₦airaland Forum

Bukenke86:
IFE should come and learn from me jare......I no dey do slow motion for love🤣🤣. Thanks for the update Rosemary. Oghene should just put the reverend and his wife inside the dust bin.. e no pass like that. mtchewww

"Inside dustbin,''

Ife

Somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, I felt his arms clenched around me, his embrace so tight I thought he might cut off my circulation. Even in his sleep, he held me as if haunted by the fear of losing me, breathing hard into the small of my neck, where I loved to be kissed. There was something else I felt... like... like he had an erection, and it was straining against my backside. Maybe it was a fragment of the dream I was having, or maybe it was real. But whichever it was, it felt so wrong and so good at the same time. Allowing him to hold me like this, his arousal speaking to my flesh, sending a dangerous flicker of energy through my body and making my essence weep with excitement, was risky, but I loved it.

I shifted closer. God, that was wrong... so wrong... but I did it anyway, pressing my backside harder against his crotch. I heard him groan softly but I didn’t move. Moving would have shattered any form of restraint. Before I knew it, I would be utterly consumed with an overwhelming need, begging for his mouth to find mine aggressively, for his tongue to push inside my mouth while he released his hardness and claimed me. I was certain I would enjoy being embarrassingly submissive to him. The things I would plead for him to do to me would not be repeated in conversation.

Right now, as I brushed my teeth, the thought of that moment made my heart race and my breath hitch, a warm wave of desire washing over me. His presence, his touch, everything about him stirred something deep within me, something undeniable. My body ached with longing, every nerve ending alive with need. How could one deal with a simple man who, within a very short period, had managed to defile one’s barricade to make one’s body burn with raw and intense need?

Done with brushing, I bent towards the tap on the wash hand basin, gathered water with my hand, filled my mouth with it, gargled, and spat out. I repeated that, then splashed water on my face, straightened up, and observed myself from the small mirror on the wall.

There were some visible changes on my face...like I’d added some weight. I touched my cheek and allowed my finger to trace down my neck. Sure thing, I had added some weight, and my skin was glowing! Like... I wasn’t here with my skincare kit, but the skin was skinning madly.

Why wouldn’t it, when all I did here was eat, sleep, and gist with Oghene before he left for work and when he returned?

That and the fact that finally, I was being loved and taken care of by the right person. This thing between Oghene and I, my skin seemed to be excited about it, subtly reminding me that I’d been meeting and dating crabs before. So, I fine like this? Omoh! Dating the wrong men could age one so badly, and make one look like a dead version of oneself; dull skin, dryness, and personality gone. One wouldn’t know if one was coming or going.

Turning my face from side to side to get a thorough observation, I giggled. “Bro Oghene of the most high,” I murmured, wrapping my hands around my middle and stoking my arms. Once again, I was thrown back to that moment I was half awake and his arms were tightened around me, the heat of his body seeping into mine, and the temptation to turn around was almost too much to bear. I bit my lip and moaned. He wasn’t here present, so I could do that freely without the fear of him hearing it.

Would he have been able to resist the temptation if I had turned and faced him? No, the right question should be, ‘How far would we have gone?’ Because I knew he was aroused too. The boundaries between right and wrong had blurred that moment and we were left with an overwhelming desire to surrender to the passion that burned between us. It was a dangerous game, one that could have consumed us both. Embarrassingly, I was more than willing to play.

Was he?

I wasn’t sure. That guy’s self-control was stronger than Araldite glue. The more reason why this rape accusation issue had gotten me so mad when I got past the shock phase.

I knew when he got up, but I pretended to be deep asleep. The moment I heard the door open and close, I shifted to his side of the bed, certain he had gone to the guest bathroom to have his bath—he always bathed there since the day he brought me in. I greedily soaked in the warmth he left behind, breathing in his scent as if it were my lifeline.

God, I loved this man.

I had loved every part of him before I even realized I would fall for him, and somewhere along the way, that love didn’t dry up but grew. It grew to fill the parts of me that had been empty when I was desperately pursuing other men who always left me drenched in sorrow. It grew with every new longing of my body and desire until there was not a piece of me that didn’t love him. Now, when I looked at him, there was no other feeling in me but the love I had for him.

