Chapter 12 - The Taste of Payback
Martha had just finished tidying her small corner of the house, trying to ignore the ever-present tension that hung like damp clothes in the air. The day had been long, full of whispered threats from her aunt, sneaky assignments of chores, and the occasional unsettling glance that reminded her she was still under someone else's roof.
Then came Benson Ajibade, her aunt's husband, striding in like a man reborn. He carried bags, his smile wide and genuine, his clothes smelling faintly of cologne and the outside world. He hummed a tune she didn't recognize, but it made the house feel almost normal for a fleeting second.
"Look what I brought!" he exclaimed, dumping an array of goodies onto the kitchen table. Biscuits, soda, snacks — even a small chocolate cake. For once, Martha felt her stomach lift with hope. The tension that usually dominated the space softened, replaced with a rare calm.
Her aunt, ever dramatic, fluttered around, fussing over the food and muttering about how he didn't do this enough. "I hope this is not all for you, Benson," she said, one eyebrow arched. "I've been waiting for this."
Benson laughed, genuine warmth in his voice. "You'll always get the first slice, my dear. Tonight is for you."
Martha's curiosity piqued as she watched him pour two cups of juice. He was in a playful mood, teasing his wife with light-hearted banter she rarely heard. The house smelled faintly of citrus and the sweet aroma of the cake, a stark contrast to the usual staleness that clung to the walls.
Then Martha's eyes fell on the small vial she had secreted in her pocket, the laxatives she had bought last week from the chemist nearby for a little fun. She had been planning this for days, knowing the tension between her aunt and uncle could be exploited for one long night of justice. With careful hands, she poured a few drops into each cup while the couple was distracted, chattering and laughing over their day.
They drank.
At first, nothing happened. Martha watched, pretending to tidy the floor, her small body trembling with suppressed laughter. Then it started: a soft grumble from her uncle, followed by a louder, more alarming one from her aunt. The smile on Benson's face faltered.
"Ah! What is this?" he cried, clutching his stomach, eyes wide.
Her aunt shrieked. "You tried to poison me! You fiend! I knew it! You want to bring that… that girl into the house instead!"
Olee she screamed Yeye man!!! Egabmi ooo!! Onyoshi, this man wants to kill me!!
Martha stifled a laugh behind her hand, pressing herself into the corner where the shadows were thick. The two adults ran from room to room, sometimes into the toilet together, sometimes arguing loudly about who was at fault. Their voices rose, a mix of panic, indignation, and unbearable groaning.
"I am dying! Benson, call a doctor!" her aunt wailed, clutching the toilet seat.
"I… I feel… my stomach… burning!" he shouted, legs shaking, leaning against the sink for support.
Martha, meanwhile, sat cross-legged on the floor in her small bed, the corners of her mouth twitching as she watched the drama unfold. She had never seen her aunt and uncle so vulnerable, so undone, so human in the rawest, most ridiculous way.
They took turns running to the toilet, pacing the hallway, occasionally blaming each other for imagined conspiracies. Martha could hear her aunt accusing her husband of wanting to replace her with some concubine, her voice rising above the groans and curses. Benson, red-faced, defended himself in vain, groaning every few seconds, clutching at his stomach like a defeated warrior.
The night stretched on, a chaotic symphony of screams, curses, and the constant sloshing of running water. Martha couldn't help herself, she giggled, then laughed, a sound so quiet and rare that it felt like her own private victory. For once, she didn't have to tiptoe around a tense household. She didn't have to hide.
Eventually, exhausted and pale, her aunt and uncle collapsed in the living room, leaning against each other, still muttering, still blaming. "You… you did this to me!" "No, you… You are the cause of this nightmare!"
Martha watched them, her chest aching from suppressed laughter, her mind swirling with the surreal absurdity of it all. That night, for the first time in months, the house felt hers not because it was safe or kind but because she had found a small, ridiculous power in the chaos.
She curled up in her bed, listening to the weak moans and whispered curses of her aunt and uncle as they tried to recover. She smiled, thinking: maybe one day, they'd remember this night not with anger, but with a strange, bitter amusement. Maybe then, she could finally breathe a little.
Outside, the night was silent, except for the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant hum of the city. Inside, chaos reigned, and Martha slept peacefully, a shadow of her tormentors' misery keeping her company.