A sound of a wail jolted Fikayo from her deep sleep. She rubbed her eyes with her right hand, sat up and pulled her duvet off her body. She heard another wail which caused her to slide quickly into her flip flop slippers, her heart racing. She ran to her door, flung it open and raced to the living room, not bothering to shut the door. The sight before her shook her. Her heart beat harder as she wondered what had caused her mother’s outburst. Her mother was on the floor, her legs shaking as tears streamed down her face. Fire was on her knees beside her, holding her shoulders.

“Gbenga ti pa mí o!” she exclaimed, hitting her hands on her thighs continuously. She placed both hands on her head, rocking back and forth while screaming.

“Fire,” Fikayo shifted her gaze to her sister who looked confused and distressed.

“I just heard her scream. I don’t know what happened.”

“Mummy, please calm down,” Fire drew her mother’s body to her, rubbing circles on her back in a bid to calm her down. Fikayo was still rooted in the same spot she had been in, behind the three seater sofa. “Just tell us, what happened?”

“Yeeeeeeee! Mo kú mo dáràn. Tèmi bá mi,” she cried, rocking her body back and forth again. Fire released her and Fikayo watched in confusion. “Gbenga ti pa mí! Your father has killed me!” she slammed her right hand on her thigh, tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Aaaaaaah! After all my prayers, after all the fasting, the offerings, everything! Going from one program to the other, church to church, nítorí okùnrin olórí burúkú yìí!” She turned to Fire, grabbed her shoulders and shook them vigorously.

“Your father has killed me! Ah! Your father has impregnated another woman!”

Fire placed her hands on her mother’s and pulled them down, holding onto them.

“Mummy, breathe,” she said coolly. Their mother nodded but her legs still shook in agitation.

“How did you know about this? Was it Daddy that told you?” she inquired. Fikayo snorted, shaking her head. Their father would obviously never spill the beans. She must have heard from a source that could be incorrect, except she was stalking the lady in question herself.

“Mummy Shola saw him entering a baby store with a pregnant woman o! It’s Mummy Shola that told me. She even took a picture of them together so I know it’s definitely true. Ah, mo gbé!”

She placed her hands on top of her head again. Fikayo noticed she was breathing heavily and hoped her blood pressure was not rising all because of her useless father. If she died because of him, he’d just marry his baby mama immediately.

Now, her mother stood up and walked to the couch where her hand bag sat. She searched the bag and brought out her phone, fumbling with it speedily. She placed the phone before Fire.

“Can you see? Your father, Olugbenga Adeyele, with a pregnant woman! That I’m sure is carrying his child.” She turned the phone to Fikayo as well.

“I’ve never bothered about the other women. All I wanted was for Him to come back to me, to come back home. I didn’t mind the philandering. But this!” she cried in a pain filled voice. Her head shook repeatedly, the pain in her puffy red eyes evident.

Fikayo felt tears prick her eyes but blinked them back. Her mother jumped twice before running to the picture frame of her father hung on the wall, grabbing it forcefully. Fire followed and stood some inches behind her. She looked at her sister with what Fikayo recognised as fear. Fikayo approached them, halting right beside her sister. Tears were now streaming down Fire’s face. The next sound that pierced through the air was that of glass shattering. Her jaw dropped as she stared in horror at her mother’s form; her face wet with tears, her hands vibrating as she kept her gaze on the broken glass and picture lying on the tiled floor. She broke out into a loud cry, pulling at the twists that sat on her head. She fled the living room and the sisters looked at each other. Fire closed the gap between them and pulled her sister’s body into hers. They buried their heads in each other’s shoulder, weeping together. They held onto each other tightly, as though they were drawing strength from each other. It felt like she was in a movie. It was too surreal. It was too much. She stepped back from the embrace, looking at her sister’s tear stained face that mirrored hers. Without a word, she left to the solitude of her room, to the comfort of her bed, to the warmth of her lit cigarette.

***
The house had been as quiet as a graveyard. Fikayo stayed in her room as the hours rolled away. No one came calling or knocking. She doubted any one of them even had lunch or dinner. She hadn’t stepped a foot out of her room since the incident in the morning. The pain she had bottled up through the years poured out in an ocean of tears. Her shoulders shook and she discarded the cigarette stick in her hand on the ash tray, grabbing a notebook and pen from her bedside drawer.

