Guys, what's up naw, isn't it too early to not be voting😰💔

Please, before you start this chapter, vote now amd go back to vote the previous chapter, biko na. How can my last chap have over 70 views and just 20 something votes, I hope we're not on bad terms oo😰💔

P.S; I updated a chapter this morning and I am not sure if dont think wattpad notified everyone, so if you are here and you didnt read the previous chapter, do so❤️

Warning: Graphic and somewhat infuriating content ahead..

Okay, since there's no yawa😂, let's move on to the chapter lol....🥃🥃

~DABI~

Loud irritable cackles and laughter coming all the way from the living room slapped me the moment I stepped into my father's mansion.

I grinded my teeth, fought to urge to spit out the bile that rose up my throat in a moment of extreme hate and disgust.

She was home. Only she, laughed like that.

I had deliberately walked in through the back door, having a slight feeling it was just safer to, and the minute I landed myself in the kitchen, I stopped.

It was different from how I left it.

The coloured tiles on the floor and on the walls of the Kitchen was overly clean. The dishes in the metallic sink, by the large gas cooker were gone, all of them, washed and nearly arranged in the large basket that sat on top of the cupboards. All the spoons and cups were clean too, neatly arranged where they should be.

Mum cleaned up... I knew why.

The aroma of freshly made eguisi soup found it's way to my nose, instantly making me hungry. My eyes travelled to the tray of lunch, properly set and arranged on the marble top and my blood boiled over. I quickly lost the appetite for food.

Mum cooked, and had already set the food in the kitchen, probably getting ready to serve it.

I knew who it was for.... And my blood heat up even more.

I imagined myself throwing that entire tray of food to the fucking ground.

"Took you long enough."

I knew who spoke to me before I turned to see. Slowly, my head moved, turned away from the food, to my mum at the door of the kitchen, and on seeing her, my own breath choked me.

I found it even more difficult to breathe as I absorbed her presence. She still had on that tattered ash-coloured dress that I had seen her wear for the past three days now - a long dress that was bogus enough to nearly swallow her entire, overly skinny frame.

I didn't know if it was just me, but she looked even slimmer. Her colour was also draining from her and she looked paler too. I couldn't even look at her eyes for too long, it hurt to see how tortured they looked. The ugly bags under them, those dark circles... they seemed even more prominent. Her face, bruised with healing wounds - as it always was. Infuriatingly, I could see that there was a fresh new cut on her lower lip - one that wasn't there before I left the house.

"Where have you been?" She asked me, in that regular slow and subtle tone of hers - the patient one that drove me absolutely mad.

Her hands were held together in front of her as she quietly observed me, blinked slowly, and waited for my answer.

"I can take it from here, Mum." I looked to the tray of food I knew she was about to go and grab, deliberately ignoring her question.

"You can just stay downstairs and keep Stephen company or something." I said.

Mum looked away for a moment, closed her eyes and bit her lips, a flash of pain easily detectable as I mentioned that name

"Dabeluchi." She called me after a long round of silence. "You know your brother, Stephen doesn't talk to anyone anymore."

My heart bled at that fact.. and it was the hard truth.

"We don't have time to be standing around and be talking like this," she quickly changed the topic. "And besides, you should be looking for something else to keep yourself busy with to make up for the fact that you weren't home. You know she doesn't like it when you stay out too long and-"

Something in me snapped.

"Fuck what she doesn't like!" I screamed at her.

She didn't even flinch and I swear I wanted to kick the marble top over.

Mum stayed quiet, completely quiet, literally moping at me and not saying anything, hands still holding each other in front of her.

"Aren't you tired of living like this, Mum? Aren't you?" I asked her, looked at her, desperately wanted to get a genuine response from her, but she didn't seem to be affected by my words.

After moping at me a while longer with those large tired, lost eyes of hers, she blinked, looked away, and started to walk past me, behind me, and to the tray of food.

