OUR OWN STORIES

SCORNED
PART II

After mum's burial, everything changed for me. I began to decline in school. Dad never asked of my assignments, he barely checked my books unlike mum. I was either crying or sleeping or lost in thought.
I sat there in class as Miss Ruth who was my class teacher scribbled on the black board.
Her hair was packed in a horse tail and her purple gown kept flowing in the wind.
When she turned she looked at my direction and pointed at me.
"Obinna, stand." She ordered. I swallowed a large mass of saliva and I felt my heart racing. I looked at the notes she has written on the board and then I glanced back at her.
"Can you come out and read for the class?" She asked. I was the one who read, because I was always quick to give the pronunciation of new words even though they seem hard and Mrs. Ruth loved me for that.
Slowly, i found my way to the front of the class. I picked up the cane from the table and swallowed again. My palms turned sweaty and I wished the ground would open up and swallow me. I looked at the class and for the first time I felt uneasy in front of them. My mother's image flashed in my head. I heard heard her screams from that morning. I heard it all the time, but this time it was louder. I felt her pains, I heard the crash again and I felt weakness in my knees. Tears came down my eyes.
"Obinna, are you okay?" I heard her ask. I shook my head, I frowned.
"Can I use the toilet Ma?" I asked. She nodded and then excused me.
At the lavatory, I cried harder, the strong stench of urine clouded my nostrils but I only ignored it. When I was done, I wiped my tears and then found my way to my class room.

After school, I walked down the path with my friend, Ebuka. He was the most intelligent in the class and I always came after him. Mum would always tell me that I could beat him because he doesn't have two heads.
But he was always taking the lead.
"What's wrong with you? You've been pale." He told me. I ignored him and then managed a smile.
"I'm fine. I just have fever." I lied. No one had to know that my dad barely had time for me. I barely fed well, he won't make lunch or dinner and whenever he did, he either overdid the salt or pepper or he did wonders that could make one choke on the food. He shouted at me whenever I complained and whenever I didn't eat, I had the lashes of his black leather belt to contend with. There was no much of contention, I always get beaten. I was woken up with shouts, I slept with pains.
I was dying and my father couldn't even see.
"Have  you told your father?"
"Yes. He bought some drugs for me yesterday."
One thing with lies, you have to keep telling it until that chapter closes and that was exactly my case at that time. Ebuka won't stop asking questions, and the lies kept coming.
"You'd be fine. Maybe you should stay at home a day or two to get better, I'd come with the day's work and assignments too. I'd also teach you." He suggested.
I shrugged. "I would be fine. I can't stay home alone." I told him. Besides my father won't even allow me stay home.
"Okay. I hope you get better."

When dad came home, he smelt of cigarettes and strong alcohol. He slumped into the chair in the sitting room and then called my name.
"Get me a glass of water."
I raced to the kitchen, I came out again sooner with the glass of water in my hands.
He tried to take it from me but his eyes played tricks on him and the glass fell to the ground.
He sprang up and the next thing was me finding myself on the ground. The slap was sharp and quick and I heard my eardrums tingle re-echoing the slap in pitches.
"Would you get up there and get the mop. Idiot. Like mother like son." He spat.
I rushed out again in tears.
I wondered if it was the death of my mother that changed him or if it was the guilt he felt.
When I returned, he wasn't in the sitting room, his suit and briefcase were there and the room still smelt of cigarettes.
I mopped the ground and swept the pieces of the broken ware. I took his suit and briefcase to his room and he was sleeping already on his bed. The last time I was in the room was the day mum was packing up her clothes. The day she died. The room has changed, it looked dull and empty. My mother's things were no longer there. I took off my dad's  shoes and socks and then found my way out of the room closing the door gently behind me.
Something pricked me to go back in and take his phone. Maybe call someone, Aunty Agatha or Uncle Marcus or someone else.
I opened the door again and went in. I searched his pockets slowly and gently and got out his phone.

I punched the buttons gently and then scrolled down the screen searching for her name. When I saw it, I dialled. Aunty Agatha did not answer for the first two times of the call. At the third time, she did.
"What is it? What is it?"
"Aunty, it's me." I cried into the phone."
"Obi... How are you nna?
"Aunty, I don't want to stay here. I'm tired." I cried. The pains of the slap stinged me and I groaned.
"What happened?"
"Daddy beats me up all the time. He doesn't cook and I don't do well in school."
"My God. That man is a demon. I will see if I can come there next week."
"Tomorrow please, please." I cried. I was tired of everything.
"I will see my dear." she assured.
I couldn't sleep that night, my face was hurting and was gradually puffing up.

The lashes of the belt against my buttocks woke me up.
"Who did you call with my phone?" His voice roared like thunder. I needed somewhere to hide. Someone to shield me.
He grabbed my collar and pulled me down from the bed.
"Daddy, please don't kill me."
The push was swift and I crashed into the basket where I packed my dirty clothes. I panted, crawling away from him. This man wasn't my father, he was something else and he was going to kill me.
"Come back here!" He thundered while I crawled to the door in panic. I ignored him. My heart slapped against my chest quickly. He raced to me and picked me up again.
"What did you tell her?" His asked. His face was filled with rage and fear.
He dropped me when I didn't reply. I fell to the ground with a thud and I blacked out.