Father's sermon against adultery and fornication vibrated through the mega phone as the congregation flipped through the pages of their Bible. Shouts of "Hallelujah", followed suit when father proclaimed, "Praise the living Lord".

Moments spent with Matthew, the guy next door, came flooding my mind. Those moments I go to his apartment; the moans that escapes my throat when he caresses and suckles my breasts not to forget the sweet sensation that follows suit as he thrust into me.
The lustful memories filled my mind till my thought lost its way. Father called it fornication. Matthew called it intimacy. And calls me his "Perfect Bedmate".

Dressed in the same attire, mother and I together with Junior, my little brother sat at the front pew. It was like our permanent position in church because father liked it that way. My gaze was on father; his white shirt was already soaked with sweat and at intervals, he dabs his face with a handkerchief. Everyone thought he was good looking, especially the choir ladies who would always giggle like school girls whenever he teases them or says something funny. Only if they knew the monster that lurks within the man.

In public, mother was his priceless jewel and darling. Behind closed doors, she was his punching bag.
My gaze shifted to mother. Her arms were folded under her bosom as she stared at father as though she was so engrossed in the sermon. The makeup she applied didn't conceal the bags under her eyes nor did it hide the deep scars on her face. She always suffered from persistent migraines and heart aches. She was often in tears and gets rather nervous and scared whenever father showed up at home. The humiliation and abuse she receives from him was traumatic enough to get her admitted for rehab.
Those nights father gets irritated because mother added much salt to the soup, he would pour the soup on her head before smashing the ceramic plate on her face. Mother had learnt not to cry immediately because doing so would only serve to fuel father's anger the more.
"Mum, why can't we just get away? We...."
"Marriage is till death do us part", mother will always cut me off leaving me completely dazed.

Lately, she barely says a word to us but walks around the house speaking in whispers and gesticulating with her hands.
"Mummy is becoming mad", Junior would always say. At three, he had witnessed much violence at home....
"Let the choir help us with worship songs", father's words shook me out of my reverie. I looked up and caught him with a lop sided smile as the choir mistress claimed the stage. The short gown she wore hug tightly to her body leaving nothing to the imagination. I furrowed my brows....."Won’t father say anything about her dressing?"

* * *
"Tell your father we have been waiting", mother asked almost in a whisper. I couldn't remember the last time her voice was audible. Briskly, I walked into the church wondering why father had kept us waiting. It was almost an hour since the service came to an end..
"Hi Ella", someone called from behind but I kept walking. Father never allowed us have conversations with the church members. His reason was still unknown and we considered it wise enough not to question his orders.
I increased my steps as I made my way to father's office. Pushing the door open, I felt a rush of blood through my body; my mind was too moulded to comprehend what was going on.
Father's moans choked the room. The choir mistress kept stroking and shoveling his member into her mouth. They were lost in their little world and totally oblivious of my presence.
My fingers quivered in shock as hot tears came perching at the edge of my eyes. There was terror in father's eyes when his gaze met mine. All I felt was the urge to rip off his head.
"Don't you dare say a word about this". His warning got me laughing loudly in the midst of my tears.

Pricelessfina:
Father's sermon against adultery and fornication vibrated through the mega phone as the congregation flipped through the pages of their Bible. Shouts of "Hallelujah", followed suit when father proclaimed, "Praise the living Lord".

Moments spent with Matthew, the guy next door, came flooding my mind. Those moments I go to his apartment; the moans that escapes my throat when he caresses and suckles my breasts not to forget the sweet sensation that follows suit as he thrust into me.
The lustful memories filled my mind till my thought lost its way. Father called it fornication. Matthew called it intimacy. And calls me his "Perfect Bedmate".

Dressed in the same attire, mother and I together with Junior, my little brother sat at the front pew. It was like our permanent position in church because father liked it that way. My gaze was on father; his white shirt was already soaked with sweat and at intervals, he dabs his face with a handkerchief. Everyone thought he was good looking, especially the choir ladies who would always giggle like school girls whenever he teases them or says something funny. Only if they knew the monster that lurks within the man.

In public, mother was his priceless jewel and darling. Behind closed doors, she was his punching bag.
My gaze shifted to mother. Her arms were folded under her bosom as she stared at father as though she was so engrossed in the sermon. The makeup she applied didn't conceal the bags under her eyes nor did it hide the deep scars on her face. She always suffered from persistent migraines and heart aches. She was often in tears and gets rather nervous and scared whenever father showed up at home. The humiliation and abuse she receives from him was traumatic enough to get her admitted for rehab.
Those nights father gets irritated because mother added much salt to the soup, he would pour the soup on her head before smashing the ceramic plate on her face. Mother had learnt not to cry immediately because doing so would only serve to fuel father's anger the more.
"Mum, why can't we just get away? We...."
"Marriage is till death do us part", mother will always cut me off leaving me completely dazed.

Lately, she barely says a word to us but walks around the house speaking in whispers and gesticulating with her hands.
"Mummy is becoming mad", Junior would always say. At three, he had witnessed much violence at home....
"Let the choir help us with worship songs", father's words shook me out of my reverie. I looked up and caught him with a lop sided smile as the choir mistress claimed the stage. The short gown she wore hug tightly to her body leaving nothing to the imagination. I furrowed my brows....."Won’t father say anything about her dressing?"

* * *
"Tell your father we have been waiting", mother asked almost in a whisper. I couldn't remember the last time her voice was audible. Briskly, I walked into the church wondering why father had kept us waiting. It was almost an hour since the service came to an end..
"Hi Ella", someone called from behind but I kept walking. Father never allowed us have conversations with the church members. His reason was still unknown and we considered it wise enough not to question his orders.
I increased my steps as I made my way to father's office. Pushing the door open, I felt a rush of blood through my body; my mind was too moulded to comprehend what was going on.
Father's moans choked the room. The choir mistress kept stroking and shoveling his member into her mouth. They were lost in their little world and totally oblivious of my presence.
My fingers quivered in shock as hot tears came perching at the edge of my eyes. There was terror in father's eyes when his gaze met mine. All I felt was the urge to rip off his head.
"Don't you dare say a word about this". His warning got me laughing loudly in the midst of my tears.

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