
Bleed
You started to change when you were nineteen. That was when you thought Kabiru had eyes that looked like the sun shone out of them. He was your first love and you thought he might come to love you like he loved your sister. But you always knew that even if he does come to love you, it wouldn’t last long. You wanted more. You wanted perfection and he wasn’t perfection, he was too mediocre to be perfect.
Before then, you believed that relationships always led to marriages and you forced yourself to believe that the worlds in the books you read, where there are usually happily-ever-afters actually exist, in spite of the fact that your father left your mother when you were ten. You remember the fights every night. At some point, you grew accustomed to the screams that came after every punch. It didn’t even bother you anymore. You just shut yourself in the perfect worlds in your books.
Mentally, you grew up very fast because you were left to do everything on your own. Nobody cared about anything you do; not your mother whose life seem to evolve around that tiny bedroom. Not your father who is always wearing a stern face. Not your sister Judith who is preoccupied in her own world.
You were surprised when one day, your mother called you and Judith to her room. You remember because it was your tenth birthday and you were hoping desperately that maybe you would finally hear a happy birthday song from her. But you knew something was terribly wrong when you entered the tiny cramped room. She motioned for you to sit on the insect-ridden mattress on the floor and you did. You noticed how thin and pale your once beautiful, rounded mother has become. You knew she was beautiful and rounded from the only picture of her wearing a high-waisted pair of jeans and a baggy top that had flowers detailing the neckline, and her permed hair piled on top of her head; that hung proudly in the living room, and from the heated arguments every night. You had those words plastered in your memory, that every time the fight starts, you would mumble silently along with your mother:
“ Olu, you know how I was before you impregnated me. You know I was every man’s wish. Before you brought me to this doom, you know I was beautiful and round.” She would use those exact words every night — beautiful and round.
As she stumbled through her words, you let your gaze wander from the brown-stained ceiling to the cracked wall above the window. You imagined lizards crawling out of that big crack. You likened that crack to the drain in the bath tub of Aunty Ifeoma’s bathroom in Chimamanda’s Purple Hibiscus. You likened yourself to Kambili and the worms. Then your mother’s trembling voice invaded your wandering thoughts:
“Your father has left us. He wont be comi — “. You didn’t hear the rest of the words because the stained ceiling and the cracked wall were closing in on you. You loved your father. You loved him more than you do your mother.
Your mother died some months after that and you still buried yourself in your books. You didn’t feel her absence as much as you felt your father’s. Your father never came to check on you when your mother died. You felt like an orphan.
Now, you are walking in the raging rain. The rain is pouring hard. You could feel it beating your back as if you are been punished somehow but with big strokes of rain.
You have a phobia for rain. You’ve had it since you were eleven. You were locked out in the rain whilst your older sister Judith locked herself in the one-room shambled apartment you lived in after your mother died, with her boyfriend. It wasn’t the first time she did it but it rained heavily that night. You would always ask yourself what your sister does with her boyfriend behind the closed door but all you would get behind that closed door is repeated, pleasure-filled screams of your sister. You stayed outside that room throughout the night. The buzzing termites that kept hovering around the dimly-lit bulb at the entrance of the room kept getting on your nerves. The crickets had a competition of their own; they kept singing buzzing songs and it grew louder. Then, all of a sudden, the rain started to make creepy sounds and it was in harmony with the termites’ and the crickets’. And you could see the rain forming some kind of monster with sharp teeth and eyes that bled water. It had its fangs held out as if it were coming to get you. You were rooted to the spot. The monster kept coming, accompanied by a bloodied version of your father but they never got to you. You kept screaming. Your sister opened the door later but it brought no comfort.
Sleep for you, isn’t the same anymore. Despite the fact that you used to sleep on the floor with just a threadbare piece of cloth, you always had a sound sleep. Now, your sleep is filled with giant termites, and crickets, the rain monster and your bloodied father chasing you. So you refuse to get in the rain since then. And when it rained at night, you would play songs on your stereo and you would turn it up to the volume that would drown out the rain.
But tonight, you don’t care about the rain. You’ve got to do what has to be done. And you can’t wait to get it done. You kept thinking about the pleasure that always came after. He is not going to be your first. Slitting your sister’s throat when you were nineteen wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be; in fact, it felt like the best thing you had ever done. She had to pay for all the things she’d done to you, and you had to pay her back for all she had done for you, so you felt obliged to end all her sufferings once and for all. Nobody missed her anyway except for her poke-nose boyfriend, Kabiru who kept coming in to ask for her. You felt it an opportunity to seduce him when you saw him through the worn-out net of the window, walking towards your room. You stripped out of the baggy dress you had on and down to your matching pants and bra, then you tied a towel loosely around your bosom. The heavy knock came once, twice, then you opened the door. You had your face contorted into a frown as though you hated been disturbed.
“What is it you want me to do for you this time?” You asked, exasperated.
“Why else will I come here?” he asked “Where the hell is your sister?” he demanded.
“I told you she trav — “, you let the towel fall revealing your full breast and your shapely body. You smiled at the sharp intake of breath from him. Your heart began to beat when his hands went to your breasts.
But you killed him too after you were both satisfied. You remember the shock in his eyes when he died.
Now, you’re walking towards his house. The house of the man that you’ve ever loved; for you didn’t love Kabiru, you were only infatuated and his eyes fascinated you. You swore to yourself that you wouldn’t kill this one. You love him too much. He was your life and he was everything you’ve dreamed of. He was your perfection. If only he was all you thought he was; caring, honest, educated and desperately in love with you, but that scene and what came after wouldn’t leave your mind
***
You remember wanting to surprise him one day, so you went to his house and let yourself in with his spare key you had with you. You crept in slowly so he wouldn’t hear you come in and you would creep in beside him and just be satisfied with having him near you. But you stopped at the entrance to the bedroom when you heard voices coming from the closed door. It was his voice and that of a female. Then the voices stopped. You peeped from the keyhole and saw them doing things you did together with him. You stayed there for what seemed like ages and then you left quietly, dumb-struck and tears streaming down your cheeks. You never cried. Not even that night when you were locked out in the rain. But he had made you cry. The next day, he came to you and said he loved another, not you. You took it in good faith and he seemed a little disappointed that you didn’t throw a tantrum.
You shook your head as if that will shake the memories off and went on to knock. You no longer have the spare key. He had asked you to return it to him. He opened the door after a second knock.
“What are you doing here?” He asked, surprised.
“Aren’t we friends anymore?” You asked innocently.
“Of course. Forgive me my bad manners.” He said, relaxing, “Let me fix you a drink.”
“Come on, when was the last time you fixed me a drink, in your house?” You asked, “Let me get myself one like I always do.”
He nodded and you went on to the kitchen to pour cold apple juice into two glasses. Then you added the rat poison you had gotten from a local shop to the glasses. You went back and gave him his own glass. You waited till he started to drink before you asked: “Is she prettier?”
“It’s not about been pretty Moyo.” He choked.
“What is it then?” You demanded.
“It’s love. I love her.”
“What did you put in this drink?” He asked with pain in his eyes.
“We’ll die together Kola. If I can’t have you, no one else will.”
When his eyes began to shut, the memory of your mother stabbing your father that night that the fight didn’t last long came flooding back. You had thought it was only a really bad dream and you had had it shut out of your memories but it came flooding back at you with force. You are your mother’s daughter.
Then you went close to him, held his hand despite his weak protest and you smiled while you die. You died smiling.
