The Search for Mr Right (E1 – E12)

E11 - The Search for Mr. Right: Saved

“You will do no such thing!”

“Stephanie, you have to understand. There is no way in hell we can let him go scot-free. There’s no way! Something needs to be done. We need to put him behind bars or something. Back me up on this.”

“I said I don’t want to go to the police.” She screamed at me.

“But why? We have to. Do you want him to move freely even after defiling you like that?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“It is all of my business. You are my younger sister and you’ll forever be my responsibility.”

“Lauretta, please understand. Please. Don’t make me go through this.” She pleaded.

“Stephanie, why do you want this to go away like that?”

“It’s been almost a year already. And no one would believe me.”

“But I believe you. Even Adam confessed to it. We have a case.”
“Why are you so hung up on this? I’ve asked you to let it be.”

“I’m doing this because I love you. No one should be able to hurt you and go scot-free.”

“If you really love me as you claim to, you will shut the hell up and stay away from my business!”

***

Hi there, It’s me again. The unrepentant spinster. Stephanie has refused to press charges. She is holding her ground and refusing to see reason. Why would she want to keep quiet about something like this? Stephanie is the stronger one, the proactive one. The one who helps us make the tough but necessary decisions like clearing our Daddy’s room and giving his clothes to charity. She was the one who stood up to my father’s family when they tried to send three children from the village to live with us since the house was big enough and na their brother get am. She was the one who told mummy to stop mourning and go back to the market because she had mouths to feed. She was the one that helped us take care of the house when our mother and I simply could not bring ourselves to do anything. She comforted me every time I cried. She stood up for everyone’s rights. Why is she refusing to do the same for her own self?

One part of me just wants to do what’s right for my sister even if she doesn’t know what it is. That part of me wants to just walk into a police station and lay a complaint. I don’t know if it is foolishness on my part to want to seek justice one year too late, but one thing I’m sure of is that I will never be able to live with the fact that my sister’s rapist roams the face of the earth completely unperturbed. She deserves that closure, the type that puts him in jail for a number of years so he never commits such atrocities again. Then, there is the other part of me that acknowledges that as much as I want to defend my sister’s honor, I still have to lay back. Because it is not my fight. The logical part of me knows that I must give her space and time to make her own decisions. I know I have to trust her, no matter what other opinions I have.

These were the thoughts that plagued my mind as I drove to work that morning. I got to the office 30 minutes late and I couldn’t care less. All I could think about was how much I needed to talk to someone. Someone who wouldn’t judge me and would understand where I am coming from. I need to talk to someone that would actually listen and tell me what to do. I had that person once, and he turned out to be my sister’s rapist.

“Lauretta, are you okay?”

I looked up and found Grace staring down at me with a concerned expression on her face. Since I got news of the incident, I’ve been gloomy and altogether uninterested in whatever happens in the office. Although my relationship with Grace cannot be conveniently called a friendship, I know she has my back and she looks out for me.

“I’m fine, Grace.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” Though I am desperate for a listening ear, I’m not sure I have the right to use Grace’s ears like that. At least for now.

“Okay. How’s Adam by the way? Haven’t seen him here for a long time.”

I winced as I heard her call his name and she noticed.

“Oh my God. Is that why you’ve been so moody? Did you guys break up? I just knew something was up.” She said, genuinely concerned.

“Grace, Adam is not and was never my boyfriend. I don’t know where he is, so…”

“Oh. Okay.” She said furrowing her brows. “I’ll just get my files then. They said they are working on a few things today, so all our lines are down. And so we won’t really have any work this morning. Some of the guys and I are going to work on our report, do you want to join us?”

“No, I’m fine here. I’ll just wait it out. Thank you though.”

“You’re welcome.” After that, she picked up her bags and left. I could tell she was maybe hurt or offended by my response but I just couldn’t bring myself to care.

Since we had the morning off, I decided to spend it on something very productive. Like scrolling through my Instagram feed. Scrolling through Instagram made me feel worse and better all at the same time. Seeing lives that are going better than yours (at least, judging from the photo) has a way of making you feel all shades of inadequate and depressed. But then you feel better when you see that there really is some beauty left in the world, even if it has gone through tons of phone filters.

Just as I was scrolling past the nude photo of a Ghanaian actress, I noticed a flyer that read “Have you been sexually abused?” in capital letters. In an impulsive moment of curiosity, I scrolled back up to read the post again. Usually, stories of abuse frightened and angered me at the same time and I tried my hardest to avoid them. This particular one was a sponsored post and that was the only reason it appeared on my feed.

The flier stated the name of the organization which turned out to be a Non-Governmental Organization sponsored by a renowned philanthropist. I visited their page and had my eyes filled with stories of young and old women sexually abused by the men closest to them. One was a story of an 8-year-old girl who was continuously raped by her own father until she was eventually rescued by her mother’s sister. Turns out the said girl is now 14 years old and she wants to press charges. The organization – Sisters Who Bleed – was firmly behind this campaign and with their help, a court date had already been scheduled.

