Ruth's pov
I looked up at the ceiling, the same cracked tiles that had become my only company. My body felt like it wasn't mine anymore, just a vessel, a thing to be used. The man beside me, with his putrid smell and the heaviness of age that hung around him, continued to do what he paid for. My mind numbed, trying to block out the reality, but the weight of it all was impossible to escape. Each time they came, I would cry. The tears no longer felt like they mattered—just another part of the routine, another drop in a sea of sorrow.
Eventually, I stopped fighting. I stopped begging for it to end. I accepted my fate because there was no other choice. What else could I do? Hope for rescue? For a miracle? But no one came. I was alone in this hell.
When he was done, he stood up and got dressed, his movements slow and indifferent. He barely even glanced at me. "Wow, you dey sweat o," he chuckled, like it was some joke. I hated how his words made me feel even smaller, even more invisible.
He walked out, and I heard the faint sound of him paying my boss—his transaction complete. I remained where I was, my body heavy with shame, my heart with grief. I crawled into a corner, wrapping my arms around my legs, pulling them close to my chest as if I could disappear into myself.
How had I gotten here? I thought of my mother, of my family, and how far I had fallen from the dreams I once had. I tried to picture her face—was she still praying for me? Did she still think of me? What was she doing now? I wondered if she'd ever been able to move on, to live her life without the stain of my absence. I felt so disconnected from everything I used to be, from everything I used to love.
God… how could You let this happen? How could You let them use me like this, day after day? How could You stay silent while I cried out, alone and broken?
Tears fell from my eyes again. But this time, I didn't even have the strength to wipe them away. I just sat there, a prisoner to both my own body and my shattered faith. Would I ever find my way back to You, God? Could I ever be whole again?
That's such a poignant flashback, showing Ruth's innocence and her past connection to her faith before everything went wrong. Here's a continuation of that memory, building on the warmth of her childhood:
A butterfly fluttered in through the hole in the bathroom wall, its delicate wings a soft blur against the dimness of the room. I stared at it, captivated by its fragile beauty. For a moment, I could almost believe that nothing had changed, that I was still the girl who ran freely through fields, chasing after butterflies. I could almost pretend I was the same Ruth—the small, holy me from years ago, before the world became so cruel.
Fourteen years ago, I was just sixteen. I remember it like it was yesterday, though the details feel like they're slipping through my fingers, fading into the past. I was out in the fields, the sun high above as I ran barefoot through the tall grass, giggling to myself. My father's farm stretched out for miles, and the land was fertile with the crops we planted—yam, cassava, cocoa. It was a simple, beautiful life, one filled with purpose and the kind of happiness that only comes when you're still innocent to the world's harshness.
I remember the joy of running, of feeling the earth beneath my feet, of the breeze in my hair. My parents were devout Christians, and they raised me with a deep love for God. Their faith was the anchor of our home, the thread that tied us together. I was proud of them, proud of the life we had.
"Ruth! Ruth!" My mother's voice called from the house, pulling me from my thoughts.
"Coming, Mama!" I shouted back, smiling as I ran toward the house, my heart light.
When I walked through the door, the smell of freshly cooked food filled the air, and there was my mother, bustling around the kitchen. "Come eat fast, we have evening fellowship. I don't want us to be late."
I sat at the table, my hands trembling with excitement. "I can't wait, Mama. I was given an assignment by the pastor. I'll also lead the praise and worship!" My voice bubbled with joy. This was my moment—my chance to shine, to serve God in a way that felt so special to me.
"Eat, fast," my mother urged, giving me a kind, loving look, as always. "The Lord will bless you."
I devoured the food quickly, my heart racing as I thought about the service ahead. It wasn't just a regular evening fellowship; it was my time to show my dedication to God, to lead the congregation with all the passion I had in my soul.
Back then, I believed in everything with such certainty. I believed that I was meant to serve God, that His love was enough to protect me, to guide me. I had no idea that life would soon take me to places I couldn't even begin to imagine.
The butterfly fluttered again, and I blinked back the tears threatening to fall. In that brief moment, I almost felt like that girl again the girl who was whole, who had dreams, and who thought the world was good and just.
Such a vivid memory, capturing Ruth's innocence and the community she was a part of before everything change.
My mind drifted back again.....
The church was alive with the energy of song and dance, the rhythms of Yoruba praise filling the air. The drumbeats stirred something deep within me, and my body moved in time with the music, joy radiating from my heart. I smiled, feeling the connection to something bigger than myself.
"Praise the Lord, everybody!" the pastor shouted, his voice strong and filled with authority. "Hallelujah!" we all screamed back, the sound of our voices lifting to the heavens.
The service was filled with fervor. The pastor preached about Jesus dying for us, His sacrifice, and how His love was unconditional. I hung on every word, my pen moving quickly as I jotted down notes. I wanted to remember everything, every word of encouragement, every piece of wisdom. I wanted to serve, to be the girl who always had faith, who always believed.
After the service, I walked with Grace, my best friend, chatting about the upcoming Youth Saturday event. "So, will you be coming tomorrow?" she asked, her eyes bright with excitement.
"Of course," I said, my voice filled with the same eagerness. "I wouldn't miss it!"
We laughed, and I felt light, carefree, as if nothing could go wrong. But as we made our way to the car, I heard my mother's voice calling me.
"Ruth! Come, let's go."
On our way out, we ran into Mummy David, who was talking to Iya Sam.
"Good evening, Ma," I greeted politely, my mother by my side.
"Oh, Ruth, how are you?" Mummy David asked, her face warm with a smile.
"I'm fine, Ma," I replied, though something in her gaze made me feel uneasy, as if there was more to her words than she was letting on.
"Mummy Ruth, good day," Mummy David's greeting came with a bit more warmth, but there was something distant in her tone.
"Good day, Ma," my mother replied with a gentle nod. "How is David?"
"Oh, that one," Mummy David sighed, rolling her eyes. "He went out with his friends. His matter has tired me. Hopefully, he changes." Her voice carried a note of worry, but also resignation. It seemed like the burden of David's behavior weighed heavily on her.
"Don't worry, just pray to God," my mother said, her voice soft but firm, as she patted Mummy David's arm. "He will answer in His time."
I could sense the pain behind Mummy David's words, the way her face momentarily dropped. But she quickly regained her composure, offering a weak smile before turning to go. My mother and I watched them leave, and I couldn't help but wonder about David. Was he really as lost as Mummy David seemed to think? What did he really do when he was with his friends?
But I pushed those thoughts away. It wasn't my place to judge, and I had a Youth Saturday event to look forward to. Life felt simple then pure, even. If only I had known that the innocence of that day would soon fade into the darkness I couldn't yet imagine.