He talks about God, about His mercy and compassion, about church and his pastor and about the bible verses he taught last Sunday. I hear him but I am not listening, my mind is on what I am about to do. Without further thought, I lean in and like someone anticipating it, he accommodates my lips. His eyes are closed and his pupils moves behind the lids in response to the pleasure from the kiss. And just because I want to feel something, I match his energy and accommodate his tongue when he presents it. He kisses as a hungry person eats. He stops and our lips slurp as he separates to say, "Sister Zere, should we be doing this? It is kind of... unholy. Except you truly have feel..."

I interject by joining our lips. I still don't close my eyes but his, on other hand, remains close as he slides his hand beneath my top to caress my breast. His lips are wet and deftly switch from up to down and I wonder if they are the same lips that roll off those gospel verses in church.

He raises my shirt and suckles on my nipple. I want to still feel something, so I dig my fingers in his afro and massage his scalp as his tongue flicks around my nipple. His hand travels beneath my skirt and because my actions are premeditated, I wear no underwear. Yet, I stop the advancement of his hand.

"What? are you a virgin?"

"No."

He wriggles his hand from my grip and touches me, almost against my wish. Almost. I still want him to feel me.

"You are not wet."

How will I tell him I am not feeling it when I am the one who initiated it? How will I tell him I have a lot of complications inside? that sometimes, I close my eyes and have lucid dreams about Itika?

"Just keep doing what you are doing." I say.

In a circular motion, he moves his fingers around my clit and I close my eyes trying to feel something but instead, his romancing fingers starts hurting.

"Stop," I barely say. His hand moves faster than my hand that attempts to stop the hand rubbing my clit.
His grip is tight and speaks without even saying anything.

"Stop," I say again, a bit louder than before but he inserts a finger instead. I don't make an attempt to stop him.

"You are getting there," his hot breath brushes against my neck. “Good. Good.”

His index is going in and out and because he notices I am not yet wet, he licks it to ease the friction but it is not enough.

"Stop. You are hurting me.”

“That is what you like ehh, you like to be forced.” His increases the pace and my face scrunch in response to the pain but I do not make an effort to push him off. I just mumble "stop, stop, stop,” still hoping that along the line, I might feel aroused.

He removes his finger and I think he regains his senses but it only makes room for his length to blindly poke around my vagina until he finally hit the hole and slides in. Again, he notices I am not wet, so he puts saliva on his fingers and rub it around his penis before he inserts it again, thrusting like a dog.

It hurts like pepper each time his length slides into my vagina. He muffles my moan, or cry, whichever, with a hand over my mouth. Each sound I make dies against his palm. I Want to cry for help, but I do not use enough energy. If anything, I brought this on myself. No, not me. You. So I accept it as a penance for my stupidity. I knew not to attach my feeling to anyone.  

Just when I think I can not take it anymore, he fidgets and grips me tightly. Did he cum already? Did he cum inside me?

He kisses my forehead and unmounts me.

“How was it? Did you like it?” he adjusts his flap and wears an irritating smirk.

I stand, adjust my gown and as I walk out, he calls after me. “Zere, Zere, Zere.” until I close the door behind me.

I walk out the front door and pay no mind to the dog he had had to chain before I entered the compound. It barks and only the leach around its neck stops its advancement to me. I walk straight, hands lazily swinging, wondering what you are doing.

Bits of my past, I don't know how much, are buried beneath amnesia and it gives you enough room to occupy. My day starts with the thought of you; that stupid laughter that loops, that stupid one-sided smile, and that stupid birthmark on your nose. You are the cause of this pain I feel. No, not pain, emptiness. Even now, i am shamewalking, i think of you. Where are you? How dare you ghost on me?

I reach the gate barricading a blue duplex and press the bell. From the small speaker by the side, Hunda, the gate-man/ housekeeper I woke up to see says, “Ah, you are back before nightfall. A first or is it because daddy is here?”

The gate buzzes and slides automatically. I walk through and slide my finger on the body of Dad's black Mercedes that wasn't there before.

And because I do not want Dad to know of my return, I gently open and close the heavy door. My Yeezy slippers are noiseless against the tiles as I nibble to my room. Chimdi's voice steals my attention. It comes from the kitchen. I try to ignore it but I hear my name in the convo. Her voice becomes clear when I reach the kitchen door frame.

“Somebody that I cleaned her shit, somebody that suckled on my nipple. She says she does not remember me.” Hanna says.

“She will. It is coming back to ...” Chimdi is saying but Hanna interjects.

“It is the boy she met yesterday. A mad person that she remembers. I don't know what that boy gave to my child.”

Chimdi's silence is in support of her statement. She also sees him as a mad person.

“Somebody that almost killed her, I don't even know how he is not in jail. I wanted to pluck his head off when I saw him.”

“Thank God you didn't oo,” Chimdi says.

“Why ehh, tell me, why wouldn't I?”

And again, Chimdi's silence speaks.

D E S I R E S

Next chapter on 3/4/22

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