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 quarreled. 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 dry now 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 taste of 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 maneuvered herself onto it in a bid to lessen the chill of the tiles.
She curled up in a fetal 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 realized that she was weeping in front of the mirror, so 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 analyze 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.
LESSONS: It is best to dissociate from abusive partners because you either get murdered or be a murderer.
Written by: Samson Olabisi.
Born as Titilayo Oladimeji, I have been known by the nickname Titipetral for nearly two decades. I am a Financial Advisor at a reputable financial institution in Lagos, Nigeria, with over 10 years of experience in Financial Advisory and Credit Analysis. I am also an author and the founder of Titipetral Publishers, a duly registered publishing company.
In addition, I lead the Titipetral Empowerment and Development Network (TEDN), a duly registered philanthropic initiative dedicated to supporting underprivileged girls, boys, women, and men in the Alimosho area, Nigeria’s most populated local government, focusing on serving the underserved.
For inquiries or collaboration, you can reach me at Titilayooladimeji@titipetral.com or titipetral@gmail.com.