thoughtsofeden

  The next morning, I found myself trudging down a weed choked path to the dibia’s place along with my mother and her elder sister- aunt Amaka.
   Before that day, I never knew what a dead weight Nneka was but carrying her on my back for the past twenty minutes just proved it to me. I was so sure that if I had to endure another ten minutes of carrying her I was mostly likely to end up paralyzed.

We had left the house by 4.30am so it was still dawn. We walked in silence; the only sound was the chirping of insects and the birds calling out to each other. A few steps from me I saw a snake slither across the path and I hurriedly made the sign of the cross.

‘Here we are’, whispered Aunt Amaka pointing to a little hut in a clearing just a few feet ahead.
I was pleased to know that there was actually light at the end of this tunnel and I felt re-energized.

On getting there, we were told that the exact dibia that had helped out that period was dead but his son had taken over for him. I was skeptical about the whole transfer of authority but my aunt insisted that the late dibia was one of the best so the son ought to be as good as he was.

I watched with barely concealed distaste while he fiddled with his cowries humming and hawing all the way. I was never a fan of theatrics and I had a feeling that he was more of a thespian than a dibia. He looked too young to know squat.

He looked up too quickly for me to change my expression and our eyes met. He smiled a cold cocksure smile.
‘You have doubts…’ he sniggered. ‘You think I don’t know anything about what I am doing…it’s a baby boy’, he added mysteriously.

‘What?’ I asked in shock.
‘It’s a baby boy’, he repeated.

I managed to look confused as my mother and aunt turned to look at me. Even in the dimly lit room I could see the questions in their eyes.
I wondered how he knew about the pregnancy and the sex of the baby. I had only just discovered the previous day through a pregnancy test kit I had at home, Nneka’s issue had totally occupied my mind and I hadn’t even been able to go for a confirmatory test.

‘Now do you still have doubts?’ he asked.
I could feel the doubts seeping away from my body and I relaxed. ‘No.’

After the consultation, he said Nneka was an ogbanje and she was going to die if nothing was done. He listed some materials and we were to come back the next day with the necessary items for the ‘onwe-ishi’ as he called it. He had asked for a virgin cock, alligator pepper picked from the right trunk of the tree, a ram, and so many other things I couldn’t quite fathom. Of all the things he mentioned, the only thing I could get was the ram so I had to drop fifty thousand for him to get the rest.

The next day, we came back for the sacrifices. I watched as he slit the throat of the ram and collected the blood in a bowl and led Nneka to an already dug hole. He lifted her gently and dropped her into the hole and proceeded to bath her with the blood and some other things.

‘Mummy I’m scared’, she whimpered as the blood was poured on her.

‘It will be alright baby’, I replied. My skin was crawling and it was almost like I was in that hole with her, I could feel the blood cascading down my body…the gooey mess sticking to my flesh and I looked away in revulsion.

When she was brought out from the hole, she slid to the hard ground in a faint and started writhing.
‘Nneka’, I cried rushing to her help but the boy held me back.
‘Leave her alone’, he commanded sternly. ‘The ogbanje people are leaving her body.’
I watched helplessly as my daughter writhed like a snake then as abruptly as it had started, it ended.

For the next couple of months, there was peace in the house. No more talk about the voice.

He was right about the pregnancy; it was a baby boy…a perfectly beautiful baby boy.

Four months after I had put to bed, I was giving Nneka her evening shower. I had asked her to raise her hands while I made a great show of washing her armpits, we were laughing when the baby woke up with a loud cry.

‘Sweetie I need to attend to your baby, please rinse your body’, I said before rushing to check the baby.
   He was wet so I changed and fed him. After a while, I turned expecting to see Nneka but I couldn’t find her. Still carrying the baby, I went to her room but she wasn’t there, I had all but searched the entire house when it suddenly occurred to me to check the bathroom so I went back there.
She was there, arms raised and staring into nothingness, still in the exact position I had left her.

‘Nneka’, I called.
No sign that she heard me.
‘Nneka’, I snapped.
No answer.
Switching the baby to the crook of my left arm, I bent over to take a bailer of water and I doused her with it. I saw her shake herself awake like someone awakening from a deep sleep.

‘Awww mummy’, she groaned wiping her face.

‘Get yourself out of that bath tub fast’, I ordered.

  Over the next couple of days, I noticed the changes creep back, she would stand and stare at nothing for long, her destructive acts came back as if with a vengeance and her teachers were complaining about her…

Then came the straw that broke the camel’s back…

My sister in law who was visiting had just entered baby’s room only to catch Nneka hunched over his crib with a pillow held to his face, she rushed into the room, grabbed the baby from his crib and ran to me.

‘What!’ I thundered when she narrated the incident to me. I rushed to baby’s room and Nneka was still there staring into an empty crib with a pillow in her hands.
She seemed to be far away so I brought her back with a slap.

‘Mummy’, she cried clutching her cheeks and looking at me with hurt filled eyes.

I responded with a slap. I was so enraged that if my sister in law hadn’t intervened I would have made mince meat out of her scrawny flesh.

Later, when I was calmer, I asked her what happened and she said the voices were telling her to hold a pillow over her brother’s face.

‘Voices again?’I groaned. I had thought we were done with that.

‘Mummy I’m so sorry’, she cried. ‘I didn’t mean to kill my baby…the voices…they said I should do it. I tried…’ she sobbed.

It just dawned on me that she was saying the voices-meaning more than one. Initially, we had dealt with just one voice now they were more than one? Without meaning to, I slumped down on the bed and sobbed with her.

She knelt down. ‘Mummy I’m sorry’.
I reached out and drew her into my arms. She was just six; I couldn’t begin to imagine what she was going through.

When my husband came back, I told him of the incident and this time he didn’t just wave it off. We invited my mother over and the next day, we began the search for healing.

We spent so much money just to find a solution; we went from one prayer house to the other, one self- acclaimed dibia to the other. Sometimes she would feel better then it would worsen. Each place we went to was convinced that she was possessed and equally convinced they could help. I had to get two maids in the house, one to take care of things in the house and the other to make sure Nneka was never alone with her brother.

With each day, her condition worsened. We had to withdraw her from school because she was becoming increasingly destructive and abusive to her class mates. Sometimes she would fall on the floor and writhe for minutes.

One of the prayer houses we went to required that she spent a month in their care so I had to live with her in the church for a month yet there was no change, the voices got increasingly stronger. She was now seven but she had suffered much more than any person I could think of.

