I havent been on this app for a while.  I want to tender my apologies to everyone following this story for  the long silence. I didn't think I would take this long. I have written about seven different drafts of this chapter,  ranging from 3k to 4k words and deleted them. I finally decixed to post this one.

ObsessedInk_writer this one's for you.  You're amazing

Seeing how swollen my eyes were, Shimba gave me a pair of his shades, I don't know why he was being so nice, I don't think anybody can be that nice without expecting something in return

I mean, he visited us in the hospital, bringing food and snacks and stuff he knew we would need, he had his boys check on my house occasionally, he  drove me and Dariya to our father's house, gave me new clothes, allowed  me to stay in his own house

And now, not to mention the delicious breakfast he fed me with, he gave me his shades that morning, so that I could shield my swollen eyes, and he since it was a Sunday, decided to drive me to my house, to get some of my things, just to be sure It was safe

I mean I don't think he could fight if it came down to it, his hands were so soft and he was obviously a  man who had been pampered.  But he brought himself along for the ride, an actual body guard of his would have been a more reasonable choice, but I think I didn't mind him being the one with me

I don't know what he would require from me as payment for all his goodness. But like alot of men, my guess was that he would want sex in return, alot of it.  Maybe he would keep me as a sex slave

Yeah no!  I can't handle sex slave!.

*
I stood outside my house, staring at it. The place that used to be my safe space

The place I run to at the close of work (when I'm not at Chizzy's

The place I hide in from the entire world, when I didn't want to face them

The place I breathed a first sigh of relief in, after I left my parents house.

My fortress. I wanted to just breeze in with only the severe need to kick off my shoes, or take off my wig, and grab my vodka,

or at least the rush to continue a series I was watching before I went to work, as was my former normal, but now, it felt Asif I was about to walk into fire

As if I was on a street made strictly out of sharp, pointy shards of glass

I'm a Nigerian, most times I'm not expected to feel or rather, show some kind of emotions,  like vulnerability,

Or Like fear to enter my house,

I remember a time when I was a boarding student in secondary school when I would cry just from missing my mum and dad,   or cry because i was having a hard time catching up to the everyday routine of dodging seniors in the hostel, and the sneaking to staff quarters to get water and the emotional turmoil that comes with having some of your belongings stolen or misplaced

I used to feel so helpless in those times, but just the sight of my mother's face on visiting day would  make me feel much better, by the end of the day, I'd feel refurbished, id feel ready to take on the world again without any tears

Because it was silly to cry over somethings.

But this... This was so much beyond me. I was feeling more helpless than I had ever felt in my life.

How do you handle a burglary? I've never had my house burgled before

How do you handle or even understand that your life was in danger?

How do you go about mending a friendship you broke without meaning to, and without even really understanding how you broke it?

How do you handle? I mean how do you deal with the absence of your mother and your father's advice on what to do in times like this

How do you, amongst everything else that was dragging your soul down, keep fanning the fire of hatred you felt for your absentee parents, when all you want is to melt in their arms and let them  take the reins from you, since you weren't sure if you were doing a great job of parenting your younger sibling who is struggling with the consequences of someone's dastard act of molesting her as a child and leaving her with  a terrible sexual itch that she felt like half the  men in the country couldn't scratch well enough,

cravings that she didn't really know how to handle sometimes, while you yourself are  in the midst of lacking enough money to survive and having to live with a semi stranger because your life was in danger and you didn't have anyone else to run to?

But I'm Nigerian, I shouldn't break should I?

No one expected me to break. They expected me to fight instead

As if my noodle arms could do that

So instead I took a deep breath and tried to swallow the thick emotions that threatened to choke me to death and walked into the house, on legs that were shaking like an overworked generator, and trying my hardest to not relive the night I opened the door to find my sister struggle to escape death.

I walked round, seeing the broken shards of glass from my dining window on the ground. The window had burglary rods in place but  as I looked at it now, the burglary proof rods had been bended outward, to create a large space in the middle, space enough for someone to come through it

I couldn't help but wonder, did the person who attacked Dariya do this? Or was this from the incident that mummy John claimed to have witnessed much more recently?.

Because David and his boys had searched the house after the incident with Dariya and they weren't able to tell how the attacker got in, or even how they got out. Everywhere had been locked

Thinking about it now, the person may have still been in the house when we rushed Dariya to the hospital

But what could I have done to someone for them to come after me?
Who could I have offended this bad?