I watched the way she moved - slow, slow, ever so slow. She walked like she didn't know she was walking. Like her mind was lost, far, far, farther in deep thoughts that she didn't even realise her legs were actually moving.

She only turned to me after gently picking up the tray of food.

"Dabeluchi," she called my name. "You know how things work in this house, right?"

I bit my lip, swallowed. "Yes."

"Please, do not disrupt the order. Do what you are supposed to do and everyone lives in peace. That's how it has always been, that's how it's going to be." She said to me.

I said nothing.

Something about the way she simply said that completely shut me down. The harsh reality and unfairness of the orders of this house, left me completely weak and helpless.

That's how it has always been..

That's how it's going to be...

We couldn't do anything about it.

We couldn't do anything.

We couldn't do anything.

We couldn't do anything.

"Do as you are told and there will be peace. Listen to your Mum, she's telling the truth."

"Okay." I replied out loud, to the voice that did not belong to my mother.

Mum had walked past me, I watched her. She got infront of me, I watched her. My heart burned, I watched her. I watched her and watched her, and watched her --

"WHERE IS THAT WRETCHED OLD WOMAN!"

Mum froze. I stopped breathing.

"I SAID, WHERE IS THAT WRETCHED OLD WOMAN!"

Mum remained frozen, transfixed on her feet.

The familiarity of that voice screaming, was sending all my senses haywire. Not only could I not breathe properly anymore, but someone started scraping metal against a white board in my head. The screeching was unbearable, I couldn't take it. I fought the urge to crumble to the ground, press my hands to my ears and scream.

She was close. Too close. That witch!

I could hear the clicking sound of her heels on the tiles of the ground, the clanging of her bulky jewelry as she was probably sashaying down the stairs. I imagined her flipping her hair too, that artificial, expensive long and colored hair that she always made sure to flip disrespectfully at our faces.

She appeared at the door of the Kitchen in no time, nearly blinding us with sunlight light skin, very prominent shimmer and shine make up, and the shortest red dress ever to be worn.

I winced at her presence. Mum stepped back with her tray she was holding.

Delilah was her name.

Queen Delilah, she made us call her.. and not only was she my father's mistress, but she was also the ruthless oppressor of this home.

Delilah popped her gum and shot out a hip as she stood there by the mahogany door of the Kitchen, disgust and annoyance radiating off her, and to us, as she pierced us both with those golden colored orbs of hers, and caressed the edges of the door with the longest, most witch-like acrylic nails I had ever seen in my life.

"And how long is it supposed to take you to get my lunch?" She acidly spat to my mother's face. Even through those long eyelashes, I could see the icy, irritated manner she was looking over my mum.

"I'm sorry," Mum's head stayed down in remorse, looking at the tray she was holding, shamefully avoiding Delilah's face.

Delilah scoffed, popped her gum. "Sorry for yourself!"

My saliva thickened, I bit my lips again, swallowing back the venom I wanted to spit on her face.

"And you." Her eyes travelled to me, I looked away from those golden eyes that were nothing but flames of torture.

"Where were you the entire afternoon?" I heard her voice.

I didn't answer. I didn't look at her. I didn't move.

"I asked you a question, fool!" She snapped, but I wasn't moved.

I imagined her taking one step forward, dear God, just one step. All I needed was one more step from her and I swore within me that my next action was picking up one of the knives from the rack, flinging it straight towards her, aiming it directly into her neck.

But she didn't step forward.

One lucky bitch.

"Leave." She ordered my mother instead.

"Yes, ma." Mum started to walk away, but Delilah stopped her, deliberately obstructed her way at the kitchen door.

"Yes, who?" A perfectly fake eyebrow arched from the witch.

Mum was silent for the quarter of a second as Delilah looked at her, waiting.

"Yes, Queen Delilah." Mum finally said and a wicked smile formed on Delilah's evil red lips.

"Wretched old woman!" She said to my mum's hearing, watching behind her with a taunting smile on her face - one that made it clear to me that she was enjoying every bit of what she was doing to us... Every bit of what she had been doing to us for such a long time now.