The comfort of his lingering warmth cocooned me and sent me back to sleep faster than last night. By the time I woke up again, he was gone, leaving me a note on the bedside table.

"Fine girl. I need to go check out a new apartment. From there, I’ll be going to work. Take care of yourself and don’t stress too much. I would have woken you up, but when I looked at you sleeping peacefully, I saw sunshine in your face..."

Sunshine on a sleeping face? That cracked me up so hard that I couldn’t control the bout of laughter that erupted from my mouth. The more I tried to imagine sunshine on a sleeping face, the harder I laughed.
Chai, bro Oghene no go kill me abeg.

Yet, I found the note so sweet. The sunshine part, though absurd, was heartwarming.

Later, after making myself useful in his house, cleaning and sweeping for the first time since he brought me in because he couldn’t clean up before he left—I guessed he was in a hurry. I cooked lunch and saved a little for him, thankfully he didn’t cook before he left. I settled down with my phone in the sitting room and called him.

“You see sunshine in my face as in how?” I asked as soon as he picked up.

“Na me see am, no be you,” he replied, and I burst out laughing.

“Oghene, abeg no kill me,” I laughed some more. “How can you see sunshine in my face?”

“Na me know wetin I see. Abeg leave me make I enjoy am, the weather is cold.”

“I love you,” I wanted to say before ending the call, but my heart leaped to my mouth, and I couldn’t utter those words. Not because they weren’t true, but because I was scared he might not believe me.

Twenty-Three
Oghene

Heads up: If you asked an indigen of Port Harcourt town for directions and they pointed and told you, "e dey just there," make sure you confirmed three times that it was actually 'just there.' That was how a grown man like me ended up walking from Cherubim Road, bursting out to Agip junction, and ending up at the UST roundabout, repeating the circle over and over.

Last night, Agu called to inform me about a new building that had just been put up for rent. "A block of two-bedroom flats," he said. "You know you don get babe now; one bedroom no go contain una two."

Although I responded with a curse, I agreed that I needed an upgrade in my life. A two-bedroom apartment sounded perfect. I looked forward to the time when my maleh and siblings would visit and stay as long as they wanted, without grumbling about how small my apartment was and how I needed a bigger place.

"Abi you no wan marry?" my maleh would ask. "Na this kain small place you wan bring woman join?"

Once, I asked my maleh if she actually hated my place or if she was indirectly hinting at me getting a wife and settling down. If it was the latter, she should come out straight and not talk to me through the corners.

This morning, when I called to confirm if she received the 100k I sent for her allowance, I casually told her that I was finally heeding her advice and looking for a bigger apartment. I regretted it immediately. My maleh nearly deafened me with her joyful scream, calling Esosa, my kid sister, to come and hear, "Your brother wan marry o. Him wan bring wife come." I could hear Esosa laughing like a goat in the background.

I tried to explain that I wasn’t getting married, that she might be getting excited for nothing, but she didn’t listen. She kept shouting, "Oghene doh... Praise God o... Oghene migwo... Oghenetega... Akpevweoghene."

I ended the call laughing. There was no winning when it came to dissuading my mom from what she’d concluded in her mind. But as I stepped into the bathroom to take a bath, I thought of Ife, still sleeping soundly on my bed, and my heart melted with happiness, peace of mind even. Then a different kind of longing set in, one that couldn’t be quenched with just a happy-ever-now.

I had woken up with her back pressed against me, the curve of her body fitting perfectly against mine, the softness of her backside nestled against my crotch like her sole duty in life was to punish me with an erection. I lay there, battling the hardest sexual discomfort I’d ever felt, wanting to leave the bed before I lost the battle, yet holding her tight because it felt so wrong and good at the same time. I listened to her soft breaths, mentally measuring her heartbeat with mine. Then it hit me – this was the feeling my heart had been craving. Not just a walk towards uncertainty with mere attraction as our compass. I wanted Ife with me forever. I wanted to wake up with her beside me in the mornings, to spend my evenings looking at her across the dinner table, to share every mundane detail of my day with her, and to hear every detail of hers. I wanted to laugh with her and fall asleep with her in my arms like last night.

