Chapter 8: The Other Woman

After that, the girl move into the house. She dey always with Suleiman. Sometimes, I remember wetin I hear for im office that day. Dem say I just be replacement for Suleiman first love. The pain dey my chest, like stone.

But Suleiman still no gree leave me. Just that, before na only me and am dey sit opposite for table, now Maryam dey between us. She even dey follow am go work; she too like to talk. Her laughter dey scatter for house, she dey greet everybody.

I no understand—if im real babe don come back, and me na just stand-in, why he no free me? Or he just wan keep me, dey do me anyhow? The question dey press my chest, I no fit breathe.

...

These days, Suleiman dey come house late. Tonight, e be like say he don drink. I no see Maryam, but Suleiman cloth rough. Tie loose, hair scatter, the light for parlour make im face look pale. Im eyes red under brow. The way e waka enter, you go know say im spirit dey fight something.

As he see me, he laugh small: "Zainab, you dey stubborn pass before." He press me for sofa, but still hold my waist make I no hit armrest. Im eyes dark red, like angry sea.

"Suleiman, where your Maryam?" I look am, but he just hiss: "I don lose her!"

"She follow you go out today!"

"I don lose her since!"

...

Something wey I no fit talk dey rise for my chest, I look another side, no wan see im face. The air heavy, the silence dey loud. He press im forehead for mine, and for one moment, im eyes look wet. "Zainab, you no drink tea today again, abi?"

"After I commot, you throw the tea away?"

...

Yes, I never drink tea for days. Maybe I stubborn like am—if I no want do something, nobody fit force me. But Suleiman no dey care if I like am or not. He warm another glass of tea quick quick. The microwave sound dey loud for parlour.

He sit down for my front, dey look me: "Drink am!" I think, na just tea—wetin be the wahala? Wetin he really want na make I obey am. I press my lips, no look am. To talk true, I don resist many times before, but e no dey end well for me.

Today go still be the same. If I no drink, he go pinch my chin, force am for my mouth. Somehow, I fit see say he vex tonight. I lock my teeth, no gree, till he sigh.

He look me, then drink the tea himself. Then he pinch my chin, kiss me. My teeth open by force, the tea enter my mouth. That sweet, heavy taste—the taste of man wey if e drink, fit do anything.

My chest dey pain me, I just dey cry, then he stop. Night just dey quiet, dey wicked. I dey look the vase of dry flowers by the door. After long time, I hear im voice—low, broken. He pull me for im body, im body always hot, dey burn. He dey whisper sorry for my ear:

"No cry, na my fault, Zainab, na me mess up..."

"No cry, abeg, Zainab..."

...

For that moment, I almost believe—Say na me he love pass. The kind way he hold me, e be like say na only me dey exist.