For better and worst

For better and worst

The say, the devil you know is better than the angel you don’t know, always imprints on my mind that talk is cheap. Nothing is black or white except both colours. Biblically, the devil was once an angel, hence, everyone who manifests evil intentionally also displays kindness spontaneously. This is because good is innate in every being. The transformation to evil is as a result of experiences gathered on the path we travel. Nonetheless, there can be no justification whatsoever for choosing chaos over serenity.

In my case, I lived with the angel I adored and the devil he awakens at will. I always knew the former, the latter I encountered months after my marriage to him. He had his imperfections but they were never close to him beating me till my skin complexion darkens to a maroon state. My husband knew how to love, everyone who knew us wanted what we shared but no one knew what he was in secret. I don’t know what changed. I think he just got tired of my presence, he had exhausted his love for me. My mother did warn me,

“Kike, please be sure he loves you as much as you love him. Once you take those vows, there is no turning back.”

These days I tell that to every young girl trying to choose a good man. They need to be sure that a man’s sweetness is not a facade of deceit. Tunde and I only dated for 6 months, and in that period he never drifted into a beastly state. He was romantic and supportive, then he became horrific and undesirous. It all began with him snapping and shouting at me, until one afternoon. We were arguing about football and he slapped me. He apologised, promised to never do it again but he did it again and again.

One day he beat me so badly and locked me inside for 3 days. He didn’t come home too. I couldn’t go anywhere, not even the hospital. I had to make do with the first aid box and my medical experience as a pharmacist. That weekend he came home full of remorse, explaining that the reason for his action was because he could not bear the guilt of letting anyone see the ugliness he made of me.

I invited his friends over one weekend. He was always going out to them and rarely stayed home with me. So I bought drinks, cooked and even made finger foods. They came over and we were all having a good time; discussing politics, football and childhood experiences. I was in the kitchen getting more chops when Tunde came unto me. He wanted a quickie. It was our house and we made love wherever we wanted but we never did it with people around and I didn’t think it was appropriate to engage in the act with his friends around.

“You are my wife and you will do whatever I say.”

I thought he was joking until he bent me over with his masculinity, forced down my bum shot and thrust me in that frigid state. When he realised that there was no friction he grabbed the oil jar and drenched my vagina with it. Every jab into me felt like my soul was being ripped apart. Why will my husband do this to me? I mourned in thoughts.

When he was done I escaped into the room until his friends left. I felt ashamed though they didn’t realise what happened. I overheard him telling them I had a fever. I couldn’t even find the strength to tell them goodbye. I had a lot running through my mind. We were not even in our first year of marriage yet and that had happened. I imagined the worst. I wanted to pack up and leave but I considered what vain tongues would say about me. I locked myself in the bathroom and called my friend. I explained to her and she said to me,

“I think it’s better to move on now that you are still young and haven’t conceived. But that’s your choice to make, just be sure I have your back. Abeg, no go die for man house o.”

It was already late so I didn’t call his parents or mine. When I eventually stepped out of the bathroom, he was on his knees crying and begging for forgiveness, like he always did. The worst was to come. I warmed up to him, cleaned myself up then proceeded to clean the kitchen. He was still in the living room when I went to bed. At midnight I felt him groping my breast and trying to part my thighs with his hand. The experience from his earlier display of terror was still with me and I wouldn’t allow him inside me. I was mentally and physically bruised. That night he raped me and dislocated my shoulder in the process. I cried all night while he snored.

When he woke up the following morning, I asked him why he hurt me that much. I was eager to know what I did wrong. My husband looked at me in such a disdainful manner and replied,

“Because marriage is for better for worse. You either take it or leave it.”

I left him and made sure the divorce tore him apart financially. I married him for better and left him for the worst!

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