Babe biko come and update! Nah jehovah we take de beg u! Pls!

na only girls dey follow this superfluous kini??

Perfectnito

Enjoying every line.

wonderful

pls...abeg...biko...eejo miss pls update 4 us nw....i knw ur schedule might be tight but pls ehn...even if it's small we go accept it lyk dat

ernie98:
pls...abeg...biko...eejo miss pls update 4 us nw....i knw ur schedule might be tight but pls ehn...even if it's small we go accept it lyk dat

seconded

Awwww! So my guy Chuma has his own demons too. I'm so loving this couple
#teamchumaandisi

Hi guys, just to let you know, I won't be posting on here in a while. My blackberry is damaged and it took all my stories with it. So, pending when I can get some other device capable of posting stories, everything will be on hiatus. My apologies

safarigirl:
Hi guys, just to let you know, I won't be posting on here in a while. My blackberry is damaged and it took all my stories with it. So, pending when I can get some other device capable of posting stories, everything will be on hiatus. My apologies

Patiently waiting

safarigirl:
Hi guys, just to let you know, I won't be posting on here in a while. My blackberry is damaged and it took all my stories with it. So, pending when I can get some other device capable of posting stories, everything will be on hiatus. My apologies

awww sowe about ur phone......I hope u gt a new one soon

safarigirl:
Hi guys, just to let you know, I won't be posting on here in a while. My blackberry is damaged and it took all my stories with it. So, pending when I can get some other device capable of posting stories, everything will be on hiatus. My apologies

REALLY SORRY ABOUT THE PHONE.
BUT WHY NOW?
THANK U ALL THE SAME.

jezuzboi:
I love this story.

From the look of things, Isi's resentment shall fade away like the evening sun,
& passion, urges & possibly love, shall accompany the following dawn.
But I have a question; Abeg how old is Isi?Ride on!

I would say mid twenties. SAY 24-26 or there about.

Two weeks.


It’s been two weeks since I’ve last seen Chuma or had any sort of contact with him and it’s killing me. Yes, I can admit to that now without feeling some kind of way. I can’t say when it all changed, maybe that day he told me about his pain, showed me his scar, maybe that was the day I stopped seeing him as just another one of them, ‘the enemy’, now he’s kin. He understood, he knew, and I had been judging him all this while, attacking him. Am I any better than him? No, I’m far worse. He wasn’t a bad person, he had never been. For all of my hard-headedness and sauciness towards him, he had been patient and understanding, even when he heard of what I had been through….his reaction when I blanked out in his presence….

I had forgotten how terrified he had looked, how pale his face had been even after I had been resuscitated. Had I reminded him of something or….someone?

I want to know, I need to know everything. I haven’t been able to get my head into a thing since that day. I’ve been constantly distracted by thoughts of his words and the image of that scar, that long, jagged scar that marred his skin, that spoke words he couldn’t utter. I was plagued by those thoughts in a manner I don’t recall myself ever being by anything else. I can’t even fathom why I want to know the whole story so much. So what if he has a scar? What if he has experienced some pain, didn’t everyone at some point in life? And we don’t all have physical scars to show for them, but aren’t emotional scars worse? Don’t they do worse to your psyche?
‘He has both’ a little voice whispers in my head.
Yes, he does. But I only know of the physical scar, the emotional one? Well, in case you’re wondering, I’m hoping I can find that out before the end of the day….the major reason why I stole his phone number from Gladys’ phone this morning. Even I, can’t believe the lengths I’ve gone through just to contact Chuma. I had to go to church today, I mean, I willingly, of my own resolve, woke up this morning, had my bath, dressed up, and took a 20-minute drive to Gladys’ church and sat through the service, simply because I was hoping- foolishly, I later realized of course- that I would see Chuma there, waylay him and get him to talk. Yes, my plan was a little out there, but who says it wouldn’t have worked? If only he had come along of course. He hadn’t. I didn’t see him the entire service, and so I did the second ridiculous thing I did just to get to this point, I asked Gladys of him. Now, I need not emphasise on the length of Gladys’ grin when I asked that question, or the shrill that escaped her, neither do I need to mention the way her eye brows wiggled suggestively when she asked why I wanted to know. I managed to push down the nauseous feeling I developed at her actions, no, there were more important things on my mind than trying to suffocate Gladys’ overactive imaginations, so I just told her io needed him for something and allowed those imaginations run free.