I had practically upturned my entire life due to her case, my law practice was suffering but that was little compared to what I was ready to do if only she would get better. She was a danger to herself, to everybody around her. There was no telling what she would do next, one time she was normal, the next she was staring into space or hearing voices.

She was relatively okay that week and I was in the sitting room when the maid ran in screaming.

‘Madam fire oh! Fire!’ she shrieked.
‘What happened?’ I asked swinging my leg from the sofa.
‘Nneka!’

Without another question I followed her swiftly. I could see a flaming figure, standing and twirling with hands raised sky wards.
‘Jesus!’ I screamed lunging forward. We were able to put off the fire but by then she had fainted and we rushed her to the hospital.

According to the maid, she was cutting some vegetables when she looked outside the window and saw the flaming figure. She had looked away but something had drawn her eyes back to the figure and she realized it was human and she went to take a closer look.

I couldn’t thank her enough-if she hadn’t been curious enough to take a closer look there was no telling what would have happened.
She had just sustained some minor burns and when she was stronger, the doctor in charge questioned her. Dr Chika was a very good doctor and she seemed to like him so she talked to him.

According to her, the voices had directed her to creep to the backyard with kerosene, douse herself with it and set herself ablaze. They told her that her sole purpose on earth was to atone for the sins of the world and the only way she could do that was by burning herself to death.

‘Can I see you in my office’, he said when he had finished talking to her.
I and my husband exchanged looks and I nodded. We followed him to his office and sat down waiting for him to tell us the reason he asked to see us.

‘Has she seen a psychiatrist?’ he asked twirling a pen in his hands.
‘A what?’ my husband all but roared.
‘A psychiatrist’, he calmly repeated. ‘I think I might know what her problem is and I’m sure that with the right drugs she will be better.’

It took him some minutes to convince us to take her to a psychiatrist and he gave us the name of a very good doctor. I was absolutely sure my daughter had legions of demons dwelling in her but I just agreed to take her to the doctor so as not to seem stiff necked.

Nneka was diagnosed with schizophrenia and epilepsy!

According to the doctor, those times when she would writhe on the floor or stare into space or behave like a robot she might have been having a grand mal seizure. He threw around a whole lot of medical jargon that I didn’t quite understand but my happiness was that there was hope.

Just two months in the ward, she got better.
Now ten years later, she’s still healthy and the voices have not made another appearance.

Every now and then, I struggle with this question in my head; is it that there are no spiritual causes of any ailment? Are there only medical causes? Has science abolished spiritually caused illnesses? What happens to the belief that the spiritual controls the physical?

‘Get up and dance’, the voice whispered.

She turned around in her five year old innocence to look around but she was the only one in the room. The voice was always telling her to do stuff, sometimes it was more than one voice and she always ignored them.

‘Get up and dance’, it repeated in a sing song manner. ‘Get up and dance…just dance.’

The voice was persuasive and suddenly, her bowl of cereal was no more interesting as she got up to dance.
I found her dancing to a music only she heard, her bowl of cornflakes lay abandoned on the table.

‘Nneka’, I called. ‘Nneka’, I repeated in a louder voice but my child was too engrossed in her dancing. Moving swiftly, I grabbed her and shook her hard till she got herself.

‘Mummy’, she whimpered clinging to me. ‘You stopped the music’, she said in an accusatory tone.

‘What music were you dancing to? I asked peering closely into her face.

‘The music I was dancing to.’ She wriggled away from her my hold and went back to her food.

‘What music?’ I repeated with alarm.

She was stirring the bowl, her pudgy hands grabbing the spoon tightly. ‘The voice asked me to dance and it was singing’, she replied in between mouthfuls of sodden cornflakes.

‘What voice?’ I pressed.
‘Mummy’, she moaned. ‘You said no talking while eating’, she said reminding her of her table rules.
I smiled. ‘When you finish eating you will tell me about the voice, right?’ I asked in a conciliatory tone.
She smiled back nodding.

‘My daughter was the smartest five year old I knew’, I mused. She was so smart that she often acted older than her age.

Nneka-mother is supreme! She often reminded me of my mother!
My mother is the strongest woman I know-she survived the death of her husband and four children. I owe everything I am to her. My father died when I was five, my mother was disinclined towards remarriage so she took over the job as both father and mother. Even at her age, she still had suitors and admirers but she was not interested.

‘Mummy, I’m done’, she said rousing me from my musing. She was smacking her lips with relief and there was a bit of cereal on her chin which I tenderly reached over to wipe.

‘So are you going to tell me about the voice?’ I prodded.
She looked up at me with her trusting eyes. ‘It’s just a voice…it talks to me.’
‘What does it tell you?’ I asked. I’ve often heard of children having imaginary friends whom they played with, Nneka probably had one of those.

‘Plenty things’, she replied still smacking her lips. ‘The voice told me to dance…I didn’t want to listen to it but it wouldn’t stop so I danced.’

‘Hmmm…really?’

‘Yes mummy’, she replied.
I drew her to me and enclosed her in a hug drawing in the scent of her hair. ‘Does the voice scare you?’
She shook her head. ‘No.’
Then there was no cause for alarm and I released her slowly. ‘It’s alright.’

  For the next few days, there was no mention of the voice so I assumed it had gone away. On the fourth day, I went to pick her from school when the teacher told me that she wanted to see me privately.

‘Hope there is no problem?’ I asked curiously.
‘Please sit down Ma’, she said pointing to a chair in front of her.
She was asking me to sit down and suddenly I got a feeling that something was wrong.

She cleared her throat as a prelude to whatever she had to say. ‘Nneka has been exhibiting some strange characters of late’, she began. ‘She refuses to partake in the same activities as her mates; she plays all by herself and talks to unseen people. Yesterday, during break time she just opened her food flask and upturned its contents on her desk, when I scolded her she said the voice asked her to.’

My eyes widened in disbelief.

‘Today while everyone was out for sports, she climbed my desk and passed faeces on the papers there.’

‘What!’I exclaimed in shock.

‘Fortunately, I had left my phone behind and was coming to pick it up and I caught her in the act… unfortunately, my phone was lying smashed on the floor and when I asked, she admitted to smashing the phone claiming that the voice asked her to.

‘Chineke!’ I shouted putting my hands on my head in despair. ‘I’m really sorry about that…I’m really sorry’, I said apologizing profusely.

I was so embarrassed and couldn’t believe Nneka did such but of course I knew that the teacher couldn’t possibly be lying against her moreover I’ve experienced firsthand the influence of the voice. I offered to pay for the phone but the teacher declined, after much pleading and cajoling she agreed.

