If Only She Knew
By: A Girl
Tags: Domestic Violence, Suspense

If Only She Knew

She had been walking for hours. Her feet were starting to bleed. But she couldn’t stop moving; she couldn’t let him find her again. If only she knew how her day would pan out, she would have stayed in bed.



*****



Mofe’s day begins like any other day. She wakes up at 6 am and hurries to catch the bus to work. She gets to her workplace at Lagos Island at 8 am, her nose itchy from all the dirt and smoke she has inhaled on the road, her armpits drenched in sweat. She makes a mental note to change her antiperspirant and stock up on more perfume. Mofe bumps into her boss in the elevator and bows her head. The older woman shakes her head and clicks her tongue.



"Mofe, you’re late. You missed the briefing. For the fourth time this week. You know what this means right? A deduction from your salary," she claps, and her face lights up in a malicious grin.



"I’m sorry ma. It’s traffic. I’ll come earlier tomorrow, I swear."



"It’s always something for you, Mofe. I’m sick of listening to your excuses. By the way, fix your hair and makeup I beg of you. You look like the angel of death visited you."



Thankfully, the elevator dings. Mofe sighs in gratitude and sprints in the direction of a restroom. Standing in front of a mirror, Mofe assesses her appearance: her weave is in disarray, her skin is oily like the puff puff she buys at Obalende, and her mascara is runny. She wets her hands, pats her hair down and cleans her face with wipes. She hurries out of the restroom to start her day as a customer care service operator.



Her day is as busy as the streets of Eko. Mofe whiles away office hours answering phone calls and filling out paperwork. She is so engrossed in her work that she looks up to find that she’s the only one around. She clears up her table and breaks into a run, heading as fast as she can to the elevator. She jumps out of her skin as her boss enters the elevator.



"Why so uneasy Mofe? Were you expecting someone else?" her boss spreads her lips, revealing a set of gigantic teeth like cubes of sugar.



"No ma, I’m not expecting anyone."



"Well, I hope you know that late hours at the office will not stop me from deducting your salary at month’s end," she cackles as she leaves the elevator.



Mofe’s journey home is long; the traffic situation is one of the disadvantages of living in Lagos. She peers through the dirty window of the bus as she gazes at the city lights and nudges a sleeping stranger who is nodding off on her shoulder. Her eyes notice a patch of spittle that the stranger left on her blouse, and she hisses. "Thirty minutes more and you’ll be home," Mofe comforts herself.



Mofe’s feet drag along on the dusty street as she trudges home after a long day. Loud music blasts from the speakers of a bar and a generator roars to life from the entrance of a barbershop. A woman comes out of a kiosk with a big basin of dirty water and tosses it onto the street, nearly missing Mofe. The woman mouths an apology and retreats into her shop. Mofe’s steps hasten as the sounds of motorcycle and car honks increase behind her. She tramples on a soiled diaper and covers her mouth to prevent a scream.



"What kind of day is this? Why me, oh Lord?" Mofe murmurs as she cleans her shoes at a tap. She stops dead in her tracks when she hears a voice.



"Who will pay for the water you’re wasting? Does that look like your father’s tap?"



She looks up to see a man in a dirty singlet and a worn-out wrapper hobbling out of the compound. Mofe wears her shoes quickly and flees; she doesn’t want any more trouble.



Finally, she reaches her house, a dilapidated building with a little gate at the front. She finds her way to her apartment, her ankles are sore, and her knees are weary from exhaustion. She flicks on the light to see her ex-boyfriend Fola sitting on her couch.



"Bloody hell! How did you get here?" Mofe gasps.



"Hello to you too, Mofe. I let myself in. Remember these?" he says, and dangles a set of keys in her face.



"I, I don’t remember giving you these."



"Of course, you don’t. I stole your keys while we were dating and made a replica. Who knew they’d be so useful now."



"You’re sick! Get out of my house this minute," she walks to the door and leaves it ajar.



"You’re the crazy one, Mofe. You’re heartless. You left me for that toad you call a fiance. I hate you Mofe, but I can’t get you off my mind."



"We’re over, Fola. Why can’t you get this into your head?"



"We’re not over. I came here to prove it to you. No one leaves me, Mofe. No one."



He strides towards her like a soldier marching off to war. Mofe’s hands clumsily cling to the door handle; she’s unsure of what he’s about to do. Her eyes close as she feels him breathing down her neck; he smells of dry gin and cigarettes. His eyes are glowing with rage as he takes off her wig.



"You’re still wearing the hair I bought you for Christmas. But you don’t love me. You’re a fool, Mofe," Fola whispers as he fingers her silver earring and pulls it out of her earlobe, blood trickles down like a leaky faucet.