He had moved out of her house, he now lived in Ikeja, apparently, it had been a month since he had been planning to move out and had finally done so some days ago. He had never mentioned it to me…not that he needed to of course, I’m not important enough to know, but he hadn’t told Ismail either, if he had, I’m positive Ismail would have told me a while ago.
Desperation led me to my third utterly ridiculous action of the day…and unfortunately, not my last, going by the way I’m fiddling with my phone right now- I asked her for his number, she rattled it out to me rather quickly, with that sickening grin still plastered to her face which I ignored lest I lost my nerves.

So, here I am, six hours later, about to press the ‘send’ button to the number saved as ‘Chuma’….three weeks ago, I would probably have saved the number differently, in a much more demeaning way, but now….. I click the send button and watch my phone screen as a ringing sound filters into my ears. As much as I want to speak with him, I’m hoping he’s one of those people who doesn’t pick calls from strange numbers, maybe if he doesn’t pick my call, I can save myself the embarrassment and act like I never contacted him.

What will I even say? Silly me, I haven’t even considered what I’m going to say to him, but I’m calling, I have to say, I’m usually far more rational than this lest you get the wrong idea about me. A small voice tlls me I can still end the call before he answers, at least I tried, right? I pick up the phone to do as planned, but suffice it to say, lady luck has been a bitch recently concerning me

“Hello?” I hear that deep baritone of his filter into the receiver of my phone. I think this is my cue to reply, but my brain seems unable to formulate words temporarily. I guess that’s what happens when one is caught unawares, it takes a while for the brain to catch up, “Hello?” again, I fail to reply. I don’t know how he reacts to such ‘ghost’ calls, like I refer to them, but if I were the one who answered a call from a strange number- not that I’ve ever or will ever do something so foolish- I would probably hang up after the first ‘hello’ hoes unanswered.

“Isi, I’m sure you’re aware your airtime is depleting as we speak, unfortunately for you, I’m not nice enough to end the call on your behalf if you’re too dumb to speak, no pun intended.”

There’s that playful lilt to his voice and I picture him with one of his famous smirks as he says those words and funny enough, I’m not even miffed that he’s teasing me. I’m rather relieved that this isn’t as awkward as the scenarios I came up with, he’s rather jovial for someone who has more or less severed all contact with me for the past two weeks. I’m his favourite person to torment so he should be fairly devastated that he had been unable to practice his favorite sport with me for that long, yet, he sounds like we spoke last night.

I place the phone to my ear, my curiosity winning the fight against the many snide remarks I usually have custom made for him, “How did you know it was me?”

“Who else would call me and then remain mute? Besides, mum told me you asked for my number so I figured you’d be dialing before the end of the day”

Of course, I should have known, Gladys and her big mouth. I roll my eyes dramatically, not that he can see me or anything, but I’m unable to suppress the urge to do just that, “I heard you moved” I change the subject purposely, I’m in no mood to have a senseless back-and-forth with him.

“Oh yes, I’ve barely unpacked sef.” He replies, I notice he’s begun to use the Nigerian lingo a lot of recent, he’s definitely re-integrating rather nicely.

“Well, do you have some spare time?” no need beating around the bush, the sooner we’re done with this conversation, the better for my peace of mind.

A brief pause follows my question and for a second I actually think he’s going to refuse me, which would be surprising….but considering his recent antecedents, it wouldn’t be unexpected, “Sure, what’s up?” he asks

As eager as I am to bring up the discussion and get it over with, it won’t be ideal if I bring it up over the phone, it’s hardly a conversation to be discussed over the phone, “Can we talk?”

“You mean in person?”

“Yes, yes, in person.”

he goes silent again and I can just imagine him thinking to himself, “Is Ismail home?” he asks.

He’s probably already figured out what I want to discuss and just wants to know if the area is clear of any distractions. I’m thankful Gladys had the foresight to volunteer to babysit Ismail for the day, I wouldn’t be getting him back till tomorrow afternoon, he had some of his things in her house including everything he would need for school tomorrow…..like I said earlier, I and Chuma have been acting like co-parents “No, he’s with your mother.”

“Okay, I’ll be by in about an hour.” With that, the line went dead. I’ll have to tell him that I don’t particularly like being hung up on so unceremoniously

Safarigirl is baaaaaacccckkk!!!