On the drive home I didn’t talk to her. I was lost in my thoughts as I drove home, I had ensured that she was securely belted into her seat by the seat belt before she dives into the windscreen saying the voice asked her to…I was now confused as to what to expect from my little girl.. This one don pass imaginary friend o!

I looked askance at her and she appeared unperturbed by her deeds. The teacher hadn’t punished her because the school had a strict ‘no physical punishment policy’ for the students in the nursery, primary 1 and 2.
My husband was away on a business trip and when I had called him just after speaking with the teacher, he had dismissed the act as mere childish silliness- bottom line I had to deal with the issue myself.

I had just pulled into the compound when my mother rushed out of the house. ‘Chisomaga’, she shrieked excitedly hugging me.
She had been out of the country for a month and I had missed her a great deal.

‘Mummy’, I giggled happily hugging her back. ‘When did you get back?’
‘This morning’, she replied going to hug Nneka. ‘You were at work when I got here.’
‘Why didn’t you say so we could come pick you from the airport?’ I asked with disapproval.
‘Why bother’, she smiled waving it off. ‘Besides I just wanted to surprise you.’
She picked Nneka up, threw her up in the air and caught her again. ‘How is my little princess?’ she asked.
‘I’m fine, Granny’, she giggled.

She looked so happy and guileless that you wouldn’t believe what she had done that day. I decided not to talk to my mother about her misdeeds till later that day.
   After lunch, Nneka took a nap while I helped my mother unpack; she had bought so many things for Nneka so she had gone to her room to drop them.

‘We need to talk’, my mother said emerging from the room with a different kind of look on her face.

‘What happened?’ I asked.

‘Nneka was talking to herself when I entered her room’, she began crossing her arms around her frame. ‘She was sitting cross legged on her bed talking so at first I thought she was playing pretend with her dolls but when I looked there were no dolls on her bed. She was talking intently with somebody I couldn’t see. I had to call her thrice before she answered.’

‘Mummy’, I began sadly recounting everything that had happened. ‘I’m just glad you are here now because I don’t know what to do, Henry thinks it’s just childish silliness’.

She stood up from where she sat at the foot of the bed and came to sit in front of me. ‘There’s something I never told you’, she began apologetically. ‘You know I lost four children before you came, the first two were still born, the third died at three months and the fourth Kanyinayo died when she was eight.’

I reached out and squeezed her arm sympathetically.

‘Kanyinayo began to hear voices when she was five…she would behave strangely, destroying things, dancing to music nobody else could hear and when asked she would say ‘the voice asked her to’. We ignored it as childish foolishness but it persisted. The behavior wasn’t constant so it was easy to overlook it. Then just after her eighth birthday, it worsened. One morning, she told me that the voices were telling her she was going to die…I didn’t take the matter up, I just scolded her and took her to school…’she broke off in a heart wrenching sob.

Still sobbing she plodded on, ‘That afternoon, her proprietress called me and asked me to rush to the school. Her school was a two storey building and Kanyinayo had jumped from the last floor and had smashed her skull on the cement floor…I lost my child because I was careless enough to ignore her complaints. After the burial, my elder sister took me to a dibia. He said it was an ogbanje child that has been coming all this while, that the child was sent to torment me that this last time, Kanyinayo stayed longer than normal so that when I lost her I would be devastated much more than if she had died at birth like the others. We had to perform some sacrifices and a year later, I had you and you stayed…’

‘Are you trying to say that Nneka is an ogbanje?’ I cut in puzzled.
The explanation was better than any other thing I could think of because nothing else could explain her behavior. Most people think such beliefs are for village folks or the uneducated ones but I am a Barrister, my mother is a Magistrate and no matter how educated we were we still believed that the spiritual could affect the physical. We still knew that there were things that defiled human explanation.

‘Chi’, she said calmly holding my hands. ‘All I’m saying is a stitch in time saves nine. Its better we get to the root of this problem now.’

I had never heard that part of the story and I could feel goose pimples wash over me.
My husband wasn’t around and I knew he would never agree to that kind of therapy so what better time to sort this ill out but now…

Last night was crazy, I had the most fun I have had all year.
I used to be a fun person, I’d work hard all week and during the weekends, I’d party hard with my three crazy friends. We crazy arse girls would club hop all weekend.
  Then I met Dapo and everything changed. We dated exclusively for two years and during that period there was no club hopping or partying of any kind for me because Dapo was a very reserved person who believed that partying was just for immature and irresponsible people.

I loved him so much that I bent out of shape for him; I forsook my parties and tried to be a mature and responsible girlfriend who didn’t club or party. But now, after two years, I caught him cheating on me with a nurse in his hospital. He told me he was on call that night and I believed him, heck doctors are always on call and out of pity I decided to take him a little something for dinner.

Actually it wasn’t a little something. Dapo only eats pounded yam and it must be hand pounded.
That evening after a stressful day at work, I rushed home, undressed and ran to the kitchen to make fresh bitter leaf soup and then for almost thirty minutes, I labored to get him that perfect smoothness he favored in his pounded yam.
  After a quick shower and almost drowning myself in perfume, I drove to the hospital humming along to Mariah Carey’s dream lover.

‘Hello Nancy’, I said smiling at the nurse at the reception. I was familiar with plenty of the nurses and they were nice to me.

‘Hello Chika’, she replied smiling.
‘Hmmm, I like your perfume’.
I always got that compliment so I smiled. ‘Thanks’.
‘What’s the name lemme see if I will task my boyfriend for it’, she said with a chuckle.
‘It’s Red door by Elizabeth Arden’, I replied. ‘Is Dapo alone?’ I asked.
‘Yes. He is upstairs in the call room.’
‘Thanks Dear’, I replied blowing her a kiss as I walked to the stairs.

The thought of how happy Dapo was going to be when he ate the food made me smile as I took the stairs gaily.

I was still smiling when I opened the door. I burst into hysteric laughter at the shocked looks on their face. The nurse was bent over at the edge of the desk, her uniform hiked up to her waist. Dapo’s trousers were around his ankle and he had his hands around her waist while he slammed into her from behind. Their posture and shocked looks gave real meaning to the phrase ‘caught in the act’.

‘I guess you ain’t hungry’, I said holding up the food flask. ‘Please carry on.’
‘Baby please…’ he began.
I spun round and strode out of the room.

That was the end of our relationship, he begged and apologized non-stop but I was totally done with the farce of a relationship.

For all I knew, he had probably been banging her all this time while I had been deluding myself with the idea of faithfulness.

