Short story: I am a monster
I hit her. Yes, I did, she provoked me and I could take it no longer.
“You’re a weakling,”
My father shouted over the phone, threatening to beat me the same way I did my wife of five months whenever he got back to town from his trip to the village. We still lived in his house because I was jobless at the moment: I was too forward and strong willed to survive on my own as an independent business man, that I left my well meaning job without proper structuring to suffer the change.
“How could you beat a pregnant woman?”
My mother asked me with her ever concerned voice. I hated this moment because I couldn’t avoid her ever piercing eyes set before me.
Everyone was against me, obviously my mother-in-law would support her daughter, just the same way my mom would support my sister and rain hell on any foolish man that dared lay hand on her daughter.
My mother-in-law threatened me as though she was already at my father’s doorstep. I understood the ploy to make my fear and shake at the thought of her descending all her reserved anger and resentment on me, but I was not moved, even when she called me a monster.
I got married to the love of my life, Sabina was all I ever hoped for in a wife, I still bless the name of the Lord for bringing us together in a series of sweet turns and twists. I never knew I’d get to date her let alone put a ring on her pretty yellow finger. She scored poor on the first impression matter and came out as a bit rude and pompous (That’s a story for another day).
They say I’m a monster, did they not see the monster in me the day I came to seek their daughter’s hand in marriage? The day her mother’s joy was too obvious that a responsible man had finally knocked on their door, and her father busy organizing the outrageous list for all the bride prize requirement for their Umunna.
I am still the same man that arrived their door seven months ago, if I am a monster now, I was a monster then, and they failed in their duties as parents because they married their daughter to a monster.
I blame myself, I ignored my spider-senses even though they tingled: Yes they did, but I paid no attention and now I’m wallowing in regrets. I went ahead to marry her because I was blinded by dumb love – Love for a woman who allowed me believe she was a virgin while we dated – strung me along to put a ring on her finger before I could touch her. My friend warned me, he advised I taste the fruit irrespective of what she claimed to be, but I didn’t listen, I loved the challenge she put up – Miss Virginity 2016.
We finally did it three weeks to our wedding off her own cajole – Apparently she was too horny to keep on pretending – I discovered first hand how open she was, but I didn’t let that deter me, I loved her that much.
“If she loses this pregnancy, I won’t find it funny with you,”
My mom’s pointed finger stared at my nose, I wondered if she thought me a Pinocchio.
This wasn’t the first noise of pregnancy she was making – She made one two weeks after we first had sex – Apparently, she thought I would dump her after the big discovery, and the pregnancy was a coy to compel me to marry her irrespective of my present state of emotions.
She claimed to have had a miscarriage one month into our marriage when she realised I was always attached to her bump-less stomach, because I stupidly thought my child was there (I reject it now).
Mother insisted I drive then to the hospital, but I held my ground constantly repeating “I won’t” for her to know I meant business, Sabina already understood I did – This is the real me, the one tired of her bullshit, the one tired of her constantly thinking me a fool for loving her too much.
“What did she do?” Mother asked in tears.
“She slept with my best friend,”
I lashed out, I couldn’t continue to bottle my pain, I had to speak up, I also had the right to cry. She shattered my heart, she stole my heart and fed it to me through my shit hole, she made me a laughing stock of my friends, she slept with the same friend who advised me not to marry her without testing her product for authenticity.
She complained I didn’t have money, yet she was the one who urged me to resign and invest my life’s savings in a business idea her friend brought, and I was defrauded in the process. I still suspect the thief to be one of her many lovers scattered all around town as I got to understand from my Private Investigator that she had many.
“My own wife a prostitute,”
I confronted her about the allegations before her, I showed her pictures speaking against her, I gave her a chance to explain herself – I loved her up to that level – even as she rained insults on me, I endured. She called me a jobless man, I swallowed. A weakling, I nodded. I loved her to that level, up till she called my mother a prostitute,
I hit my dear wife form the first time.
I wonder what my mom would say now if I tell her that a prostitute called her a prostitute.
I ask you reading this, “Am I a monster?”
I need an answer because my mom hasn’t been able to give me one, she’s being absorbed by her own tears while I’m absorbed in my own thoughts about committing suicide to end this pain.
Your comments are highly appreciated.