The slap rang in places I hadn’t known existed. To say I was dazed was an understatement. While still standing, wondering what just happened, he cleared me off my feet. I landed on my bum with a thud as a sharp pain shot across my bum and into my spine.
I wanted to beg. To ask why I deserved it. I had warmed the soup three times. Three times after he had told me he was coming home. Just because the soup had gotten a degree colder did not mean I had not performed my wifely duties.
I opened my mouth to explain but the slap was a brain-shutter. The next kick was a reminder and a jolter. Telling me this was happening here and now. Again. The next blow landed on my eye. I knew it had popped. It just had to. No eye would survive that fist. The fist of a heavily built 95kg man.
I fell to the ground and watched as my surrounding swirled right in front of me. Then I remembered! I quickly curled into a fetal position to allow my back, knees and arms take the brunt of the pain. Everywhere but there.
He does not mean it, I said to her. He’s just being silly. He’ll come back to his senses and beg as always, you’ll see. Something hit me hard on the ear and across the face. Everything throbed. I felt something warm trickle outand across my nose to the ground. I dared not open my eyes for fear of what I would see in his eyes. The last time he did this, his face had a feral look, his eyes wild and his lips taut with something akin to … resentment? Hate? No, it cannot be. He loves me. So to block the pain, I spoke to her. He’s a good man. He’s just pissed. I should have left the food in the microwave. Mummy just does not listen sometimes. You mustn’t be like Mummy.
I felt his hands pull at my weave. The pain was excruciating. I grabbed his hands.
“Lazy b**ch!” He hissed and dealt me another blow. Kick. Whatever it was, there. The air was sucked out of me as I held my tummy in pain.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” It came out like a litany.
This time not to Choko, my boyfriend of three years and husband of two, but to my unborn baby girl of twenty-four weeks.
“I’m sorry.” Not because Mummy was a lazy b**ch like Daddy said but because it finally dawned on me.
I should have walked away when I had the chance.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, clutching tightly to my abdomen as the last tear rolled down to the floor. The darkness came quickly and with it, I felt her disagreeing movements stop.
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