Obianuju

The first thing I saw was them — Salisu and a woman beside him. Her white coat barely moved, but her hands trembled as she held the syringe. Then she saw my eyes.

Her entire body jolted. The syringe slipped from her fingers, clattering to the ground. My gaze followed it, narrowing. She picked it up too quickly, too guiltily. I didn’t need a doctor to tell me something was off.

She poured the contents down the sink. “I’ll be right back,” she mumbled, avoiding my eyes, and then ran out like she was the one in danger.

I turned my head, slow, heavy. He was still there. Salisu. Sitting across from me. Alive. And unfortunately, so was I.

His name didn’t feel like something I wanted to remember, but I couldn’t forget how he looked at me right before the blast — not with rage, but something worse.

Pity.

I hated that look.

I tried to sit up, only to find my wrists bound. Cold steel cuffs bit into my skin, chained to the hospital bed like a prisoner. Which, I supposed, I was.

He stared at me a while longer. His jaw clenched, and then he turned away.

He left. I was alone. But not really. The ringing in my ears never stopped. A high, sharp whine, like death whispering in one ear while I remembered the rest in the other.

The mine. Chidi screaming. The smoke. The explosion.

The way he grabbed me and dragged me away from the edge of death.

Why?

Why would he save me?

I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to block it all out, but it came anyway — the memory I never outran.

Her voice.

My sister’s voice.

I still remember how she screamed as they held her down. How her breath caught the moment the cutlass slashed across her throat. Not once. Twice. Three times.

The blood kept moving.

I knew a part of me died too, that day. A part I never got back.

And now, they had me again. Hausa men again. Playing the Devil — saving me when they felt like it, tying me down when they didn’t.

I don’t want your mercy.

Tears slid down my cheeks, and I didn’t bother wiping them. I had nothing left to hide.

The door opened. Salisu walked in with a new nurse. I looked away.

They examined me. Checked my vitals. The nurse said something about me being stable — as if that was something to celebrate.

Salisu said nothing at first. He just watched me like I was a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. Then, he ordered the cuffs removed and motioned for me to stand.

I hesitated. Then I rose. Fine. If he wanted answers, he’d get the ones that burned.

The interrogation room was cold. Too bright. He stood across from me with a scowl carved deep into his face.

“You tried to kill us,” he said.

I said nothing.

“Speak.”

My shoulders began to shake. Not with fear. With rage.

“Why did you save me?” I asked. My voice broke.

He blinked. Just slightly.

“Why didn’t you let me die?” My voice cracked louder, shaking.

He didn’t answer.

“Why didn’t you kill me when we first met? Isn’t that what you all do?” My fists balled up. “Isn’t that what you did to her?”

He looked shaken, just for a second.

I reached for the pistol lying on the table. Before he could stop me, I grabbed his hand, forced his fingers around the trigger, and pressed the barrel to my forehead.

“Do it,” I whispered. “Please. Just do it.”

His jaw clenched. I saw something dark shift behind his eyes.

But he didn’t pull the trigger. He shoved me off instead.

“You think death is punishment?” he spat. “Death would be mercy. But you don’t get that.”

I didn’t flinch.

“You’ll live. You’ll answer for everything you’ve done. And I’ll be there. Every step. Watching. Tormenting.”

He yanked the gun out of my hand and stormed off.

Then he called for someone to take me away.

They didn’t put me with the boy. Good. I didn’t want him to see me like this anyway.

That night, I didn’t sleep. I couldn’t. If I did, I’d see her again. Bleeding out. Mouth open. Eyes wide.

So I kept them open. Listening.

I heard footsteps. Heavy. Slow. A man.

I held my breath.

He stopped in front of me. I couldn’t see his face — only his silhouette in the darkness. He crouched.

And then, a voice. Low. Careful.

“You’re Chief Nwoko’s daughter, right?”

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Oh My Goodness
It keeps getting intense 😭😭. Obianuju it's okay.
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I need your thoughts on Obianuju's actions when she wanted to die.
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