WRECKED 3 2

"Come on Kuku—we'll be late!" The girl examining her side view in the mirror said, "I'm ready. I will be down in a minute."

It was an important party, given by one of the affluent opening his exclusive club, The Black Divine. No expense spared. Kuku had read about the millions of naira spent on the venue, entertainers, extravagant foods and wines. She was looking forward to the evening and dreading it at the same time. There would be the usual anxious post-mortem from her mother, and next, the threat of her father's disappointment. Kuku was well aware of the present objective clearly defined for her. This year, she was to nd herself a husband and get married; suitable or unsuitable, it did not matter.

She knew why they insisted on it. The only way to stop a scandal was to get her married o. Kuku was not vain; her time getting ready was as much anxiety as conceit. She was very pretty, everyone said so. Nevertheless, she had to please. She had to dazzle the young men she met until one of them asked to marry her. If she failed at the end of the year, her father would be angry. Sometimes she could hear voices echoing in her head, especially since she had come back from the University of Legon and was living at home with them. When she reminisced sometimes, it was hard to even keep a dry eye. Memories of certain events were painful, so she tended to avoid thinking about them too deeply. Sadly, a scene from the past now replayed as a swift reminder and a continuation of past pain...

"Oh, Gbenga! Gbenga, please don't. It's not her fault. She didn't understand the lesson…"

"Like hell she didn't–failing classes and not winning prizes. Can she not see her brother, Tobi? Your daughter is a no-good. Get out of my way, Funke. She's going to learn a lesson this time."

"She's only ten. Give her more time to learn…"

He beat her always, for little things and for big things. He would take off his belt for the smallest infractions: clogging the toilet, waking up late, missing a point in class, forgetting to turn off the tap completely. As she grew older and slept over in friends' houses helmed by fathers who didn't raise their voices or their sts, who understood that kids are clumsy and laughed too loud and rolled their eyes, she realized that love didn't have to be the double-edge or ip side of anything. Her feelings for her father became a bowstring pulled taut with humiliation and rage. It grew worse when she realized her older brother was not treated same.

By the time she was fourteen, her grades had dropped lower. One school day after another assignment gone undone, the offended teacher directed her to Mr Matthews, the handsome and charismatic school counsellor. Like most girls at Kuku's secondary school in Abuja, she harboured a small crush on him. He was good and helpful in guiding her through her hurting process.

In the days after, she would often sit in Mr Matthew's office pouring her heart out about how much she suffered at home. She easily transferred all the love she should have had for her father unto this new male role model in her life.

Matthew listened, gave her warm hugs, and told her she was beautiful and smarter than any girl he had met. He laughed at her lame jokes and made her feel special.

A couple of days before school was to go on Easter holidays, he stopped her on her way out of his office and asked for a kiss. She assumed he meant a goodbye peck on the cheek, so when he leaned forward and planted a kiss firmly on her mouth, she felt pure horror—and then a little excitement.

"You really don't know how to kiss, do you?" he smiled. "We're going to have to teach you." She blushed, feeling utterly humiliated, but also thrilled that she was somehow special in his eyes.

It was her special secret. The kiss. The child believed that he loved her – and what's more, she loved him.

Back at school after Easter, it was not long before Matthew started inviting her to his house to help with her homework. She did not mind. The strokes at home reduced a bit as the grades became better. She would go to his house every few days after school when his wife was at work in her salon. That was when it began.

It started with back rubs and feet massages. Then the more intimate touches began. Afterwards, the touches were not enough. Their meetings became more intense and Kuku loved every bit of it.

Be that as it may, Mr Matthew did not resume after the summer break. He left for Lagos with his wife to take up a government appointment. What remained of him in Abuja were fond memories relieved daily in Kuku's heart. She was now fifteen, pretty and sweet-faced as an angel, with the terrible ache in her body that could not be satisfied. To Kuku, men became nothing more than some psychological canvas on which she continually repainted her relationship with daddy.

The beatings resumed after her father caught her with the gardener. The unlucky employee was sacked, but her parents had not found out about the chef. She knew her father was cruel and hated her, but she was past caring. In fact, fear taught her to be cunning. She was not caught so often again.

Marriage was the only solution, her parents decided, after graduation; if she did not disgrace herself before her sins came out. They felt as if there was a time bomb in their mansion, about to explode and destroy them in a horrendous scandal. Shaking her head as if to dislodge her thoughts, Kuku turned her face away from the mirror, and her mind away from the haunting memories.

"Kuku!"

"Coming now." She grabbed her purse and hurried out of the bedroom. She must not think of such now. She must not remember the shame and the pain and the ecstasy that made it all worthwhile. There had been two men since she got home a month ago. Both safe enough. Both much older with wives. They would not say anything. It was the young men she had to be careful of.

She was very popular, being the daughter of an ex-minister. She easily made friends with other girls; there was nothing spiteful or competitive about her. She was forgiven for her extremely good looks and attraction for men because she was so genuinely nice.

One eligible young man had already proposed to her, she did not dare tell her parents that she had refused. He was pompous and ugly, and though she would have slept with him if she had dared and he had asked her, she shrank from the frightening commitment of marriage. She could not bring herself to do it. There must be someone nicer. She believed in falling in love, her belief in romance had nothing to do with the compulsion for sexual encounter that had tortured her since she was a young teenager.