My best guess was my best friend from my childhood days Ene. She was the only one I knew who had such hatred for me, even though I didn't deserve it. But it has been ages since our problem,

Was she finally out for my blood, did she follow me to the hospital that day or was it a chance encounter. And if it was a chance encounter, is that how she found out where I lived?

Even if she was the one after me,  what did it have to do with Mrs Anene and Shimba.

Or was this all just a coincidence? Were we just getting attacked by different people  for different reasons at the same time?

I walked over to my room, leaving Shimba at the living room, looking around for God knows what

I found my laptop on my bed, my files and documents scattered all  over the room, my clothes looked like tenants that had been thrown out by a wicked landlord

My wardrobe was practically emptied, boxes were thrown open and were vommiting clothes.

It was a huge contrast to the rest of the house, (except for my dining)  which David and his team had cleaned up after their search

"Shimba" I called out. And it didn't take upto a minute for his Head to pop in through the doorway.

Upon sighting the situation of the room, his eyes met mine and he whistled

"Did you do this?" He asked

"No, I found it like this, I never leave my room like this. And it most definitely wouldn't be Dariya"

"Are you sure?"

"What would Dariya be looking for that will entail her emptying my wardrobe and boxes, look at the wardrobe. Someone was searching for something. And I don't know if they found it"

His eyes, heavy with thoughts looked up to mine

"What were they looking for?"  

"Call me a goat if I know" I replied with my hands on my waist and my eyes staring up at the ceiling,. Trying to pretend to be lost in thought, but instead blinking back tears. My head and mind were completely  blank, I couldn't even think at all

"Just get your things quickly let's leave" he encouraged, probably so that we'd be out of the house as soon as possible.

I started to fold my clothes,  insisting on arranging the room before leaving,  Shimba helped me pack my credentials back into the croc skin bag that it had been removed from.

"You studied history and International studies?" He asked incredulously, obviously having seen it on my certificate

"Why do you sound suprised?"

"Because I am... It doesn't really feel like you" he finished

"What course feels like me, then?"

"Mass communication, theatre art?"

"Because I work at a radio station?"

"Clearly. But how did you get to work in a radio station without a mass comm certificate?"

"Because this is Nigeria. You could study chemical engineering and end up as a furniture maker or a make up vlogger"

"But still, radio and TV stations are one of the places that  take their certificates serious. How did you get in?"

I sighed too tired for any conversation, but still willing myself to respond

"I believe it was partially Because I cried in Mrs Anene's office. "

His eyes lit up and he was already in the middle of laughing so hard. I understood why he was laughing, I would have been laughing with him too had If my chest had not been constricted with harsh memories

"You cried at a job interview?" He asked, trying to tone down the laughter

I rolled my eyes. And picked another shirt to fold and stuff in my wardrobe

"I had been to twelve interviews already, no one was calling me back, I was tired and frustrated with my living conditions at home. I needed to be able to make Something, to be able to drag my sister out of that suffocating house and live" I finished,  just then I sighted  a dark green bra of mine and I quickly  threw a shirt over it so Shimba wouldn't see it.

I didn't want him imagining my breasts if he saw them

"What was going on in your house?" He asked, all sobered up now.

"My dad was giving us the silent treatment, sometimes he didn't want to pay Dariya's school fees till we fought.  And it was always messy"

"Wow.. but why didn't he want to pay her fees?"

"She was a victim of some child molester in our area..." I wanted to leave it at that,  not knowing if I should spill or not. But then,  I was too weak and tired to be holding stuff in. I wanted to talk about this. With someone else. Chizzy wasn't going to listen but Shimba seemed keen enough... Safe enough

"The man's name was James. His mum sold akara at our junction, but she was our substitute mother when our mum was out of the state or country working. "

"My mum was a dancer, and sometimes she would travel for months. Mama James, was the one who took care of us. She would send either me or Dariya to take food to James, he had his own one room apartment.  I always went there with my friend, so maybe that's why he never tried anything with me. But Dariya...". I swallowed hard

Trying to unsee the images going through my head

"She started spending more time at his place, and no one thought anything of it, until one day, I   went  looking for her there,  we were supposed to go braid our hair, and I walked in"  i struggled to  hold back my tears and calm my racing heart

" .... Her head was bobbing between James' thighs... She was giving him a blow job" 

There I said it, my entire body went weak as the vivid images rolled behind my eyes.  I had never told anyone this not in this way.

