“Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.”
She sits in silence. The only sound she hears is the pumping of her own blood in her ears. Her heart is racing. Her hands are curled into fists so tight her knuckles have gone white. All around her, she sees red. Red on the floor. Red on the once pristine white couch. Red on the walls.
It was his fault. It was all his fault.
She met him when she was in her final year at University. Back when she was bright-eyed and filled with promise. He seemed like a catch. He was good looking, charming and suave. He was well-kempt and he had a job while still in Uni. He was responsible. She gravitated toward him like a fly to honey. Like a moth to a flame.
He made her so many promises, she couldn’t even remember half of them. He made her feel safe. Not long after they met, after she had given him her soul, she moved in with him in his little one bedroomed house just off-campus. A desolate place in need of a female touch. The walls were bare and the dishes were perpetually dirty and there was dust on the window sills. How he lived like this, she had no idea. Soon, however, she cleaned up the place and made it home. They were happy. But it was all a deception. Things started to unravel after their final exams.
He stayed out late at night and started coming home smelling like a keg factory. He then started demanding sex whenever he felt like it. She felt like a mistress. Like a dirty whore but she indulged him because she had invested much in their relationship and she didn’t want to lose him. This only encouraged him. One day, she got up the nerve to say no. That was the day he started laying his hands on her. “How dare you speak to me like that?!” he would yell as he slapped her across her face. This became a habit. Every day, at a few minutes to midnight, he would come home and demand some nookie. If she said no, there would be violence. If she said yes, he’d still take her forcefully. There was no right answer.
She lost her spark. She found some work as a clerk but dreaded going home in the evening. He had lost his job, she found out. That’s why he had begun drinking. He stayed at home all day. Sometimes he would go and help out the touts at the matatu stage to get some cash to spend on booze. She would show up at home and find him passed out drunk or fixing for a fight. She was living in hell.
One day she showed up to work with a bruise on her face. Her colleague asked about it and she lied and told her that she had taken a fall. Her colleague just shook her head but invited her to a women’s seminar that would take place the next day. She decided to attend.
The meeting was empowering. She learnt that she did not have to be a victim. She would leave him and be done with this shell of a life she was living.
He found out about the meeting and beat her senseless. After which he took her without consent. When he was done, he dug into her purse, took out some money and left. She lay there on the floor crying for hours. He did not return that night.
In the morning he walked in and in the sweet charming voice she once knew, he apologized for everything and told her that he would change. He sounded so convincing. So sincere. His gaze never wavered. His words did not sound rehearsed. He must be telling the truth, she thought.
He was lying.
She found out she was pregnant two weeks later when she went for a checkup. Tears rushed down her face. How could she raise a child with that man? The doctor ran all sorts of tests on her. She received her results, still in tears.
That night, as she sliced the vegetables she had planned to prepare, she told him the news. He smiled. It was an evil smile. He had won. He had her and she was all his. She could see the satisfaction in his eyes. She produced her test results and showed them to him. His smile left. The anger was back in his tone. He accused her of having an affair. He accused her of killing him with a disease.
She had had it.
She plunged the knife into his neck. Red blood sprayed everywhere. She took the knife out and plunged it into his chest again and again and again and again. She didn’t know when she stopped. He didn’t even make a sound as life seeped out of him. His eyes were wide open though, but none of the emotions she had come to know all too familiarly was there. No anger, no vile satisfaction, no insatiable lust. No contempt, no fake sincerity.
It was his fault. It was all his fault.