Series, Sloppy Wet Kiss

Sloppy Wet Kiss: One Night in Chipo (2)

By Tashinga Wazara, Zimbabwe:

I remember that day so clearly. Every moment is chiselled in my memory like sculpted lines on rock and every time I replay it, the chiselled lines get deeper. I replay it in my mind often. In fact, I have replayed it every single night before I go to bed and every morning when I awake. Sometimes, when I think about it, I feel this terrible pain tug at my heart from the inside like molten magma burning a hole into my soul. It is such intense pain that often I am forced to cry to get some relief. I cry, and cry, and cry, half hoping that somehow the tears would wipe away the memory of what happened but it doesn’t. That makes me cry even more.

The memory always starts with me and my friends driving through town going to a local nightclub that we always went to on Friday nights. One of my friends then gets a call from another one of our friends telling her that there was a crazy party at Jason's house and that we should go there. At this point in the memory I start cursing that phone call. Why couldn’t her phone have been off? Why couldn’t the person not have called? Why couldn’t I have convinced my friends not to go? I begin to tell myself that it was that phone call that caused all of this but then I realise how absurd that is and I abandon those thoughts.

My friend then hang up the phone and we headed to Jason's house for the party. When we got there, one of my brother's friends told me that my brother was there. I looked for him but I could not find him, so I assume that he had gone somewhere else. I was happy that he was not there because that meant that I could get proper drunk without him checking up on me every two minutes making sure that I was ok. I started having shot after shot of tequila with my friends until we got really drunk and were having an awesome time.

My memory then speeds up to another point which I see as pivotal to the events that unfolded that night. One of my friends had some cocaine and we went into one of the rooms in Jason's house. There were about four of us girl and three guys. At this point of the memory, I begin to curse myself asking why I even agreed to take the cocaine. If I had said no then maybe all this mess wouldn't have happened! Back to the memory. The room is pitch black and we have to feel our way around the room. Even setting up the lines of cocaine is really tricky. We take lines of the cocaine and in a few minutes I'm on such an incredible high. I felt great. My friends started making out with the guys that were in the room and I was just lying on the bed, in my own world. I decided to take another line of cocaine because I was frustrated that I wasn’t getting any of the action that my other friends were getting. As I was finishing my line of cocaine, a guy walked in. The room was dark and I was really high so everything was blurry. The guy walked up to the bed and I think to me, 'Screw it. I also want to get laid.' I pull him onto the bed and we start making out. I remember as we were making out I was holding his chest and I felt a chain around his neck with a small cross on it. From there I remember only parts of what happened next. I remember the guy clumsily taking off my clothes and then how I let out a little whimper when he initially entered me. After that my memory is blank.

The next thing that I remember is waking up the next morning with my brother staring at me. He was topless and I looked at him long enough to notice the chain on his neck with a small cross at the end. There was something about that chain that got me and in the five seconds in which I was trying to figure it out, I had a quick flashback of me caressing the chain while kissing some guy. But now I realised that it hadn’t been just 'some guy'; it had been my brother! He seemed to have realised that it was me that he had been pounding the previous night because he had this look of horror on his face. I let out an involuntary scream which was halfway between a scream and a cry and I jumped out of bed and looked for my clothes. I put them on quickly and hopped past the other motionless bodies of people passed out on the floor and left. I didn’t look at him but he was still on the bed, stunned and cursing under his breath.

As I went home, I felt a kind of terrible that was inexplicable. The feeling was akin to the taste in one's mouth soon after they vomit. That bitter ugly taste of bile and the disgusting smell of vomit. Except that I didn’t feel it in my mouth but in my whole body. I couldn’t believe what had happened and I tried to figure out how but at the same time I didn’t want to think about it. I really just wanted to die! When I got home, I thought about it….about dying; but I couldn’t do it. I think it takes a specific type of person to kill themselves and I envied that person in that moment because I could have ended this nightmare quickly. Instead I locked myself in my room and wished I had never come out in the first place.

That whole day I kept checking the gate to see if my brother had come home. I wished he would stay away because I couldn’t handle having this horrid memory in my head and then having him in the house at the same time! The memory ends when my brother comes home that night and we pass each other in the corridor and greet each other with a muted 'hello'.

It has been over a month now and we haven't had a single conversation since the incidence. We have become professionals at avoiding each other and now we have developed an unspoken schedule which ensures that we never have to see each other: I make sure I leave home before he wakes up and he makes sure that he comes home after I have gone to bed and it has been working. The problem is that about a week ago I started feeling sick, vomiting and all. Then the doctor ran some tests but couldn’t find anything and decided to do a final test, the pregnancy test. As if the nightmare isn’t bad enough already, it turns out I'm pregnant. Now, the pain I feel isn’t only caused by a memory but it is now being carried by a growing organism inside of me. It is now inevitable. I have to talk to him, but for the life of me, I don't know how. Maybe I should write him a letter that says, 'Hello brother. Remember that day that we will never talk about when we mistakenly had drunken sex? Well guess what? I'm pregnant! Congratulations bro!'

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