"Dabeluchi." Her attention was back on me quickly after Mum was out of sight.

I said nothing and she scoffed, amused, more like a chuckle.

"I swear to God, If you make me repeat my question, you and your wretched mother will pay dearly." She said this and I knew she meant it.

"I was with a friend." I answered... Atleast for the sake of my mum. For the soft sore spot I had for her.

"And did you tell your 'friend' you had work to do for me?" Delilah snapped at me.

"No." I still refused to look at her.

I didn't even know she had gotten close to me until I first felt the shadow of her thick frame, hovering over me. I held my breath, refusing to inhale that sweetly intoxicating scent of her perfume that filled me up with absolute fury and unfriendly nostalgia.

Long witch-like nails dug into the sides of my face, and I fought the maddening urge to do something we'd both regret to this woman, as one of her hands trapped my jaw and cheeks in tight grip. She was literally trying to force my head up to look her in the eyes, but I fought against it, adamant on giving her that satisfaction.

She stopped forcing me eventually, but her hand didn't still leave my face.

"I know," she was so close to me, bending down slightly to my height and I felt her breath on my forehead, fingers dug in more painfully into my skin.

"I know I'm Queen. I know that. You know that. Your wretched mother knows that too. You don't have to look down when speaking to me, to remind me of that fact," Delilah said.

An electric current zapped through me, fuelling my system with rage, and my head went up sharply, in reflex, to glare dangerously at Delilah.

She smiled, an evil satisfied smile, and I squeezed my fists into a tight ball, strongly trying to control myself from sticking my fingers into those gold pupils of hers.

"Tsk, tsk," Delilah laughed to herself, shaking her head. "Dabeluchi, when will you learn that all these anger will get you nowhere?"

That knife rack was so close.

"No matter how angry you get, it won't change a thing. You still can't and won't do shit. You know I have you and your entire life and future, wrapped around my fingers," she twirled a long finger in the air to illustrate, "including your dear Father."

I shut down instantly, all my anger went down the drain.

Pointless. Useless. That's what all my rage was.

That bastard of a man. My father.

Thinking about him triggered me to bits. He was the cause of all these. He was the one who brought this witch into this house. He was the one who gave her this much power.

Why wouldn't Delilah feel the need to treat me and Mum like shit? When he, himself, didn't treat us any better. Of course, he made her feel that was the way we should be treated - like slaves.

That's what my mum and I had become in our own home. Slaves. Slaves to oppression. Slaves to Maltreatment. Slaves to bullshit... Slaves to our own father's mistress.

He could kill for her. Delilah, my father could kill for that lady. He practically worshipped her, adored her, adorned her with all his money and wealth, and no matter what she did, he'd support her. No matter what she did to us, he'd still support her. If not do worse.

"It's going to be like this, darling, hope you understand that," Delilah's nails dug into my cheeks so hard, I was certain she left marks.

"Should I brief you in on the way things work here?" She tilted her head at me.

No.

"One, you and your mother are to address me as Queen Delilah... Because I rule over your pathetic asses." She started.

Three more straws - I was counting her limits in my head.

"Two, you two are to do as I say. Obey my every order. Attend to my every need, as servants do to their masters." Delilah continued.

Two more straws.

"Three, you cannot object. You dare not. I have the power to send you and your wretched mother out on the godforsaken streets to rot and die if you think you have grown wings. Remember this is the only reason I let you live here in my boyfriend's house," she smirked, "..To serve me. That's what you and your wretched mother are going to be doing for the rest of your life, and there's absolutely nothing you can do about it." She must have dug into my skin right now with those nails, that's what it felt like.

Somehow, I didn't feel the physical hurt anymore. All I felt was the burning feeling inside me, the psychopathic urge to charge her like a wounded animal and attack her with her own nails.

One more fucking straw, Delilah. One last straw.

She let go of my face.

