“You will hear from my lawyers.”

The first time I confronted you about what you did to me two months ago, your first words to me were,

“You will hear from my lawyers.”

I imagined you calling your lawyer right away and in their tiny little office, they stand up in shock, pick up their brief case and blazer and come flying to your rescue like one Mushin superman.

Well, if that was exactly what lawyers did, then…

“You will hear from my lawyer too.” I retorted. 

Two can play the game.

A week later, I am sitting across you in my lawyer’s office. We both have our lawyers present. 

I should have felt safer with my lawyer by my side. He was superman after all, abi?

But I didn’t. 

I felt suffocated, being in your presence for more than twenty minutes.

Being in the same room with you felt like your hands were all over me again. Especially not with that disgusting smirk on your lips. The smirk that made you feel convinced that you had won the case since we lived in a society where men like you were given flowers, while women like me were given thorns. But I would still take those thorns, after all they came from flowers too.

“So, young lady, tell us your side of the story.” Your lawyer said to me, “What exactly happened?” 

It all began with seven simple words on a Google search:

How to attract a high value man.

I remember sitting in front of my laptop and devouring every tip and trick from Youtubers and Bloggers. I followed them religiously. Especially the worst tip of them all;

Sitting at a hotel bar. Waiting for Prince Charming like an idiot.

I drove myself all the way to a five-star hotel in Ikoyi just to meet this “high value man”. And then I met you- Mr Predator.

You saw me sitting all alone at the hotel bar with a wine glass in my hand. You could smell it, my desperation. Just like I could smell your expensive cologne a mile away.

You called me over to your empty table and I joined you like a fool. You introduced yourself as the son of a high-profile politician. That was the only identity you stood by. Another man’s success rather than your own.

I barely got to introduce myself because all you talked about was yourself, the ivy league school you went to and your borrowed accomplishments. And all through the night, you did not stop talking about how beautiful I was, with your hands tracing down my back to my waist and to my thighs.

I didn’t find the courage to push your hands away because I didn’t want to be rude, and I didn’t want you to stop calling me “beautiful”. Now, I hate the word “beautiful” because of you.

The following week, you called me over to your father’s house on Banana Island. Like a fool, I thought I had won your heart for letting me come to such a prestigious place. I didn’t know that was your pattern, your trick into making me the next prey.

Heck, you didn’t even stay in the main house. You lived in the boys quarters.

You kept touching me from the moment I walked through the door. It was as if the moment I walked through that door, I had given you the invitation to make my body your next sex toy.

I told you I didn’t want anything physical. But you insisted on kissing my neck like it was a handshake. I let you continue because my body craved a man’s touch. It had been so long since I felt the fire inside my body. And you ignited the fire way before its time.

I allowed you to kiss me, to touch me, to put your fingers and tongue in places that drove me to heaven and back.

But I told you not to go all the way. Not to have sex. I was celibate, and I was going to wait till marriage. But you didn’t listen.

While you were on top, you kept begging me for “just the tip”. Begging like a toddler whining over a lollipop.

I tried to push you off and before I knew it, I felt you inside of me.

You knew I was too stunned to move and you kept going.

The deed had already begun and it felt pointless to fight you off. Like a dead fish, I just laid on the couch and you kept humping and breathing like your life depended on this moment.

I could smell your insecurity from the way you thrust in so fast and so hard. In your mind, you felt like, “If I don’t take up this opportunity, I may never get it again.”

But can I tell you that it’s not everything you see you deserve?

Sometimes you got to accept that rejection and move on like a man. A real man. But you wouldn’t understand because you’re a pig. A dirty pig snorting through another man’s shit. 

I was numb the first few hours I left your father’s house. I didn’t understand what just happened. I couldn’t process if I got raped or not. It was hard for me to believe something like that would happen to me.

I had always imagined rape as the forceful push. The slapping and kicking and screaming. But no one told me it could be subtle. No one told me it could be manipulated. And it could come in the disguise of consent when in fact, it wasn’t. 

And I had no one to blame but myself. I blamed myself for letting you touch my skin on the first day. I blamed myself for going to your house in the first place. I blamed myself for letting you kiss me. I blamed myself for even feeling a bit of… pleasure.

And I couldn’t even admit to anyone that I was assaulted because I could have stopped it myself. But I couldn’t. And I didn’t understand why. 

I just let it happen. 

I had to move on and live my life like nothing happened. I had to smile when everyone was smiling. I had to laugh when everyone was laughing. I had to work when everyone was working. Even though my spirit felt empty for weeks. Even when you ghosted me and I started to believe that incident was all a dream.

But it wasn’t a dream. My body reminded me of that.

When I told my cousin about it, I could feel the fumes coming out of her nostrils. She was angry at you. And that was the comfort I needed.

Why?

She didn’t blame me.

She described it as a theft of consent. And you knew what you were doing when I was unaware that you were going to stick your thing inside of me.

She advised me to confront you about it. And though I’ve been fighting that thought for weeks, I knew confronting you was the first step to my healing.

Then I approached you. I told you that it was unfair of you to “force” yourself on me like that. I didn’t want to use the word “rape” because it felt too heavy. I shouldn’t have played nice.

