It’s been over a month since you started dating Nonso.
The first time you saw him was at the restaurant where you work as a waitress, after serving him the meal he ordered, you observed from the counter where you were standing that his attention was divided between his food and your slender figure.
His face was the color of Guiness Stout, which made the white of his eyes very obvious like a lit torch shining in a dark room. When your eyes met with his, he smiled flirtatiously. Embarrassed, you quickly looked away and continued dishing the meals for the other customers whose orders you had already taken.
When he was done eating, he beckoned on you. He paid a little extra and told you to keep the change. You told him no, thanks. He smiled bemusedly before asking what your name was.
Omalichanwa, you said.
You’re indeed a beautiful damsel. His compliments made you smile.
Before leaving, he told you his name even though you didn’t ask him to.
Afam bu Nonso, he said in Igbo.
The next day, he came around. He complimented your hair. You smiled and told him, thank you.
The day after, you saw him again and every other day subsequently.
A week later, during one of his regular visits to the canteen where you work, after paying his bills, he didn’t leave immediately. He waited for the other customers to leave. When the eating room was empty he called your name. At his behest, you sat next to him for the few minutes you had to spare before your madam returned. You listened when he spoke tales of how he went through school, graduated as a Chemical Engineer and was now serving in the Oil City of Warri in the national youth corp. You were fascinated because you also dreamed of furthering your education, someday. When you graduated, you’d become a “corper” just like him. He reminded you of what you wanted to become.
He asked for your mobile number. You obliged him. He would call you in the morning just to say good morning. In the afternoon, he’d call to check on you and in the night to wish you a good night rest and sweet dreams. You became fond of him and his regular calls. When he later opened up that he had feelings for you, you didn’t rebuff him like the others who had came your way. You told him to give you time to think about it even though deep down you knew you liked him too. A month later when he called you at night, before he hung up, he told you he loved you. You were silent for a while, then whispered softly, I love you too.
Nonso became your better half. You thought about him all day and dreamed of him all night. You anticipated his frequent calls, his regular visits to the restaurant, stolen kisses at the backyard when your madam wasn’t around, the scent of his Bellagio deodorant that filled your senses with an endearing fragrance when he strapped his arms around you, his deep calm voice calling your name so sweetly that it sounded almost musical, his clear brown eyes peering into yours with deep affection beyond words could articulate… oh, he’s your igneous—he rocks your world.
One Sunday, he invites you over to his apartment. You have never been there but you tell him you can locate the place from the description he gives to you. It is a bedsitter apartment, neat and looking very boyish; a poster of Manchester United FC is visible on the wall just above his big sized Mouka mattress. There is a Samsung LED Plasma television pinned to the wall directly opposite the mattress. An LG Home Theatre DVD Player is playing a rap track by Phyno. The soft tuft of his blue rug massages your feet. It feels warm. You are impressed.
Oma m, you’re welcome to my abode.
He hugs you dearly. He is wearing a pair of grey briefs and a white BYC singlet, looking very athletic. He politely offers you a seat on the only mattress in the room. Please make yourself comfortable, he says. He goes out and returns in a jiffy with a cold bottle of Maltina, your favorite malt drink. You tell him thank you and then suck slowly with the straw. His eyes are all over you, those clear brown eyes. But it isn’t deep affections you see. He’s leering.
You are taken aback as Nonso starts smooching your boobs. On impulse you hold his hand and tell him to stop, that you aren’t comfortable with what he’s doing. He leans away. Without saying a word he walks to the door and turns the locks to it. He increases the volume of the DVD player to the maximum. What the hell are you doing? You yell at him. He smiles, that same lewd smile you had seen on his face on the first day you saw him. He’s staring at you; he licks his under lip sensually. I want you baby. I want you now. He approaches you with renewed vigor.
You stand up.
Open the door right now. I’m leaving!
He ignores what you say, leans over to kiss you. You push him away, fiercely.
Nonso, I say open the door right now, or I’ll scream for neighbors to come.
Scream as much as you can. No one is going to hear you. The evil grin on his face makes you shiver.
He grabs you again, this time he is more aggressive.
Let me go, you plead tearfully.
He pushes you into the bed, climbs on top of you. You keep punching and kicking and yelling. Giving him all the fight you have in you. Still he won’t stop. The next thing you see, he withdraws a knife hidden underneath his pillow. Flashes it before your bewildered eyes.
If you don’t cooperate, I’m going to use this knife on you, he threatens.
At the sight of the knife, you quiver. It is obvious from the sound of his voice and countenance that he means it. He’ll hurt you, might even kill you, if you don’t acquiesce to his savage bidding.
Please don’t do this, you say in between sobs.
He smirks, obviously turned on by your vulnerability.
Are you ready to cooperate now? You can feel the coldness of the stainless knife on your neck.
You nod in resignation, but please put the knife away.
Good girl, now that’s my Oma.
He lets go of the knife, tosses it aside on the bed a few inches away. While he was titillating your nipples with his tongue, you feign a pretentious moan. Oblivious, he doesn’t see your hand reaching for the knife. You grab the knife on the hilt, and push him away at the nick of time when he was about inserting his phallus into you. Just when he was about to react, you took a swift swipe at his erected manhood. You hear him cry in pain, in the pool of his own blood, his manhood decapitated. You quickly pick up your clothes, scurry to the door, and unlock it to let yourself out.
Post image by Randy Salgado via Flickr
About the Author:
Nduka Ekeh is a Nigerian poet and writer, a graduate of Computer Science from the University of Benin and an aspiring photographer. He’s presently working on his first collection of flash fiction and poetry. He blogs at ndukaekeh.wordpress.com.