Safariii nice 2 see u. Hmmmm chuka n isi

she is bk @ last. Fnx fr d update

Time until next update :- 2016

thanks 4 d update....expectin more!

nyc story..keep it up.

i can see love in the d air between Isi and chuma. nice one safari

FINALLY!!!

will007:
Time until next update :- 2016

my friend learn to be grateful.

Safarigirl tnx for the update.

tijehi:

my friend learn to be grateful.
Safarigirl tnx for the update.

Thought I added it somewhere, thanks for the correction, friend.
Thank you S.

*******

*****

He takes about an hour to get to my house- around the same amount of time I use to give myself a pep-talk…well, more like a lengthy motivational speech considering the amount of time spent on it. I also use the minutes I have left to practice on the most appropriate way to bring up the subject, but it should come as no surprise that when he finally arrives at my house, all of my best laid plans are suffice it to say, trashed.
We exchange pleasantries, the first thing I notice is that he’s a little withdrawn, I can’t point out any reason for this considering I barely gave any hints on what he’s here for, so I just follow his lead. I offer him something to drink- he settles for coffee after just a little bit of insistence on my part, for the life of me I can’t fathom why. The old me would be more than happy to leave him without any form of refreshments. I suppose the thought that I did invite him for an important discussion which he’ll most likely need all his senses in check for, is the motivation behind my insistence that he drink the tea.

He nurses the tea far longer than he should before speaking, “Nice kitchen.”

For the first time in a while, I take note of my grand kitchen with it’s state-of-the-art equipments. It looks like it belongs in the covers of a magazine as I told the interior designer I wanted, and it honestly is something to behold- I just haven’t paid it any attention since the first time I moved into this house. I suppose the whole euphoria that comes with moving into your own house newly, died off within months when the emptiness of the house basically shouted down it’s sheer beauty. Chuma hasn’t been in this part of my house because, well, the last time he was here, he didn't get to actually look at the place, he was too busy breaking bottles against the wall....….he barely makes it past the sitting room apart from that day. Most times, his stop is right at the door, where Ismail meets him. A few times, when Ismail isn’t prepared yet, he sits in the living room for some minutes, but I’ve never allowed him see any further of the house- which probably highlights the importance of today’s meeting.

I nod, “Thanks.” Is my simple reply, and almost immediately, we’re back to that awkward, uncomfortable silence.
He returns my nod and proceeds to stare down at his tea cup like one who isn’t accustomed to having his tea served in a cup. My thoughts are clouded with how to begin this conversation, do I just talk about random things before hitting the nail on it’s head, or do I just get to the point? Which would be more appropriate and less offensive to his senses? I could almost scoff at myself right now, since when did I care about the sensitive nature of human beings? When did the thought of another person’s psychological state of mind matter to me that it was suddenly the basis for my approach of a topic? Maybe since I realized, if someone wanted to talk to me about my issues, I would require certain appropriate steps to be taken and Chuma was the only one who had shown consideration for my state of mind when he asked me how I was doing. There was no judgment in his eyes when I told him I had killed people and he certainly hadn’t pushed for any more information when he realized I had said all I wanted to say at that point.

I care about his feelings because he had cared about mine.

“So, fancy house, fancy kitchen, you wouldn’t happen to have any fancy games around, would you?”

His question gives me an idea. There is a way to bring up the topic without necessarily catching him off-guard.

I bought a dart board strictly for the purpose of learning a little target practice, guns and darts are a lot alike, since I couldn’t get access to any shooting range practices, this was my best bet. Somehow, I’m glad it’s paying off now as I watch Chuma shoot another dart straight into the bull’s eye. I must admit, he’s pretty good at this. I haven’t met a more precise marksman since myself….then again, he was involved in law enforcement, so I’m sure he has a lot of experience in these things.

I usually don’t let my nerves get the best of me, especially when I’m dealing with men. They’re a lot like predators, so I chalk it up that they can smell fear and are aware of nervousness. These emotions are usually advantageous to them, they feed off of them, they revel in them. Yet, here I am, being overwhelmed in the presence of this man that awakens my curiosity and feeds my puzzled state, just drowning in the depths of a sea of nerves despite my valiant efforts to stay afloat.

His silence tells me he’s probably aware of my purpose for asking him over and just like me, his nerves have prevented him from speaking up. I certainly never thought I’d see the day Chuma's nerves would get to him, but the man has barely spoken to me in the past thirty minutes we’ve been here and it’s obviously for a reason.

