She saw herself standing there. Heartbeat at a level high. Breathing, barely alive, but breathing. She didn’t know if it was the pain she could feel coming from a distance or the pain that was currently facing her. Dead. He was dead. By her hand. Then the first contraction hit. She couldn’t tell what hurt more,giving life or the fact that barely an eyeblink ago she had taken it.
She sat there. Breathing. Barely alive but breathing. Then she began talking to him. Reminding him of the first time they met. ‘You waved and looked away.’ That simple wave and his beautiful face was all she thought about until she ran into him when she was headed to grab something to eat. She loved him then. It was love at first sight with butterflies and all. He was so perfect to her. She loved his eyes and how small they were each time he laughed ‘Thika Road baby, I loved to call you that.’ . She loved his full lips and how they always seemed to know just when to find hers. She was sad. Not that he was dead. No. That he had to go and ruin all that.
Things started to fall apart after she told him about the baby she reminded him. ‘I have never seen anyone look so scared.’ It wasn’t easy for her. She would have to walk around for 9 months with a sign that she made a mistake. She slipped up. She failed. Abortion was not an option for her. She knew she was strong and she told herself that she could be strong for the three of them. All he needed to do was stay and keep loving her. That’s all she wanted.
It was the little things that sold him out. The new drinking habits. Different cologne smells every now and then. The late nights. The withdrawal. The constant texts and calls. The sudden disappearance.That face he made each time he lied. Even the most cliche of them all was on his list, a lipstick stain. For months she bore it. It would all be over in a few months and he would get back. He would come back home and he would love her again. So she remained strong.
She looked at him once more and smiled. She reminded him of the late night walks, the make out sessions in the dark, the icecream dates at the mall, the movie nights at his place and most importantly how happy she felt when he said he loved her.
She was happy. ‘What changed?’ She told him that he stabbed her first. Broke her heart into a million tiny pieces. Shattered it so bad that everyday she died a little. Then the second contraction hit. This time harder. She screamed and held his hand. ‘All I wanted was for you to be here and to love me.’
She told him that she was already dead. He had killed her first. The last straw was when he broke it off. He couldn’t do it anymore. ‘Do what?’ She demanded. ‘You are not the one walking around campus with a belly the size of a giant ball. The stigma, the stares, the judgment, I face that alone. So tell me what is it that you can’t do anymore?’
Without a word or explanation, he attempted to walk out.
‘She does seem like a nice girl. New intake am I right? Fresh. Not pregnant-yet.’ Still no word from him. Now she was furious. She loved him with a fire so fierce that she would rather have died than let him go. The third contraction hit. She was in tears now.
It was his pen knife she had used. He gave it to her once and said she should use it to protect herself from anything that would bring her pain. Funny how his own words turned against him. She stabbed him three times. Each part representing the pain she felt. His heart because he broke hers. His chest because she wasn’t alive anymore all she did was breathe and exist now… She had no life. And his belly because well that was obvious. Even in his final moments. He still didn’t say a word. That fueled her anger more. With it came a new kind of hatred. One she had never felt before. She hated him for making her love and loose. She hated the baby for making him go away and she hated herself for hating them. She looked at it and with one final breathe, she slit her wrist open.

Now here they were. She gave him a final look before she heard the door open and her eyes close for what she hoped would be the last time. Maybe the three of them could work out their demons better on the other side.

Essy 💜

This article was written in light of the university killings among student in relationships. 


One thought on “THE WAR AT HOME.

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