To cheer me up, my three friends decided to take me clubbing that weekend and I had fun. We drank our way from the Traffic bar to Club storm at Ademola Adetokunbo crescent Wise  then to Sofa lounge still in the same area.
   I and my girls always stayed at the VIP section on our nights out and that night, the table opposite us was occupied by five hot guys. One of the guys wouldn’t stop looking at me. I found myself making subtle sexual gestures with my eyes and tongue, believe me liquor gives you guts you never knew you possessed. When I felt like I couldn’t take the tension anymore, I walked out of the club fully expecting him to follow me.

He did.

We stood outside beneath the star filled sky talking- it was a beautiful night. We talked about random drunken things and then he kissed me.

Next, I found myself in the front seat of a car with the seat totally reclined having hot steamy sex.
It was the most amazing sex I have had in two years!

When we were done, we went back to the club and continued like nothing happened.

The next morning, I was still dealing with an intense hangover when my mother called me insisting that I come home for a family lunch.
  That afternoon, still staggering slightly and wearing sunshades for my still photophobic eyes I went home for the lunch. I was in the sitting room conversing with my mother and younger sister when Oluchi, my elder sister walked in, a man in tow.

‘Hello everyone, meet Jesse my fiancé’, she said excitedly.
I removed my glasses to get a better look at the guy only to blanch…

It was the guy from last night!!!!

It’s as much fun to scare as to be scared.
Vincent Price

‘Oh crap!’ I swore as I jolted awake.
It was three days to my third MBBS exam and I was reading in class with some friends.

At about 4.15pm, I decided to take a short nap and I had asked Lily to wake me up when she was leaving so we could leave together.

Blinking rapidly to clear off the sleep, I looked around to see if the others were still there but to my dismay I was alone.

‘How could she?’ I muttered bitterly.

Slowly, I began to take in my surroundings; there was this acrid burning smell in the air reminiscent of formalin.

I could remember falling asleep, face down on the desk but instead I was lying face up on a cold surface.

‘Oh crap!’ I swore again wondering how I came to lie on a cold surface.

Ahead of me, there was a light bulb flickering on and off, the light came on at intervals producing a stark contrast to the darkness. I tried to get up but it seemed that my whole body had suddenly become lead!

From the corners of my eyes, I saw a white figure streak past and I turned slightly in that direction-it was just a cat.

The light flickered on again and I could see the cat looking at me, our eyes met and I stared back, entranced into its strange eyes. One eye was grey while the other was a striking shade of purple-the eyes were uniquely strange and seemed to possess an incredible amount of wisdom for a cat. We stared at each other for some seconds then it was dark again.

I knew that cat!

  The cat always wandered around my classroom. I was always the first to come to class in the mornings and most times, I would meet it on the stairs or exiting the class or on the roof of the dissection room.

My class was a storey building, directly beside it is our dissection room. From my class corridor, you could see directly into the dissection room.

The dissection room was a bungalow, it was a long, wide room with many marble slabs on which the cadavers lay. The room was connected to the morgue by a door.

Curiously, I turned my head to see what the cat was doing, it jumped from one marble slab to the other; it would sniff around and then move towards the head area of the cadaver.

Unfortunately, the only source of light was a sliver of light peeping into the room from under the door, it was dark and my eyes had problems adjusting to the darkness so I squinted.

The cat was kissing the cadaver.

I watched, paralyzed with terror as it jumped from one body to the other doing its macabre kiss thing.

The overhead bulbs flickered on and off in quick succession as if mimicking the rapid pounding of my heart. In the deafening silence that followed, I heard a sound; it began slowly like a slow long sigh-the kind I imagine Rip Van Winkle gave after he woke up from his twenty something years sleep. The sigh gave way to the creaking of bones-many bones.

Raising my head slightly, I could see a bony hand raised in the distance.

I decided that it could only be a figment of my overstressed mind and I shut my eyes tightly as if to ward off the images but when I opened them seconds later, I noticed that the bodies were all sitting up on their marble slabs.

About a short distance away from me was Mr Little, he was a huge cadaver and I had nicknamed him Mr Little on account of his very small shrunken penis. I remembered playing around with his penis while dissection was going on. His back was turned to me but I was able to recognize him from the bullet hole at the back of his head.

Suddenly, he turned to face me; his flattened lips twisted in a sadistic smile, his left eyeball was dangling by a tiny nerve, the entire left side of his face had been peeled out exposing the muscle beneath with the skin flapping by the side.

He grinned again and I shuddered in fear.

The light bulbs were on now but instead of their normal full glare, they gave off a low eerie light. He leapt down from his slab in a fluid like motion and sauntered towards me. His face was fixed in a gruesome grin so the light reflected off his single gold tooth.

I tried to move my body but couldn’t, I wasn’t tied down or anything but it just seemed like I was being weighed down by a heavy weight. He was getting nearer, all around me I could see bodies stirring, stretching and sitting up.

By my far left was Mr I don’t give a fuck you; so named because some silly boys in my class had fixed his left hand so that his middle finger was perpetually raised in a ‘fuck you’. They had totally detached the arm from the socket so now; he clutched it in his right hand and waved it airily in greeting.

There was Shrek; an ugly as sin cadaver. He was big, with a big head and a mammoth sized penis. He was walking towards me, his big head moving slowly from side to side while his huge member swung widely like a pendulum. His abdomen had been dissected open and his intestines hung out of it, his left thigh was devoid of all muscles, only the femur and some nerves were left.

I looked around wondering where Pretty was, he was a beautiful male specimen; good looking even in death. He was the only cadaver nobody abused, he was almost respected even. Girls would often sigh and wish he hadn’t met a cruel fate; some guys would even stand to admire his well formed body and almost perfectly sculptured face. Students often wondered why he had ended up a cadaver- a toy for medical students. I saw him now, standing apart; looking sadly at me with his empty eye socket.

Right now, I could remember our first day in the dissection room, our lecturer had admonished us to respect the bodies but we had all blatantly disobeyed him; torturing and violating the bodies for our morbid fun and now it seemed the bodies were out to exact punishment from me- the scapegoat.

If I could turn back time, I would be like Lily; she always stood aloof with a look of disapproval as we fooled around with the cadavers.

A few of the bodies were unfamiliar to me but they were all staring at me in uninhibited hostility which made me wonder what their plans were for me.

I could see the cat, standing on a bench in front; its head held aloft like a monarch surveying the kingdom. I watched it jump down from the bench turning into Lily as it landed.

I fainted!

This is the end,hold your breath and count to ten…
                     Adele-Skyfall.