"I told our parents, I thought they would attack the man for what he did to my sister,but instead,  they beat her up,  they said they had never seen a promiscuous child who could seduce a grown man... I have never been able to understand their thinking." I wiped my tears with the skirt I was supposed to be folding

"How do you blame a seven year old for being molested and raped.  As her parents weren't they supposed to be angry that the man had taken advantage of her?" I looked to Shimba to see if he was going to blame her like our parents and some of our neighbors did.

"Some people don't have sense" was all he said. I could tell the story affected him, he looked moody

"Is that why you had to fight with them to pay her school fees?"  He asked and I nodded my head remembering how that had been the beginning of  a strained relationship with my parents.

"But I don't get it. What about the guy? Nobody harassed him or anything?"

" He claimed that she was the one who had been begging him to sleep with her. And that it was his first time of letting her touch him.... The nerve that crocodile had!"

"I still don't understand.  Nobody blamed him? At all? They believed his cock and bull story?"

"His mum was a very respectable woman, and everyone saw him as an angel. He gave off this...you know,  good guy impression, he helped people when he could and all that. So I really don't know. But his mum called me and Dariya after the incident and she wouldn't stop crying and apologizing to Dariya.  I think she knew what her son was capable of. She also asked me to stop telling people about it, few weeks later, she sent him off to Lagos to stay with her brother. That was the last we heard of him"

"And your parents were okay with that? The entire community was okay with that?" He seemed exasperated

" What else could they have done? The victims parents believed their seven year old daughter was a witch who seduced a nice and good grown man, who else would counter the parents?. ... Even though I believe some people didn't see it that way, but they never brought it up. And she made matters worse" I breathed out, frustrated and exasperated myself.

"How could you say she made things worse for herself? The man raped her and everybody chose to blame her and you say she made things worse for herself?" He was raising his voice now

Why is he shouting at me. He was taking what I said in the wrong context. I had never blamed my sister for what she went through

"Why are you shouting at me.? "

"Because you could have tried to prove her innocence to your community people, but you didn't and you're here claiming she made things worse for herself. Did she ask to get raped?"

I was really restraining myself. The overwhelming urge to slap him was consuming me. But I didn't want to give in. Since my fight at the office, I had promised myself to not be  violent and quick to resort to physical fight.

"How dare you accuse me?  Do you know all the things I did to help her? Do you know how many times I gave her my food and starved when our parents locked her up to starve? Do you know how many times I slept out in the cold with her when our parents threw her out?  You were not there to see anything, you don't know anything. I slept with my friend's  father to make money for her to abort a pregnancy,  I worked  while in school just to make sure she didn't lack what my parents refused to give her.  Where do you think I learnt to fight?  I beat up kids in our area who called her names, "

" You don't know the half of anything. Don't you dare stand there with your over pampered self and accuse me of not fighting for her, when every decision I have made, has been to make her life easier. Don't you dare judge me or accuse me"
I yelled and stormed out. My eyes were hurting  my chest was burning my head was pounding.

How dare him accuse me of not doing enough for Dariya. Thought I folded my arms and watched? 

When I had said she made matters worse for herself, I meant that she didn't stay away from  her so called friends and people in general, she would go to play with them, and they would call her names, and she would come crying to me and my next action would be to go knock out that person's teeth, and gain a black eye for myself in the process

I lost alot of friends because of that. Which even led me to my own problems

I banged my front door shut and ran out into the street, thankfully, Sunday afternoons were lazy afternoons, there was hardly anyone on the street.  No one would think I was running mad, with the way I dashed out of my compound.  Not that I would even care what anyone thought.

I ran till my calves hurt, till I felt like a screw driver was trying to drill a hole into my kidney, till my chest was tight and my lungs were fighting for air.

I stopped and bent my back, my palms resting on my knees as I tried to catch a breath.

I had run out my anger, I didn't slap or punch him.

My head was still reeling with the words from our argument. My head kept bringing up points, and things I should have said instead. And I really felt like going back to tell him those things. But then they would have been better said during the heat of the argument, if I went back and said them now, they would lose their flavor

Finally, my heart beat slowed, and I turned back and headed to my house.  I found him on the front step, looking worried. The moment his eyes landed on me he came quickly to stand before me

His eyes, swiftly examining me, the worried look still on his face

"Sally, I am very very sorry, I take back what I said.  I really should not have judged or accused you of not fighting for her. I'm not in your shoes and now I understand the extent to which your sisters situation affects you. I was insensitive and out of line. Forgive me" he finished, looking at me.

Okay! I didn't expect him to be apologetic, I had bullet pointed painful things that I would throw at  him  when I came back  because I expected him to be defensive and stand by his insensitive accusation.