I wanted to spend my nights by her side and my days with her heart.

I wanted her, not like a long dream that would eventually fade away, but as a part of me that would never detach.

Maybe my mother was right. I needed a woman in my life, a wife. I needed permanency with Ife. I thought of telling her about my recent thoughts before she left. She’d be leaving by the weekend, and I didn’t know what would happen after. Would she still want to love me after this heat that being together had fanned inside us for each other had died down

She was still sleeping when I walked back into the room to get dressed. The sight of her lying on her side, one arm tucked beneath the pillow, the other resting gently on the sheets with fingers slightly curled, left me overwhelmed by her beauty. Her peaceful expression, lips slightly parted, almost made me want to forget everything and join her in bed, to share in the tranquility and serenity of the moment. But when my phone rang, and it was Agu telling me that he’d spoken with the owner of the new place I was going to check out, I quickly dressed, wrote her a note, and left the room, not daring to look back, lest I give in to that part of me that wanted to slip back into bed with her.

My phone rang again as I was about to cross to the other side of the road from under the Agip flyover, where the property owner said he would be waiting after I called him with the number Agu sent me.
I pulled out my phone, checked the caller ID, and chuckled.

My Reverend.

Somehow, they had gotten the news that I got Sarima arrested and had decided to drain my phone’s battery with incessant calls and text messages. My Reverend, his wife, Sir Onoh. I had ignored them all, only picking one—an unknown number—and ending it immediately when I realized it was still my reverend.

And their messages... I read them all and didn’t bother to reply. Now they wanted to see me. To hear my side of the story. "You are not a wicked person," my reverend wrote. "No matter your grievance, remember Jesus Christ. We can settle this as Christians..."

His wife reminded me of how we must forgive those who offend us seventy multiplied by seven times as the bible states. She said she knew me, that I wasn’t a bad person. Shuuuu? She knew me how? Because the last time I checked, I was a demon, a rapist that must be locked away. Today, in her message, she said I wasn’t a heartless person. ‘Oh, madam pastor wife, you had to learn to piss in one place so it can foam.’

I had typed a response to that silly message but deleted it immediately. No, I would not be rolling in that mud of foolery with that woman. I wished her a great roll.

One person, whom I didn’t even know how he got my number or the audacity to send me an SMS, said I should be the bigger person.

Who? Me? A bigger person? Sorry sir, I no wan be big. In fact, as from today, I be pikin wey dey suck breast. Crazy people. If I ever listen to any of them make I bend. In fact, I don change church sef. When I needed their audience, when I wanted them to reason with me, they didn’t. Now they chose to move mad.

I no go gree. Na me get the stage now, we go see how the dance dey sweet. I heard my reverend and his wife went to the police station to initiate bail and were denied. Good. You see this case ehn, we go see am to the end.

I identified the property owner by the color of his shirt, which he described to me on the phone. After the initial pleasantries, we drove in his car to the place. It turned out he had already moved into one of the flats with his family, and he had a dog.

Se ehn, until dogs learned how to talk, or I learned how to speak dog, I guessed we would continue looking at each other from afar, for I disliked anything that couldn’t state its problem in plain language, only barking.

But I loved the compound. The rooms were spacious too, the sitting room large. Ife would like it.

Now why was I thinking about Ife and what she would like now?

Bukenke86:
This is beautiful Rosemary ❤️....... But pls o when will IFE and oghene kiss this kiss gangan.... they should kiss jare and let body come down 😀😀

see spoilt shildren everywhere

...It was quite late when I returned home, and Ife was still there. Despite that I ordered her to leave, despite the embarrassing moment that proceeded to my leaving, she had stayed, and for some reason I was happy she stayed.

“You didn’t leave?” I asked.