I know that the first thought that pops into your mind on sighting this heading is end time conspiracy theories.
    Well, contrary to whatever you might be thinking, the topic ain’t about end time-it’s about relationships, it’s about signs that show that your partner-your bae or boo is fed up. That you are on your way to being un-boo‘ed’ or un–bae‘ed’.

I will be talking to both sexes in this write-up. The signs are similar in both sexes but since I am a female, I will be talking from a female’s perspective.

Before every break up, there are pointers that show that he or she is tired. Break-ups don’t just happen like that. Often times I’ve heard people say ‘it just happened’ or ‘he just broke up with me out of the blues’. Sorry but it’s never sudden.

In most cases, it is like a surgery, the surgeon administers anesthesia to numb your body so that you won’t feel pain, the pain is there but during the surgery it is not felt. In that same manner, your partner slowly withdraws, there are a million signs that they exhibit which you in your ‘love blind bubble’ ignores. There are pointers to it. Here are some:

There’s a reduction in the way you communicate- communication is the bed rock of every relationship, if you cannot talk or share ideas or thoughts or whatever people in relationships share, how then can you grow? How then can you know what your partner is thinking?

If he used to call you every day, it reduces gradually till he’s no more calling and then you have to be the one calling always just to keep the relationship afloat.

In this age of social media, most relationships are on line. Wasap and bbm are slowly taking over the role of face to face or even telephone conversations in relationships, now you notice that instead of chatting the way you used to, he/she just drops single words  like- yes, ok, no, grt, lol in response to whatever you just said. I call it doing the ‘mono talk’. Imagine typing three lines and you get single words in return. At first you make excuses for them, you blame work or anything worth blaming. The truth is that they are tired! Even if you try chatting them up in the morning, evening, afternoon you will still get the same mono talk.

If the mono talk persists after three days, sister love/bruh of life, Stress has nothing to do with it!

You send messages and he /she doesn’t reply- now you could easily tell yourself that they probably are too busy to check their phones but that is totally false. An average girl no matter how busy she is checks her phone at least once every minute.

If your social media of choice is wasap, you notice that you send messages but he doesn’t read them or he doesn’t reply but when you check, you see that he is on line. Or he does the mono-talk thing with you and you somehow convince yourself that he is probably tired from work, but when you check; he is online. If he /she is that tired from work, what happened to resting- Sweetie, he/she is on his way to being tired of you.

You call and he/she doesn’t pick up and doesn’t even bother calling back the entire day or at least acknowledge that they saw a missed call from you. Well…

They pick offence at very trivial things, things they would normally ignore. You would ignore the signs and say- ‘my girl friend is probably menstruating that is why she’s acting like this or she’s stressed at work or whatever’ or you say ‘he is probably stressed at work or family stress’. Sometimes, you are right in your assumptions but when it persists, it’s about to be over.

They make excuses not to spend time with you.

I was listening to the chorus of-when a woman’s fed up by R. Kelly, it says that ‘when a woman is fed up, no matter how you beg, there’s nothing you can do about it. It’s like running out of love. No matter what you say, no. And then it’s too late to talk about it.’ That is totally true. When you get to the stage where they are making unending excuses so as not to spend time with you, then Dearest, the end is nigh.
  At this point, no matter what you say or do, it will most probably not  change anything.

   Special thanks to Opssy,Edora,Damie,Mig,Michael,Bayo, Ify for their contributions…
     A million Muahs.

  My 6 weeks training had just ended and I still had about 10 days to spend in Abuja. I had no plans for any kind of fun whatsoever and I had resigned myself to 10 days of intense boredom when my cousin suggested Studio 21. She said since I had a strong passion for dancing I could just register there for dancing lessons.

I felt strongly repulsed by the idea of group lessons so I vetoed the suggestion then she added that I could buy time for private lessons and suddenly, I could feel my sun rising.

   The next morning, I drove her Venza le to the address she gave me- it was surprisingly easy to locate.

The name Studio 21 screamed from the signboard. There was a subtle elegance about the sign board that gave me confidence. There was no way the dance school could be tacky with such a classy signboard. Releasing all my pent up air, I came out of the car locking it securely behind me.

The building itself was a three storey building so I had to take the stairs. Heaving a sigh of resignation,I bounded up the stairs wondering which one was the exact flat when I saw the door leading to the studio-it had studio 21 crested on it.

‘It’s not too late to leave’, I muttered to myself. I stood at the door for some seconds thinking if I should turn back or not.

‘Excuse me, can I pass?’ asked a deep voice behind me.

‘Oh…sorry’, I apologized stepping aside.
He looked at me derisively no doubt wondering what I was doing there. I knew I looked funny and out of place with my flowing pink kaftan.

‘Are you lost?’ he asked politely. I could vaguely detect pity in his voice or maybe I heard just what I was expecting to hear.

I shook my head in reply giving him a little smile. When he saw that I wasn’t prepared to say anything else, he walked into the studio.

‘Get it together gal’, I scolded myself. Bracing my nerves, I opened the door and walked in.
The reception was decorated with an ambiguous kind of elegance- it was neither male or female. I almost felt at home.
I walked up to the girl at the desk. ‘Hello’, I said smiling.
‘Hello’, she smiled back looking at me.

There was something about her gaze that made me suddenly feel self conscious. She was looking so put together in her crop top and jeans, her make up on fleek and no single hair out of place.
Mentally, I scrutinized myself-I was looking like a dowdy matron in my pink kaftan, no stitch of makeup on asides my lip gloss and a hurriedly packed ponytail, I had tucked the escaping hair behind my ears and yes I looked comical.
She had this look of disapproval in her eyes that made me aware that I had been weighed and found wanting.
Well who cares.

‘So how can I help you?’ she asked.

‘Umm… I would like to register for dance classes. I would prefer a private class just me and the instructor ’, I said.

‘Okay’, she replied. She took some time going through the laptop in front of her.
‘When would you like to start?’ she asked looking up.

‘Now.’

‘What kind of dance are you interested in?’ she asked mechanically.

‘Any kind apart from break dance’, I replied. ‘I will be coming in every morning by 10 for the next eight days’, I added.

She peered intently into her laptop before replying. ‘There’s only one private room available for now but someone is there already’.

I felt squashed and it probably showed on my face.
‘Good news is that its just one person and he is a very private person so it will almost seem like you are alone. I will try to find an available place where you could have your privacy by the time you are through for today’, she added apologetically.

After registration, she directed me to the studio and left me.

I opened the door cautiously and peered in, then gathering courage, I walked in. The room was big, the teal wall paint gave an illusion of depth and endless space and there were so many mirrors. I was captivated.

