Christopher
Bonn, Germany

"Get off me right now. You are not going to like what I will do to you if you try to touch me, " I speak at the top of my voice as I grip Irene’s slender fingers. This makes me nearly fall off the chair.

"Hm. So, I shouldn't touch you, right?" She is grinning. I can't help but get distracted by the look of her poorly arranged dentition.

Be honest. She's beautiful. That you only love your wife doesn't mean you shouldn't appreciate something beautiful when you see it.

Appreciate?

Let's face the facts here. I speak back to my mind. She's not all that good-looking. Even if she is, Am I supposed to admire a snake because it looks appealing to the eye?

"Yes, and get the hell out of here. I don’t understand why you've decided to pick on me. I'm a happily married man with a great life, but it looks like no matter how many times I tell you this, it won't stick."

"Exactly, and—"

“That is precisely why I will do what I have in mind to do to you right now.”

I rise from my seat, grab her shoulders and begin to pierce her skin with my fingernails. Violence is not and will never be my thing, but in circumstances where one needs to defend themselves, especially rape situations like this, I have to fight for myself. So I press harder till I feel my fingernails arch due to the pressure I exert on them. Despite all of that, she is still laughing loudly and shows no sign of discomfort.

What is fun about this?

My initial plan was to strangle the life out of her lungs, but I couldn't bring myself to do that. It is infuriating to see that what I've settled for is nowhere near effective.

If you are determined to kill this woman, you will. I hear a strange, compelling voice spur me in my subconscious.

And all of a sudden, I feel a surge of incredible strength take over me, and before I can think twice about what I'm doing, I wrap my hands around her throat and begin to squeeze them hard.

"Die. DAMMIT!" I scream in her face.

I use my nails for support, hoping to rupture an important vein in her neck so she can be gone and go to hell. Still, this devil incarnate is laughing. The vein on her forehead is showing vividly, and her face is beginning to turn red, yet, she is still able to cackle. Who on earth is she?

"Why are yourhahaa hands s-shaaakyyy? If you want to choke me—ahhh—haha, do it well. It's either you're ruthless or y-you give up. I-I know you will give up though—aaaah—ahemhahah, but I love pain, and I would like you to chochochoke me mohreee and do it better. Shohow me hhow manly you are, " her words are hard to understand, and it's getting difficult for her to speak well because of the coughs. Still, she's laughing.

Slowly, the strange current of strength that possessed me starts to vanish. I can't hear that compelling voice whispering encouragement to kill in my ears. The visions of blood have disappeared, and it feels like a scale has been removed from my eyes. My fingers start to shake until they lose their traction.

Then, I give up.

I plop onto my seat, and tears begin to form in my eyes. My frustration and wrath are so powerful that my hands shake involuntarily. I feel miserable for many reasons — for things I don't have the answers to, but the one that pangs at my chest the most is that I know this isn't who I am. I'm not a murderer. I'm not a person who can easily put an end to the life of even my archenemy.

If I'm unable to do that, then why has this disaster located me? How can I fight effectively and win? It's unfair that I have to face this without any feasible chances of getting out of it. I wonder what I've done so wrong to deserve this suffering.

I didn't have the freedom to choose who my mother would be before birth, yet because I came as her son, I had to go through this. What am I supposed to do to save myself and my marriage?

“See?” Irene chuckles, pointing her fingers condescendingly at me. “You gave up. I know you are not happy, Christopher. I know that more than anyone else. You can't even make a decision and stand your ground. You need a balance. Let me be your source of stability, your happiness."

There is silence for a while, and I have no idea what's happening because my head is still bowed. I'm still staring at my shaky fingers and mourning my pathetic life. So when she places her hands on my chair and towers over me, I am confused until I look up and see a few loose buttons on her shirt, exposing a view of her breasts.

I close my eyes to defend myself in this defenseless situation. I don't want her, and she must understand that message even if I express it in the most cowardly of ways.

Eventually, I open my eyes, but it's not because I've succumbed to temptation. It's because of a familiar voice that chips in.

“Get off him!”