You get luck die.

"Get me a glass of orange juice. I want to see it in the parlour in the next one minute. Don't even think about being a second late." She looked me over, eyed me like dirt, dragged a nasty hiss, and walked away.

I watched her leave and my hands shook beside me, as I still thought about charging her, running up behind her and thrashing.

It was after she was out of sight that sense hit me with brutal force.

I sighed, relieved I was able to control myself and not harm Delilah.

That would have been a bad move. A very bad move.

I couldn't harm Delilah. I couldn't do anything to stop our torment either. I couldn't. She had too much power over me, over all of us. I couldn't stop this.

I had tried before, didn't work. First time, I was nine. For as long as I could remember, Delilah was always there. Infact, I was literally born into this atmosphere, and I didn't even understand that it was not normal.

My understanding grew with me and eventually, I started to understand that nothing about my home was normal. It wasn't normal for anyone to be constantly tortured everyday, in the hands of an outsider, in their own home. It wasn't normal to be a slave in your own house. It wasn't normal to cry everyday, it wasn't normal to watch your mum cry every single day. It wasn't normal to watch her suffer, dealing with humiliation, insults, and even, physical assaults, every fucking day!

And all of this, because my father adores his mistress over his own wife. Adores her over silver and gold infact.

It was in primary two that I first took action against my father and Delilah. I ran away from home and found the nearest police station, literally cried my eyes out and pleaded with them to help me.

I don't remember how, but I had discovered later on that those police men were some (out of many) of my father's 'boys'. My father found out what I did and I got the worst belt beating of my life from him. Even till date, the scars of my back still remind me of that horrible day.

The second time was in Primary four. A teacher had called me after school, questioning me, asking me why I was so quiet and always isolating myself in class. This went on for days and I finally found the courage to open up. She had promised to help me, Ms. Jane had promised to help me get justice.

She didn't show up in school the next week. We found out, at the end of the term, that she was no more. Ms. Jane had died mysteriously. I cried until my tears were dried up. And after I had gotten home that day and Delilah nearly strangled me to death, I knew she had something to do with the Ms. Jane's misfortune.

I still had the scars at the back of my neck, from Delilah's assault to remember that day.

The last time I ever opened up about home to someone was in my last year of primary school. My friend, Efua, promised that she would tell her dad about everything and he would press charges.

One term, one term was all it took, and Efua and her entire family had relocated to Japan. She never spoke to me again, I never spoke to her. Nothing changed about my situation either.

I came to realise that I was trapped. I couldn't help myself out, and no one else would.

I didn't even want anyone to know. It was pointless. I was either endangering their lives, or mine, in the process.

Once upon a time, Mum had the power to redeem herself, redeem us. Being the only surviving child out of eleven, she was the sole owner of her late parent's million making textile business.... but you know what she did?

She willingly agreed to sign it all into my father's name. My father, who had more than enough international businesses to even boast about, selfishly took the only source of income my mum had and she. just. let. him.

Mum had the money to fight back, but she chose not to. She willingly surrendered all she had, her money, her business, her fucking dignity, to my father and that witch! Indirectly, she gave them all the permission to gladly fuck her life up!

The fact that she doesn't even fight back or object to anything they said, not now, definately not even in the past, alarmed me. I failed to understand why she did that. I failed to understand why she would, on her own accord, surrender herself to be their personal puppet. Sometimes, I was forced to believe that she was charmed with some form of black magic. Juju.

I stopped pouring the carton of orange juice when it started to overflow, and spill out of the glass cup.

"Shit." I closed the drink carton and dropped it back in the fridge.

"This is your life, Dabeluchi. You're here to serve. You can't do anything about it."

I accepted my harsh fate. "I know, stop fucking reminding me."

I stepped into the huge space of the golden coloured, accent decor living room and halted on my tracks at the door.

Delilah was already there, on one of the white Italian leather sofas, and when I saw who was with her, I found myself unable to move.

