John drops us at the bar, before he quickly rushes to drive off in a huff. It’s barely 7, 6:58 to be exact on a Friday and luckily it falls at the end of the month, the little money left up from last month can be blown on cheap liquor and an uber for the chips funga(one night stand). This day couldn’t get any better. “Why the hell is this guy always in a hurry to go home” Wesley demands, “Maybe his wife serves him better pussy” , Ben the smart mouth utters, we all burst out laughing  masking Wesleys obviously lame comeback. The clouds are dark and they hung low, so we get in before it starts raining.

Picture Credits: daily mail

At half past seven, he opens the door and a heavy stench of alcohol hits him, followed by the sight of empty beer bottles lying on the floor, an empty pizza box and afew dirty dishes he had left in the morning are still on the table. A nice aroma fills the room and John is immediately terrified and imagines the worst, he was to cook tonight like all nights. He closes the door behind him and drops his leather briefcase on the ground.

He slowly walks into the kitchen, wishing to find nobody there, but deep down he knows this is just wishful thinking. Just as he thought, his wife Bella, 3 months pregnant and showing, is in her night gown, her short afro unkempt and her white sleeping gown stained with soup. She turns and smiles at him, welcoming him home, her bright brown eyes stare at his horrified face.

John’s mouth hangs low and feels dry. His eyes are wide open, terrified is an understatement, his hands are shaking and his legs can no longer support him, he leans on the wall and slides down to the floor. ” Am sorry, I really am”, he’s able to get words out after an intense moment of silence, he continues, “The boys insisted I drop them off at the Bar downtown”. “So you have new friends” , she responds, as her hand tightly grips the wooden spoon.

John is quiet. Her face turns blank, even without the smile she looks beautiful with her soft facial features, high cheek bones, full lips, small nose and big brown eyes.

Courtsey: Pinterest

She walks towards him with the serving spoon in hand dripping with beef stew, staining the white tiled floor, her curvaceous body still visible under her gown which isn’t entirely opaque. She kneels right next to him, “Its all right, you were just a couple of minutes late”, she says as she raises his head with her index and middle finger and kisses him on the forehead. She stands holding his hand prompting him to stand too and leads him to the kitchen table. Maybe tonight won’t be like other nights, he tells himself as he removes his striped coat,loosens his tie and unbuttons his blue shirt. He looks at his beautiful wife as she cooks. Her derrière looking firm and yet soft to the touch still detailed under her sleeping gown forming folds at the top.


” So where’s the check?” , her beautiful soft voice interrupts him. He reaches into his pants, he can’t find it, checks his shirts pocket but still can’t find it.

He rembers putting it in his office desk, he must have forgotten it there. Fear starts taking over again, his heart pacing. He always gives her his monthly salary to budget for his pocket money and fuel aside and not to forget her alchohol. She’s in a good mood today, relax, just explain it to her, maybe she’ll understand, thoughts of reassurance and consolation fill his mind, he’s able to relax himself and clears his throat before talking, “I guess I forgot it at the office, I’ll bring it tommorow” , his words escape his mouth in a low shrill voice almost sounding like a scared girl.

She stops stirring the stew and turns, her mouth twisted and pulled to one side of her face as she raises her left eyebrow higher than the other. Almost immediately that she throws a glass bowl at him than the thunder rumbles and it begins to rain, he ducks, but he is immediately hit with the wooden serving spoon on his head. The impact is so strong it ends up breaking the spoon and swabs soup from the spoon onto his head . John falls down with a heavy thud on the tiled floor he hits his elbow on the table. Curled up covering his face with his hands, his 6’2 frame makes him look like a big baby, he is helpless.

Bella gets on top of him, turns him over and lands a punch on his left eye. “I hope that doesn’t leave a mark”, she mutters. She grabs the porcelain mug on the table and swats it on his knees with it. She doesn’t want visible marks on obvious places, only in discreet places just like the marks she left on his groin lastweek. She’s smart.

The sharp pain is excruciating, but he doesn’t want to shout, not because his neighbours will hear him crying for help and end up damaging his ego, no because he remembers what happened the last time he did and the time before that. So he just groans trying not to let tears flow out or she’ll mock him and accuse him of being a little girl.

She starts punching him on his chest and biting his fingers as hard as she can every time he tries to push her away. His also careful not to hurt the love of his life or their baby. She then grabs his head and starts knocking him on the cold tiles. He starts feeling weak and light headed, his knee is still throbbing with pain, theirs a stinging pain in his chest, he tries to push her but he can’t raise his hands, everything starts getting blurry, his eyes close. Blood flows from the back of his head.

For a while Bella is scared. Is he dead?, the thought crosses her mind. She checks for his pulse, he is alive . She breaths a sigh of relief. Without wasting time, she strips his shirt off and turns his body around, she takes a knife and slits him six times on his back not too deep to cause serve blood loss but deep enough to serve as a ‘lesson’ for the next 1 week.

She puts it back on the kitchen top and leaves for the bedroom leaving him on the floor. He’ll be alright, she thinks and knows it. She’s halfway across the kitchen when she turns and heads for the cooker and turns it off, “Hahaha“, she quietly laughs, she finds it funny she almost forgot to turn it off, mixes the stew with the rice she had cooked earlier and pours it in the bin. She’s not hungry and (she had drunk 3 bottles of beer and ate the left over pizza in the fridge) John is passed out. But he’ll be ‘fine’ tommorow just like the days before today.


This post is not to soft-pedal domestic violence among women but to create an equal discussion about domestic violence among men. 


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