Jessica Orji 2 years ago

My Parents Killed Me

This is a fictional story about a girl who was unfortunate with parental love and upbringing.

“I need to cleanse your private parts and breasts with a wet white handkerchief so that your family will be liberated.” This was what the fraudulent preacher said to me. Let’s call him Mike. I remember nights when my dad would wake up just to beat up my mom. It was of a truth that they married at a very young age. They were clueless about what marriage and love were. I guess it was the rush that pushed them into the marriage. They being stubborn, neglected the warnings of their parents and went ahead to marry, even though it was against the wishes of their family and few friends.

My dad is a manipulative freak, and my mom is an emotional person. My dad manipulated my mom into marrying him simply because her family was wealthy. He manipulated her into marrying him; he also scammed her of her money. I know you must be wondering how it all happened. Okay, stay with me. My mom is what society calls a “fool for love.” She loved my dad so much that she did everything he demanded without hesitation or question. Even when she tries to resist or question his silly excuses, all she receives is a dirty slap on her cheeks or a blow in the stomach. She has lost babies countless times because of the constant battering, yet she endured all. I still don’t know why.

My dad is a lazy man who is always ready to bring up excuses just to swindle my mom’s hard-earned money. My mom, for reasons yet unknown, never learns. Every time, she blindly believes and trusts every word that comes out of his mouth. Maybe she hoped that time would change him. Well, unfortunately, that change never came. This continued in my house for years. One could imagine the trauma I faced throughout all these years. I never experienced fatherly love. My dad was uninterested in me; he never gave me attention or even cared for me. In fact, I have never received any gift from my dad; I also do not know how it feels to be hugged by my own father. I always wondered and prayed that someday I would get to experience all that and more.

On the other hand, my mom tried her best to shower me with love, care, and attention. She tried to be both my Dad and Mom. I could see her efforts. But behind those efforts, fake smiles, hopes, and assurances, I could feel the bitterness in her heart. The frustration and sadness were quite obvious. As much as she tried to hide it, it just popped out. After all, what do you expect from an emotional person?

Day by day, my dad got worse; my mom, on the other hand, was slowly losing her cool and patience. This was evident in how late she came back home and how early she left home just to breathe in the fresh air and be as far away as possible from my dad. Sometimes, she doesn’t come home for days, leaving my dad and me alone. My dad resulted in heavy alcoholic drinking. I guess he, too, was tired of his mischief and actions. I, on my own part, was left all alone. I was ignored.

Amidst all these, I noticed a particular man who usually hung around the streets but was very close to the gate. It’s a large compound, and the gate was usually left wide open during the day. He became my newest observation, and I could bet that he already knew the happenings in my family. Each time he came around, something always happened at home.

I did not pay much attention to him; I was just worried about my parents. I got angry at them both, especially my mom. How could she leave me all alone in the house? I understand that she’s trying to save her sanity, but what about me? I didn’t ask to be brought to this world; the least she could do was carry me along.

As usual, my mom left very early, and my dad made the nearest bar his home. I was left alone again, and that became the end of me. The man who usually hung around my street finally took the bold step to approach me. He came as a preacher. He said I would be the change my family needed. He said I was the messiah of my parents and that I’d change my family’s situation. He listed a few things that happened in my house, and my naïve self concurred. Don’t blame me; I was young and tender. He came to me as a preacher, and I immediately believed him. “God finally heard my prayers,” I muttered to myself.

He introduced himself to me as Prophet Mike. He prayed with me and then asked if I had a white handkerchief. I nodded in affirmation. He then said I should go get it, but I should also make it wet. I did not hesitate; I dashed into the house and did what he asked. I was both happy and scared, but I shoved the negative feeling aside-“God is about to do a new thing in my life” was my conviction.

After I returned with his instructions, he said the white handkerchief was a sign of purity, and the water would be to cleanse me from every evil. He said he’d need to cleanse my private parts and breasts for the prayers to be effective and miracle visible. I refused at first but succumbed later after another false conviction by him. He started cleansing my breasts with the wet handkerchief, and then he went further to my private parts. He went in a clockwise and anti-clockwise direction. 

I was uncomfortable, but he overpowered me and made me stay still. After that, he then told me to turn and back him. I refused, but again he overpowered me, and I had no other choice than to obey him. I immediately turned, and he raised my skirts, pulled down my panties, and cleansed in circles, slow but steady. While at it, I began to feel dizzy, and that was all I could remember.

I am narrating my story because my body is lying lifeless beside me, and the only thing I can remember is feeling dizzy.

My name is Stella, and this is my story.

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