My father.

Delilah was sitting, cross-legged on my his laps, long witchy hands, wrapped all around him and circling on his broad chest, while my father, the devil, cuddled her to himself, pulling her even closer with his large dark hands, caressing the curves of her body.

I noticed that something else was their main focus.

I looked closely, opposite them, and saw my mother, standing with her tray, looking at her husband and his mistress, attempting to serve them food.

"Do I have to repeat myself?!" Delilah had snapped at my mother, furiously, in front of my father.

For the first time in a long time, my mum actually flinched at the harsh tone, thrown at her, but somehow, she managed to stay put. Dad held Delilah closer, massaging her body, looking like he was on a mission to torture my mum with jealousy - one thing he did which I never understood.

"Lyla, don't get too angry, you're too beautiful for that," he said to Delilah, groped her thighs for my mother to see, and I cringed hard.

"Serve me food properly-" she ordered my mother. "-on your fucking knees!"

"Don't waste her time." My father's eyes easily switched from the adoration for Delilah in them, to sudden hate, anger, and vile bitterness as he pierced my mum with dark, deadly eyes.

"Get on your knees and serve her food." He ordered my mother, silently dared her to object. Goose bumps were all over my body as I couldn't stop cringing, shivering in utter disgust at the both of them.

"I will not."

What?

My mouth dropped.

It came from my mother and I was utterly shocked. She never stood up to my father. Nor Delilah.

And well..

It happened too fast.

Dad's black irises burned with fire and brimstone, and he leaped up like a flash of lightning, nearly pushing a shocked Delilah off him, and charging towards my mum like an animal. I closed my eyes, looked away, when he landed a brutal, solid punch to my mum's face.

I couldn't watch the horror.

Hot tears stinged my eyes, burned them like acid, and dropped uncontrollably, when I watched my mother finally get down on her knees to serve Delilah food.

The house was quiet the entire day.

Mum's heart wrenching screams and cries resounded through out the entire house, and each one absolutely shattered me to bits.

She only cried when they weren't around - My father and Delilah.

That was when she could become vocal. She screamed and cried and ripped her fucking heart out. And as I sat there, on the floor of my room that night, avoiding my overly scattered bed, her screams of agony and pain nearly deafened me, killed me inside.

The ache in my heart was unbearable and I felt the muscles around my beating heart, constricting more and more. The atmosphere around me made it difficult to breath and the stench of used, unwashed clothes in my room, wasn't helping matters at all.

I hugged my knees, more and more and more, pressing it to my chest, hard, hard, hard, hard, in a desperate attempt to compress my aching heart and stop the damn pain.

It.. worked?

Eventually, I started feeling numb. The hole in my chest was either closing up, or it was opening up even more, deepening, becoming more and more sour and painful, to the extent I couldn't feel it anymore. My head began to overcloud and my vision started playing games with my brain again.

It was starting..

All I could see was the blue and purple coloured walls of my room and the posters on the wall mixing up together in one fucked up mirage, interpreting the wrong information to my brain and sending me into a different realm - like I'm getting a feeling of high.

My whole senses automatically tapped into a world of oblivion and I felt myself, slowly slowly blacking out.

Then came the voices again....

"Let it all out. Vent out your frustration."

I roared, like an animal, jumped up from the cold ground, body heated up in madness, as I was in a fit of anger and rage. The orders kept replaying over and over in my head and I thrashed my room, turned the fucking place upside down, pushed the night lamp down to the ground, scattered the items on the cupboard, broke every glass I saw, and practically destroyed every single thing my eyes set on.

There was that rush of uncontrollable anger that made me do the most maniac things - that made me even want to kill.

I stopped adruptly when I saw myself, in the mirror, acknowledging not the mess of things I had created in my room. It was suddenly silent in my head... until..

"Look at yourself."

I obeyed the mellow voice.

I stared hard at my reflexion in the mirror and fought the urge to shatter it to bits.

