the clock struck twelve and he entered her. she stirred. the pain seared upwards from her tender loins. she squeezed her eyes so tight she saw waves of pain dance in the darkened aching coverings of her eyelids. she screamed. he covered her mouth with his hand. the palm was noble-rough. she couldn’t see nothing in the dark store-room, but she felt his other hand – busy adjusting his manhood. she tried to close her legs but his stately body was between her splayed legs. she smelt the alcohol on his breath and a waft of petroleum jelly on the hand covering her mouth. his royal carelessness felt like a belly ache.

            “rra, please don’t.” teeth clenched. through splayed fingers.

            “but you agreed to come here with me.”

            “but i didn’t agree to have sex with you.”

            “why.”

            “i am 15.”

            “you’re 16. it’s twelve. happy birthday.”

… the clock struck one. he rolled off her – a sated walrus. sobbing gently, she felt/wished she was cinderella.

Copyright © Fani-Kayode Omoregie 2016

Read this and other short stories from my collected short stories – Sandbaggers

Author’s note: let’s use our creative talents to fight abuse.