As much as I wish to revel in his quiet state, I realize, I want him to speak and I certainly won’t get any answers if he remains so.
I give a small cough, it’s enough to make him pause before throwing another dart, but he doesn’t turn to me. Well, that’s a surprise. Unable to hold it in anymore, I blurt out the first words that come to mind, “When did it happen?”

My question doesn’t seem to shake him as he walks over to the board to retrieve the darts. Even when he walks he oozes confidence, power…masculinity. I scold myself, I shouldn’t be thinking these thoughts of him, besides, since when did I find those traits appealing? They’ve always been the recipes for disaster to me, suddenly I like them?

“Five years ago, it was the biggest case I had handled in my career. Still is” he shoots a dart to the board, hitting the target again. His voice is cold, void of emotion, a shiver runs through me and I question if I really want to know what happened, if it can cause such a reaction from Chuma who is generally fu and pleasant, how much more me? Will it hit close to home? Will flashes of m ordeal haunt me once I hear this?

Important questions plague me, but a hungry curiosity drives my resolve.

“What happened?” I question.

He shoots another dart, this time, he misses his mark- badly. He hasn’t missed at all since he started shooting, “Things. Bad things” I recognize that haunting tone enough to sit up.

“You mind sharing?”

I watch his back stiffen. Seconds later, he turns around to look at me, his stare is blank and his eyes look reluctant, unsure. I want to assure him it’s fine, implore him to share his pain like I shared mine, seek to be bequeathed the same trust I put in him when I divulged my deepest, darkest secret to a law enforcement officer. Don’t I deserve to know? Haven’t I earned the right to?

His gaze drops as he leans against a cluttered desk, I’m not the most organized person when it comes to my work space, “It was a child-trafficking ring. They kidnapped kids, mostly little girls, and used them….sexually. I was undercover for three months, collecting evidence. The kids there, they were young, the oldest couldn’t have been more than sixteen. They were starved and beaten if they resisted. Those who were too stubborn were killed, or ‘put to sleep’ like they liked to tell the kids. There was this one little girl, Laurie….” A ghost of a smile flits across his face. I move closer to the edge of my seat, eager to hear of this child that conjures a smile even when he looks so sour.

“She was 11-years old, bright red hair and deep blue eyes, she had such a bubbly personality. She was brought in in my second month. You’d never know she was kept hostage, always singing and telling other kids they would be rescued. She used to call me Corduroy, you know? Like the bear.” This time, he smiles. It’s not a wide one, but it’s a smile nonetheless. A sad smile, one I can relate with and the closest I’ll ever get to a smile if I ever tried.

“Laurie and I were very close, and those other guys, they noticed. The night before my team was to bus those guys, they got Laurie and…they wanted to ‘break’ her”. She wouldn’t let them and kept calling for my help. So they called me in….” I watch his fingers begin to tremble, his breath is now unsteady; choppy, and I can tell from experience what is happening.

I get off my seat and take a few cautious steps to him, but maintain a considerable distance. I’m not sure how he reacts when people are close to him during these attacks, better safe than hospitalized.

He continues, not noticing my movement the least bit, “…they did something to her before I could get in…I don’t know, but she didn’t look like her anymore, she looked so….defeated.” I watch his adam’s apple bob as he swallows, “He..the boss, he told me to ‘break her’, he said she preferred ‘nigger c-ock’….i couldn’t. I couldn’t even look at her and I hate that I couldn’t look at her because she trusted me so much and when she needed my support, I failed her. It was an assignment, if I showed too much emotion, I would be outed…I guess, I guess I showed too much emotion. The boss asked his men to tie me up, he called me a coward.” He scoffs and lets out a dark, bitter laugh that sends chills down my spine, “The man who gets a kick out of molesting kids thought I was a coward, ironic, isn’t it?”

I don’t reply him, it’s a rhetorical question and I’m well aware he doesn’t need any sort of reply coming from me, I won’t even speak so I don’t break his train of thought.

“I don’t know what happened, maybe it was because of the look of fear in Laurie’s eyes when she heard the instruction, I didn’t want her to think this was the end. I wanted so badly to save her that I acted irrationally. Just started swinging, left, right, I think I took out about four guys before I realized someone had cut me by my side. Weakness from loss of blood had seized my body and I grew unconscious. When I opened my eyes, it was to the feel of something hot against my skin….they were burning the wound with hot iron. I could barely see through the blinding pain before I slipped backed into unconsciousness….i have no idea what happened thereafter. All I know is, the next time I woke up, I was in a hospital, the boss, Paul Giovanni, had been arrested along with his henchmen and the incident was one month old.”

