MY Pride 4

CHAPTER FOUR 

“Mummy, I’m coming back, this man is an evil man. Yes. They’ve sent him into my life to make me childless. I am not barren” I sobbed. I wait for mom to give all her motherly advice which she knows won’t solve anything or change my mind. “He did it on purpose. He is calling me barren.” I scornfully laughed, “A man who is afraid to check his fertility?” 

Mike had refused to go again. He played nicely with me. First initiated a makeup sex, tells me he would see the doctor then turns his back on his word. Using his office work as a façade. I’ve had enough of his tricks, I had my mind set off for tomorrow. Taking the first available flight to Enugu.

“Where is he?” Mom asked over the other end of the phone. 

“hapu ya let him be” I distastefully dismissed Mom.  I knew she wanted to speak with him. There was no mediation happening, all I want to do is return to the confines of my father’s house. I can no longer carry on in this marriage.

“Couples do fight all the time; you don’t expect to run off at every little disagreement.”

“So he is allowed to leave the house, go to the bar, get drunk and have me clean him up at every little disagreement?” I shouted at the top of my voice. A tear escaped my eye and rolled down my cheek and I wiped it off immediately with the back of my palm. “I need a break from him, from everything.”

“Calm down, you know you’re always welcomed home but what will people say? You’ve not spent two years in your husband’s place.”

“It has been almost 2 years. 2 years of childlessness. I’m coming home and that is final” I ended the call and placed my phone on airplane mode. I knew she would try calling back, an attempt to get me to change my mind. I’m so tired of Mike’s indecisiveness and insecurities. So it was okay for me to undergo those checkups and for him to be supportive in the background but never okay for him? Whoever said this is a man’s world must be kidding me. I didn’t tell mom of his attempt to slap me, when I told him my fears that he must have done something in exchange for his wealth. He dares raise his hand to try to hit me. That man must be joking with me. He stomped out of the house, which was what he knew how to do best. 

I walked into the kitchen, the neatly arranged utensils that was gifted to us on our wedding. The fine china wears that would have been greasy and dirty from every meal had, but won’t be. He always has his stomach filled before he gets home from work. The only time we could enjoy a meal together was during weekends, mostly Sunday afternoons after service, because he didn’t have anywhere to go till evening. I threw my hands across the shelf that held them in place; shaking it and having some of it fall to the hard marble floor. Who the hell does he eat with? Where does he have his meals at? I picked the remaining ones left on the shelf one at a time, letting them fall near at my feet, shattering into little pieces. I looked at the beautiful mess I made and felt like I needed more. I grabbed the kitchen wares hung above the little cutting area of the kitchen right above the counter, I fling one at the wall, it gave a dull resounding noise, I laughed as I threw more on the wall.

I headed to the bedroom we shared, knowing fully well he would come back drunk as always and I would be long gone before he knew what was happening. I looked at the king sized bed we shared for the past year and months. What was wrong with this bed? Why couldn’t it produce babies? I gripped the sheet at his own end of the bed, sniffing it. His scent was all over that area, like he was there watching and saying nothing. 

“I want babies Mike. I want what most women have. Michael, is that too hard for you to understand?” my grip on the sheet became tight. I laughed hysterically at it and wondered why we slept on a white sheet with a maroon duvet drawn over it. I dragged it all out, took an end of the sheet and tried to tear it with my bare hands. My sore fingertips told me of my sorry attempt. I want to be free of the madness and the voices I hear screaming in my head. The dagger I feel jabbing at my chest. The lump that won’t go away in my throat. The life I’m living that refused to be one of my nightmares. I stood up abruptly, pulled out my box above the wardrobe we shared. Opening the wardrobe, I hurriedly threw any of my belongings I feel would be of importance to me into the empty box. Exhausted from all my handiwork, I slipped to the floor. Looking around to absorb my final glimpse at the room where we had consummated our marriage and made love countless times, on the bathtub, on the wall behind the door, on the bed, on the corner that housed my makeup box and window. I laugh hysterically at the thought that all those times couldn’t plant his seed in me, permanently. I eyed the wardrobe and the collection of designer wears he had. He had a good eye for fashion and he spent them nicely on clothes and shoes. I grinned widely as an evil thought crossed my mind. I ran into the bathroom, turning the tap on, I let the tub fill to my satisfaction before I turned it off. Returning back to the room, I picked up his clothes nicely hung in the wardrobe, heading back to the bathroom, I threw them all in the bathtub. I pressed them so that they all got soaked completely. I picked his shoes, and did the same. Tears hung at the corners of my eyes, and I wiped them off urging myself not to cry, tomorrow will be better. I will be back to Enugu, to mom’s arms and hang in there. I could even cry out my heart there but for now I need to hang in a little more.