“You will hear from my lawyers.”

The first time I confronted you about what you did to me two months ago, your first words to me were,

“You will hear from my lawyers.”

I imagined you calling your lawyer right away and in their tiny little office, they stand up in shock, pick up their brief case and blazer and come flying to your rescue like one Mushin superman.

Well, if that was exactly what lawyers did, then...

“You will hear from my lawyer too.” I retorted.

Two can play the game.

A week later, I am sitting across you in my lawyer’s office. We both have our lawyers present.

I should have felt safer with my lawyer by my side. He was superman after all, abi?

But I didn’t.

I felt suffocated, being in your presence for more than twenty minutes.

Being in the same room with you felt like your hands were all over me again. Especially not with that disgusting smirk on your lips. The smirk that made you feel convinced that you had won the case since we lived in a society where men like you were given flowers, while women like me were given thorns. But I would still take those thorns, after all they came from flowers too.

“So, young lady, tell us your side of the story.” Your lawyer said to me, “What exactly happened?”

It all began with seven simple words on a Google search:

How to attract a high value man.

I remember sitting in front of my laptop and devouring every tip and trick from Youtubers and Bloggers. I followed them religiously. Especially the worst tip of them all;

Sitting at a hotel bar. Waiting for Prince Charming like an idiot.

I drove myself all the way to a five-star hotel in Ikoyi just to meet this “high value man”. And then I met you- Mr Predator.

You saw me sitting all alone at the hotel bar with a wine glass in my hand. You could smell it, my desperation. Just like I could smell your expensive cologne a mile away.

You called me over to your empty table and I joined you like a fool. You introduced yourself as the son of a high-profile politician. That was the only identity you stood by. Another man’s success rather than your own.

I barely got to introduce myself because all you talked about was yourself, the ivy league school you went to and your borrowed accomplishments. And all through the night, you did not stop talking about how beautiful I was, with your hands tracing down my back to my waist and to my thighs.

I didn’t find the courage to push your hands away because I didn’t want to be rude, and I didn’t want you to stop calling me “beautiful”. Now, I hate the word “beautiful” because of you.

The following week, you called me over to your father’s house on Banana Island. Like a fool, I thought I had won your heart for letting me come to such a prestigious place. I didn’t know that was your pattern, your trick into making me the next prey.

Heck, you didn’t even stay in the main house. You lived in the boys quarters.

You kept touching me from the moment I walked through the door. It was as if the moment I walked through that door, I had given you the invitation to make my body your next sex toy.

I told you I didn’t want anything physical. But you insisted on kissing my neck like it was a handshake. I let you continue because my body craved a man’s touch. It had been so long since I felt the fire inside my body. And you ignited the fire way before its time.

I allowed you to kiss me, to touch me, to put your fingers and tongue in places that drove me to heaven and back.

But I told you not to go all the way. Not to have sex. I was celibate, and I was going to wait till marriage. But you didn’t listen.

While you were on top, you kept begging me for “just the tip”. Begging like a toddler whining over a lollipop.

I tried to push you off and before I knew it, I felt you inside of me.

You knew I was too stunned to move and you kept going.

The deed had already begun and it felt pointless to fight you off. Like a dead fish, I just laid on the couch and you kept humping and breathing like your life depended on this moment.

I could smell your insecurity from the way you thrust in so fast and so hard. In your mind, you felt like, “If I don’t take up this opportunity, I may never get it again.”

But can I tell you that it’s not everything you see you deserve?

Sometimes you got to accept that rejection and move on like a man. A real man. But you wouldn’t understand because you’re a pig. A dirty pig snorting through another man’s shit.

I was numb the first few hours I left your father’s house. I didn’t understand what just happened. I couldn’t process if I got raped or not. It was hard for me to believe something like that would happen to me.

I had always imagined rape as the forceful push. The slapping and kicking and screaming. But no one told me it could be subtle. No one told me it could be manipulated. And it could come in the disguise of consent when in fact, it wasn’t.

And I had no one to blame but myself. I blamed myself for letting you touch my skin on the first day. I blamed myself for going to your house in the first place. I blamed myself for letting you kiss me. I blamed myself for even feeling a bit of… pleasure.

And I couldn’t even admit to anyone that I was assaulted because I could have stopped it myself. But I couldn’t. And I didn’t understand why.

I just let it happen.

I had to move on and live my life like nothing happened. I had to smile when everyone was smiling. I had to laugh when everyone was laughing. I had to work when everyone was working. Even though my spirit felt empty for weeks. Even when you ghosted me and I started to believe that incident was all a dream.

But it wasn’t a dream. My body reminded me of that.