“Yes,” she replied, getting up. I stared at her for a moment, then moved to place my palm on her cheek. “Thank you,” I said.


Twenty-two
Ife

His hand on my skin was cold, as was his stare, and his walk was laden with exhaustion.

“Thank you,” he said so casually that it infuriated me.

How could he just walk in looking like that and casually ask if I didn’t leave? How dare he keep me worried, waiting and wondering where he’d gone, checking my phone every now and then for any message from him, looking out the window like a new wife desperate for the return of her husband? Should I tell him that I’d left the house when it was getting late and there was no sign of him, walking up and down the street in search of him? How I wished I had a number to call and inquire about his whereabouts, how I’d felt so foolish for not collecting his friend’s wife’s number or that of her sister-in-law when they came to visit me when I was unwell. I would have called then to inquire about his way about.

“I-I was... worried,” I said.

He turned his head toward me and froze. I had never seen him so still—or so quiet. His shock was so thorough and intense that his phone slipped out of his hand and fell on the floor, and he picked it up.

Why was he shocked that I was worried about him?
And what would he say if I told him that he almost turned me into my mother, who, each time she had a fight with my father and he left home at night, would sit on the heap of sand in front of our house waiting for him? When there was no sight of my father after some time, she would tighten the wrapper around her chest, pick up a rechargeable torch, and go in search of him. I had found such ridiculousness unacceptable. Why would I go in search of a grown man who left his house because he didn’t want to confront his problem with his wife? But tonight, I couldn’t help my anxiety. Maybe because I was mad at Oghene like my mother was at her husband. And that was because I loved him.

God, I loved him so much. And I missed him. I missed him. He’d only been gone for hours, but it felt like longer.

“You were worried about me?” he asked.

I sighed, staring down at my feet before looking back up at his face. "You have no idea," I said. He had no idea how much I wanted to grab him, shake him, and slap his face for walking away when he did, leaving me confused, needy, and... worried. I also wanted to kiss him, weep on his shoulders, and tell him that despite my initial disorientation, I had thought about it and believed him. I could trust him because he was right. If he were the rapist he was accused of being, I wouldn't be safe with him. Time and time again, since he brought me to his place, we had reached the brink of giving in to our desires, yet he had always shown restraint

I knew I wouldn't have resisted anything he wanted to do with me because I craved him so much. All of him—his body, his heart, his soul. He turned me inside out with the way he looked at me like it physically hurt him not to be touching me, and he destroyed me with the little gestures he made. And I had to admit, as much as I hoped he would too, that he was sexy as hell. A little reserved, innocently wild—judging from what he said to me when he pinned me to the wall earlier—and all honorable.
"
I'm sorry," he said. "I went out to do what I should have done when all this started. Now, I think I can finally rest."

I asked what it was he did. Reluctantly, he returned to the sitting room, sat down, and told me about the call, the confession, the arrest. The recorded phone conversation was the last straw that shattered my self-control. I had never felt like fighting someone as much as I did then. And I listened, boiling inside. Goodness! How could a woman be so wicked to someone who did nothing to her? No backstory... nothing.

"Bro Oghene," I sighed. "What am I supposed to say to that?"

"Say you believe me. Say you know I didn't do it. Say—"

"Do you need me to pay her a visit that would leave her face swollen for months?" I wasn't a violent person, but this hurt me... deeply. It wasn't just about Sarima and what she did, but also how the church handled everything. How could they be so quick to condemn a man they had known for years?

He looked at me in shock, then smiled, and he was Oghene again. My Warri boy, sunshine and smiles. "She has been arrested," he said. "Imagine you fighting anyone on my behalf. That would be fun to watch," he added and stood up. "Have you eaten?

“No. Do you want to eat? I kept the apples you brought home in the fridge.”

“Maybe the apples, if you'll eat some too,” he replied and left the sitting room.

I didn’t follow him. Instead, I waited, counting the time it would take for him to finish bathing and changing into his sleeping clothes before I walked into the room.

My mother warned me about king-sized beds.

