Hell Mary

Chapter Fifteen

"What are you looking for in my bag?" Dayo asked again, lifting the stainless cup filled with   cold water to his dark lips. He moved closer and downed all the liquid, then resulted to placing the cup back into his cupboard.

Kelvin found himself in a puzzled fret and thought of the possible ways he could slide out of that very occurrence. He could lie and claim he searched for something else more trivial but something about saying the truth spiralled through him and so he did.

"I was-" he stopped, biting his lower lip so a newer shade of pink formed. "I was looking for the other memory card. Listen Dayo," he leaned closer, resting his palms on his knee in a way that showed sincerity. "I don't want Martins to do that dare! Let's just end all of this!"

Dayo said nothing, but broke into a cracking laughter and then wrapped his palm over his lips suddenly remembering the inappropriateness at that very odd hour of the day. He briefly gazed about and at the far end, the senior faced the cold wall in a deep sleep.

"I don't have the memory card anymore, I sent it home." He said. Kelvin said nothing and quickly heaved a sigh. He wasn't quite sure why he was relieved but he sure was. Whatever video Martins was threatened with was still in it and Martins still had the pen cam but yet, he sighed. A long weary sigh.

"Let's agree to never play a game like that ever again," Kelvin said, but Dayo was far drowned in sleep.

*****

The visiting day drew nearer as days faded into shades of grey and dark blue nights and then back up into orange and a bright yellow and once, a red or near red. Students envisaged that time of the month, clamouring in weird groups around their guardians and matrons to reach home. Some of the many others with snuck in cell phones, had easy access to their siblings well aware of their stunts.

Mary walked into the staff room and towards Mr. John, hoping she could borrow a minute or two from his generous self and call home. He nodded and placed a smaller cellphone in her front. She sighed, lifting it up to punch in the number Dominic had made her learn should any need arise. She had a need, her blocked airways slowed her breathing, causing her to clutch unto anything- her desk's leg, her bunk and gasp for breath. Even though she had proven herself hardworking, there were triggers. The dusty winds dancing around in tiny whirls made her pound her chest repeatedly. Some other times she felt choked, a suffocating need to have an inhaler and so she pushed in the rubber button with a green ink scratched off to have only a small remnant left.

"Who is this?" She heard the voice she hadn't properly bargained for. The near high pitched voice seemed to throw her off and a back and forth debate as to whether or not she should switch off the phone stirred in her head.

"M-Ma, it's Mary," She said instead. Mr. John fixed his gaze on a newspaper and would occasionally look up in noticing her hysteria. A tear clogged up in her lids threatening to pour out, she would cough into her folded arm because she hadn't the decency of a handkerchief.

"Mary who?" Maureen asked, "Which Mary? What are you doing calling my husband? What's your business with him?"

"Mary your house help," she replied. Mr. John had looked up again, a sad pitiful frown downing the corners of his lips. Perhaps he wondered more how anyone would send a help to a very expensive school and not one of the shambles people gloated about when they emphasized how they washed up the lives of their house helps.

Once, Mary recalled Maureen's friend visiting. Her rants were endless, as she complained bitterly of the maid she had thoroughly invested on and how the young girl stole from her.

"I took her to school, can you imagine? Her parents could not afford the decency of basic education and I helped her life. Can you see it? Okwa ifugo?" Mary would slowly fix biscuit pieces one after the other from its pack in a half circle beside the tall tumbler and even more slowly, the pace at which she poured the orange drink into a glass. She tried to grasp the details and feared her aunt would punish her more with the thought that she might one day steal from her as well.