Silence permeates the walls, his head is hung down. He hasn’t raised his head up to look at me since he got to the gory side of his story. I watch him for a while, unable to think up something to say to ease the pain I’m sure he’s currently going through, despite it being mostly my fault. I’ve never been good at expressing sympathy because I tend to think that, like me, people who go through traumatic experiences don’t need the pity or sympathy of others. It just rubs more salt in the wound….and then, it hits me that his story isn’t finished. Even as I wish to not take him back, I feel he must divulge that end.

“And Laurie? What happened to her?” I ask softly.

He doesn’t say anything, instead, I watch his large body quake uncontrollably before a soul-searing sob wracks through him. This time, I’m unable to stop myself from closing the gap between us. Whatever fear I harbor of any violent reactions takes a backseat as I’m compelled to provide much needed comfort. It’s a bit unnerving that someone this big would allow his emotions ge to him this much, but it also assures me that behind all of his smiles and quirk, beneath all of this mass of muscles and strength, there’s a vulnerable person in need of understanding and companionship- a person just like me.

I place a hand on his shoulder, feeling it tremble beneath my grasp, I’m not even intimidated by the fact that even while he leans against this table, he still dwarfs me. The only thing on my mind is to comfort him, “There was nothing you could’ve done” those are the first words that come to my mind and as hard as this may be to believe, those are the most encouraging and sympathetic words that have ever escaped my lips.

“It’s not fair Isi, it’s not fair that I’m here and she isn’t. It was my mistake, I should’ve been the one to suffer for it.”

The raw emotion in his voice hits me where I least expect it- straight in my heart and I feel a small tear form within the well of my eyes. I understand- almost. Unlike him, I’m not plagued by regrets, I’m not tied down to any perceived wrongs, I made sure to kill off any form of regrets by ending the people who made my life hell, but him….he never got to save the one person that mattered and that guilt will probably remain with him for the rest of his life. How does he survive without alcohol? How does he maintain his sanity?

“You are suffering for it. You haven’t stopped feeling guilty for her death.”

“Did you know? She was the only child her parents had, the only one they could have. Her mother had some complications at her birth and they had to take out her womb….we had so much in common…”

I raise my other hand slowly and place it under his chin, the fact that my left hand remains on his shoulder gives me the courage I need to touch him further without fear of any repercussions. I raise his head up and find streams of tears and reddened eyes. I don’t think I’ve ever seen any man cry this hard- well, apart from when the scum I kill are begging for their lives.

I hold back the tears forming in my eyes and cup his cheek, “Don’t beat yourself up over the one you couldn’t save and remember the other kids you were able to save.”

His eyes close briefly as he takes in a deep sigh. I feel his strong hands on both sides of my head, he moves my head towards his until our foreheads are touching and I’m somewhat surprised at my reaction. I don’t even flinch at his touch, rather, I welcome it, welcome the intimacy that comes with this man joining our heads together in his time of pain as if this closeness will soothe his troubled mind.

“Thank you Isi. Thank you so much.” He says beneath his breath, I hear his every word like he’s speaking to my soul and my soul understands his appreciation.

I close my eyes in response and allow our labored breaths and troubled minds speak the language only a damaged few understand.

I

will007:
Time until next update :- 2016

2016 arrived early

Safarigal pls NOTE:
Chuma has been inside Isi's kitchen before ie on his previous visit which was d day he broke her bottle of whiskey.
(2) The syndicate kidnapped people for their kidneys not for trafficking /prostitution except of course they use them for such too.
Thank u for this update, it's long overdue. Thank God for ur new phone.

Mj45:
Safarigal pls NOTE:
Chuma has been inside Isi's kitchen before ie on his previous visit which was d day he broke her bottle of whiskey.
(2) The syndicate kidnapped people for their kidneys not for trafficking /prostitution except of course they use them for such too.
Thank u for this update, it's long overdue. Thank God for ur new phone.

thanks.....e Don tey, so lost track and couldn't get back the old updates

nice one safaribae. u no try at all o u for end dat scene nw.

Welcome back safarigal this is a birthday present.. Very grateful