She sighed as she shut the door. Rolake had just left. Her best friend had come complaining about her husband and how broke he was, and had questioned why she even married him in the first place. The bruise on Adaora’s arm made her wince in pain, as she glided it against the wall, by mistake. She’d been wearing a long sleeved top to hide the bruises. She rolled up the sleeves. It was still sore and her light skin was now patched and discolored.
…
They’d had a fight. It wasn’t news, especially to their neighbours who were always forced to listen to the echoes of constant screams and yells. Last night’s had been different though. Perhaps Victor had started hearing it too. The neigbours had started to gossip about them. In fact, the woman who lived in the opposite flat had actually approached her and had asked if everything was alright between her and Victor. Adaora knew that the woman only wanted somegist from the source, so she had smiled and ignored her. She had to do something about it before the news developed wings and reached the ears of social media.
Last night, Victor had turned on the volume of the sound system, probably so that the neigbours wouldn’t hear them as they yelled at each other, vocally and physically. What happened was that Adaora had just returned to the house from an event where she’d been asked to speak to young women. Before then, she had to attend an interview with a radio station, and also she had to go for a photo shoot for her yet-to-be-released motivational book. Getting home, happy and eager to tell her Fiancé about how her day had been, and to probably get a massage and some TLC to ease her nerves, opened up another episode. The cold silence in the flat crept right underneath her skin. She could already feel the tension before Victor even said anything. The look he’d given her as she dropped her purse on the brown carved table beside the door did all the speaking. The music coming from the speakers was loud. She was about telling him to reduce the volume when his words launched at her.
“Why were you not picking up your phone when I called you?” He said, each word flogged by the harshness of his tone.
She frowned, thinking of what to say. She reached for the purse on the table to get her phone but he beat her to it, literally. He’d already thrown the TV remote control at her and it had landed on her shoulder.
“Victor, you have started again! What is it? I’ve had a busy day! Of course my phone has been on silent mode…you should have called my P.A…” Adaora started to reply him.
“Your P.A? Me? Are you high?!” He stood up from the sofa and charged at her, dragging her by the Peruvian weave she had on. He pushed her to the wall and slapped her face, then spat on her. She tried to struggle back but he was way stronger than her. She started to scream and yell as usual but no one could really hear her with the overpowering outbursts of beats and rhythms from the sound system.
He’d left her with bruises, both on her body, and in her soul. He often did this to her, but he always came back to apologize. The preceding time, he’d apologized with an over-the-top proposal at Dubai. All the popular blogs had written about it and the picture of her new bling was all over Instagram, with nothing less than a thousand likes. Adaora hadn’t told anyone that she’d had to filter that photo before she posted it on Instagram, because her fingers were actually bruised from his pummeling and torture.
It wasn’t that she couldn’t leave him. Of course, she wanted to be happy. She wanted a relationship that was free of abuse and violence, just like she always advised women generally. She wanted to be loved and adored and pampered. But it just didn’t happen for her. Some of the men she’d had in her life had cheated and she’d had to dump them because she couldn’t stand what the paparazzi would say about it. The next time, Adaora had decided to go for someone who wasn’t in the public eye. Probably that would take the public and social pressure off her. But it didn’t work either…her ex had been so intimidated and had asked her to choose between him and her career. She’d cat-walked off with her career in her hands like a delicate Hermes purse.
Victor had come across as everything she wanted. He wasn’t really of social interest because he wasn’t a celebrity. He just happened to be the son of a state governor. Adaora had thought he was probably the real man that she was trusting the Lord for, especially because he was well educated and reeked of absolute class!
Wrong.
The first time he beat her, she had kept it to herself. But she didn’t know for how long she could keep hiding it. Instagram couldn’t filter her actual self in real life.
Her phone rang out loud. She picked it up reluctantly. It was her agent who had booked a photo session for a magazine cover. Adaora declined it. She lied that she wasn’t feeling well and wouldn’t be able to do the shoot. She cursed Victor as she looked at the other bruises on her skin. Even if she’d decided to go for the shoot and the photo-editors photo shopped her up, rumour would fly, and in a micro-second, all the gossip blogs and the entire entertainment industry would find out she was a victim of domestic violence.
She opened one of the blogs she had book marked. There were new posts. She decided to while away time and read them one after the other. This one caught her eye.
TOP- TEN CELEBRITY POWER COUPLES…
1. Victor Essien and Adaora Johnson
Adaora shook her head, as she looked at the perfect picture which the blogger had posted of her and Victor. She began reading comments. Majority of the comments were from ladies, wishing and claiming they had a perfect man like Victor Essien. One had even said she wished Victor would even just have her as a side-chick.
She was a motivational speaker, the head of an NGO for women empowerment and campaign against domestic violence. Yet, she couldn’t campaign herself away from Victor’s hold.
Slowly, she rolled up her sleeves and took a photo of her arms, focusing on the bruises, and this time, she didn’t crop out her face in the picture. She wasn’t going to filter it this time, as she posted it on Instagram. One by one, word by word, she started to type and hashtag… #Confessions #Abuse #Violence #Unfiltered
She didn’t want to be a liar any more. She wanted people to know the truth, especially the many young women she empowered. It was unfair if she hid the truth from them that she was also a patient of the disease she was treating.
But maybe it was a stupid decision. Victor’s career would be affected if she came out with the truth. She couldn’t do this. Hurriedly, she grabbed her phone, opened the app, went back to her page and deleted the post. But it already had 1500 likes and 350 comments in less than 10 minutes. Her phone started to ring, and simultaneously, the door was being hit with so much force as though the person was possessed by a legion of demons. She heard Victor’s voice, ranting at the other end. It had to be him. She wasn’t scared though. She’d changed the locks of her door that morning. She wasn’t going to let him barge in…into her flat and into her soul.
Fisayo Talabi is a short story writer. She enjoys writing morning, afternoon and night. For more short stories, please visit olufisayotalabi.blogspot.com
Another great read from you.
Bia Fisayo what about the other story you started here before? You have abandoned it abi?#darisgodo#
That was the end of the story dear.
Nice one… Was Victor career affected? Not in Niaja – we actually encourage bad behavior! We see this happen and other women take the space…
Another lovely story…
Well written. I enjoyed it. Say no 2 domestic violence.
Vicky
wow..i m inspired
Fisayooooooooo. ….. This story isn't on your blog na. I'm an ardent reader.
@anony 1:31 …..that's why its called a short story…..d end of d story leaves u 2 ur great imagination inu go? Fisayo weldone,u r indeed a good writer. Captivating short story.
Awhhhh. So true. Sometimes d best sermons are for the pastor.
Fisayo , there's this story you started on Bella naija , is it a short piece as well ?
The story regarding the pastor
Nice write story!
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