Chronicles Of A Runs Girl - S01 E48

2 years ago

Chronicles Of A Runs Girl - S01 E48

Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 48

I was shocked to see Mama going half way down into a kneel to greet him but it was too late for me to copy her by the time he reached us and threw his arms around us.

“Maka, maka,” he greeted me. “Ayam so happy to see you. Oya, come come, I want you to meet the Police Commissioner.”

It was time to run again. But I had to play it well. I placed my arm around his neck to speak into his ear. I pressed my body against him more than I should; pretending that the loud music made it necessary to do so.

I told him I had to use the toilet immediately. The man insisted he would take me.

He told Mama to go and sit at his table and he gripped my wrist and led me back into his house.

The party was confined to the ground floor, thugs standing at the top of the staircase made sure of it.

He led me past his boys then down a corridor and finally through a door that had his bedroom on the other side.

It was the bedroom of a rich tasteless man: oversized elaborately carved wooden bed finished with a shiny lacquer that made it look cheap, a mini fridge humming where a side stool should have been, Persian rug over a stripped colourful carpet, enough electronic equipment to run an event complete with fifty-two inch plasma screen taking pride of place on a massive TV stand meant for one of those old fat TVs.

The room was cold; thanks to one of those tall, freestanding AC units they have in banking halls.

He showed me the door to his bathroom and assured me he’d be waiting for me.

Shit.

I locked the door behind me – a force of habit more than anything else – then I sat on the edge of his bathtub, after checking that it was dry and clean. What was I going to do? Why was I running, again?

The Police Commissioner was downstairs, what would I say to him? Tell him about Johnny and about the police officer who raped me? Tell him about his brother and the other type of rape he did to me? F--k him? And then what?

Once again I felt my world spiralling out of control and I was acutely conscious of the fact that it all started with that foolish London boy. I hated him more now than before. I hated the way he embarrassed me at Yellow Chilly, but more than that I hated him for giving me that c--k and bull story.

He thought I was someone who stole from him – what nonsense! What utter, absolute, soul-vexing, total bullshit lie! That night, when he saw me again, enough time had passed for the sheer memory of how he f----d me to not be enough. Enough time had passed for him to want me again, and seeing me with another man had made me even more desirable. He showed me the picture of a poor girl accused of stealing a mobile phone from some cult boys. I felt insulted.

I heard a knock on the door and remembered that Uncle China was still waiting for me.

Outside the door, waiting for me, was either my chance at revenge or more rope to hang myself. I was done crying, there was simply no point.

I flushed the toilet and turned the tap. I would go out there and do whatever or whoever it takes to deal with that bastard London boy once and for all.