Munachi

|Chapter 15|

Past.

Ever since the issue of the pregnancy, Nate and I drift apart. I always feel uneasy in his presence. I become more reticent than ever. For weeks he sleeps on the settee in the living room perhaps because he dreads sharing a bed with me.
Day by day, he becomes violent and aggressive. Making things get a lot more worse. He's problem with me now, is the fact that I'm pregnant for another man he thinks I slept with. Whenever we argue or quarrel, he doesn't fail to bring it up.

“I want you get rid of that thing you're carrying,” he says to me one night.

“What? That's never going to happen.”

“I cannot have you raise a bastard in my house.”

My jaw drops, staring in astonishment.

“It's either you get rid of that child, or you leave this house,” he threatens.

“Nate, since when do you start threatening me?”

“Since when you opened your legs for another man!” he yells.

I scoff. “Nate I was raped for crying out loud! Do you know how hard it is for me to even say that out loud?”

“I'll say this again. Get rid of that child, or leave my house.”

“Well I'm going nowhere! This is my house as well, Nate, and I'm NOT gonna get rid of our child. Our child you hear me?”

“You dare to raise your voice at me!” He steps closer and as I'm about to bolt out of the room, he pounces on me, punching the hell out of me.

“Stop! Nate stop!” I scream, but he's way too far from stopping.

He punch me at every angle, caving me to the wall. When I feel a punch onto my stomach, I fall to the ground. He doesn't stop there. He launches his foot twice into my stomach. I gasp in pain, holding my stomach with my hands and curl up into a ball. Nate takes a step back, heaving and staring down at me.

At that moment, I feel something crawling its way between my thighs. I slowly reach my hand to the hem of my dress and slightly pull it up. I use my fingers to scoop whatever it is that feels so wet. What I see got me screaming and weeping. Blood.

♣♣♣

Uterine rupture. I thought it's all a lie. I didn't want to believe. I didn't want to believe the fact that I can no longer conceive.

“I'm dreadfully sorry, Mrs. Adichie,” says Dr. Samson.

Nate feels not a single remorse or guilt. He continues to pounce on me whenever chances he gets. It is like the loving man I married is gone, creating a monster he is now. To Nate, I become what is called 'a punching bag'. He punches and strangles me at any place, at anytime, and at anywhere.

In the kitchen against the sink:

“Let go of me, Nate!”

In the bedroom against the nightstand:

“Stop it, Nate! I said stop!”

In the bathroom by the corner:

“Let go! You're choking me.”

The more beatings I receive everyday, the more my heart hardens, even though I keep having aches and bruises all over. I didn't breathe a word of Nate's assaults to anyone. Not even to Caroline. The last time I ever spoke to her, was the night of her illness. The night when . . . you know . . . yeah. I've tried on several occasions to try and reach out to her, but I just didn't know what to say to her.

Is it:

“I was raped but then I was pregnant.”

Or is it:

“My husband beats me up every time thinking I violated our wedding vows.”

I just couldn't find the right words. Where do I even begin? Everything that has happened for the past few months, has left me with so much depression, so much hatred, and so much anger.

I just lose interest in everything. In friendship, in relationship, and in communication. I stop taking interest in anything around the house even. I just want to remain in my new world of loneliness.

“This is not like your cooking, Munachi,” Nate says to me after having a taste of his supper.

I'd earlier, tasted the food Doris prepared and to my dismay, I found it too salty. Well I'd shrugged my shoulders and informed Doris to serve him the food.

“I didn't cook it. Doris did,” I say.

“Why?” he asks.

“Because I've made up my mind to stop cooking the meals,” I respond.

I take another beating to that response. A severe one to be precise. He warns me never to allow Doris cook his meals since she clearly wants to poison him. His actual words. But yet, I refuse to cook his meals. Ever since he damaged my womb, I totally have no respect whatsoever for him again. He's damaged the little respect I once had for him.

Now, my depressed self is sitting alone in the living room as usual when Doris appears through the kitchen door, standing a little apart.

“Anything the matter, Doris?” I ask her.

“Yes, Mistress,” she replies.

“What is it?”

“Mistress . . . it's . . . it's about—”

“And why are you here?” Nate asks Doris, as he climbs down the stairs. “Go to your room now!” he orders.

“No, no,” I intervene. “Doris has something she wants to tell me. Go on Doris.” I face her. But somehow I notice the fear in her, her face tells it all, as she stares at the contorting face of Nate.

“It's nothing, Mistress,” she says, before turning on her heels and heading to her room.

I turn to look at Nate. “What was that all about? Clearly she has something to say and you—”

“She has nothing to say,” he cuts me off.

“Seriously, for the past few days now you've always been acting so mean to that girl. Whatever happened between us has nothing to do with Doris. So I'd appreciate it if you'd stop maltreating her!”

“You know I wonder what gives you the boldness and courage to run your mouth at me,” he says, coming closer to me, fist clench.

I immediately rise up, backpedaling. “Stay away from me, Nate,” I warn.

“What will you do?” He keeps coming closer. “Tell me, what will you do?”

“I don't want to pick a fight.” I say.

“But you already have. The moment you talked back at me.”

Before he makes any more moves, and in a fit of a hurry,  I bolt from the living room racing upstairs into the bedroom and turning on the lock for safety.