“Boy meets girl;
Boy likes girl;
Girl likes boy;
Boy and girl get dirty.”
That was the history of Bart and Debbie’s love story, at least before it hit the rock.
Debbie was in pain. According to her, Bart raped her every time she had given her consent for them to have sex throughout the seven years they had been married. She had managed it over the years in silence, but now the pain had become unbearable, and she wanted out.
She said he always apologized for his demeaning action, “He’d buy expensive gifts to better drive home his apology,” she said in her own words, a lame way to her tender heart, he’d always blamed his actions on over charged excitment
“I get easily carried away easily,” he’d say for an apology, only to always repeat it less than seventy-two hours later.
She had always let it go and it had become a repeated and usual play, an endless cycle of Sin and Mercy, but the play of last night made her realise she had reached her threshold, and could take no more.
“Continue my dear,” her counsellor beckoned, her attention was rapt and wrapped on Debbie as she recounted her life’s story to her.
Debbie cleared her throat, “He came home late yesterday …,” she continued.
Bart came home late last night, later than he’d ever come back in recent memory, and she was very worried, her many calls to his number before he appeared home returned unanswered and she panicked with fear that her husband had fallen victim to one of the many evils of late night.
“He finally came home and that was when the real play began,” her bitterness and anger sipped through her voice.
As the concerned and gentle wife she had played for the past seven years she queried him on his whereabout and why he was stinking of pungent alcohol (not the type you buy from a small bar). “He had been complaining about lack of money for a while now, so I wanted to know where he got the money to visit an expensive bar,” Debbie’s tone rose to her defense.
Whether it was to show strength or superiority, he suddenly stopped arguing with her and gifted her a very heavy slap, she instantly fell with her face down.
At that moment she couldn’t believe what had just happened, she tried hard to assume it a dream, her offense was that she cared enough to ask her husband where he had been all the while.
But it was harder to believe that the man she had been married to for the past seven years, against the wishes of her many loved ones, was the one ramming her from behind like a savage; with each stroke her pain increased and reality dawned brighter.
“It’s OK my dear, what did you do next,” her counsellor discouraged her paused; already engrossed in her peculiar story, she wanted to know the end.
Debbie certainly didn’t need a prophet to tell her that their relationship had come as far as it could go, as soon as he was fast asleep she ran away from the house, “I left for my life, without any of my property,” she reiterated.
She swore to never return to that house, no matter how much more he begged, she was no longer the naive little fool Bart got married to seven years ago.
Her Counsellor gave her professional counsel and advised her to go for her scheduled check up, “You need to move on and only with medical help and my therapy can you do so”, she added.
Two months passed, and Debbie couldn’t have been any better. Living with Mira was far better for her mental health than staying with her parents would have done her, they slightly resented her for rejecting their counsel to never marry Bart, who they termed as “Useless,” seven years ago.
She had a date scheduled for Saturday night, four days away: Mira’s fiancé had introduced her to his best friend who was still single and smoking hot, she felt anxious because she believed she was now an ‘old cargo’ not fit for young and agile Julius. Her anxiety got the best of her and she fell ill.
The result for the many blood tests came out.
“The Doctor will see you now Ma,”
The nurse at the waiting room made her feel old with her announcement. She wondered why the Doctor needed to see her before releasing her test results to her.
“You’re HIV positive,”
The rest of his words held no sway for her. She could see the Doctor’s mouth move but nothing audible fell from them.
Debbie’s world had come crashing before her.
Tears trickled down her face.
What would she do? How would she live a life without a husband and with HIV?
She couldn’t find a right angle of thought that supported she let this slide: She wouldn’t go down alone, not without a fight.
She was going back to Bart’s house, and there was no more Mister Nice Wife.
– Talius Dike