And instead of you to understand my side of the story, you pulled the “you will hear from my lawyers” card. I knew that card too well, the abuser’s favourite line. You thought you could scare me. You thought you could shut me up. 

But to hell with it.

After I finished narrating the incident to our lawyers, your lawyer spoke first.

“That doesn’t sound like rape to me.” Was his first response.

My heart dropped. Like a ball dropping from a skyscraper.

“You raised a green flag by letting him touch and kiss you.” He added, “Madam, let’s be real, are you threatening my client with rape accusations because of your bitterness?” 

Before I could respond, he chuckled while leaning closer to whisper, “Or is it because he served you breakfast?”

I slapped him and used a screwdriver to screw his dirty mouth together. In my imagination. 

In reality, I couldn’t. Because if I did, this meeting would be pointless.

“No offence but I agree with him on this one.” My lawyer agreed with your lawyer, “If you really didn’t want it, you could have just pushed him off or yelled. It’s not that hard.”

My eyes were glued to the table, not believing my ears. My own lawyer was defending a rapist. My rapist.

There was a long, intense silence in the atmosphere. Or maybe it was just me that was in this silence. 

Our lawyers’ mouths were still moving but I could not hear a single word. Your eyes glistened at the thought of these men defending you.

One after the other, I looked at the three men sitting around me. My lawyer. Your lawyer. And you. All stuck in your own universe. Not giving way to step foot into mine.

In your universe, you were made to believe everything you said and did was right. All because of some stellar reputation you have acquired, you believed the world was at your feet. And when you stand to be corrected, you described the world as grey. You would say there was no such thing as black and white, evil and good. You believed the two could be mixed to justify your actions. Only your action.

But when it came to my body’s desire, you would say otherwise. You would say my body’s desire was not a switch. It could not be turned on and off as I please. Once on, it must remain there until you were done with it.

But I am here to tell you,

“Shut the fuck up.” I blurted out.

All three of you stopped to look at me in shock. Whether it was because I used a swear word, or because you could never imagine a woman having the audacity to put you in your place. But I didn’t care.

My eyes were fixated on you, Mr Predator. 

You could smell it, my rage.

“I didn’t bring you here to seek justice. That will just be a waste of time in this bloody country.” I said through gritted teeth. 

I stretched out my hands to the table, “I came here because my voice is the last piece of dignity I have left for you. I know you will never respect me. I know you will never see me as a person. All you see is a sex object and nothing more. Fuck it. That’s just your illusion of me. That’s not who I am.”

The two lawyers shifted uncomfortably in their seats. They felt suffocated and I could tell they couldn’t wait to leave this room.

“You raped me. And you will never convince me otherwise.” I said lastly before turning to our lawyers, “I rest my case.”

I banged my hands on the table and stood up. Then I did the last thing I imagined I would ever do.

I stretched out my hand to you.

You looked at my opened hand in confusion, even though the message was clear.

“Just shake it.” Your lawyer whispered to you encouragingly. “Can’t you see God is on your side? She’s letting you walk free.”

You chuckled in disbelief as your eyes were glued to mine. You stood up with that arrogant smirk on your face and shook my hand in return.

“Whatever you say, ashawo.” You whispered the last word loud enough, it didn’t sound like a whisper.

“I hope we never meet again, bastard.”

I yanked my hands away from you and left the office without looking back.

There were no tears left to cry. No pain left to feel.

I shut the door of my car and started the engine. I glanced up at the office building one last time to see you standing by the window, smiling wryly as you watched me leave the office.

I drove off without giving you any acknowledgment. 

It had been over an hour since I left that dreadful meeting. I had already reached the outskirt of Lagos, passing through tall bushes and thick trees, when suddenly, I saw your call.

I fixed my eyes on the road, ignoring your call.

You called again. And again. And again.

Your lawyer bombarded my phone with text messages.

My lawyer’s number did not stop buzzing after yours.

My lips curved into a wry smile.

The deed was done.

What have you done to my leg?!

Bitch where are you?!

Answer the fucking phone!

I’m going to kill you! 

Your messages were endless, so would be your search for me.

I gave you one last chance to redeem yourself, but you refused. You had no idea you were shaking the hands of your worst nightmare. 

From now on, you would wake up every morning with a horse leg. 

Yes, two stiff legs and a tail.

And you would never ever be able to fuck, no, rape another woman again.

I laughed in glory as my phone kept buzzing non-stop. Who knew the babalawo (witch doctor) in my village had this much power to turn a simple handshake into jazz. He had sent one of his apprentices to deliver this magnificent sorcery in a hand cream. 

And now, I ride back to my village with the babalawo’s apprentice and all my personal belongings in the back seat. I am going to a place you will never find me. And even if you did look for me, what you did would be exposed to the world. It was a lose-lose situation for you.

I slowed down my car and removed the SIM Card from my phone and broke it into pieces before throwing it out the window. I turned off my phone and began my journey once again.

The journey to my freedom… and the beginning of your captivity.

I hope you live the rest of your life in misery, you fucking rapist.

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. All characters, locations, organizations and incidents appearing in this blog are fictitious.

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