She said, “When you fight with your husband, you’ll both sleep at different edges and not settle, but if the bed is smaller, you can sleep naked and ‘set nyash.’ That will settle any dispute in 15 minutes and get you what you want.”

Oghene wasn’t my husband, and I didn’t plan on sleeping naked beside him, as appealing as that seemed. However, I never realized how small that bed was until I walked into the room with some apples and found him lying on his stomach.

I almost thought he had fallen asleep, but then he sensed my presence and languidly turned.

“Sorry—”

“Sorry—” we both said simultaneously and paused to let the other speak first. When I didn’t start, he said, “I was so tired, and the bed was so inviting.” He pulled himself into a sitting position. “It’s your bedtime, I know. Let me just grab a blanket and lea—”

“No,” I interrupted, walking in to place the plate on the nightstand. “Stay. I brought the apples. Let’s eat together.”

He stared at me for a moment, then nodded and adjusted himself to make space for me to sit. We ate in silence for a while before he asked, “Do you think you can tell me what happened to you now—who gave you those bruises?”

My insides flinched at his request, but I felt it was time to tell him. No matter how embarrassing and shameful my ordeal was, I owed him the truth because he had been so good, loving, and caring.

So, I did. I told him everything, starting from the day I met Preye to the supposed visit to his hometown in Elele that turned into a nightmare.

He dropped the half-eaten apple in his hand when I got to the part where Preye hit me repeatedly until I passed out. For a second, his face tightened, and I could sense the fire flaring inside him, not like mine, but the fire of a man about to lose control.

“I blamed myself,” I continued, also dropping my half-eaten apple. “I should have read the signs... I was so blind and stupid and materialistic and...”

“Ife?” he interrupted.

I waited for him to say something, but when he didn’t, I answered, “What?

“Shut up,” he replied in what could, perhaps, be described as not the nicest tone. “Just shut up.”

At first, I thought he was angry at me for being so blind. I thought he would blame me and tell me that it served me right. I was ready to accept his verdict because I knew I had somehow played a part in what happened to me that day. But I wasn’t prepared when he took my hands and sighed.

“I could have lost you,” he said. “You know what that would have done to me, Ifenkili?”

I gasped at the emotion seeping out from him and entering me through his hands. When I looked up at his face, I saw something in his eyes. Something powerful and terrible and all-consuming. It was something that brought tears to my eyes and weakness to my heart. It almost made me tell him that I loved him then and there.

“But God didn’t want that. He knew how much I cherish you. That was why He gave me the burden to pray for you,” he said.

“H-he did?”

He made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a groan and pulled me into an embrace, which I didn't hesitate to fall into. As he ran his hands up and down my back, I felt that we were stealing this moment, and no matter what happened after this, I would never forget how it felt to be held by him like this. His next words were soft and perhaps not even meant for me, but they burned their way right into my soul.

“Did you ever think I could continue living without you?”

That night, we slept together in that small bed. Don’t be alarmed. I didn’t “set nyash” as my mother advised, and he was too tired to try to seduce me or even notice the curve of my body pressing against him. He only pulled me in, placed my head on his chest, kissed my hair, and started snoring in no time.

It wasn’t the same for me. I couldn’t sleep because I was so aware of him—his scent of soap and fresh bath, his body, his arms around me, the rhythmic rising and falling of his chest as he breathed. I gave up the struggle and lifted my head to watch his face which had gone soft with slumber.

And his lips...

Have you ever wanted something so much that you were afraid to take it? Like it was right there, waiting for you to just reach out and grab it, but you were so terrified of what would happen next that you never made the reach? Yeah... you can understand that feeling, right?

I wanted to plant a kiss on those lips so badly, yet I didn’t dare because I feared I wouldn’t want to pull away once our mouths touched. But I reached up to stroke his brows, and as my hand grazed his face, his lips slightly curled up in a sleepy smile, and his breath became shallow, but he didn’t open his eyes.

