TEARS CANNOT HEAL BROKEN THINGS-WRITTEN BY Chioma Ngaikedi- SHARED BY AMITY ARCHIBONG

(18+)

(18+ please.) TEARS CANNOT HEAL BROKEN THINGS "Are you not listening, Veronica?" Pastor Jude said. A giant black vibrator dangled in his left hand. His face was a mask of pure horror. "What are you doing with this?" I jolted back to reality,nodding like a lizard hanging on a tree. I have never seen Pastor Jude, Matthew's father fume like this. Matthew was pacing around the living room, sweating like a Christmas goat. Stupid idiot! Why did I even accept to enter this life of bondage anyway? I blame my mother. She had pushed me into hell. "Go ahead, Vero! He is a husband material. A wise girl can date a play boy but when it comes to marriage, she must choose a husband. Matthew is a husband. He graduated with first class. His father is a pastor. And you said he has never even demanded for sex in the six months, you two have been dating. Nne, go ahead, Matthew is every woman's dream!" We had this conversation in the kitchen,the mortal was between her legs . The echoes of the pestle punctuated her words. But the pestle did more than pound the cocoyam that day. It had pounded her words into my head. Two months later, I married Matthew. And that was when the nightmare began. Wedding night, my best friend Philo had just helped me change into a revealing red lingerie. "Girl! show him pepper" she whispered into my ears and strutted towards the door. I giggled. My head was swirling with the champagne I had drank at the wedding reception. The room swung around. Heaven was at my feet. Then, Matthew entered,looking every inch a man. He has removed his black suit. His white shirt stretched over the muscles of his shoulders. The front buttons were open. Dark hair shining against brown chest,begging my fingers to run through. He raised his glass in the air in a silent toast. I took the first step. My red lingerie accentuated my curves. The lingerie slipped off my left shoulder, my left breast was exposed, hanging in the air like an offering in the hands of a priestess. Matthew's eyes widened. He drained the drink in a single gulp. I walked into his arms. Our lips united. My hands roamed the expanse of his shoulders. My right hand snaked down pass his navel straight to his groins. I squeezed. The glass slipped from his grasp. "Veronica!" He gasped. My name sounded like a prayer upon his lips. His pupils disappeared into his eyes. His hands reached for my breasts. My fingers tore the buttons of his shirt. His chest was bared in my gaze. Dark hair. Taut stomach. Chiseled chest. Damn! He yanked my lingerie away. His hands found my bare buttocks. He squeezed, lifting me in his arms, we landed on the bed. The soft blankets enveloped us in its warmth. Our moans came from our souls' depth. He nudged my legs apart. In one quick thrust, he was inside me. Then another thrust. He screamed and his body began to convulse. After, 3 seconds, he collapsed beside me. That night, my body burnt with need but the more I tried to wake him, the louder his snores drummed in my ears. Yes! That was my wedding night of 3 seconds sex! The pattern soon became a trend. Matthew would stir me up and leave me hanging, months after months. And anytime, I brought up the topic, advising him to visit a doctor, he would tell me not to be a slave to the flesh. And when I couldn't take anymore, I invited my mother to thrash the issue with us. Matthew looked my mother in the face and asked her if had been circumcised? He pressed that African women should be circumcised to curb our libido. He said that it was wrong for a woman not to be satisfied with her husband, that infact I needed prayers if not deliverance. I couldn't believe my ears. I just sat down there, staring at our wedding picture hanging on the wall, wishing I could use it to smash some senses into him. " For eight months, your wife hasn't climaxed and you are here, talking rubbish. Hide your face in shame, you useless trunk of a man.'' I yelled. Mother tried to calm me down but water cannot douse the flames of desire. I clawed at him and kicked his back. He turned and that was the first time Mathew had ever slapped me. That night, mother and i sat behind the geepee tank in my back yard. Her hands held mine as she said, ''Vero nwa, a husband is like a parcel, whatever you find inside is what you will take. Endure nwa! Endure! " I stared at her with shock in my eyes. Endure? Endure a lifetime of misery? I didn't sign up for this. The week after, I drove to pinky sex store and got myself, a shiny black, giant vibrator. On a lonely evening, several weeks later, I laid naked on our bed, an Elthon John, sacrifice, blasting on the deck, my legs apart, vibrator in hand, I was driving myself to heights that Matthew cannot take me. I heard a crash. I opened my eyes. Matthew was at the door. He opened his mouth but no words came out. Tears shone in his eyes. He turned and left the room. Two hours later, here I am, sitting in my living room with my father in law sitting opposite me, with a big bible on his laps. And the vibrator dangling in his left hand. His eyes roamed over me like a detective whisking a murderer. "Why Vero? Why would you let devil use you? According to John chapter 4 vs... It says... " He was reading the passage but I was not listening. My eyes were fixated on Matthew. He was still pacing. His eyes were avoiding mine as though the very sight of me disgusted him. I felt sorry for him. I never wanted it to be like this. "I will burn this." my father in law said,swinging the vibrator in my face. "This is devil trying to break your home. Do you understand me, Veronica?" "Yes, I do sir. '' I replied "Now, get up and apologize to your husband," he ordered. I got up and walked past the glass center table to the bar shelf where Matthew was leaning. I stopped in front of him. "I'm sorry. " I murmured. He looked up at me as though seeing me for the first time. He opened his arms and I walked in. We wept. We cried for the expectations not reached. We cried for the those tiny little twisted things inside us. But even as we cried, I knew I would always return to pinky sex store because tears cannot heal broken things. With love, Chioma Ngaikedi (My adorable writer)

