Finding TÒRÒ💞 EP4

 

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FINDING TÒRÒ💞

Episode Four

Sometimes, no matter how much we love to stand tall, we must bend down and adjust our shoes.

Tòrò had whispered those words to herself countless times, a quiet reminder that even the strongest had moments of weakness. But tonight, they felt different. Heavier. Final.

It was time.

She stepped into the apartment, the dim lighting casting long shadows against the walls. The air was thick with the scent of leftover jollof rice, mixed with the faint aroma of Dàpò’s cologne. He was on the couch, one leg draped lazily over the other, his fingers flipping through channels as if the world outside didn’t exist.

She swallowed, forcing her voice to stay even. “Dàpò.”

He didn’t look up.

“We need to talk,” she continued, stepping further into the room.

That got his attention. He turned his head slowly, his dark eyes locking onto hers. “What is it this time?” His tone was laced with boredom, as if he had already decided whatever she had to say wasn’t worth his time.

She took a deep breath. “I think we need a break.”

For a moment, there was only silence. Thick. Unsettling. Then—Laughter.

Not soft chuckles, not even a scoff, but full-bodied, stomach-clenching laughter. Dàpò threw his head back, shaking with amusement, as if she had just delivered the punchline to the greatest joke he’d ever heard.

Tòrò’s stomach twisted.

When his laughter died down, he stood. Slowly. Too slowly.

She instinctively took a step back.

He walked toward the kitchen, his movements eerily calm. Something about it sent a chill down her spine.

“Dàpò…” her voice was cautious, testing the waters.

No response.

The sound of a drawer sliding open. Metal against wood.

And then—

He returned.

A knife glinted in his hand, catching the dim light.

Tòrò’s breath hitched. Her heart slammed against her ribs, the air in her lungs suddenly too thick to breathe.

Dàpò tilted his head, studying her like a scientist observing a specimen. His lips parted, and when he spoke, his voice was eerily soft. “Either you die, or I do.” He took a step closer. “No one is leaving this relationship alive.”

The world around her shrank, her pulse hammering in her ears.

“Dàpò—” she started, but she didn’t get to finish.

In a swift motion, he closed the distance between them, his grip ironclad as he grabbed her by the waist and crushed his lips against hers. Bend her and slide in his full manhood into her feminine gate till he reach her full essence, intentionally pounding to teach her the lesson she needed to learn not through words but through his big rod.

She struggled. He was stronger.

Pain. Resistance. The sharp sting of betrayal mixed with the suffocating weight of his presence.

When it was over, she lay still, staring blankly at the ceiling, her body aching in ways that had nothing to do with physical pain.

The bathroom tiles were ice-cold beneath her feet as she stood under the shower, warm water streaming over her trembling frame. She closed her eyes, hoping the heat would wash away the filth, the memories.

It didn’t.

Tòrò hugged herself, pressing her forehead against the tiled wall, her breath shaky.

Dàpò had done so much for her. He had taken her out of the slums, given her a life beyond the ghetto. He had sponsored her education, paid for her kidney transplant when she had no one else.

She owed him everything.

Didn’t she?

Her fingers curled into fists.

No.

She owed herself more.

With a deep breath, she turned off the shower and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around herself. She met her own gaze in the mirror. The woman staring back at her wasn’t the same Tòrò from before.

This Tòrò was broken.

But not beyond repair.

Not yet.

And if Dàpò thought she would never leave, he was about to learn just how wrong he was.

Sometimes, no matter how much we love to stand tall, 

we must bend down and adjust our shoes.

Written by Ini Crown

Pictures taken from Pinterest.

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