Crazy Lenny: Bully in Chief (Chapter 8/Finale)[18+]

A heavy hand cracked against her backside. The sting shot through her, and she cried out.

‘You’re staying,’ he said. ‘I’ve decided.’

‘Alright!’ she wailed. ‘I’ll stay. I’ll keep him happy. I promise, sir.’

‘You’ll do as you’re told,’ he repeated.

‘Yes, sir. I’ll do as I’m told, sir.’

‘Good. No playing around. I want you to be a good, obedient girl while you’re here. Or else.’

He slapped her bottom again, harder this time.

‘Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. I promise to be good. I’ll be obedient, sir.’

The words tasted like ash in her mouth. But she said them. She said them because she could not see another way out.

*

John had been lounging in his room when he heard his father’s voice boom through the house. He crept to the kitchen door and peered through the gap. What he saw made him clamp a hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh.

His father was lecturing Ngozi, wagging a thick finger in her face. Then came the slap, a loud crack against her backside that made her yelp like a puppy. John watched her shoulders slump, watched her nod meekly at everything his father said. She promised to be obedient. She promised to stay.

His father had no idea who she really was. He thought she was some young thing John had picked up, a girl barely out of secondary school. He hadn’t looked closely enough to see the faint lines around her eyes, the maturity in her frame, the wedding ring line on her finger. He saw a short, fair-skinned girl in a too-small t-shirt and assumed the rest.

John leaned against the wall, grinning. This was better than anything he could have planned. He had expected a boring afternoon: some scolding from Chuka’s mother, a stern warning, a promise to behave. Instead, he had bedded her. And now his father had spanked her into staying the night.

He hadn’t planned any of it. It just happened, one thing leading to another. But he was enjoying every moment.

When Ngozi finally shuffled out of the kitchen, her head bowed, John stepped back from the doorway. She walked past him without a word, her bare feet dragging across the floor. He wrapped an arm around her waist and steered her towards his bedroom.

Ngozi’s mind was spinning. His father had spanked her like a child. He had looked at her clothes, her bare legs, and decided she was some loose girl. And she had told him the truth: that she had slept with his son. Why had she said that? The words had tumbled out before she could stop them. Now the man thought she was a stupid girl who would happily spend the night with his boy.

She was trapped.

Inside the bedroom, John closed the door and turned to her with a grin.

‘You don’t like the clothes,’ he said. ‘So take them off.’

‘I’m not sure,’ she said quietly. ‘They’re not so bad.’

‘You promised to be obedient,’ he reminded her. ‘So do as you’re told. Get undressed. Get into bed.’

‘Yes, sir,’ she sighed.

The words came out before she could stop them. She was too tired to fight. Too confused. Too ashamed.

John stripped off his clothes and stood before her, naked and unashamed. He licked his lips, looking her up and down like a meal he was about to devour. He had never expected Chuka’s mother to walk into his house. He had never expected her to end up in his bed. But here she was. And it was a hell of a way to pay him back for bullying her son.

Ngozi slipped between the sheets, her heart pounding. Earlier, they had done it on top of the bed, rushed and frantic. Now she was under his covers, in his bed, and it felt far more serious. Far more permanent.

If she tried to leave, his father would punish her. She had no keys, no money, no way out.

The truth settled over her like a heavy blanket. She was this boy’s plaything now. His to command. His to use. She had to obey him. She was his for the night.

And to her shame, her body responded to the thought.

The morning came grey and unforgiving. Ngozi woke to the sound of birds and the smell of frying eggs. For a moment, she forgot where she was. Then the weight of the night crashed down on her, and she sat up with a gasp.

John was gone. His side of the bed was cold.

She found the borrowed T-shirt and pulled it on, then crept to the door. The house was bright with morning light. From the kitchen came the clatter of pots and the low murmur of voices.

Chinedu was at the table, reading a newspaper. John stood by the stove, flipping eggs. They both looked up when she appeared.

‘Ah, she’s awake,’ Chinedu said, folding his paper. ‘Come. Eat. You’ll need your strength.’

Ngozi hesitated in the doorway, her eyes darting between them. John smiled at her—that same pleasant smile he had given her yesterday, the one that had fooled her into trusting him.

‘Sit,’ Chinedu said, gesturing to a chair.

She sat.

Breakfast was silent. She ate without tasting, her mind racing. When she finished, Chinedu pushed back his chair and stood.

‘Your clothes are dry,’ he said. ‘John will fetch them. You can dress and go home.’

Ngozi blinked. Go home? Just like that?

‘But first,’ Chinedu continued, ‘we need to discuss terms.’

‘Terms?’ she echoed.

‘You came here to ask my son to stop bullying your boy. That’s done. He won’t touch the boy again. But you’ he pointed a finger at her, ‘you will come when called. You will do as you’re told. You will keep my son happy. In return, your family never learns about this. Your husband never finds out. Your son stays safe. Do you understand?’

Ngozi stared at him. The room felt very small, the walls pressing in on her.

‘Do you understand?’ Chinedu repeated, his voice harder now.

‘Yes, sir,’ she whispered.

‘Good girl,’ he said. ‘John will give you your things. You can use the guest bathroom to change.’

She rose on trembling legs. John led her to the bathroom and handed her a bag with her clothes inside. She closed the door and leaned against it, her whole body shaking.

When she emerged, dressed in her own clothes, her hair tied back, she looked almost like herself again. Almost. But something in her eyes had changed. Something had dimmed.

John walked her to the gate. He unlocked it and swung it open.

‘See you soon,’ he said.

Ngozi got into her car. Her hands were trembling so badly she could barely fit the key into the ignition. She started the engine and drove away without looking back.

The road home was a blur. When she pulled into her compound, Uche’s car was still there. He had not gone to work. He would be waiting inside, full of questions.

She sat in the car for a long time, staring at the front door. Then she took a deep breath, wiped her face, and went inside.

Uche was in the sitting room, his tie loosened, his eyes red from lack of sleep.

‘Where were you?’ he asked, his voice hoarse.

Ngozi opened her mouth to lie.

‘I was at Chuka’s school,’ she said. ‘There was a problem. I had to sort it out.’

‘All night?’

‘It was complicated.’

Uche stared at her. She could see the doubt in his eyes, the suspicion. But he did not press her. He never did.

‘I made tea,’ he said finally. ‘It’s on the table.’

Ngozi nodded and walked past him into the kitchen. She poured herself a cup of tea and sat down. Through the window, she could see the mango tree in the backyard, the clothes on the line, the neighbour’s children playing in the dirt.

Normal life. Ordinary life.

She took a sip of tea.

That afternoon, Chuka came home from school with a smile on his face.

‘Mum, you did it!’ he said, dropping his bag by the door. ‘John didn’t bother me today. He didn’t even look at me. What did you say to his parents?’

Ngozi looked at her son…his bright eyes, his hopeful face and felt something crack inside her.

‘I had a word with them,’ she said quietly. ‘I think they understood.’

Chuka hugged her. She held him tight, her eyes dry, her heart hollow.

That night, she lay beside Uche in the dark, listening to his steady breathing. She stared at the ceiling and thought about the gate, the padlock, the boy who had called her his.

Her phone buzzed on the bedside table. She picked it up.

“Come tomorrow. 4 pm. Don’t be late.”

She deleted the message and set the phone down.

Then she closed her eyes and waited for morning.

THE END

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