TEARS CANNOT HEAL BROKEN THINGS "Are you not listening, Veronica?" Pastor Jude said. A giant black vibrator dangled in his left hand. His face was a mask of pure horror. "What are you doing with this?" I jolted back to reality,nodding like a lizard hanging on a tree. I have never seen Pastor Jude, Matthew's father fume like this. Matthew was pacing around the living room, sweating like a Christmas goat. Stupid idiot! Why did I even accept to enter this life of bondage anyway? I blame my mother. She had pushed me into hell. "Go ahead, Vero! He is a husband material. A wise girl can date a play boy but when it comes to marriage, she must choose a husband. Matthew is a husband. He graduated with first class. His father is a pastor. And you said he has never even demanded for sex in the six months, you two have been dating. Nne, go ahead, Matthew is every woman's dream!" We had this conversation in the kitchen,the mortal was between her legs . The echoes of the pestle punctuated her words. But the pestle did more than pound the cocoyam that day. It had pounded her words into my head. Two months later, I married Matthew. And that was when the nightmare began. Wedding night, my best friend Philo had just helped me change into a revealing red lingerie. "Girl! show him pepper" she whispered into my ears and strutted towards the door. I giggled. My head was swirling with the champagne I had drank at the wedding reception. The room swung around. Heaven was at my feet. Then, Matthew entered,looking every inch a man. He has removed his black suit. His white shirt stretched over the muscles of his shoulders. The front buttons were open. Dark hair shining against brown chest,begging my fingers to run through. He raised his glass in the air in a silent toast. I took the first step. My red lingerie accentuated my curves. The lingerie slipped off my left shoulder, my left breast was exposed, hanging in the air like an offering in the hands of a priestess. Matthew's eyes widened. He drained the drink in a single gulp. I walked into his arms. Our lips united. My hands roamed the expanse of his shoulders. My right hand snaked down pass his navel straight to his groins. I squeezed. The glass slipped from his grasp. "Veronica!" He gasped. My name sounded like a prayer upon his lips. His pupils disappeared into his eyes. His hands reached for my breasts. My fingers tore the buttons of his shirt. His chest was bared in my gaze. Dark hair. Taut stomach. Chiseled chest. Damn! He yanked my lingerie away. His hands found my bare buttocks. He squeezed, lifting me in his arms, we landed on the bed. The soft blankets enveloped us in its warmth. Our moans came from our souls' depth. He nudged my legs apart. In one quick thrust, he was inside me. Then another thrust. He screamed and his body began to convulse. After, 3 seconds, he collapsed beside me. That night, my body burnt with need but the more I tried to wake him, the louder his snores drummed in my ears. Yes! That was my wedding night of 3 seconds sex! The pattern soon became a trend. Matthew would stir me up and leave me hanging, months after months. And anytime, I brought up the topic, advising him to visit a doctor, he would tell me not to be a slave to the flesh. And when I couldn't take anymore, I invited my mother to thrash the issue with us. Matthew looked my mother in the face and asked her if had been circumcised? He pressed that African women should be circumcised to curb our libido. He said that it was wrong for a woman not to be satisfied with her husband, that infact I needed prayers if not deliverance. I couldn't believe my ears. I just sat down there, staring at our wedding picture hanging on the wall, wishing I could use it to smash some senses into him. " For eight months, your wife hasn't climaxed and you are here, talking rubbish. Hide your face in shame, you useless trunk of a man.'' I yelled. Mother tried to calm me down but water cannot douse the flames of desire. I clawed at him and kicked his back. He turned and that was the first time Mathew had ever slapped me. That night, mother and i sat behind the geepee tank in my back yard. Her hands held mine as she said, ''Vero nwa, a husband is like a parcel, whatever you find inside is what you will take. Endure nwa! Endure! " I stared at her with shock in my eyes. Endure? Endure a lifetime of misery? I didn't sign up for this. The week after, I drove to pinky sex store and got myself, a shiny black, giant vibrator. On a lonely evening, several weeks later, I laid naked on our bed, an Elthon John, sacrifice, blasting on the deck, my legs apart, vibrator in hand, I was driving myself to heights that Matthew cannot take me. I heard a crash. I opened my eyes. Matthew was at the door. He opened his mouth but no words came out. Tears shone in his eyes. He turned and left the room. Two hours later, here I am, sitting in my living room with my father in law sitting opposite me, with a big bible on his laps. And the vibrator dangling in his left hand. His eyes roamed over me like a detective whisking a murderer. "Why Vero? Why would you let devil use you? According to John chapter 4 vs... It says... " He was reading the passage but I was not listening. My eyes were fixated on Matthew. He was still pacing. His eyes were avoiding mine as though the very sight of me disgusted him. I felt sorry for him. I never wanted it to be like this. "I will burn this." my father in law said,swinging the vibrator in my face. "This is devil trying to break your home. Do you understand me, Veronica?" "Yes, I do sir. '' I replied "Now, get up and apologize to your husband," he ordered. I got up and walked past the glass center table to the bar shelf where Matthew was leaning. I stopped in front of him. "I'm sorry. " I murmured. He looked up at me as though seeing me for the first time. He opened his arms and I walked in. We wept. We cried for the expectations not reached. We cried for the those tiny little twisted things inside us. But even as we cried, I knew I would always return to pinky sex store because tears cannot heal broken things. With love, Chioma Ngaikedi (My adorable writer)

facebook@ Amity Archibong