As she felt her breath slipping away, her life leaving like the fragrance of a perfume, she discovered that she owns her freedom, she could live as a survivor. There were always two ways to life they were not supposed to be given the joy of watching her life slip away her oppressor was the man that walked her to the altar.
She had said yes I do; oh ignorant her, she thought the yes I do was a reply to all the good things the priest had said. ‘oh silly, silly her’!
Unknowingly she had said yes I do to all that came with being entangled with an oppressor, a master of manipulation, a chief of pretense, a professional at fake promises and twisted truths, a magician at playing tricks, a two-faced elf.
He had made her believe she was the problem,
“Nothing good can come from you, I am your lucky star, without me you are nothing” he polished his bitter toxic words on her.
He implanted low self-esteem, self-doubt, and self-hate in her. He was the martyr and she was the undeserving loser.
And so she lived in his bars of restriction, afraid to look in the mirror, scared to see her scarred self, she prefers the broken mirror for she fits perfectly with it, each shred of glass showing different emotions dancing in her pale black eyes like the moving lights in a disco ball.
There was helplessness, brokenness, and a tiny fading strand of hope that was fading fast, almost translucent. One way or another violence was always the order of the day. She woke up each day praying for it to be over, for a new chapter to cover the pain of yesterday.
But now…
It is a different story, she might be broken but she was alive, which proved that she could still rewrite her story.
On the hospital bed, she opened her eyes to meet the cold white walls that seemed to be mocking her for becoming a regular customer, even the smell of the hospital bed now has her scent attached to it.
Yes, she was a usual visitor here because she was joined in matrimony to the person that was always sending her back to this cold silent, and the pathetic room filled with the smell of annoying disinfectants that thinks they can wipe away her tears and wipe away germs on her hands.
But there was something different this time, there was a different type of fierceness in her eyes, there was just something different, it seems like she has had enough. Perhaps, she was finally awakened.
“I am sorry to be the one to announce this to you but you have had another miscarriage again…we couldn’t save the baby”
The familiar voice of the doctor rang in her ears with the same statement he told her some months ago when her husband went on a rampage and beat her to a pulp because dinner was late.
“I would advise that you take some time to take proper care of your health as your body can not take any form of violence or aggressiveness as it is, I would advise you to do something fast about your situation because the next time you are in this type of situation it might not just be a baby that is lost, it might be your life next”
The doctor advised with a firm voice, getting no reply from the woman whose orifices were unfocused as she lay as still as a ghost on the bed, giving no response to the words she just heard. it was as though she had become numb to everything.
With a soft sigh, the doctor turned around to leave her to herself
“Please tell my lawyer to come in”
He heard a cold and broken voice that came almost as a whisper behind him.
He nodded and proceeded to do as she had said. He hopes that she makes the right decision this time and saves herself.
“So are you ready to finally pack your bags and leave now” a cold and angry voice with a tinge of sympathy and irritation rang from the door that was just closed.
She turned to look at her lawyer, her only close friend, and confidant.
“Leave? hmm” she snickered with a bitter smile on cracked lips followed by a dry and heavy laughter
“Hehe Leave right? …”
“Anita, have you ever seen the wrath of a broken woman?”
ABANA ASABE RHODA ©_2022
@RHEALYZ AFRICA
#survivor #women #sexualassault
