11 Dairy Of Miss X (1/2)
I f.u.c.k for a living, and I have ten years' experience to prove it. I started at the age of sixteen and gradually I made a name for myself. I don't regret a thing; don't have time for that nonsense. If I wasn't a b.l.o.o.d.y wh.o.r.e I would have been a teacher, I think it had to do with Mr Ige, my favourite teacher back then.
Many said I was brilliant and I was aware of that fact but life didn't go as planned. I never raised my expectations, what I see is what I get. You might think, I have no f.u.c.king sense but if you look closely, it makes my life d.a.m.n easy. I bang, eat, sleep, and look fab—nothing more or less. There is one principle I have and that is; there is always a choice, either good or bad.
My mother died when I was eight and I never knew my father. I was abused, almost beaten to death and raped till I had no soul left in me. I could have worked as a maid or anything other than the work I do; but I accepted the business with open arms. I am not telling you this so you will feel sympathy for me, I don't need it… I am a s.l.u.t and that came with no heart. I have done things—seen things that would scare some weak a.s.s n.i.g.g.e.rs for life but I am out here alive and still hustling on the hard streets of Lagos. My aunt sold me to Madam B for a couple of thousands notes and ever since that b.i.t.c.h had owned me.
The city was made from blood and sweat, and only the strong survived. Lagos had its dark allure; the chase of money, fame, addiction and s.e.x. I was after only one thing—the paper.
In solitude when I remove my mask, I get to look at myself in the mirror. Stripped of all the fake lashes, foundations that masked aws, smiles that bore empty promises, and my very heart would bleed to its last—it's true what they say; a mirror reveals a thousand secrets.
The Jam-packed rooms with rusted aluminium roof, made it hard for easy ventilation and the rubbish piled opposite the hostel made things worse. LAWMA barely cleared the district from its trash, which led the neighbours to mount their dirt till when the waste management agency visits. It was a f.u.c.ked way of life. I sni ed in the foul smell, and quickly spat. I should have gotten used to the stench by now but sometimes the whi still packs a vicious punch.
The evening was cool and I had just found myself a willing customer. From his appearance, I knew he could a ord me and if he proved stubborn, I could as well take his expensive jewelleries. He didn't look like most of my customer. He was arrogant and there was something about him, I couldn't gure out. I winked at him, but his hard face didn't break. I took in one last draw from my weed, and squashed the orange light with my black heels. I took him in and did what I do best.
I dressed as soon as I could and he did the same. He was tall, dark and had a face about him that made me uncomfortable; not that his features were not pleasing but it had a certain starkness to it. I stretched my hand forward as I demanded my pay and from his smirk I could tell he was going to be a problem. He stood, intimidating me with his eyes and physique.
”Do you know who I am? If I want you out of this neighborhood, you will be gone in a second. I don't pay for s.e.x”, he said with irritation. I narrowed my eyes on him and that was when it dawned on me. He was the motherf.u.c.ker the girls in the hostel complained about, the dangerous customer who wouldn't pay, sometimes he beats those poor girls up. I wasn't going to let him get away with it.
Quickly I grabbed my pocket knife from the drawer and pointed it at him. There was surprise in his eyes then it slowly cowered to a challenging one, as if daring me to do my worse. I stood my ground even though I feared what he would do to me, I wasn't going to let the b.a.s.t.a.r.d go.
”See! no try me now, I go waste you.” I waved the knife, trying to scare him o ”call me b.a.s.t.a.r.d if i no show you craze this night. Abi you wan die ni, no f.u.c.k up!”
”Wait rst, who born your fada? If you want to live, just put that knife down. Look at this fool, do you don't know who I am?” he chuckled, mocking my attempt to look tough.
”I am going to get my money this night or I will deal with you”, I said, still pointing the knife at him. He raised his hands slightly in surrender. The man hu ed, watching me with great scrutiny—before I could think further he grabbed my hand, holding it still and smacking me across the face. My head felt heavy and sight fuzzy for a short while. He smiled, peering down on me in triumph. I braced myself, still pointing the sharp object at him. He stalked me, trying to corner me in the small s.p.a.ce, with rage I raced forward but he quickly swung from harm's way.
He was fast and strong and I knew I was no match, swiftly he pinned my hands behind me and I dropped the knife—at that point I realized I was Christmas chicken. He launched his forehead at my face, and the blinding pain left me breathless. I squirmed on the oor trying to think past the agony. Climbing on top of me, he wrapped his coa.r.s.e hands around my slender neck. I felt the blood gather in my skull, and my eyeb.a.l.l.s at the verge of popping out. At least if I was going to die, I had to go down with a big ght—I clawed and struggled, but it only made things worse.
He kept staring at me, waiting for me to give up. I glanced at my side and there was the small knife, my very salvation from death. I stretched my hand, making sure I didn't hint the demon of my intension. As soon as I grabbed the small weapon, it slipped out of my damp hand. I could feel my body growing numb—I tried again and this time I clutched it hard, quickly I drove the sharp object in his neck, blood gushed out of him. He wheezed as his hand touched the knife in his throat, slowly he pulled it out causing him to bleed excessively, red thick uid sprayed on my body and his eyes rolled at the back of his head, before he could react the b.a.s.t.a.r.d collapsed on me. I scurried away from his weight, as fast as I could. I inhaled sharply, coughing and ma.s.saging my neck.
It had been over thirty minutes and I was still staring at the corpse in my room, I needed to get rid of it but I didn't know how to. The night was busy, just a little after ten. It was not safe to drag the body out at this time and even if it was, I wasn't sure I could carry the dead body. I knew I needed help and as it turned out I knew the man for the job.
It was eleven at night and Stone stared at the lifeless body in the middle of my room, blood pooled around his head and I was grateful the stench of death was not upon us yet. Stone was the ”go to guy”, when situation was out of hand. He owed me a favour and it was time to collect. We made a plan and that was, he would take care of the body, while I cleaned up the messy oor. With his bad leg, Stone carried the corpse out of the room.
The thick and slimy liquid stuck to my plastic nails, I tried to scrub it o but the stubborn stain was reluctant to leave, there were towels soaked with blood and the whole bathroom was something out of a horror movie. My ngers trembled and my throat parched from dreadfulness. I stared at the mirror, my lips shaky. What have I done? Was I going to get away with this again? I was relieved the body was gone and the plan went accordingly. Now all I had to do was keep my mouth shut, my head down and forget what happened this night, but I knew better; my mind wouldn't let me be. My so called conscience will hunt me down and murder me with guilt.
A week pa.s.sed and the police nally found the decayed body. Few questions were asked here and there but nothing serious. I could tell there was not going to be a real investigation, he was a thug and a no body. The police had their suspicion it was a gang retaliation and they didn't have interest in that sort of matter. At night I thanked the G.o.ds in my village I was alive, the neighbours had quieted their murmurs about the murder and minded their business. I had begun to feel safe.
Girls in front of the hostel whistled at pa.s.sing cars. Funke, known as Fan Ice showed o her bountiful b.u.t.tocks, as she did a neat trick that made those full cheeks clap. Sounds of popping chewing gum and scent of cheap fragrance fumed the August air. I haven't found a customer for the night because my mind was elsewhere. I was surprised to see Stone outside the hostel, he gestured me to follow him which I did without hesitation.
”Which kind wahala you carry me enter?” he whispered, eyes scanning the secluded corner we occupied.
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”Which kind yeye talk be that?” I asked, frowning. The smell of p.i.s.s and s.h.i.+t clouded my brain, which made me clench my teeth. ”The guy you killed is one of mayor's sons” he said, fear spiked his rigid voice.