"I will think about it" I nodded, still quite stunned by his apology.

"I'm sorry" he added again

"I said I will think about forgiving you" I said, as I opened the door and walked in with him trailing behind me

"What can I do to gain your forgiveness" he asked.

Is he really serious? I turned to look at him. He still looked worried and even sorry

"Don't disturb me" I said and walked into my room . I had lost my appetite for folding my clothes. So I gathered the unfolded ones on my bed, and dumped them in the wardrobe, after which I started selecting the ones I would go to his house with.

When I looked up at him, he looked like he wanted to ask me something,  but then he looked away  and his eyes landed on my shoe rack

"Which shoes will you take, let me start packing them"  he asked while still looking at my shoe rack

"It won't earn you my forgiveness"

"I'm not doing it for the forgiveness" he said.

I opened the last layer of my wardrobe and pulled out a duffel bag and threw it towards him,

" pack all of them" I said and turned to start packing my jewelry. 

***
It had been three days since I went back to my house to pack some of my things.  I managed to forgive Shimba,  even though he still thought I was angry at him. I kept myself glued to my room,

He had a young boy who came over to cook and clean the house. I only came out when Shimba was out, and I'd  fetch some food, eat and go back to moping around.  The boy who cleaned and cooked told me his name was Peace. I had never heard of a male named Peace before

He said he studied catering in the polytechnic. And I will not lie, his meals were delicious,  I didn't come out to speak with him everyday  because he was too chatty,  a few months ago, we would have been good friends by now, as I was also chatty as well,

But now, I didn't want the noise, I couldn't start thinking of response, my mind was always far from his light hearted gist and 92% of the time, I forget there's someone else in the room with me, talking to me.

  I called Dariya to know how she was faring in our father's house. She always said she was fine and that our father  wasn't bothering her at all.  As if he was scared to talk to her. She said she had a list of things she needed to buy and was afraid to go out and get them.  She didn't want people recognizing her and remembering.

She still had the trauma of being stigmatized. So I asked her to send me the list. I waited for Shimba to come back from work and I asked him to help me. One of the people I wrote projects for, paid so  I didn't need him buying anything, I just needed to borrow his car, but he insisted on driving me to the supermarket, said he needed things too.

He went to the boutique section in the plaza where the supermarket was, and asked me to help him choose a dress for his sister,  there were only a few beautiful dresses there,  the rest looked either like ancient fashion or dogs vomit.

I insisted that I didn't know his sister's taste in fashion so I was the wrong person to help him but he still insisted, and asked me to choose it in my taste , since he liked my fashion sense.

I don't know which fashion sense he saw since I had been in my broke stage for a while, and that always affects my fashion sense,  but ok

I chose a yellow knee length sequin dress, with spaghetti straps. And an oversized blue jean jacket to go with it. He paid and  accompanied me through my own shopping,  holding the shopping basket for me.

We drove over to my parents house and my father was the one who opened the door. I just immediately wished that I had stayed in the car and called Dariya on phone to come and get her stuff.

"Sally" he said, looking at me. I looked past him into the house

" Don't stand outside like a stranger, come in Dariya is bathing"

"I'm actually a stranger to you" was my toneless reply

"This is your father's house" was his soft appealing reply

" Sorry, my father died when I was a teenager, I'm an orphan" I continued, tonelessly.

I saw the hurt in his ageing eyes, he looked to the ceiling and blinked rapidly then looked back down at me, his eyes glossy with tears that he wouldn't allow to fall

"Is that how much you hate me? Sally I'm Sor-"

"Give these to Dariya, when she's done" I interrupted, and dropped the bag by the door frame and started walking away. I wasn't going to listen to his bullshit

"Salama Thelma Dennis. Your father is alive and he is sorry"  he called out. Making me stop in my tracks, Shimba at my side, I turned back to look at him

" I'm an orphan, and so is my sister"  I said, and started briskly walking away,  Shimba caught up with me and slid his hand into mine,  he brought the back of my palm to his lips, kissing it several times, sending waves of lightning through my body, while I tried not to let my tears fall.

When we had turned a corner and were out of my father's sight, he stopped and since he entwined his hand in mine, I had to stop too. I looked up at him and he just pulled me into his big arms.

My head rested on his warm leather jacket and I could hear his heartbeat as my arms rounded his waist and held him tight. As if his hug would glue my broken pieces together

His hug gave me the liberty to cry, and so I did. His chin on my head, my face in his chest, and I let my broken pieces clatter to the ground. In the safe network of his arms

"It's not fair.