By Khyati Shrestha
I hear the footsteps on the stairs.
Long. Heavy. Manly.
The ones that tell you that he’s coming. Coming for you.
“Who is he?” you ask me. “A Monster!” I answer.
And yet I wait for him. In my bedroom. Naked.
I sit on my knees with my hair open; my head bowed down in fear and submission.
Submission. He always rewards me for it.
He enters the room with a loud kick to the door. His eyes full of lust and his breath reeking of his favourite whiskey.
He enters with a belt in one hand and his little best friend in another.
And Bang! Once. Twice. Thrice.
I cry out in pain. “I like my meal loud and clear”, he says “I love it when it begs for mercy”
I try to scream, but I can’t. I try to hit him, but I can’t. How can I? He’s my husband and my mother has always taught me to satisfy my husband.
So I stay silent. Sobbing, but silent.
But then he talks about little Nina and how he would love to see her in my position, and I look up.
I look up in defiance and scream.
I pull the little pocket knife out of my thongs and cut his reason for pride.
He shouts and yet whimpers in pain. He cries and calls out my name.
He begs me for mercy, asks me to stop but how can I? He said he liked it loud and clear.
And Maa? Well, She always taught me to satisfy my husband.
