to. She cried all through the night and finally summoned enough courage to clean up herself, she wished washing away the blood would wash away the scenario from her head.
As the cold water ran through her from head to toe, she wanted so bad to forget the night before ever happened. Tried to forget that she had been raped. Tried to forget he ever laid hands on her, tried to forget the pain he put her through, tried to forget the agony, the pleas, the animal that tore her clothes in rage, she tried to make herself believe the image she saw wasn’t that of her father.
She steps out of her room and is taken aback by the image that is emerging from her mother’s room, it’s the same one she’s trying to forget, as he passes her, he looks at her, smiles and she takes the vase that sit as the center piece on the golden royal table in the hall way and smashes it on his head which sends him down the stairs and she sits on the top step and looks down at him saying “how does it feel to be helpless and unable to move lying in the pool of your own blood?”

Written By: Natasha Yamala

5 comments:

Anonymous said...

this is really cool but it sounds some sort of a personal story....

Unknown said...

Fantastic story... Whether personal not, this is somebody's story. This is somebody's truth. This story is an exposé on what happens in many homes. It should awaken us all to take a tough stance on this menace...

Natasha Yamala said...

Thanks a lot, I'm glad someone shares my view, a young girl somewhere is facing this right now n her parents probably don't even know, doesn't have to b d father, it could b an uncle or aunt, even d help... we all should just b careful.

Natasha Yamala said...

Thanks, and Yes I am taking it personal, someone has to. ♥♡♥♡

Unknown said...

Sigh...