Now that I think back,I remember clearly how it all started. At first it was extra French classes after school, I noticed the lingering touch of his hands on mine, but I tried not to read any meaning to it.You see, french was the only subject I was failing and my parents encouraged me to take extra classes. That's how he warmed his way into their hearts and i started home lessons.
Daddy trusted him,so they didn't see anything wrong with leaving me home alone with him.
It happened on my 15th birthday, 16th June day of the the African child; mummy had rushed out for some last minute shopping.
Little did I know that he had injected some strange liquid into my juice, I felt weak and couldn't fight him off. He threatened me with my naked photos if I ever said a word to anyone. In school he spent the next months serially raping me under the abandoned staircase leading out of the chemistry laboratory; he would isolate me from my classmates after giving them assignments.
Its been 6 years since then and I never told anyone about it, but felt incredibly happy 8 months later when I heard he was involved in an accident and died from injuries sustained.
Where do I go from here? I've not been able to establish a normal relationships with the opposite sex. What do I do? Is it normal for me to be happy for his death?
From Diagnosis on JFM
2 comments:
I don't think anybody should celebrate death, even though your teacher deserve to die.
Any man who rapes a little girl deserves to die a slow and painful death.
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