"Ouch! Why did you do that, Fola? This is uncalled for. You need to move on for heaven’s sake," she screams.



"You bitch! You wear the earrings and hair I gifted you. You’re getting married to a man you met nine months after you dumped me. I hate you!"



"You cheated on me, Fola. With my sister! How do you think I feel, knowing that my nephew is my ex-boyfriend’s son?"



"I said I was sorry. Mofe! I bought you expensive things, flew you to Dubai for your 30th birthday. I bought you a house in Ikoyi. But you left me and moved to this dump on the mainland," he holds his nose like he is in a horse stable.



"Well, I couldn’t deal. It’s over, and you need to leave. I’ve had a long day. I’m tired, hungry, and now I’m bleeding. Please leave my mainland dump. I don’t need you, man."



Mofe folds her arms and looks away from him. He inches closer, so close that she can feel his growing erection. She pushes him back, but he doesn’t budge.



"Fola, what are you doing? I don’t like this o. Leave me, I beg you in the name of God."



"You want me. I know you do. Why are you in a hurry to marry?"



With one hand gripping her waist, his free hands roam to her back and unclasp her bra. The bra drops into his hand, and he brings it to his nose.



"Mmmh, you’re still wearing my favourite bra. Oh God, I love you, Mofe. Please don’t marry him," he collapses on her chest and starts to sob.



"Enough of this now. I don’t want you, not anymore. I love Jamal, and I’m marrying him soon," she takes a step back.



Fola’s fingernails dig into her waist, and his lips crush hers in a searing kiss. She struggles to break free, biting his lip in the process. His fist meets her cheekbone with a violent punch. She staggers like a drunk man and holds her couch for support. He kicks her like she’s a soccer ball and he is a footballer trying to win the World Cup. She falls on the couch, writhing in pain, he sniggers. He straddles her, and his hands grab her neck, her arms flail desperately.



"You’ll be sorry you left. I’ll show you all that you’ve been missing. I’ll make you remember what it means to be mine. I don’t want to hurt you Mofe. I promise," he states as he fumbles with his pants.



"We don’t have to do this. I’m sorry, already. Please don’t do this," she pleads.



"Remember when you used to suck this. Damn, you had skills," he holds his phallus and strokes it gently.



"I’m so sorry, Jamal. I tried to prevent this," she says as her eyes close in total surrender.



Suddenly, Fola’s phone rings, distracting him; Mofe raises her knee, hitting him in the scrotum, he falls off the couch, screaming. She makes a run for the door, not looking back. The stairway is dark, and she misses her step. Her body hits the concrete with a thud, and she grunts. Mofe hears her door slam, and she gets up quickly.



"You can’t get away from me, Mofe. I own you," his voice echoes.



By the time Mofe reaches the street, she has a deep gash on her forehead, her ear is still bleeding, and her lips are swelling. The road is deserted, save for a few tricycles, and lights have gone out in nearby shops. Tears pour from her eyes and cloud her vision; she racks her brain for the next thing to do and considers the police station by the bus stop. Fola cannot harm her in the presence of a policeman, can he?



Mofe’s body is starting to burn up, but she presses on. She’s barefooted, her clothes torn, and she left her phone in the apartment.



The road to the police station seemed longer than usual. Cuts and scrapes cover her legs as she wades through the littered street.



After what seems like a million years, Mofe reaches the station. She meets two police officers at the front desk, one is fast asleep, and the other holds a radio to his ear. She glances at the clock above their heads; the time is 11 pm. Mofe clears her throat, and the policeman drops his radio.



"Madam, as you can see, we have closed," he gestures to the clock.



"Can’t you see that I’m injured? What kind of an insensitive person are you?" she queries.



"Drop that your grammar, madam. No need to raise your voice here, my colleague is sleeping. The police force needs to rest o."



"Oga, that’s not my problem. Someone is trying to kill me. I need you to help me."



"Madam, calm down. From what I can see, this looks like a family issue. The police do not deal with such. See the skirt you’re wearing sef, and you people will be complaining when they assault you," he hisses, while his eyes survey her body.



"I’m not leaving here till someone attends to me."



"Okay now, make I bring chair for you sef," he enters a doorway and brings out a plastic chair.



Mofe’s hands ball in rage, but she’s grateful to rest her aching body. An old fan whirls noisily above her, and she nods off to sleep. An hour later, a tap on her shoulder jolts her back to reality. She opens her eyes to see the policeman peering into her face.



"Madam, e be like say your husband don come."



"Oga police, abeg. I no get husband."



Mofe rubs her groggy eyes and turns her head in the direction of the door. Her jaw drops as she sights Fola, he’s holding her phone and her ID card. He waves at her and shakes hands with the policeman.



"Surprise, surprise," he says to her.