SOCIAL MEDIA FACADE

in #fiction3 years ago

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I woke up feeling like hell and all its demons were raging within my brains, I woke up also feeling like a two cents whore.

The room smelled of dried up cum and cigarettes, of alcohol and stale vomit, I felt like puking all over again. Who would ever believe me if I told them where I was? I guess no one, until Nsamo releases the videos.
The videos.

I didn't want to think about that, at least not this horrible Tuesday morning. Clothes were strewn all around the bed and really stinking shoes all around the rug, the rug that looked like it had felt more cigarette butts than feet.

Nsamo didn't even have the decency to throw away the used condoms or do anything at all for that matter before rushing off to class and to think that some girls would be dying to even sit close to him, I couldn't even begin to pity them.
I had once been like those girls, maybe even worse.

You see, Nsamo had the face of a cute baby and the body of a gym addict, he dressed like every class was a fashion show and his charisma was out of the world. He was fifty shades of charming and all shades of a gentleman.
I couldn't believe I was even considering Nsamo's features this morning because his features and exactly who he was are worlds apart. He was a beast.
A beast that I once loved but he is a beast nonetheless.

I dragged myself from the scattered bed and sat on the only chair in the room, cradling my head in my palms. It was hurting badly, I am not sure how many times Nsamo had hit me yesterday but I was too sure there was a bruise somewhere on my face.

I cannot even begin to imagine how Nsamo could go to class after everything he did to me yesterday night but I do not know why I am suddenly feeling surprised. This is not the first time or twentieth time.

The pain between my legs felt worst this time around, I am not sure if its because I was desert dry when he forced that monstrous penis of his I once loved into me or because he decided to try out his newly found kink of trying to make his fist fit into me.

I walked past the mirror without sparing it a glance, I had discovered that the mirror had a way of making me feel worse so I ignored it.
The tears started to flow when the water from the shower head started hitting the wounds on my body from where Nsamo had used his belt on me. I had grown used to not crying anytime I thought about my predicament with Nsamo but yesterday was the height. It was the first time he would use a belt on me. I wrapped my arms around my breasts and then wept some more, when I could no longer bear the pain of water on my torn skin, I left the bathroom, picked my bag and left Nsamo's apartment.

I had started a series on my Instagram page about feminism, I was supposed to talk about women speaking up after rape and refusing to be blackmailed by anything.
The irony of the whole situation hit me as I was typing what I was going to post, when I got to my room.

I was practically writing about myself and I was doing everything my post was strongly screaming against. I shook my head as if to shake the thoughts that were judging me away, I convinced myself that I had no choice as I continued writing.

I looked for the picture that best depicted me as a feminist, a strong woman, a no-nonsense woman and I posted it together with my message.

Bullshit!
I was such a fucking hypocrite but what exactly was I supposed to do? What? I am stuck! My body looked lost as the voices in my head kept arguing back and forth.

I was tired. I just couldn't go on anymore.
Nsamo and I dated for six months before I discovered how much of a disrespectful and discriminating idiot he was and as the feminist I was, I just couldn't take nonsense. I mean what would people say if they knew my boyfriend treated me like trash and believed I should not have a career except taking care of him and the little monsters I would have had with him. I had more dignity than how he treated me so I broke up with him.

Whenever I remembered how much I insulted him the day I broke up with him, I cringe visibly. I said every manner of abuse and degrading insults to make up for all the time he made me feel less than a human.

I felt so accomplished when I walked out on him, in my mind I was going to start a new life free of negative vibes and disrespectful fine boys.

Everything was going beautifully until the videos.
I settled down to loose my hair after leaving his apartment and then I started hearing my notification tone go off every second. I wondered who was sending so much messages and I hissed as I thought it must be those group messages I hated so much.

Then I saw the videos, videos of myself and an unidentifiable man which was of course Nsamo having sex in his scattered apartment. It was the video of the first night I was there broken down into several clips, the night when all I saw and felt was Nsamo, I was a breathing horny disease and it showed in every clip.

I could still not comprehend anything until I saw Nsamo's message; "I call, you come running or I will make you popular overnight".
My life became a living hell ever since.

Who would believe that I am a feminist under the literal bondage of a man? That I am a serious looking nerd with a CGPA that would soon advice me to withdraw? That I am a church girl with her hair covered in cum every Saturday night?
Who would believe the sight of my wrists bleeding me to death?

My social media followers would definitely not believe it, my every post was about the dignity of women and the rights they had, I had pictures representing my team in one place or the other, my fashion line was thriving so well only on social media. In fact, according to social media, I was a strong, brilliant and successful young woman.

In real life, I was dying out in my bathroom with the white of my bathtub flowing with streaks of red from my self inflicted wounds.
And she was a perfect role model, they would say.

No one is perfect, wake up.

©Onashile Peace (tolarnee)