My slim, slit-edged brown eyes looked dead. My nose, flaring like a bull and my slim lips, squeezed in anger.

"You look absolutely horrible."

That's when I notice it all. Starting from my eyes - the extreme dullness of them, the darker shade of brown that was a contrast to my normal lighter ones, the eyebags, dark circles, God, they were beyond evident - almost as prominent as my mum's.

I touched my hair and cringed at the dry feel. Oh God, my tattered, kinky hair that has never agreed to grow. My hair even looked drier than it felt, lost it's natural black, and shamefully displayed an ugly shade of brown. My skin too, dry, dry, even looked drier than my hair. Drier than the last time I had seen a mirror. My lips too, dry, pale, white, chapped.

I look like a dying person.

"Look what all of this has turned you into."

"But.. what... what should I do?" My voice broke as I asked into space.

"Just laugh."

"There's nothing to laugh about." I replied, grinding my teeth and closing my eyes, tasting my own tears as they dropped down onto my lips.

The voices were in full force again, reminding me reasons my life was a complete joke.

So, I started laughing.

I laughed. I laughed. I laughed. I didn't stop laughing.

I laughed at my mum. I laughed at myself. I laughed at my miserable life.

I stopped laughing when the voice of distress took over.

"What are you doing?"

I waited to hear more.

"You shouldn't ever have to laugh in life. There is nothing to laugh about."

I moved back, away from the mirror, realising the truth.

"Your life is a mess. It will never get better."

Those words repeated in my head and I kept moving back, lost my balance, and fell down to the ground in tears.

"No.." I stuttered, pressed my hands to my head as my vision clouded with tears, and I desperately tried to shut out the negative remarks in my head.

"No. No. NO!" I screamed, cried my eyes out in pain and agony, screamed at them to SHUT UP!

"Now, take it out on yourself. It helps the pain."

I desperately searched the ground, shuffling all the clothes and things I had littered all around it, intensely searching for my pen knife.

I took off my wristbands and cried out, screamed at the ugly marks and scars on my wrists. My eyes blurred with my tears, until I couldn't see. I used the knife on my ugly wrists, tearing my skin, viscously cutting into it, and watching my own blood spill.

I was desperate. Anything. ANYTHING to get the physical pain of my wounded wrists to outweigh the emotional pain I was feeling in my heart.

Only God knows how far this was going to go.

I stopped, when a softer voice, the voice of hope, spoke to me.

"STOP THIS!"

It was my mum's voice.. but in my head.

Involuntarily, my body started to slowly relax. Breathing evened, my shaky hands started to gain control of themselves again.

"Nothing and no one is worth harming yourself for. Be BRAVE! Hold on. You can do this! WE can do this! We WILL move past this!"

That soft reassurance went a long way for me.

I nodded to the voice, muttered 'okay' over and over and over and over, forced myself to believe it's words... until I was calm again.

It was after my mental breakdown that the pain from my freshly wounded wrists hit hard, and I screamed out, winced in unbearable pain, and grabbed a stray cloth from the ground to tend to my cuts, trying to stop all the bleeding and numb the physical pain I was now feeling.

Well...

Call me crazy, but I talk to the voices in my head.

Sometimes, they're not the best to me, but some other times, they're the ones who uplift me and give me a reason to still live.

I know, I may be crazy.

But what can a girl do?

The truth is, when there are too many broken things around you, you might as well lose your goddamn mind.

Shit. Well, that happened 💔️☹️

Thoughts on Dabi's home? I'd LOVE to hear this one! Why do y'all think the dad is being an asshole and being so bitter to the mum?? What do you think is going on in Dabi's mum's head? I'd tell you, the woman may be more messed up than her daughter 💔 And wait a sec, Dabi has a brother? Okay😂

Okay, guys, I hope you voted oo. Abeg, vote, don't be shy😂😂😂😂

Okay, so updates on TMBT will be every Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. That being said, next update will be on Saturday.

So, thoughts on this chapter?