My heart begins to pound hard, knowing who the person is.

I turn and find her standing by the door. The tears that formed around my eyes minutes ago slide down my face. I have missed her terribly, and now, I get to see her face for the first time in a couple of weeks. However, I know this will be the last time I'll ever see her. I have failed her. This is going to be the end of our marriage.

I don't deserve her. She chose me because she believed I was a man who would never hurt her, but I didn't live up to her expectations. I'd lied to her, made her cry, slept with another woman, and broken her heart. Still, all I can think of is how grateful I feel to see her face, even if it's going to be for the last time. My heart has accepted that this is the end, and perhaps, this is why I can feel a sense of resignation. I know that nothing can redeem this, which has already been fatally broken.

The wench turns towards Yemisi’s direction, curious to know who has the audacity to tell her what to do.

"Why? He's here because of me, so why should I get away from him?"

This wench! Why is she making matters worse?!

And why aren't you debunking her allegations? Huh?! Speak up, you dunce!

“T-that's a l-lie.” This is all I can say, and I still stutter like an idiot. I ball my hands into fists in frustration.

What I get in return is zero attention. Both of them ignore me.

“What are you saying?” Yemisi moves closer and glares at her so hard that the smile on Irene’s face disappears.

Although my wife doesn't look debilitated because she can't give the intruder any room to see through her, I know that her heart is aching, and it's because of me. Yet, I am glued to my seat like the coward I am.

"What am I saying?" Irene scoffs, mimicking Yemisi. "I said what I said, and I'm sure you heard me well. He's here because of me, " I would have been deceived by her perfect show of bravery If I didn't notice her right little finger twitch.

"Tell me what you mean by that," my wife folds her hands.

She didn't need to coerce her. It was her gaze, her composure, that radiated authority. She didn't need to state what was rightfully hers expressly. The coolness of her voice spoke volumes. It was Irene, the intruder, who felt the need to yell because she was afraid. This is why I hate myself. I'm a weakling. That's why Irene can't even take me seriously when I threaten her.

I’m surprised that Yemisi is choosing to trust me even though I'd jilted her. She had every reason to feel betrayed and lose her trust in me. Yet, she is tackling Irene as though she knows that she's the problem here.

“Y-your husband and I have a business deal. A-actually I got into a contract with him, a-and he's supposed to supply my company with a couple of flour bags which explains why he's here.”

“Oh, so you know that he's my husband. What I saw was different from what you are telling me now. I didn't know business relationships  now consist of amorous body contact.”

Irene isn't able to utter another word or lie. The silence is deafening. Later, Irene is unable to withstand Yemisi’s aura, so she snatches her bag from my desk and makes her way to leave.  Yemisi stops her from moving.

Then, she grips the collar of her shirt and glares at her. Irene struggles for a moment, then figures that it's not the best thing to do.

"It's not a good thing to be a worthless piece of crap, but it's okay to mask that with a little pride. I'm giving you a chance to coat your worthlessness, so you don't end up being a finished person. Ask around about me. I don't spare stupid people at all. I won't hesitate to do the worst to you when next I see you around."

“But I already slept with your man, though. Don't expect me to chicken out after coming this far simply because you are mighty. I won't stop until I get what I want.”

She frees herself from Yemisi’s hold and walks away. The stillness in the room is unbearable. It feels like a nemesis because it's the kind of silence that has been waiting for the right time to dominate the atmosphere. A time when it's just her and me.

She is staring at me, and her lips are quivering. Her eyes are darting from one end to the other. The tears she's been restraining herself from shedding fall. And for a while, she remains like that, sobbing, with liquid mucus dropping out of her nostrils.

I want to hold her in my arms and take away the sorrow. I want to bear her despairs so she would never have to endure the daunting suffering inflicted by sadness, but I can't do that now. And I feel like a feckless, cowardly bastard.

"You are disgusting."

Then she leaves. And as I remain glued to the chair, unable to save myself from my misery, I know she has walked away from everything we've shared and have come to name love, intimacy, and happiness. This is the end.