(Originally published on Medium)

2008

I bet you can’t finish your malt before me.

Win jumps up beside me, sitting himself on the boot of his mother red Mercedes Benz quickly and smoothly. I try to do same but I am not as swift as he is. His lips turn upwards in an amused smile. He stretches out to pull me up to sit beside him. He’s staring at me quietly, then he dares me to drink my malt all in one gulp while he does same. 

Let us see who gets there first.

He gets there first. I choke and my drink spills on me. He breaks into a loud mocking laughter. I laugh too. It’s just malt.

2011

I'm in Ikot Ekpene. My mother's sister thinks being away from home will help soothe my grief. It does not.

I still smell death on my palms and I rub my eyes with it every day, trying to clean away the tears. My mother’s passing has quietened me, it has dulled the spark in my eyes and now I drag my bones around in pretence.

Win doesn’t seem to mind. He’s in the next room, with my phone. I don’t know what he’s up to but it causes him to look for me. He’s no longer the boy from 2008, he’s grown and I, not so much. I remain frail and short, my hair cropped to my scalp, there’s nothing to comb, nothing to oil but still, he comes looking for me.

He comes to me.

I can see him standing at the door frame, because I am awake. Sleep has eluded me since my mother left, so I spend my nights awake, talking to myself.

I think he wants to return my phone, so I greet him. It’s past midnight, greeting someone at that time sounds almost ridiculous. He doesn’t answer, he comes to me quietly.

I ask about my phone but he asks me to stay quiet, he won’t stay long. He climbs into the bed, I remain still. I am unsure, do I scream? Do I beg? Do I slip right under him and run? I remain still and he climbs on top of me.

He’s not the boy from 2008, his weight crushes me and his breath causes my throat to close up. He’s breathing but I am not.

This won’t take time, he tells me. I believe him and I remain still. Instead I listen, I hear the sounds of his zipper opening, the rustling of clothes, his heavy breathing and droplets of sweats as they fall on my forehead. I can hear him move, he’s not in a rush, every thrust forward is a calculated move, like he drew a map of my body and he knew exactly where to go.

Eventually, it's over. I look at his face in search of shame and remorse, but instead I see satisfaction. He is not the boy from 2008. This is a man and I'm just a girl.

2014

I’m in my aunt’s house in Calabar. It’s quiet here. The only sounds I hear here are the from the TV and the clanging of pots, and Win’s grunts. It is almost like he follows me. I returned from Ikot Ekpene damaged, broken and torn. I do not remember how many times he came to me, I have repressed it so far down, it is almost like it did not happen but still I feel the ghost of his hands, the vapor of his words stick to me like a tattoo. He followed me. We are in the same house, again.

I am in Calabar. Win is a man now and I am still just a girl. He follows me around. He has tamed me into obedience. All the months he would come to my father’s house with his mother, he would follow me around till we are in the darkness of a corner. He would press me to the wall and take only what he wanted, none of it I gave with all my heart.

The year is 2014, Win is no longer the boy from 2008. He has tamed me and is now ready to take what he has been waiting for a very long time.

We come home from church, and Win, he takes me. Only the way he wants. All the while, I think about the bible that fell when he pinned me to the chair. It has failed to protect me from my enemies.

Win is not the boy from 2008. The malt spill has long dried and on top of me is a man who takes what he wants when he wants.

He pushes his ugly desires into me any chance he gets and everytime, I remain still and listen. I count the minutes alongside his grunts, I wish we would get caught. I wish someone would save me when I could not save myself.

But I remain still, as I am, as I was.