Deities of Deceit

Chapter Sixty-one

This chapter is dedicated to Rena_Belinda
Congratulations on getting into nursing school after five years of trying, and thank you for reaching out to me to share it. You inspired me with your perseverance and I look forward to you graduating. Keep shinning.
♥️♥️
_
Warning: Off page sexual assault.

—
Iman Bashar | Sixty one
—
A NIGHTLY PRAYER
—

Tom Tom's world began and ended within the rough curves of the prison mine. She loved to hear the stories of the world beyond what she knew, especially those about the festivals. Laying beside me, she'd remain quiet until I paused to recollect or ponder, and then a question would come that re-sparked the fire for storytelling.

She had become half the reason for my mission, I wanted to her out there in the world, I wanted to be the one to teach her mundane things about being a woman. Tom Tom kept me sane and sharp. She kept me strong. The other half of the equation, Jamilah, avoided me like a plague, even though I dangled before her the taste of freedom.

"You will need me to get out of this hell," I had said. Jamilah did not flinch, her dagger  piercing deeper into me when she replied, "What makes you think I want to leave?"

Her cohorts, the women she'd been gaming with, rose to their feet, daggers slipping out from under their sleeves as a warning.

"Listen–"

"No, you listen, little girl," she cut in, "one step backward, and then another until you are out of here. I don't care what it is you think you can do, or not do for me. Get. Out."

My jaw twitched. I could not face all of them alone. I had thought the word: freedom, would make Jamilah welcome me with open arms, and in a month a plan would be devised for escape. A month later, my hands were still tied behind my back. A month later, I, too, started understanding Jamilah's cowardice, because I, too, was beginning to shrink and become small.

It was dinner and in our usual manner, Tom Tom was crouched on the floor, by my leg, with her pile of sand for writing, as we went through a study session.

"A for apple," Tom Tom said.

"How do you write it?" I asked.

"N with dash for middle," N with a dash in the middle, she explained, writing the alphabet on her pile of sand.

"Good, and B?"

"B for beans. To write, na with two O wey dey touch each other, the one I for back." B is for beans. It is written with two o's that touch each other with an I in the back.

"Show me," I demanded. She took out her stick and apprehensively began to draw an I, the line wiggly from the fear in her movements. "You no go get am wrong, no fear, Tom Tom." You won't get it wrong, don't be afraid, Tom Tom. I patted her hair gently, giving it a slight twirl and she exhaled the nerves.

Her big brown eyes held mine for a second before she began to move her stick in the sand. One long I and then two big O's. The closest thing to a B she had ever drawn. Then she stared at me expectedly, wanting so badly to get it right.

"It's really good, Tom," I said.

"True?" Her gaze softened.

"Mmm," I nodded, and though her pale face was dirty with coal, I knew my positive response made her flush. "Do you want to try C?"

"Na half O," It's half of O, she said, drawing it in the sand before I even asked.

"Good girl. You are learning fast."