Bondage: Start Again

Blurb

Mad lust and good looks bound her by her hands and feet, and whisked her over its shoulders. Wistfully, she smiled as she was carried away, unaware that she had just begun a journey that would leave her powerless. Follow Laura’s tragic journey back to light.

Story

“Next time, put on more makeup. The bruises are showing!” Tunde hissed at me and his grip tightened around my wrist, his coarse palm hurting my skin.

I nodded, avoiding his eyes, and followed him into the restaurant. His friend had invited us to a party, and to keep appearances I had to make myself pretty for Tunde. He was already angry at my makeup, I didn’t want to risk annoying him a third time.

Earlier that day, I had also annoyed him earlier by serving him rice without meat. I had used my money to prepare the meal, but Tunde had lost all his savings gambling.

“Are you stupid? Do I look like a child to you?” He had barked before his hand blinded me. The force had thrown me against the wall. My left cheek was swollen from the abuse, stinging even as I dusted brown powder over it, making sure no one would ever know.

“Laura, what happened now? Why is your face like this?”

My friends had asked me later but I faked a smile like I always did, and waved it off with a lie. I always praised Tunde in their midst; I tell them how lucky I am and how happy I and Tunde are; I shut out the ebbing pain in my heart; I forget the belt whips and rampant slapping. I forget the constant raping and the incessant name-calling.

No, Tunde would change. He is my heart. Deep down inside he is a good man. He will change!

“You cannot change the stripes of a cheetah, no matter how hard you try,” my mother had said. She was the first one to see through Tunde.

But I ignored her advice. Even Peter had sensed something off about Tunde the first time I introduced them. Peter was a good friend and a colleague I had known for years. He had asked me to date him in my fourth year but I rejected him.

That was because I had wanted Tunde. Tunde had all the traits I admired: he was tall, broad-shouldered, well-built, and articulated. He had beautiful pink lips, complemented by a charming beard. His eyes were dark and captivating, and his nose was pointed. Peter was everything Tunde wasn’t.

Peter was of average height, pale, thin-lipped, wiry in build and he couldn’t speak fluent English.

“Laura, you are slimming down. Are you not feeding well?” A year later, Peter asked me this question, visibly disturbed.

I was not feeding well. Tunde drained me and stifled me. He did not let me continue with school when his GPA dropped below 1.0.

“You will not use this certificate for anything! A woman’s place is at home, fending for the children and houseware. If you love me you will follow me to Lagos. I am going to join the music industry. Baby, I can make it. A music producer wants to sign me! Very soon, I will be swimming in money!”

I was gullible at that time and I would have done anything to be with my Tunde. Tunde had a hold on me that I could not explain. Whenever I was not with him, I felt empty and rejected. I felt he was my better half, and that he completed me.

But I saw Peter again that night. Many more years later, after the waves in my life had bashed and tossed me about like a buoy at sea. I was drowning but managing to break the surface now and then for a gasp…

Seeing Peter again that night was like seeing a forlorn ship that was too far to reach. A ship that had sailed.

Peter gazed down at me softly, and I wished I could go back in time and choose him. He had become a successful pillar of a global community and owned his own company, while Tunde was a driver who used all his salary in Ponzi schemes and gambling.

I had thrown away the man that had loved me genuinely. Instead I chased outward appearance and popularity for a life that was now ruined; my life source was slowly draining away at the hands of a beast.

“You can call me if you need anything, Laura. Just for old time’s sake,” Peter had said warmly.

For a brief moment, I felt safe. I felt I could tell him everything and pour out my soul to him, but then the next thing he said made me numb with regret.

“This is my wife, Bisi,” he smiled, introducing a younger version of myself.

She was everything I was when I was much younger, back when he had asked me out. She was energetic, kind, and eager to change the world with him.

“You know, it’s never too late to start again. I and Bisi have had rough years. Our company went bankrupt four times but we still picked up the pieces and started again,” Peter had said kindly during our friendly dialogue. His words stuck with me…

That night, I sat in my bed and cried all night while Tunde was somewhere in another woman’s bed. I didn’t care about his incessant infidelities anymore. We were not married and my forefinger still bore his three-year-old engagement ring. Honestly, I had become accustomed to it.

That night, I got on my knees to pray. This was three years away from attending church but I made the decision to ask God for help.

I was going to pick up the pieces and start again. I was going to return home to my parents in Akwa Ibom and beg their forgiveness. I was going to make something out of what was left of myself.

I left the next morning for home. I left feeling like a different woman. I left Tunde a note.

“You ruined me but I have decided to pick up the pieces and move on,” I said in my note.

***

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Author’s note on ‘Bondage: Start Again’

Some women choose to remain in abusive relationships because they are scared to start again; scared that what is left of them is not enough to start again on their own.

Here is my charge to you:

• Never be scared to leave abusive relationships. 
• It’s not too late to start again. 
• The beginning of your new life starts with one decision.

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My name is Racheal Asikpo. I can take the creative weight of completing your stories. I can also give you 70% distance from the writing and research. I offer ghostwriting, developmental editing and copyediting services. How about you allow a fresh pair of eyes give you a fresh breath of air?

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