POISON

I saw the signs. From your actions and inactions. Words- spoken and unspoken. I felt it too. Those times I held my breath because something as simple as breath could trigger you. I felt it in every insult I received from you. Every punch. I saw the signs, but I didn't leave.
You were perfect to be left and I was deformed. You made me feel less. I actually was less. I was less pretty. Less intelligent. Less human. This was why I felt honoured to be called yours. Because you chose me even  in my deformed state. Like Christ chose us, though we're unworthy.
Those advising me to leave you wouldn't understand. Or perhaps they envied me and wanted to have you. They wouldn't understand how much you loved me. For how often does a man as busy as you make out time to hit someone into becoming better? I understood that you needed me to be better those times you hit me. For like clay, I had to be melted before moulded. You are my potter and I, your clay. You assured me you loved me after you hit me every time. You just wanted me to be perfect for you. I knew this was true. It was my fault I never got things right until I was hit. I take the blame.

"This isn't love." Temi said when she saw the scars on my body. The foundation and concealers already proved inadequate in hiding my scars a long time ago.
"Whatever it is, it's poisonous and will kill you one day," she continued.
I let her know that I'm not complaining.
Something must kill a man after all. I pick my poison and it's you.
"Damilola, I don't know what you're gaining from this thing you term relationship, but you need to leave before you become the unknown percent in the statistics of domestic violence."
"He'll change when we get married. He's called a bridegroom for a reason. He's grooming me to be better." I said in his defense.
"Really? Truly it's possible to be educated and remain an illiterate. All your education and intelligence and hear the rubbish you're spitting. He'll never change Damilola. He'll kill you one day!"
"God forbid! My bae isn't a murderer."
"Haaa. Oponu, stupid person. Don't run now you still have legs to run, when you're crippled your doubt will clear."

Now I lay on the hospital bed, just days after our wedding.
"Her chances of survival are slim," I hear the doctor whisper to my husband. "Even if she does, she will never use her legs again except by divine intervention."
I remember Temi's words. We always called her a prophet for a reason while in school.
"What did you say caused the accident again?" The doctor asks.
"I just came back from work and found her like that on the floor," answered my husband.
"How about the bruises all over her body?"
"As queer as it sounds, she likes to be inflicted with pain while we have sex. It turns her on. She did most of them herself."
"Hmmmm." The doctor muttered.
He didn't seem to believe the story.
Gradually I drift away, or they drift away. I don't even know which. I just know they sound fainter and fainter till I can't hear them again.