‘Hello’, I said waving at the other occupant of the room. He was dancing alone and had an ear piece plugged on. He waved back and continued dancing.
I had just been dismissed abruptly-well what was I expecting? Like we were going to socialize.

I removed my kaftan to reveal a grey leotard and navy blue tights, I looked around for where to keep my kaftan and my eyes fell on a couch and I folded it neatly across it.
I fixed my ipod to my arm band making sure it was secure, plugged in my ear piece and began to stretch. I was still stretching when my instructor came.

His name was Kunle and after the introductions, we began. He was a good dancer and a patient teacher. He led me through all the steps and in two hours, I was doing the salsa to Gloria Estefan’s- Esperando.

   When I was leaving for the day, I asked Rita- the receptionist if she was able to find another room but she said no. Still apologizing, she said I would have to share the room for the next couple of days. Shrugging, I accepted my fate. Moreover, my neighbor didn’t seem like a bothersome kind of person.

  The next day, I came early. I was already rehearsing the dance steps from Esperando when a wave of cologne hit me, turning, I discovered that he had just walked in. it was then I realized that he was the man from the door-the one who had asked if I was lost.

We exchanged curt hello’s and he sauntered to his own part of the studio. Unconsciously, I stared at him while he changed into his dancing gear-it wasn’t really a gear per say. He had worn a sweat shirt over joggers and then he had removed the sweat shirt revealing a black body hugging singlet. When he moved, I caught a glimpse of his firm arse from his low ridding joggers.

I mentally crossed myself. ‘Sweet baby Jesus’ I muttered .

The previous day, I had been too busy wallowing in self-doubt that I hadn’t noticed that he was absolutely gorgeous. His muscles rippled as he stretched and I swallowed in anticipation.

I couldn’t tell what I was anticipating but…
A line from 50 cents candy shop came to mind as I stared shamelessly. ‘I melt in your mouth and not in your hands’.
I tried to concentrate on my dancing but I couldn’t stop looking from the corners of my eyes. I was so relieved when my trainer came.

For the next couple of days, we shared the same studio in companionable silence apart from the curt hello’s. Most of the times, he arrived before me but I came to recognize the arousing scent of his cologne.

He was a wonderful dancer and he trained so diligently that I wondered what he was training for, I was just there to stave off boredom so I didn’t put as much dedication into it as he did and he danced alone.
    I was nearing the end of my training and he hadn’t made any move to be more  friendly and I still didn’t have enough courage to make the first move.
I ran through so many ideas as I drove to the studio that day but none seemed right.
I thought about inviting him for drink after training but it seemed too…I don’t know but I just didn’t feel right about it.
Maybe I should compliment his dancing as a conversation starter and see where that leads, maybe I could even nudge it in the right direction.
I was still making plans when I got to the studio.

As usual, Rita was at her post and she greeted me with her ever sunny disposition- I envied her for her sunny outlook. I wish I could always see rainbows every time I looked up into the sky.

She was still smiling when she told me that Kunle wasn’t feeling too fine and was taking the day off. Still smiling albeit in an apologetic manner, she informed me that there was no free trainer for the day.

Instead of going home, I decided to dance alone. When I entered my studio, he was already there-the mysterious hunk. For my zoning purposes, I had named him Mr X.

For the first 30 minutes, I danced nonstop before deciding to take a short break. I headed for the couch and plopped down gracelessly. From the couch, I could directly observe him through the mirror. Our eyes met and he held my gaze till I shamefully averted my eyes.
I was pretending to study my toes when I felt a shadow cross me.

‘I’m Jake’, he said offering his hands.
Biting my lips, I looked up from the toes I had been studying so intently and mumbled my name as I took his proffered hand.
‘Huh?’
‘Tessie’, I repeated louder.
‘Your trainer isn’t here yet?’ he asked curiously.
‘He is not coming in today…he is ill’, I replied.
‘Oh…sorry about that’, he said an apologetic smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.
I shrugged. ‘No biggie.’
‘I could dance with you’, he offered. ‘That is if you need a partner.’

Finally! Wetin I don dey find since.
The butterflies in my belly were having a field day and they wouldn’t stop fluttering.
‘That would be nice’, I replied smiling graciously.
He offered his hand, I took it and he gently lifted me from the couch.

  At first, we danced but after some minutes, the dancing had turned sexual.
He had twirled me round and let go, then I executed a pirouette and landed in a perfect plie, in a split of a second, I launched myself at him in an admirable sauté and he caught me neatly; his strong hands cupping my butt cheeks. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest and it felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room.

Time stood still till I broke the enchantment by sliding down from his hold.
I had acted impulsively and could feel my face turn crimson with embarrassment. I averted my eyes to avoid meeting his and walked head down to the couch. He followed me before I got there and grabbing my elbow, he spun me to face him then he kissed me.

Next thing I knew, we were up against the wall and I had my legs entwined round his waist. I had my hands at the back of his head and he was kissing my neck. His hands were working deftly and I felt him gently roll down my tights then he braced my leg on his shoulders and I was still on the wall when he went Southern on me.

I was on cloud nine and I wasn’t in any hurry to come down.

   I ran this story by my ‘oga’s/bosses/chairmen’ them. They had plenty to say about it and after a lot of thinking,I decided to put it up.
Here it is and I hope you enjoy it…
     Do have a lovely weekend.

   In Bible times, there lived a man called Joseph ‘ yak yak yak’ we all know the story so I will skip to the part where his master’s wife tried to seduce him and he refused then she chucked him into prison where he spent a good portion of his youth but later emerged the prime minister of Egypt.

Welcome to the 21st century, a period of practicality.
This is 2015, my name is Joseph Thompson and this is my story-
I am a graduate of Financial Management-second class upper division but after three years of graduation, I still carry around my portfolio in search of a job, I have worn out my only pair of shoe in the process but I still strive on- I refuse to give up.

I am alone in this world safe for my ten year old brother, my mother died just minutes after giving birth to him while my father died five years ago of lung cancer-the doctor said it was an occupational hazard.
   My father-‘God rest his soul’ was a horticulturist and had worked with plants, flowers and different types of pesticides, in the process, he had inhaled a whole lot of harmful substances. He died when I was in my final year so for the remaining time, I had to fend for myself and my kid bro.

One Sunday evening, I was sitting in front of the house with my kid bro when Mrs Oje came by.
Mrs Oje is an elderly woman whose garden my father used to tend, I still go there from time to time to help her out. She has been exceedingly kind to I and my brother-our own personal Widow of Zar’ephath and we are grateful for that.

