Scars (Romola 2)

58: Stubborn Ram

58: Stubborn Ram

She got as far as the gate before someone apprehended her. A large male hand clamped around her wrist and pulled her towards the tent. She tried to plant her feet in the grass but her sole dug up soil as she was tugged towards the tent. People spilled out of the tents like milk out of a broken jug.

"Let me go," Romola screamed.

The man who held her stopped in front of the tent, just as Yetunde stepped out.

Yetunde pointed the bouquet at Romola's face. "You--"

Romola stood tall, her eyes gauging the guests around them. The people had formed a circle, sealing her in. Stopping her from running out of the compound or into the church. There was no backing out now. In all the times she'd rehearsed her imaginary battle with Yetunde, none of the scenarios had been as public or dangerous as this, but this was her time. And she wasn't backing down.

"Yes me."

Yetunde's lips twisted in a grimace. "No shame at all. You still had the guts to show up at this wedding?"

"And so what? It's not your wedding."

Murmurs began to rise around them. A few people raised their phones. Romola caught flicks and flashes of light around her.

"Gosh, you're so rude. You just destroyed someone's wedding cake and all you can say is and so what?" Yetunde bent over and dragged the bouquet on the ground in a curved line. "Today, I'll teach you a lesson you won't be quick to forget."

The hand that handcuffed her wrist slid to her arm as the man pulled her forward.

"Don't touch me."

"Don't touch you? Don't touch you, right?" Yetunde screeched, running across the grass with the bouquet raised as a cane.

The first lash of the bouquet against Romola's cheeks was hot. She tried to raise her hand to protect her face but she found that her captor held her wrists in place. Yetunde's bouquet cane came down in quick succession over Romola's head and around her face, hitting left and right as a whip and lash. Something caught Romola's face. Something sharp, tearing at the surface of her skin and drawing blood.

"You useless good-for-nothing blundering fool. One naira prostitute. I should've killed you when I had the chance." Yetunde yelled.

The strikes of the bouquet against her skin increased in tempo and intensity, but decreased in bluntness as the fragile flowers on the stalks abandoned the bouquet. The sharp stalks themselves were more merciful than Yetunde's hand on Romola's skin.

Romola struggled to free her hands from her captor. If it were a fair match, Yetunde's head would have found the ground by now and it would be her hand against Yetunde's skin. There were a couple of white teeth that she failed to knock out that day when she returned to the apartment to get her belongings.

"Useless." Yetunde cast the skeleton of the bouquet away, her chest rising and falling with each syllable. "Man-snatcher."

Romola raised her head. It hurt, throbbing in several places as she tried to raise her hands but the man who held her pulled her forward like her hand was a tight rope and she was a stubborn ram that refused to be slaughtered. The man tugged at her hand again and she shot out her leg, aiming for the back of his knees. Her dress curbed the arc of her leg, so she kicked his ankle.

"Ah." He stumbled forward.

Romola swung her hand out without thinking, in a wide arc that ended on Yetunde's temple. The blow hurt her hand more than intended but Yetunde's scream pacified her a little. She stood, a small smile growing on her face as the back of her palm rubbed her left cheek bone. She turned to face Yetunde who stood, crying. Yetunde's tears sounded more like the groans of a constipated patient.