I remember how he pinned me down
And the fear that engulfed me as I struggled underneath
I remember how my heart raced
As though it was running for its life
I remember every scream I let out
And every teardrop that fell from my eyes
I remember the pain
And the shame that enveloped me afterwards
I remember
Tonight, like every other night, I remember
As I remember, I cry an ocean of tears
I am too terrified to sleep,
To relive the moment in my dreams.

There was no point remaining in a world that was against her, a world that threw heavy blows at her at a tender age. The pain had been too much for her frail self; it had weighed her down, broken and crushed her to pieces that couldn’t be put back in place. There was nothing for her here. Her own father had broken her.

The first attempt was on a sunny Saturday afternoon. He was home from the University he taught at. Her mother was away in her shop where she sold clothes and fashion accessories. Fire was away in boarding school so she was left alone with her father. After eating the lunch her mother had earlier prepared, she cleared their dishes and stood at the kitchen sink to wash them. Then, her father sneaked behind her and reached for her right breast, squeezing it. She was thirteen and her breasts had started to protrude. She jumped in shock letting out a yelp. He placed a hand over her mouth and turned her around to face him. He grabbed her breast again, fondling with it through her shirt. She hit his hand and shouted, “Daddy! Why are you doing that?”

“It’s not going to hurt,” he promised in a husky voice.

His eyes drooped as he spoke and she wondered if he was under the influence of alcohol or drugs. It was unusual of him. Her body shook in fear of this man she couldn’t recognise. He wasn’t her father. Her father wouldn’t squeeze her breasts. Ever the outspoken child, despite her fear, she shouted, “Daddy, no!”

She tried wriggling out of his hold but he held on tightly, forcing his hand under her shirt and making his way to her bosom. He fondled with them for a few seconds before a knock interrupted. He jerked backwards, freeing her.

“Your mum can’t be back now, shit!” He ran a hand over his head, his eyes darting around. “Look here, don’t say a word to her,” he warned. Another round of knocks reached her ears.

“Okay?”

She nodded in fear, still shocked at the event that had just unfolded.
Saved by the bell, she thought, relieved it didn’t go past that. However, she feared he would try to come onto her some other time. Her fears were confirmed a month later, when he came back home from the University he taught at. It was a weekend. This time, her mother had travelled out of Lagos for a family function. He successfully had sex with her forcefully. There was no one to help. There was no one to hear her cries, not even God whom people had said was loving, whom had been described to own all the power in the world. All the joy she had evaporated into nothingness. She became a shadow of herself.

It became a pattern for him to rape her whenever he came back home. Her mother noticed nothing strange about her behaviour even though it changed drastically.

The seventh and last time he attempted to force himself on her, she was in the kitchen doing the dishes just like the first time. He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her neck. Anger erupted in her like a volcano. She turned and pushed him with all the strength in her thirteen year old body. He staggered backwards but soon regained his stamina. He walked back to her and hit her cheek so hard that it began to throb. Adrenaline rushing through her body, she grabbed a knife from the counter and hurled it at him. It fell to the ground a few inches from him. Her heart was beating wildly and her breathing, uneven. She became angrier as she raced to pick up the knife and pulled at her father’s shirt.

“You bastard!” she spat with venom. “Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you!” She placed the knife to his arm and slid its blade across his upper arm. He winced in pain.

“Fikayo, please let go of me,” he begged.

She stepped back as the weight of her actions suddenly dawned on her. She had just slit her father’s arm. She was about to kill her father. She threw the knife on the floor and ran away to her room, locking the door behind her. She did not know what lie her father told her mother about how the scar on his arm appeared and she didn’t care.

Since that day, he let her be, saying a few words to her only when her mother was around.

Fikayo’s body vibrated as she pulled at her hair. Her head was banging in pain but she continued to pull at her hair. There was no reason to keep living. She was a broken girl whom no one loved.

I love you

Where did that thought come from? She didn’t even love herself.

“I love you,” she heard audibly this time. Her eyes darted around in fear. She was sure she was alone in the room so who had spoken?

Trembling, she ran to the adjoining bathroom and grabbed the bottle of harpic and downed it all at once.
That may not be enough to kill me
She rushed into the shower and grabbed a half full bottle of antiseptic. She took a gulp hurriedly. The earlier she left the cruelty of this life, the better. She emptied the entire content down her throat, took her last shower, got dressed in her favourite pyjamas and laid in bed with the hope of no tomorrow.

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