Untouched But Not Innocent

I freeze the moment the voices slip through the half-open door. My hand is still on the kitchen cupboard handle. The plastic bottle of groundnut oil sits in front of me, forgotten. Mum’s voice is low, but it carries the way it always does when she’s talking about money. “He said he’ll give us the full amount once she spends the night. No stories.” She say Dad’s reply is quieter. “You’re sure about this one? The last man” “The last man was a waste of time. This one is serious. He already sent half. Once she goes, we finish the rest. She’s nineteen, She’s not a child anymore.” Mum replies. My fingers tighten around the kitchen cupboard handle. “Why me!”. I sob gently. Melissa’s laughter floats in from the parlour, bright and careless. She’s watching something on her phone. I force my hand to close the cupboard softly. Then I pick up the bottle like nothing is wrong and walk back to the gas. The jollof rice is almost ready. Steam rises into my face and I blink hard so the tears don’t fall. Mum’s footsteps come down the short corridor. I keep my eyes on the pot. “Rottie.” “Ma.” “You’ve been standing there like a statue. Finish and dish the food. Your father is hungry.” She half yell. “Yes, ma.” I answer reluctantly. She stay in the doorway for a second longer than necessary. I can feel her eyes on my back as I stir the rice slowly. “Melissa!” Mum calls. “Come and help set the table.” “I’m coming!” My sister’s voice is light. She appears a moment later in one of her new tops, the pink one dad bought her last week. She glances at me, then at mum, then skips to the cupboard for plates. We work in silence for a few minutes. The only sounds are the clink of plates and the low hum of the refrigerator. I dish the rice into four plates. Dad’s first, then mum’s, then Melissa’s. Mine is smaller. It always is. Dad comes out of the bedroom just as we finish setting the table. He sits at the head of the table without looking at me. Mum sits opposite him. Melissa takes the chair beside Mama, still scrolling on her phone under the table. I sit last. Dad say words of prayers before we start eating, his voice steady. We eat in silence for a while. “I'll be going to church committee meeting tomorrow”. Mum says, breaking the long term silence. “Oh yeah, that's true”. Dad replies almost like a whisper. The rest of the dinner feels so long and uncomfortable for me while they continue their chat. I keep my eyes on my plate. Every swallow feels like glass. Halfway through the meal mum turns to me. “You’re quiet tonight.” I look up. “I’m fine, ma.” “You’re always fine.” She smiles the public smile, the one that never reaches her eyes. “Eat properly. You’re getting too thin. People will start thinking we don’t feed you.” Melissa giggles. “Momma, leave her. Sissy Rottie likes looking serious.” Dad doesn’t say anything. He just reaches for more rice. I force another mouthful down. The food sits heavy in my stomach. After dinner I wash the plates while Melissa dries. Mum and dad move to the parlour. The television volume goes up. I hear the news anchor talking about fuel prices. Then mum’s voice drops again, too low for the television to cover. I shut the tap halfway so the water runs quieter. “This Sunday, he’ll send the driver by seven. Tell her she’s going to help his wife with something. She won’t ask questions if you say it properly.” Dad murmurs something I can’t catch. Mum’s reply is sharp. “I’m tired of feeding an extra mouth that doesn’t bring anything. She’s old enough. Let her start paying her way.” The plate in my hand slips. It hits the edge of the sink with a loud clack. Water splashes onto my dress. Melissa looks at me. “What’s wrong with you sissy?” “Nothing.” I pick the plate up quickly. “It just slipped.” She shrugs and continues drying. I finish the rest of the washing in silence, my heart slamming against my ribs so hard I’m sure she can hear it. When the kitchen is clean I go to the room I share with Melissa. She follows a few minutes later, already on a call with one of her friends, laughing about a boy in her class. I sit on my bed and pull my notebook out like I’m going to study. The pages stay blank. I wait until her breathing slows and the phone light goes off. Then I wait longer, until the whole house settles into that deep night quiet. Only then do I let myself think the words again. They are going to send me to a man’s house. He is going to have s*x with me. And they have already taken money for it. I press my fist against my mouth so no sound escapes. My other hand grips the edge of the mattress until my fingers ache. The darkness feels thicker than usual. Every small noise makes my shoulders jump. I replay mum’s voice over and over. The calm way she said it. I think about running. Where? I only have three thousand naira hidden in an old sock under the bed. No relatives would take me in. No friends close enough to ask. The only people who smile at me outside this house are the same people who believe my mother is a good woman. My chest tightens until it hurts to breathe. I sit up slowly. Melissa is turned toward the wall, one arm thrown over her head snoring softly. I stand and walk barefoot to the door. It creaks slowly. I open it wider and step into the corridor. The parlour is dark except for the small red light on the television. Mum and dad’s bedroom door is closed. I move past it like a shadow and stop outside. Their voices are still going but lower now. Mum says, “Once she goes on Sunday, we can finally breathe. I’ve been carrying this load for too long.” Dad’s answer is muffled. Then clearer: “And if she refuses?” Mum laugh under her breath. The sound is ugly. “She won’t refuse. Where will she go? She has nothing. She’ll do what she’s told.” I step back. My heel hits the wall causing them to pause. Then the bedroom door opens. Light spills into the corridor. Mum stands there in her pyjamas, eyes adjusting to the dark. For one long second neither of us speaks. Then she tilts her head. “What are you doing standing here?” My mouth is dry. “I… I wanted water.” She looks at me for another beat. The silence stretches. Behind her I can see my dad sitting on the edge of the bed, watching. Mum steps into the corridor and closes the door behind her. Her voice is soft, almost gentle. “Go and drink your water and sleep, Rottie. You have church in the morning.” I nod. My legs feel disconnected from my body as I walk to the kitchen. I fill a cup with water I don’t want and force myself to drink half of it while she stands in the doorway watching. When I pass her again on the way back to my room, she reaches out and rests her hand on my shoulder. Her fingers are cool. “Good night,” she says. “Good night, ma.” I close the bedroom door behind me and lean against it. Melissa is still asleep. I slide down until I’m sitting on the floor, back against the door, and stare into the dark. My mind is already racing, turning over every possible way out and finding none. But somewhere underneath the fear, something colder is waking up.