‘Good evening ma’, I said smiling.
‘How are you?’ she asked.
‘Fine ma.’
‘I have good news for you’, she began.

My eyes lit up with expectations.

She smiled at my eager expression. ‘A friend from church mentioned that he needs a gardener cum driver and my thoughts ran to you’, she paused. ‘Are you interested?’

That is how I came to work for the very wealthy Mr Ajayi.

The pay was fair enough and it came with an accommodation in the boys quarters. My main job was as the gardener, I was to drive him only occasionally because he had an elderly driver who always drove him.
  He lived in a monstrously big house, the drive way leading from the gate to the building itself was almost three kilometers long and it was flanked on both sides by beautiful albeit ill kept gardens.

The sheer beauty of the compound took my breath away and I looked around entranced wishing I had been born into this kind of wealth. The house itself was an architectural edifice it brought to mind a house I once saw in Versailles.

Haa! I got you there. I’ve never been outside Nigeria, I saw the house in a movie filmed in Versailles and since then I’ve been unable to get the image out of my mind.
In an alternate universe, I might have lived in such a house.

   For the first few weeks, I minded my work but with time, I became familiar with the workings of the place. He was married with five kids-all girls, he had packed all off them to boarding house so it was just him and his wife in that huge house.

I caught sight of the wife a couple of times- a mousy looking woman wearing ugly and oversized dresses.
  She didn’t look like the wife of such a wealthy man, rather like one of the servants. I thought that maybe she just dressed like that around the house till one day when he asked me to drive her to the doctor.
That was the first time I was able to observe her closely, that day, she wore uglier and bigger clothes- I wondered why.

She had this defeated look about her, a look of someone who had given up. Looking through the front mirror, I could detect faint bruises on her face-was he hitting her?
No wonder she looked like that so frail and tired. She looked like she would faint if a dog barked at her.

Wetin concern me? I mused deciding to strictly face my gardening.
I dropped her off and waited for her to finish and took her back home.

With time, I began to empathize with her; after her fifth girl child, the doctor asked her not to try again so she had to stop giving birth. Left with no male as heir, her husband took to cheating. Sometimes, he would hit her for no apparent reason. He was the reason she dressed like that, he didn’t want her wearing body fitting clothes. I had driven him a couple of times to his extramarital meetings and I felt disgusted each time I did.

Why would a man who had such a lovely and dutiful wife go outside?
What is it with Nigerians and the search for male off springs?
No be to born boy, na to born better pikin wey go dey useful to ‘im family and the society! After all, all those thief men dem na people born dem and I sure say when dey born dem, the family and friends dem gather to rejoice say dem don born boy.

   One day, I was working in the garden as usual when I heard them arguing, it sounded like they were walking in the garden so I quickly ducked behind a hedge of Bougainvilleas. It was not really an argument because the conversation was just one sided and when she dared to answer him in her very passive voice he had slapped her twice in quick succession and stomped out.
After some minutes, I heard the sound of the car driving off and I came out of my hiding place. She was sitting at a garden bench sobbing her heart out. I wanted to turn around and pretend I didn’t see her but my heart went out to her and I approached her with trepidation.

After all na me find trouble… She might just transfer the aggression to me and dash me one better slap.

Her face was covered with her palms and she was sobbing into them so she didn’t see me approach. A short distance from her, I stepped on a twig and she looked up reflexively.
She was bleeding through her left nostril.

Without a word, I turned back and went to my quarters. I came back with a small bowl of cold water and a clean towel, she was still sitting in that position and I approached. Gently, I pried away her fingers from her nose and tenderly wiped the blood away.

‘Thank you’, she said looking up at me.

‘You are welcome’, I replied. She was still crying so I held her hands and whispered consoling words to her. I didn’t even know what I was saying but my words seemed to soothe her.
Then she leaned on my sweaty shoulder still sobbing quietly…

Then she kissed me-it was less a kiss than her pressing her lips to mine.
Startled, I released her and got up from the bench.

‘Is there something else you want me to get you?’ I murmured in embarrassment.
I had no reason to feel that way but somehow I did. She had this thing around her that made her look like she could do no wrong so somehow I blamed myself.

‘No’, she whispered and got up.
I stood watching her walk back to the house listening to the swish-swash of her bulbous skirt.

  The next day, she came to my quarters. I was stepping out of the shower when I heard a knock.
‘Come in’, I said without thinking. I hadn’t expected it to be her.
I could see the shock on her face when she walked in-yes I have that effect on females. I was naked from chest up with just a towel around my waist.
Back in NYSC camp, I had won Mr Macho and even though I don’t visit the gym, I still do my own form off workout with the gardening and all so I know what effect I was having on her-the very sheltered Mrs Ajayi. She lowered her eyes and mumbled incoherently while I grabbed the nearest shirt to cover myself.

‘I’m sorry for barging into your room’, she said with eyes still looking downwards. ‘I just want to apologize for yesterday. I’m sorry if I put you in an awkward position.’

‘No need to apologize ma’, I cut in.

‘Please let me finish’, she said sternly looking up to stare into my face. ‘It’s been so long anyone cared about my welfare and I’m sorry I acted the way I did…I just don’t know what came over me’, she cried out.

What is it with women and tears? I just tire.
I stood there at a loss, not knowing what to do. Should I reach out to her or not?
She was still sobbing so I got her a clean handkerchief from my drawer.
She sat down on the mattress without an invitation and sobbed into the handkerchief.

‘I’m so lonely’, she sobbed. ‘He sent my babies off to boarding school…he wouldn’t let me visit my family…he wouldn’t let them visit me. I can’t even have friends’, she moaned blowing her nose into the handkerchief.
‘He blames me for not having a male child… I’m just tired’, she cried. ‘I wish I could just die…I just wanna die’, she sobbed harder.

All this while, I was standing in front of her. I was wary of reaching out to console her make wetin happen yesterday no happen again but when she talked about death-my heart went out to her and I reached out.

Crouching before her, I held her face. Her eyes were red rimmed from crying-she looked like a little girl.
‘You shouldn’t talk so casually about death’, I scolded lightly. ‘What do you think will happen to your girls if you give up now?’ I asked.
I was trying to console and encourage her-one thing led to another and we were kissing.

We had sex that day and it was surprisingly amazing.

During the pillow talk, she confided in me that the last time he had sex with her was six years ago-before her last child. After she put to bed and it was a female child, he stopped touching her except for the few times when he would order her to fellate him.
  She thanked me profusely for making her feel like a woman again before sneaking out.

