She pattered across the mini corridor adjoining the sitting room and froze at sudden sight of him.
Relief washed over her momentarily making her forget the four meetings she had been in back to back, how her bones were crying, how she drove back home bare footed and almost walked into her home same way.
He lay fast asleep on the four-seater sectional white and purple sofa looking so innocent, adorable and peaceful like a baby. Even today, she couldn’t help the thought of what their children would look like, as she always did every time she watched him sleep and hoped they looked more like her husband.
She could have reached out, kissed, embraced him and even shed tears of joy coupled with relief but the anger bubbling within her took the upper hand. How could he be asleep so peacefully when all she had done was worry over him? Her forehead creased and her heart beats quickened.
Casting her handbag on the sofa and pulling off her shoes, she marched decisively in her skirt suit to the kitchen.
She returned with the sharpest among her collection of knives in right hand, her eyes fierce, and blood vehemently coursing through her veins with same brisk steps she had left with. Her anger fueled at his still-sleeping form.
Without pausing to think, she lowered the sharp and cold edge of the knife to his neck and slit.
Scrambling off the sofa at the sharp pain, sleep flew far from him and his eyes widened at the blood spurting from his neck.
“Jesus…Jesus ” He muttered after he grabbed his neck just for his palm to be soiled with blood. When she advanced him once more like who was possessed with an evil spirit, he used his left arm to bare the attack.
The knife fell off her hand to the rug soundless at the sight of so much blood. Panic surged through her; she made to run upstairs but barely halfway, ran back down, picked her bag and fled barefooted.
Gnashing teeth in pain, he mustered strength, pulled off his T-shirt and wrapped it around his neck. Bent over, he placed his bleeding arm on his thigh and applied pressure. With shaky right palm, he reached for phone which was partially stained with drops of blood and hit speed dial button.
“Eni…” He began breathless with blur vision. “Come now. Lillian…stab…stab…” The phone slipped off his hand as he laid sprawled, pain numbing his senses. His right palm applying pressure on the already soaked T-shirt with his eyes closed and breaths laboured.
Lillian drove like the hosts of darkness straight from hell were on her heels, her eyes more on the side mirror than on the road, driving in and out of the street surrounding their home in GRA, Ikeja before it dawned on her it might take days before his body is discovered.
Hot tears streamed down her face blinding her as she stepped on her brake pedal.
The car behind her came to an abrupt halt and narrowly missed her bumper. The driver hurried out of his car furious but before he could reach her door and deliver the stream of curses he had lined up, her car zoomed off.
“Stupid woman! Oloshi!” He launched after her.
He was dead. Lying in his pool of blood or maybe not, the rug will soak it.
Her lips quivered. She had killed him. A human like herself. Not just any human but her husband. The man she had become one with. The man that love, respected, supported, who was not intimidated by her achievement, encouraged her to pursue her dreams yet tolerated her weakness. Or was it excesses?
The same man that had defended and professed his undying love for her when most of his family members and friends had frowned on their intention to get married.
What was she going to tell his family, his aged parents and elder brothers? That she killed the last child of the family. That she had proved them right in only four months, a mistake of a wife for their own.
Gripping the steering, she sobbed in careless abandon.
How was she going to explain to her mother that she killed her adopted son and doctor? How was she going to face her and tell her that all her plea and admonition for her to curb her quick temper had fallen on deaf ears? What she going to tell her older siblings who were all happily married? What legacy had she set for her extended family?
The woman who soared in her profession yet slashed her husband throat like a professional butcher.
“I am finished o. I am finished.” She wailed and blinked severally. She swerved suddenly almost colliding with a parked truck.
Without giving thought to the near fatal accident, she continued driving. It was better life was snuffed out of her than the shame and disappointment that lurked.
There was no escape for her, not with her uncle-in-law the inspector general of police.
She drove with no destination in mind. Her parent’s home in Ikorodu was no option.
She didn’t have friends. Her attitude of treating people like second class citizens had left her with no friends much more a confidant.
With her eyes red, nose drooling, a pounding head, a heavy heart and an aching body, she realized she couldn’t keep driving in order not to put other road users at risk and do more damage. She blinked severally then assessed her environment just for her to realize she was in Abule egba. It was an area not familiar with her and she could easily ask around for a guest house but who would register her for a room barefooted and disheveled without suspicion. That might actually bring the police faster to her doorstep as there was blood stain on the hem of her jacket and on her feet.
It dawned on her that the other of her suitor who was a photographer but had dismissed because he was not physically and financially appealing to her lived in the vicinity. It has been two years, flicking on her travigating lights; she decided to exhaust her only option.
Maama P of lifeandspices.com, thank you for the cover back, you are the best!
I want to revive the inspiration personnel category of this blog but I need suggestions. Who home and abroad, living or dead have inspired to greatness? I look forward to feedback on the comment box, have a splendid rest of the week and don’t forget to criticize the story.