A Woman and Her Shadow [#Wattys2016]

Foluke

6:37 pm. Eko Hotel & Suites, Lagos.

The new bride stood at the threshold of her suites' balcony, gazing dreamily into the vista of the Kuramo beach against the backdrop of a setting sun. The fingers of her right hand are curled around the bowl of a wine glass. Baileys. It is the only other liquid she drinks after orange juice and water. Mostly in that order. The finger of her left hand, splayed and lost, in the softness of a flame patterned chestnut drape. She enjoyed the way the hem of her bathrobe flutter in the evening breeze.

My life now has meaning. She thought, as she took in the beautiful scenery along with a sip of her drink. Things were finally into place. It was not always so. No, not in those dark ages of her life.

Those cursed years which - through a painful procedure of psychological self-mutilation, denial and regeneration or perhaps, reincarnation - she no longer associated with herself.

Those were years when she was a different person. Right after mom died in childbirth. The baby didn't survive either. And dad had taken up drinking. He often staggered his way home after work. Sometimes falling into gutters, until he eventually fell into his grave.

Those were years, at the age of twelve, just when those little mounds (or was it lumps?) of flesh started growing on her chest; she became a woman and a mother. She took care of Bolarinwa, her seven years old younger brother, cooked, cleaned the house and washed the clothes, especially dad's beer and vomit stained clothes. Those were painful years that - -

She heard Emeka singing Dbanj's Scapegoat in the shower. She chuckled. She took another sip of her glass. She let her tongue loll the creamy drink around in her mouth before swallowing it. Is this what it means to be fulfilled? She thought. Happiness? Was that what she felt?

Yes, she deserved every bit of it. She had walked through the fire of an agonizing childhood. And like Aaron's Golden Calf, she had emerged the perfect image of a classic woman.

It wasn't likely that she would make the Top Ten Most Beautiful Girls in Lagos list but her fair skin and moderate curves would have you craning your neck when she walks by. She had an admirable and promising career as a (junior) legal adviser for an international Human Rights NGO. Bolarinwa is studying Pharmacy in the University of Lagos.

And to crown it all, she just got married to Emeka this morning. Emeka was an accomplished and renowned chef. What more could a woman want? Children? Of course, they would come in due time. The plan is to bask in the warmth of these happy times.

The wedding this morning was the happiest moment of her life. She had shed real tears. Tears that washed away years of pent-up pains. Tears of joy. Not those plastic expressions you see on the faces of Bella Naija brides.

The whole affair was almost too good to be true... from the moment Pa Bakare, her uncle (who still wondered why she married an "omo y'Ibo") had led her into the cathedral, the teary exchange of vows and gold rings with Emeka, their first official kiss (not counting those few ones she had allowed while they were dating), then the Disney-themed reception.

Everything felt like a dream. If it was, she hoped to never wake. "If only mummy were alive to see today." She muttered. A tear drop escaped her wet eyes.

She swept her left hand, across her eyes. She fervently hoped it was not bad omen to have tears on her wedding ring. She glanced behind her at the small corridor that led to the bathroom. Emeka was still in the shower. He was humming a faintly familiar tune now.

She looked at the glass in her hand and raised it to her lips. She never gets drunk. No. That's not her. Moreover, she doesn't drink everyday. It could take her a week to finish a bottle. Just this glass and she was done for tonight. She was waiting for Emeka. Waiting for him to come and do it with her.

The marriage was yet to be consummated. And they have never had sex before in their over three years relationship. She had strongly insisted till the wedding night. This had at first left Emeka distressed. But he gradually became understanding and he earned her trust. And she had loved him the more for that. Emeka was the perfect...

She turned to see him taking light steps towards her. Tied around his waist was the hotel's white fluffy towel. The light source, aesthetic and resplendent, gleamed on his dark well toned body. He wore a sly boyish grin on his face. This made her blush and chortle.

"Foluke, what's funny?" Emeka asked. A quizzical smile forming on his face. He took the glass from her and promptly placed it on the bedside table.

"I caught you tiptoeing on me. Darling, you won't make a good thief." She laughed.

Emeka cackled. Then he held her in a gentle embrace. "You are right. But, at least I stole your heart." He kissed her. Warm. And passionate. He stopped and smiled, his eyes aglow.

Then he suddenly lifted her from the waist in a firm grip. She gasped and giggled. She locked, her legs around his waist; her hands around his neck and her lips with his in a burning kiss. In this manner, he carried and placed her gently on the bed.

Foluke, shy and self-conscious, tilt her head to the left as Emeka untied her bathrobe. He planted soft kisses on her neck. Then he took her boobs, in turns, in his mouth. She shut her eyes and bit her lower lip. She felt warm and tingly and something else she couldn't place. Tensed? Maybe. She sucked in breath as Emeka traced a line from her boobs down to her navel with his tongue. He cupped the ridge of her panties. She gasped. Then just at that moment, it happened.

Her eyes were shut but she saw him. Not Emeka. Her father. It was surreal. But she could see him clearly. She could smell him. He was drunk again. And he had somehow dragged her to his room, to his bed, like he did every night a few months after mum's death. It was happening again. Like a werewolf, her dear dad changed every night and feast on her. He would pin her down and force his man up her inner thighs.

Foluke shivered. Streams of tears flowed down her eyes. Then she held her hands up in protest and screamed.

"No! Daddy, please! No! Daddy no! Please! Don't!"

Emeka lept off her body in fright. Foluke gathered her bathrobe about her body and ran into the bathroom. Emeka felt like he had been bath with iced water on a harmattan morning. Then a troop of thoughts laid siege to his brain, and succeeded in contorting his face in dismay.

He gathered himself - whatever was left - and walked calmly towards the bathroom. He has to be a man. The priest had after all, pronounced them "Man and Wife".

He got to the bathroom door. It was locked. And behind it, Foluke was wailing.

***Photo Credit I.G: @artofmere_