"It may be boring ooooo," her friend, Stella, whispered to her as they seated themselves at the back of her father's latest Range Rover. Her mother took the front passenger's seat.

Kuku murmured in agreement. The party was in full swing by the time they arrived. A young man, she could not remember his name, guided her to the dance floor. Bulgy eyes, quite tall. He said something about being in a real-estate agency. She danced for most of the evening and thought if I make an excuse and go home early, I might call Galib and suggest we go somewhere. His wife was away so it would be easy to meet. Someone bumped into her back and she was bounced against her partner. She gasped as the impact nearly gave her an orgasm. "I'm sorry," she heard a voice say. She managed to get her breath back as her partner said "Watch where you're going, man."
Find authorized novels in Webnovel，faster updates, better experience，Please click for visiting.

Kuku turned and saw Mustapha Rufai. He was dancing rather boisterously with a dark, full-bosomed girl. "I'm sorry," he repeated.

"It's alright," Kuku insisted. She smiled and he smiled back.

Kuku did not telephone her middle-aged lover that night. She did not sit at breakfast and invent a pack of lies to explain why she was not at home before ve in the morning. She stayed back at the party with Mustapha until it was daylight outside and the last stragglers were going home. She had never been so happy.

He had spent the rest of the evening with her. He was taking her out to dinner, talking of the cinema for Friday and going for lunch on Sunday. She was in love.

Her mother, Funke, could not hide her anxiety. Sometimes, looking at Kuku, she could not believe what had happened in the past. Her daughter was a sweet-natured, gentle girl, liked by the old as well as the younger generation. Friends were always saying how charming and pretty her daughter was. Was it possible that one of Gbenga's old friends had been caught fondling her when she was barely sixteen, and retorted when he was challenged that she had tried to seduce him?

Funke could not forget that day. Her husband had broken down. Kuku had ed to her room in terror and locked herself in. For a long time, Gbenga did not go near her. He could not trust himself. A couple of years later, after several more escapades of that nature, he and Funke, faced the dreadful truth. Their daughter had a case of uncontrollable sexual hyperactivity. Punishing her would not help; he admitted that at last, after years of brutal treatment. If something was not done, he told his wife, weeping with rage and shame, he'd lay hands on her and kill her.

Kuku looked happy that morning, Funke thought. The party must have been a success for her; Kuku bubbled with enthusiasm about it.

She said, "Guess what, mummy? I met Mustapha Rufai. We had a lot of fun. He is taking me out to see a movie and then lunch on Sunday. He's terribly good looking too."

"Kuku!"

"Yes, mummy?"

"You'll be careful, won't you? Don't do anything stupid with him. His family is very powerful; you know?"

Kuku's eyes opened wide. "Oh, you know I wouldn't, mummy! That's all over. I promise you."

"All right, darling. I worry about you, that's all."

"I know, but you needn't," she came around to her mother and kissed her affectionately on the cheek. "I'll see you later. I'm meeting some of my friends for gossip." She winked and went on her way.

Funke took a sip from her cup of coffee. Mustapha Rufai. She had never seen Kuku so naturally happy. It was too good to be true. How long could the Rufais be fooled? Funke looked up as her husband came into the room. "Sorry, I'm late," he said. She knew he avoided Kuku as much as possible. Did he ever blame himself? She wondered. Perhaps loving kindness and patience in her formative years might have helped. Just a little more love for a girl he wished could be his second son. One would think that already having a son as a first child would compensate. But no. Blind horror and disgust drove him to cruelty. He was a simple man, with rigid traditional views and little imagination.

"Has she gone?" he asked.

"Yes. She met Mustapha Rufai last night."

"The Rufai? The financial guru?" He looked up in surprise.

"Yes. They seem to have hit it o. She was bubbling over this morning."

"That's good."

"Don't get excited, my dear. The boy probably has dozens of girls chasing him, with all that money. Have a slice of bread."

"I hope he can get her o our hands. I really hope so. Then you and I are going to make up for all this and have some happy times again."

"I love her, Gbenga," she said. "I wish you could see there's sweetness and goodness in her. She can't help this dreadful thing that has come upon her. I'm sure."

"When I look at her," he said, "I think about her twin, our other boy, that didn't have a chance to live." He shook his head sadly, then continued viciously. "The twin-to-twin transfusion syndrome took the wrong baby. She is like a curse, Funke. Don't let us talk about her anymore. I heard the chef is resigning."

Funke nodded, "Yes. He said his health has been failing him lately." The chef did not include that he could no longer cope with the demands of their insatiable daughter. "The woman Madam Dubai referred to me is coming for a trial tomorrow."

"You have that covered then."

"Yes, darling. Although I hear she has a teenage daughter who will move in with her if she gets the job."

"There's enough room here, my dear. As long as the mother can cook well and cater for our next party, we don't have a problem."

"True. I hope so too, because I like her already."

"Oh! Why?"

"Because she is not good looking."

Her husband guffawed.

Chapter end