Tears rolled down her cheeks as she wrote down her statement at the police station. She could still remember the menacing look the manager had given her while she explained what had happened an hour ago.

The picture of what happened was still fresh in her head as she could still remember Mr. Babaola’s still body rolled out from the room on the stretcher. Those cold lifeless hands were caressing her body a few minutes ago. Holding the Hem of her underwear tightly, she resisted the urge to fall down and weep.

5 Hours ago.

She stared at the mirror hanging on the wall, examining her features.  She had vowed to keep her body till the night of her wedding, but she was about compromising her decision as Mr. Babaola had failed her twice in his course. And threatened to never let her graduate until he has a “taste” of her.

Hastily, she wiped a tear that was about to drop from her eyes, took a deep breath, and adjusted her short lingerie, pulling it up her breasts to reveal her cleavage. She smiled sadly at herself before walking out of the bathroom.

Mr. Babaola sat comfortably on the bed. He smiled ridiculously as he waited excitedly for her. He had the look of a predator that was about devouring prey. “You made the right decision my dear” -he said as he watched her sway her hips towards him. She had watched some tutorial videos on how to seduce a man as she was totally inexperienced.

He placed his sweaty hands on her hips, causing her to shiver in fright. Caressing her slowly, he nudged her body towards he’s. She inhaled deeply, her heart pounding faster as she felt his face against hers’.  Slowly, he kissed her. Patiently, she waited for his lips to get off hers’, but he continued. Her knees got weaker, as she felt his hands guiding its’ way to her back. She pushed him away immediately.

“So..rry Sir.” She stammered, pulling herself away from him. His lip curled in anger, crawling towards her he trapped her head, kissing her intensely. She could taste the alcohol he had taken that morning.  The sour taste caused turmoil in her stomach, she held herself, crying instead for the pitiable situation she was in. He pulled her down with him, kissing and undressing her. She could feel her underwear slip away and all she wanted was for time to stop. After a round of utmost pain and pleasure, Mr. Babaola laid on the bed.

Benedicta had rushed to the bathroom immediately, crying her eyes out.  Her chest hammered intensely. She could feel the pain. She hugged her knees, crying repeatedly. After about half an hour of sobbing, she took a shower, sponging her body with dread. She wanted to get rid of every smell, every touch, every kiss. She dried her body after the long shower, wearing her dress immediately, she arranged her bag and wanted to leave the room as soon as she could. She was so ashamed of herself and was very disgusted with the sight of Mr. Babaola.

Angrily, she walked out of the bathroom and went towards him. His eyes were closed and his body relaxed. How could he be sleeping soundly after what he did to me? She thought. She tapped him lightly, he didn’t respond. She tapped him again, no response. She pulled her bag and climbed the bed. Reached for his jugular to feel his pulse but couldn’t feel a beat.

Oh my God! Sweat beads ran down her body, causing her to shiver. Her heart beating pounded loudly against her ribs. Is he dead? She thought in fear. She shrugged her thoughts away and reached for his chest as she tried performing CPR on him immediately. Still, he didn’t move. She covered her mouth, her eyes getting wet with tears. She ran down immediately to the receptionist.

“I…. I… think… he… Fainted.” She rumbled, hitting the table repeatedly.

The receptionist followed her to the room, examining him, who was in fact a very popular customer at their motel. She called the emergency number immediately, informing them of their situation.

Mr. Babaola was rushed to the hospital and a few minutes later the Doctor came out of the emergency room to break the news of his death. She was confused if she could cry for his death or for compromising her age-longed decision for grades that she’ll not be getting still.

Story by Sandra Meribe.


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