Looking at Mr Ajayi, it was hard to believe that he was capable of such cruelty. I hated him so much and somehow, I didn’t feel guilty about his wife.

  The sex became a regular occurrence; he was always away so we had numerous opportunities to make love. She had been starved of companionship for such a long time and was glad to find someone to talk to. She was shocked when she heard about my result and promised to help me. Her eldest brother was the CEO of a multi-national company. He was many times richer than her husband.
  She arranged for me to meet him and he interviewed me.
He gave me a job with one of his branches and just six months on the job, he sent me abroad for my Masters.

  Today, I am a success story.
I’m married with a set of twins-boys. You already know my wife-the former Mrs Ajayi.

Yes, she left her husband for me and we are living happily with our five girls.

This is how it happened; while I was away for my Masters, Mr Ajayi got two of his mistresses pregnant and they moved in with him-it gave my wife grounds to divorce him and she did, leaving with a generous settlement from him. He still visits the girls from time to time.

I love my wife so much and each day, I’m grateful for not missing the opportunity I had.

I’m definitely not going to justify my deeds but I dare you to condemn me!

Visible Difference.

‘It’s me, Debbie’, she insisted.
I shook my head vehemently. ‘Sorry, I really don’t know you’, I said firmly and pushed past her to continue my shopping.

It was a Saturday morning and I was in a hurry to finish my shopping, it was bae’s birthday and I had promised to take her and her friends to a new place in Ajah.

I pushed my cart along, intently staring at the shelves like I was looking for something but I was just biding my time and wishing she would leave me alone.
I glanced back surreptitiously—she was still following me!

I swore under my breath. ‘Wetin dey bring this kain wahala na?’ I moaned softly.

‘Kamie’, she called softly. ‘You don’t remember me?’

I stopped in my tracks- the only people that still called me ‘Kamie’ were people who knew me as a child. I prided myself on my photographic memory but I could swear till thy kingdom come that I have never seen this lady in my life.

‘How did you know that name?’ I asked, surprise creasing my face.

‘I’ve been trying to explain to you’, she said smiling sweetly. ‘I am Debbie, your sister Amaka’s friend. You used to call me auntie Debbie’, she added smiling fondly at the memory.

My eyes widened in surprised shock. ‘Auntie Debbie? The auntie Debbie?’

‘Yes’, she replied.

It was hard to believe that this lady before me was auntie Debbie- my first crush ever.

   Auntie Debbie as I recalled was dark; her skin was a rich ebony that made her win Miss Ebony twice while she was in secondary school, she had long black hair that I used to love to play with, white teeth that shone brightly against her dark skin and a smile that never ceased to cause my heart to flip flop.

Auntie Debbie was a black beauty.
It was to her face I had masturbated to for the very first time.
I had a crush as huge as the Kilimanjaro on her!

  The lady in front of me was an oyibo- she was as fair as Nadia Buhari if not fairer!

I couldn’t help but imagine what had made a black beauty change her skin color so drastically. The new color didn’t even add to her beauty so why did she do that, I wondered.

‘How are you?’ I asked politely.

‘Fine’, she replied. ‘You’ve grown o’, she said reaching over to playfully hit my shoulders.

I smiled back shyly. There was still something about her- that thing that had made me crush on her for so long that reduced me to a teen at her playful touch.

‘How is your husband?’ I asked with morbid curiosity.

‘I’m still single’, she replied coyly looking at me from beneath her long lashes.

I was in shock-she was my sister, Amaka’s mate meaning she was like 8 years my senior and Amaka was already married with 3 kids.

We exchanged numbers and as she sashayed past, I shuddered with revulsion as I couldn’t help but notice the effects of the bleaching cream on her skin-the reddish green patches, she reminded me of a character from hunger games with the disgustingly colored skin…

Ughhh…Gross!

I had to struggle to keep down the breakfast I had- that was probably why she was still single I concluded.

P.s- I’m not anti bleaching…its your life and you can do with it whatever you please but just bear in mind the long term effects.
This is fiction so no harm intended.
Just enjoy and please drop your comments and contributions.

It was a beautiful Monday morning, the sky was a vivid shade of blue and the sun sent its caressing rays down. As Denise walked into her office that morning, she found herself humming gaily and wondered what was making her so happy.

On her table were a dozen white long stemmed roses.

They were exquisite!

In her wildest imagination, they were from Nicholas. Unfortunately, the name on the attached note was Desmond.

Hissing, she almost flung them into her trash can but they were too beautiful to be discarded so instead she kept them.

Throughout that week he fastidiously sent flowers and gifts to her office which she received- wholly because she didn’t know how to return them-they were always on her desk every morning before she came into the office but she had firmly refused his dinner invites.

Each day after work, she would find him at the parking lot waiting for her.
The first time, she had ignored him and walked pointedly to her car.

‘What is your problem?’ she demanded rudely the second time he had done it.

‘I just want you to give me a chance to talk to you’, he pleaded softly.

Ignoring him, she walked to her car and made to get in but he held the door.

‘Denise, please I’m sorry’, he said.

‘If you don’t leave my door I will scream rape’, she threatened, her face contorting with rage.

When he didn’t make any move to let go, she took a deep breath and prepared to scream from her lungs. Seeing she was serious, he quickly let go. She got into her car and slammed her door so fast that she missed his fingers by a few inches.

‘Idiot’, she hissed driving off.

Asides that, her week was uneventful.
She was acutely aware of Nicholas’ absence, he had a magnetic presence that was easily felt anytime he was in the building and when she hadn’t felt his presence for some days, she had asked and was told that he had travelled to South Africa for business,business probably meant his hot girlfriend. She could feel her face contort as anger and jealousy welled up in her and she tried to relax feigning a wane smile.

On Friday, she had closed from work early and had gone home to rest. The day was progressing so slowly. She could see her loneliness staring her in the face and she wondered…

Wondered if she was doomed to a life of loneliness.
It didn’t really matter but somehow it really did.
And then her phone rang- the ever persistent Desmond was calling again.
This time, she accepted to have dinner with him.

   Sitting opposite him, she couldn’t help but appreciate his looks- she could imagine Renaissance painters falling over each other just to paint him.

He was perfect!

She didn’t see any reason not to accept his apologies besides; he must have learnt not to be too forward with her.
He reached across the table and gently took her hands in his. She looked up from her plate and looked deep into his eyes.

And then she knew. Smiling, she let him hold her hands.

    And this is where we draw the curtains…I hope you enjoyed the series!!!
  For the next few weeks,I will be dropping singles…please sit back and enjoy…
Do have a beautiful week ahead…
     Cheers!!!