“What have you done to me?” Abigail
ranted, hastily stood up, got dressed and furiously dashed out of the room.
Metu joined her in his shorts as she was
about leaving the main entrance to the apartment. “Please, I am sorry.” He
uttered, attempted holding her left hand.
She abruptly stopped. “Don’t you dare
touch me.” She warned, fiercely looking into his eyes.
“Please, I am very sorry.” He reiterated
in false pretence.
“Shit,” she lamented. “I never knew I
have been dealing with a monster.” She said, gushed out tears.
“Baby, I am really sorry,” he lied. “I
don’t know what came over me.”
“Mark today’s date,” quoth Abigail.
“Henceforth, you shall never know peace in your life.” She cursed, eventually
dashed out and forcedly jammed the door.
“To hell with your curse!” Metu
trivialized as he stood behind the door. “Nah today..?” he added in vernacular,
meaning literally he wasn’t a new breed in the game, thus stood to fear
nothing.
* * * * * *
When Abigail got to her school lodge on that
fateful day being Sunday, at about 5.20pm, she wasn’t herself, couldn’t believe
she was actually a victim of a monstrous act she had forbade right from her
childhood. It kept ringing on her innocent mind like a mere dream as she lay
weirdly in her humble bed.
“Are you alright?” Her roommate – Kate –
inquired the moment she stepped into the room having been away since morning
after her church service.
Abigail couldn’t utter a word, really
appeared pale and depressed in the bed.
Kate, who needn’t be told that all wasn’t
well, hurriedly sat on the bed, gripped by fear “Abi baby.” she tenderly called,
looking into her eyes. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I am fine.” She managed to say.
“No, you are not,” quarreled Kate. “This
is not you.”
Abigail gushed out tears uncontrollably.
“What is wrong with you?”
“He raped me…!” she cried out.
“He wha..t?”
Abigail nodded.
“Oh my God!” Kate screamed, stood up
roughly. “You mean that bastard raped you..?” she ranted, gesticulating.
Abigail kept sobbing.
“How come?” enquired Kate. “How did it
happen?”
“He drugged me…” she cried out again.
“You see,” said Kate. “I warned you but
you wouldn’t listen.”
She had earlier discouraged Abigail from
embarking on the journey, stating it was too early and spontaneous for her to
pay him a visit. However, in order not to begin with blame, she squatted and
started wiping the tears with her bare hands. “I am so sorry, okay?”
Abigail nodded in appreciation.
“I bet you,” quoth Kate. “He must pay
for this.”
“Please, forget about him,” pleaded
Abigail. “God will judge him.”
“I am surprised at you,” quoth Kate. “I
should forget about a man who did this to you?”
Abigail nodded. “I don’t want my parents
to know about this.”
Kate was arrested by the last clause;
hence, she jettisoned her thought of revenge immediately. She sat on the bed
again and began to console her.
* * * *
* *
“Hi
dear!” Metu greeted while online, Facebook precisely.
He just initiated a chat, as usual,
with one of his newest female friends. This was happening barely forty-eight
hours after his rift with Abigail. Before this time, the said lady had
cancelled their friendship on the platform, thus they were not seeing each
other’s account any more.
“Hello.” she replied.
“You are looking very beautiful, I must
confess.” Metu flattered.
“Really?”
“Yea,” he typed. “From what I am seeing,
there is no doubt about that.”
“Okay ooh,” she wrote. “Thanks”
“You are welcome.” He said, glanced at
her profile name once again. “I am Ken. You?” he typed, ignoring her account
name which read thus ‘Madu Nkiru Jovita’.
“Nkiru.” She responded.
“Alright,” he said. “So, you’re Igbo?”
“Yep.”
“What
part?” he said. “I mean, which state? He supplemented.
“Enugu.”
She typed. “You?”
“Abia.”
quoth Metu. “Where do you stay?” He added in a jiffy.
“Calabar.”
“Waoow.”
he exclaimed. “Same here.”
“Interesting.”
enthused Nkiru.
“You
can say that again.” quoth the play boy. “So, what are you doing in Calabar?”
He typed hesitantly.
“Fashion
designing.”
“That’s
lovely.”
“Thanks.”
she appreciated. “And you?”
“I
am into contracts.”
“What
type?”
“Engineering
and environmental.”
“Ok.” She wrote.
“Please, how old are you?” Metu
inquired.
“Why ask?”
“Just wish to know; nothing more”
“Ok, I am 29.” she typed. “And you?”
“36.”
The chat took almost two hours before she
excused him, claiming she was feeling asleep. It ended at about 8pm.
The following week, Nkiru as she called
herself landed in Metu’s apartment, which was about ten kilometers (10km) away
from her residence.
When
the prospective host opened the door to usher her in, he was so overwhelmed
over what he saw. She was exemplarily beautiful and endowed – fair, plump, and
about 1.86 metres tall; among all, her boobs, hips, and bum were all abound and
well positioned. She put on a bluish mini gown, well plaited hairs, black
flat-heeled shoes, various jewelleries and designer perfume; her dress was
obviously showcasing her endowments. She looked very sophisticated. “Wow, I am
short of words.” He managed to utter, closed the door having ushered her in.
She dished out an innocent smile. “What’s
wrong?” she pretended.
“You are looking extremely marvelous.”
“Sure?”
“Of course.” He replied as they walked
towards the lounge room.
They both assumed their seats. They sat
on the same chair; a 3-in-1 cushion. “You are highly welcome, my dear.” He said
elatedly, kept his eyes fixed at her magnificent ‘onions’ which were so glaring.
“Thank
you.”
“So, what do I offer you?”
“Stout or wine.”
“Alright,” he said, stood up. “Please
give me a few seconds.”
“No problem.” She responded, smiling.
Metu walked into his cookery and returned in
one minute’s time with two canned stouts. He served her, placed the other one
on the side-stool sited where he was seated, and resumed his seat.
Few minutes on, the august visitor seemingly
felt asleep, thus she lay on the cushion placing her head on Metu. No doubt, he
had drugged her as his tradition demanded.
He couldn’t wait, hence took her to his
inner chamber, laid the body on the bed and started undressing her.
Intriguingly, in the process, the
supposedly drugged lady metamorphosed into a mighty snake. Little did he know
that the so-called Nkiru was a ghost.
Metu, who couldn’t withstand his sight,
shouted at the top of his voice and attempted to escape in his boxers. As he
was about being on his feet, the weird snake swallowed him and instantly
vanished into thin air.
That was the end of Metu Okafor – the so-called
Ken Williams – and his generation yet unborn.
Truly, one bad turn deserves another. Or,
what do you have to say? Think about it!
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