From their posts and interaction, it was obvious that they had managed to create a kind of sisterhood. A sisterhood of strength and support, truer than anything you would find elsewhere. I checked out their portfolio and discovered that they offered counseling sessions, rehabilitation programs, legal counsel and representation, and they even helped some of their sisters with accommodation and jobs. It really was something out of the movies.

If there was anybody who could teach me how to handle my sister’s case, it had to be them. And so, I took a step of faith and sent them a personal message. With the kind of engagement they had on their Instagram page, I doubted if they would even see my message. But I sent it anyway. I was still reading through some of the horrid stories on their timeline when I received a notification that they had replied. Apparently, I could schedule an online consultation with one of their volunteers immediately and they would give me a call. It was all fun and games when I dropped my number for a call consultation not until my phone rang literally sixty seconds later.

“Hello, sister. I’m Sandra, one of your Sisters Who Bleed.”

If this is their customer service, then I have been doing such a shitty job at my company. Her voice was so reassuring and it filled me with a warmth that made me want to cuddle and divulge all of my life’s history. It was simply beautiful and all I could say in response was, “Hi.”

“Are you Lauretta?”

“Yes, I am.”

“How bad are you feeling?

Whoever groomed these sisters needed to teach my supervisor a thing or two about real customer relationships. It all felt really surreal.

“Uh…terrible.”

“Lauretta, can you tell me your code?”

On their page, I learned they have codes that define different levels of pain. Red meant ‘intense’ (obviously), orange meant ‘on the verge’, while pink meant ‘mild.’

“I’m pink but my sister is a double red.”

“Your sister?”

“Yes, yes. She is the reason I’m making this phone call. She was raped and I don’t know what to do.”

“I’m so sorry, darling. I know exactly how you’re feeling. I’ve felt as clueless as you are right now with every sister that comes into this family. But the good news is that we always get through it. We always figure it out.”

For some reason, knowing that I was not alone in this struggle made me feel a whole lot better. I felt…understood.

“Thank you. You don’t know how much I needed to hear that.”

“You’re welcome, darling. Is your sister with you?”

“No, she isn’t.”

“Okay.” I heard some scribbling before she returned to say, “Is there anything you would like to tell me? Our conversation is 100% confidential.”

“I want her to press charges but she has refused. She wants to sweep it under the carpet and I simply cannot let her do that!”

“I understand. Have you tried to understand why she wants that?”

“All she did was give me excuses.”

“Lauretta, can you bring your sister to our office for a session? We would really love to hear from her.”

By the time I was done with the conversation 10 minutes later, I had scheduled a consultation for Stephanie in one week, and by some act of providence, I was no longer feeling so angry with the world.

***

As a result of the time we took off in the morning, we had to stay back for a little while to attend to the other customers. By the time we were done, my feet were screaming for mercy in my heels and my back had adopted a bent shape that I feared would remain permanently. I walked to my car slowly, willing my head to not fall off.

I noticed a dark silhouette resting on the bonnet of my car. It was not until he turned around that I noticed who it was. Adam. That bastard.

“What are you doing here?”
“Lauretta.”

“I said what are you doing here?!” I screamed at him.

Just as I was about to start calling for help, he went down on his knees with his hands clasped together in prayer position.

“Lauretta, please hear me out.”

I couldn’t bring myself to utter a single coherent sentence without raining choice curses on him and I didn’t bother to try. “You are a bloody fool, a bloody fool!”

“I know, I know. I’m all that and more. But please, just hear me out.” When I didn’t speak, he continued. “I’m not here to beg for your forgiveness or beg you to not take me to court. I deserve whatever punishment you may deem necessary. I really do.”

“You’re an animal and you deserve to be put in a cage!”

“Exactly. That’s exactly what I deserve…but while you think of all the things I deserve, please please, just know that I am truly sorry for what I did. I will not blame it on the alcohol or the drugs, but only on myself. It was all me and I messed up. I messed up and I deserve all of your wrath…” His voice broke and I could hear him sobbing quietly. “I messed up, Lauretta, and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…I’ve not been able to live with myself since it happened… I’ve been plagued by the memories and I never stop thinking about what I did to her…” He sniffed. “…a part of me is forever grateful that I at least found her…I need to let her know that I am sorry…I…it’s killing me, Lauretta…I need her to know…please…I need…” At this point, he could no longer control the tears and he was now howling right in the parking lot. “I…need…her…to know…please.”

“I need to go home,” I said as I ran to my car before he could see the tears that were beginning to fall from my own eyes.

All pictures are gotten from Pexels and no attribution is required