She was my girl and I was her man. We were both very much in love. I had promised her that after Senior WAEC, I would make sure we attend the same tertiary institution. She loved me, I loved her too but I feared she loved me more. We always would meet at her place every other day as her parents were more flexible and lenient. Moreso, she easily had her way as she was the only girl child.

On this particular day, like every other day, we met at her place. She was wearing a sexy pink gown which revealed her cleavage. She was unaware what she was doing to me. “She is my girl”, I thought. “Come sit down next to me, real close.” I beckoned. She drew close and that was when I lost it; that self-control, that taming power, all lost. She trusted me so she didn’t complain as I touched her. Then I became aggressive; I began forcing myself on her. I could hear her scream, I heard her pleas but I couldn’t help it.

I loved this lady, why then couldn’t I grant her her one request, “Let me go”! I was done, I pulled myself up and buckled my loose belt. I watched as she grimaced in obvious pain. Hatred flushed through my system as I sighted her pink gown stained red with blood. She was bleeding. “Get up, get dressed” I calmly said. “I will call you when I get home.” I somehow reassured her.

Without a second thought or look, I left her there, lying on the floor, BROKEN. As I walked home, thoughts began to creep in. I thought of how best to “dump her”, how to travel to Lagos to further my education. I wanted to leave her. I detested that pink gown now.

As soon as I got home, I made my way to the bathroom and began washing myself up. I felt filthy yet it would have been right to call myself the filth. I didn’t call her back, I couldn’t call her back. I was afraid of her hating me, even when all I felt towards her now was hatred. Three weeks gone still no form of communication was made between my girl and me.

It was on a random Tuesday morning with the sun bright up in the sky when I received a text message from an unknown number. I had deleted her contact already. One click and it read “I am Pregnant”. My heart began to race faster than Usain Bolt in a race. I placed a call immediately and asked that we see. She didn’t object. Then I placed another call through to my friend, John. “Johnny I need your help, Kasala don burst”.

We agreed to meet at her place. She had grown lean, too lean and funny enough I missed her but I didn’t tell her that. I couldn’t. Her eyes were misty. She looked worn out. “What do you suggest we do?” I asked. Already knowing what I wanted to do. She simply nodded. “I want to keep the child”. I couldn’t believe my ears when I interrupted almost immediately. “I am not ready”, I sighed, “and I know you aren’t ready too”. Then like a woman in labour, her eyes widened, in obvious pain, “don’t ever speak for me, ever! Get up and go!”

Read: Abortion: Murder or Choice

I jerked to my feet. As I walked to the door, I quietly said to her. “I’ll send N20,000 and also an address, thank you”. Why was I even saying thank you? As soon as I got home, I resolved to send the money immediately, cause I feared she might just change her mind. As I pulled my phone out of my pocket. I met a startling text, “I don’t want N20,000. I need 2 million naira. Your dad is a Pastor and if word about this gets out to him, you are done for. I need it before tomorrow evening. Thank you too

I pressed the “back button” again and again to be sure it was the same number, the same girl I just saw some minutes ago. I tried her number severally but it was switched off. “What had come over my girl?” I thought. My mind pictured her friend Funmi giving her these suggestions. “Milk him dry. He deserves even worse”. Funmi was loose. It was something she was well able to do. I called Johnny back. I told him of the new development. He consoled me and told me what to do.


I didn’t want to follow John’s advice. Although he promised to back me up, I was more afraid of my dad finding out than getting caught. I followed John closely and we soon arrived at the computer village. “Carry two lappy” He ordered. “I’ll wait outside” My first attempt was successful but my second got ruined by a little child who drew attention to my side. The little boy had lost his way and bumped into me, his mom running after him saw me put the other lappy in my bag. She raised an alarm.

In no time I was surrounded by an angry mob, they pushed me outside, screaming on the top of their voice, “Thief ooo”.  I was no thief but the people I was faced with weren’t going to buy that story. I struggled with myself to keep breathing as the beatings were becoming unbearable. By the way, John had disappeared.

“Bring tire oo” A masculine voice yelled. My heart sank at that order. I was going to die. “Thump!”, the tire landed on my neck. The sting the pain brought tore my soul apart. “Whoosh, whoosh” A liquid was poured on me. I needed no math to decipher that it was fuel.

Suddenly, I heard my mom’s voice rather too clearly, “He is my son. Don’t kill him!” I stretched out my hands now to touch hers. I hoped she would just grab me. But then, the sticks were struck and I was on fire. I screamed at the top of my voice, for a while anyway, as I was too exhausted already. As I shut my eyes, I muttered to myself a short prayer of forgiveness. My eyes shut now, I saw that pink gown, the pink gown stained with blood. It was at that point I realized that I had not only defiled my lady, I had also defiled her gown. And, it fought back.

Read: Why I Hate Relationships

#72 Ofoegbu Chigozie.



Please enter your comment!
Please enter your name here