Her Mistake

∆ FORTY SIX ∆

TOBI'S POV

"Stupid child!" Dad muttered as his belt made contact with my drenched back. I cried out in pain pleading with him to stop but my pleas went on deaf ears. "Omo komo!"

"Daddy please." Remi begged with tears in her eyes. She was tugging on daddy's black trouser but he kicked her off.

Mummy had her arms crossed, standing and watching as her husband hit and flogged me. She had a look of indifference, no emotion at all. Surprisingly, dad was five hundred times more furious than she was. She was too calm for someone whose teenage daughter was confirmed pregnant.

I cried out as the metal buckle of the belt hit my neck. "Daddy! I'm sorry!" Tears were rolling uncontrollably down my cheeks, I was still  in the sick bay's gown which was now drenched with sweat. My hands were tied up  to the celling fan and my whole body dangled, my hands holding me up.

"You couldn't find a reasonable family to get pregnant for. It had to be a family of vegetables. Vegetables! Is it shoko or Ugwu or whatever their stupid name is?" 

The belt hit me again and I cried out in anguish. "Daddy I'm sorry!"

"Daddy, you've flogged her enough. You know Tobi is in a delicate condition. We can-"

Daddy threw the belt to the floor and turned to sister Deola. "Thunder fire you and that delicate condition you say she's in, Deola!" 

"Your stupid sister got pregnant. She thought that of all things I deserve for all I have been doing for this family, it's pregnancy she should repay me with. This stupid girl got pregnant under my nose." He picked the belt, rolled it  in his hand and and began hitting me again with much fervour this time.

I screamed at every lash that made contact with my body. My sisters incessant pleas for our dad to stop went on deaf ears. Mum just stood staring as dad hit me. I tried to move but I couldn't, the guys my dad paid to tie my hands to the fan were experts. A bunch of low lives!

Dad didn't stop hitting as I cried in pure agony and begged with tears trickling down my cheeks. Mucus came down my nostrils while sweat droplets flew around like it was drizzling, each whip burnt and pierced my skin.

He was furious, upset and disappointed. He was beating me for all these reasons and more. His eyes were red and swollen. The ride home was one of a kind. Dad would stop the car at intervals, sigh, turn to give me a long hard stare at the backseat then start the car again. We did that three times. The fourth time, he stopped at a petrol station went to use the toilet. By the time he was back, his eyes had reddened and were swollen then he started the car. All I did was cry.

"What is going on here? I have been hearing your voices from three streets away. What is going on?"

Dad ignored grandma's aged voice and continued whipping me. My sisters ran over to our grandmother at the entrance of the house pleading with her to get daddy to stop whipping me.

Grandma dropped her bags on the floor then ordered, "Tunji, stop hitting your daughter!"

He turned a deaf ear and responded turning to look at her face momentarily, "my daughter not your daughter."

"Stop hitting her!"

He continued to hit me earning shouts from me. I had thought grandma's presence was going to liberate me but I was wrong. I wriggled and struggled to try to get away from him.