Bad Day At Work
From my spot near the window, the sinking sun painted the room with deep orange hues, highlighting the room’s odd assortment of furniture and threadbare rugs. The room whispered tales of past grandeur, now frayed and weary. The light seemed to cage me, making escape feel impossible. I regretted not letting this brutish man be Sandy’s problem. But lately, business has been sparse; every client has become a treasure, demanding my fierce protection.
The client, bearing prominent tribal marks across his cheeks, never ceased to argue over prices. He consistently undervalued me, demanding more but offering less. His deep brown skin stood out against his pristine white clothes. Though the marks lent him a fierce appearance, mischief danced in his eyes, and he stood tall with unmistakable assurance. With a smirk, he carelessly threw crumpled notes onto the table. “This na your worth nah,” he jeered, diminishing my worth further.
As his bulk pinned me to the bed, his fingers dug sharply into my arms, and an icy fear snaked through me. My heart pounded, and sweat beaded on my forehead. This man was different—relentless and menacing. I had met many clients before, but none unsettled me as he did. His lingering touch sent unwanted shivers through my body. Subtly, my gaze landed on my trusty watch, its steady ticks almost drowned out by muffled voices from neighbouring rooms and the muted drone of a malfunctioning air conditioner. Only two more minutes, and I’d have my payment.
Abruptly, he pulled away and gestured towards me, expectation in his eyes. My eyebrows shot up, and my arms opened in confusion.
“I wan mek you suck am,” he demanded, holding himself, his gaze hungry.
“Oga, dis no dey our agreement oo,” I countered, my eyes narrowing in disbelief.
In his eyes, I saw both desperation and a sense of entitlement. Memories of past clients flashed in my mind—those scarred by past traumas, seeking to fill their emptiness or wield control. But their histories didn’t justify their actions.
“I tell you mek you suck my gbola you dey shout? E be like say you no wan collect your money, shey?” His body trembled, a tempest of pent-up desires and thwarted pleasure.
“If you wan put am for my mouth, you go pay extra 2K. Na so I dey work.”
“On top the 5K you don charge before? Why nah? No be to just suck am small till I come?” he grumbled, releasing his arousal. It rose defiantly, eager for satisfaction. His pocket hinted at hidden wealth. Was this a twisted game he often indulged in? Unease coiled within me like a snake ready to strike. His eyes, once clouded with frustration, now danced with dark intentions.
“I don tell you how I dey work. I give you five minutes mek you use knack, de time don expire. Now you wan blowjob, you go pay extra nah. Abi if you go Mama put to chop you no dey pay for meat?”
Each ticking second stoked the fires of his rage, his glare sharpening into a dagger’s point. But my resolve didn’t waver; every note was a lifeline for Junior and Mama. The air grew thick, tainted by his looming malevolence. In his wild eyes, I saw reflections of ghosts from my past.
“I bin agree for the 5K because I tink say your toto go sweet, but e no sweet like that nah. Na why I tell you make you complete am by sucking my prick,” his voice dripped with venom as he closed the distance between us.
Retreating cautiously, I shot back, “Oga dat na your business. Abeg pay me my money, I wan go back to my stand. Plenty customers still dey.”
A sinister grin crawled across his face. “Come collect money mek I see you,” he taunted, swiftly dressing and heading for the exit.
Although trapped in his hotel den, I was certain he wouldn’t leave me debt-bound. As he reached for the door, my fingers clamped onto his arm. “Where you tink say you dey go?”
His gaze darted to where my fingers encircled his arm, and, in a flash of fury, his hand met my face. The world tilted as I crashed to the ground, my waist colliding with the bed’s hard edge. A gasp of pain escaped my lips. Looming over me, he quickly undressed once more, yanked me into position, and prepared to force himself upon me.
The sting of my father’s betrayal played like a movie in my mind, its details painfully clear. I was back in the dim room of our old home, shadows flickering and whispers playing like a soft breeze. The heaviness of his deceit choked me, wrapping around my throat. His voice, dripping with hollow apologies, played over and over. His past hurtful words felt like invisible slashes across my skin. The pain? An uninvited guest, always hovering, never truly leaving. It fueled me, kept me on guard, and reminded me to never be broken again.
Heartbeat racing, every muscle tightened like a coiled spring, and memories of past horrors danced in my mind. This wasn’t new territory for me. I’d faced men like him—those who viewed women as mere playthings. I played along, letting him drown in his false dominance. His every move was a cruel reminder of my father’s deceit. A nightmare I had revisited far too often. My fingers danced around my hairpin; its significance was far beyond that of an accessory. It was my shield and my guardian in the darkest of times. And then, in a sudden burst of energy, I caught him unawares, drawing out my trusted hairpin, ready for action.
The act was almost second nature, a memory of what I’d done to my father. The hairpin, always with me, became both a reminder of my history and my safeguard. As it pierced his skin, a torrent of red rushed out, his eyes bulging with surprise. A raw, primal scream escaped him, fingers scrambling at the wound. I watched, a whirl of relief and remorse engulfing me as his spark dimmed. Pushing him aside, the silence was only broken by the rhythmic dripping. A dreamlike haze settled. Rising, I cleansed myself of the night’s events in his bathroom.
I rummaged through his pockets, finding crumpled bills. Counting to seven thousand naira, a red smudge tainted one. Adjusting my hair, I slid in the hairpin, its stains speaking of deeds beyond tonight. I pocketed an extra two thousand for the trouble he’d brought. Though more bills beckoned, I’m no thief; I took only what was owed.
