Ten Thousand Naira No Be Love / Chapter 8: Shame and Secret Recordings
Ten Thousand Naira No Be Love

Ten Thousand Naira No Be Love

Author: Heather Roth


Chapter 8: Shame and Secret Recordings

That night, Femi just rough, try everything to punish me.

Na so e dey do. If e feel pain, e go share am. No mercy. For room, e lock door, e carry tie, e dey ready for battle.

E blindfold me with navy blue tie, hot breath for my ear.

E dey tease me, dey bite my neck, voice low. That tie, e tight, smell of Femi perfume dey enter my nose.

"Guess which style Segun and Sade dey use for next room?"

Na mockery, na torture. My mind dey imagine things wey I no wan see. Femi dey enjoy the confusion.

For darkness, every touch just dey sharp. E hand dey roam my body, make me shiver.

I dey bite lip, dey hold sound. E dey use me play, dey take revenge for all him own hurt.

Shame catch me, I bite lip, no wan make sound.

If I let noise comot, na my own be that. Femi dey always use weakness against me. I gree endure.

At first, I try endure.

But body no be firewood.

The pain and pleasure dey mix, dey confuse my head. I dey vex for myself, but I no fit stop am.

As I dey weak, I hear am unlock phone, my body just cold.

That sound na warning. My body dey freeze, mind dey run. Na old fear dey return.

"You dey record again?"

My voice loud, panic dey bite my chest. I dey struggle to remove tie, but e hold me down.

I shout, panic, dey try remove tie.

I dey fight, but Femi strong. E laugh, e dey enjoy my struggle.

E pin my hand with one hand, dey laugh low. "Calm down, na only me go see am. After I watch, I go delete."

Na lie e talk. That same promise e give me before, but e never delete anything. I know say e dey enjoy holding me with shame.

Na so e talk that year.

Everything dey repeat for my mind. I remember every detail—the dust, the sweat, the dark.

For dirty store room, Femi bring him boys, hold me down, dey touch me anyhow.

That day, e no get single mercy. My cry no stop anything. Boys dey laugh, dey snap picture. Na that day my trust die.

E sit down, set camera, record all my shame.

E press record, dey order me, dey mock me. That memory na chain for my soul.

Till today, that video still dey him laptop.

Even if e travel go UK, that laptop dey follow am. I sabi the folder—e name am "Private". I no fit delete am, no matter how I try.

Na chain wey no let me free.

Sometimes, I dey dream say I burn that laptop. But every morning, e still dey there, waiting for Femi to use am against me if I ever try run.

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