Twenty-two
Oghene

I hate that in this country, one must possess slight madness like one didn’t have a choice or people would cheat you, ride on you and think it was okay to do all that. Anyway, I decided to manifest my own craze today, after I’d put a call across to Akanelu and uttered just a few words;

“Guy, I go wan make you arrange congo men for me. Contact that your solder brother for me.” I was ready to fight this my way and make nobody beg me o. Since everybody wan use me practice madness, make all of us mad together. That was the thing about madness, there was no measuring tool to know who get craze pass. So, it was always a risk to show you were mad cos you’d never know who was madder.

I’d left the house when I did for two reasons; I needed to get away from Ife as fast as my insane mind could allow because...what was that I'd done to her? Wasn’t I supposed to be angry at her for doubting my innocence?

I didn’t expect her to walk into the room when she did. In fact, I thought she left! When I turned and she was standing there, her face a silent plea, I’d wanted to explain what happened to her. I wanted her to listen to my side of the story and, believe me even if it was just a bit.

Then she told me she was confused. She wasn’t ready to hear me out. She was scared...I saw it in her eyes when I took steps towards her. She had made to run. And I’d grabbed her.

I didn’t plan to pin her against the wall with my body, neither did I plan my lips touching her temple, kissing her brow, my tongue tracing down her neck. I only peeked through the keyhole of her heart through the shocking gasp that escaped her throat and the shuddering of her body and what I found there...It was like glimpsing at her stripping. Underneath the fear that was so prominent was something hungry, something desperate, something so vulnerable. There and then, I wanted to prove to her that I wasn’t a bad guy. I’d never been. I wanted to tell her how much I loved and adored and respected her.

It hurt me that she would be scared of me after the times we’d been together, and I wanted to reassure her. Unfortunately, I ended up embarrassing myself.
Those things I saw to her, where did they come from? Ah, Oghene meh! Was I on something? Yes. Stupidity. The strongest drug of all.

I knew when her breath changed to that of longing even though she was unsure, and when her whimper morphed from that of fear to need. It was those low sounds, the heat coming off her with urgency, the sudden scent of longing mixed with her apprehension I perceived that got me completely and irrevocably in lust; which made me impassive to our other emotions. Mine rage and desperation for her to believe and trust me. Her’s fear and uncertainty.

God, I didn’t want to remember that embarrassment again, that line between control and the loss of it that was thin as a whisper. But I couldn’t get rid of it or push it to the back of my memory no matter how much I tried. The softness of her skin, her whimper like a soft moan. Her first gasp gaze, though out of fear, was the most sensual thing she could have done that moment, and it jolted my heart into a strange rhythm, leaving me weak. It had remained in the forefront of my head as I hurried out of the house, boarding a taxi to Shukudi’s house. Those few moments of unplanned, embarrassing intimacy would not just vanish from my head, and my heart would not stop the riotous beating it began from the moment I grabbed her and pinned her to the wall. I needed to pin her against the wall again, but this time, I desired that her hands would wrap around me while she forgot everything that had planted fear and distrust of me in her heart for a minute or longer, as she grabbed my head, pulling in, wetting my face with kisses.

God, I was getting lost again. Sure say I no need deliverance like this?

The second reason why I left the house, thankfully, was to excuse a plan. It didn’t take Akan’elu long to contact his brother and put in a word for me. In less than half an hour, I got a call from a police officer who had been contacted by Akanelu’s brother—a lieutenant colonel—concerning my case. After a few questions, the officer demanded Sarima’s address.

That was where the problem arose. I didn’t know Sarima’s house address or where she might be at the moment, and the officer insisted that the arrest had to be made tonight, for reasons best known to him.

It was Ezioma’s idea to call Sarima and convince her to meet with me so we could fix things.

To our surprise, it worked perfectly. Not only did we get her address, but we also got a confession.

“I didn't mean to cause any trouble. It’s just that... I don’t know what came over me that night. When I left your house and went to see the pastor’s wife, she called me. She heard about my divorce and wanted to see me. I told her I spent the night at your place, and... she asked me... I don’t know what happened... why I said those things about you...”

As she spoke, her voice trembled, and she sobbed between words. She explained how, when things escalated, she couldn’t take her words back. The shame of being called a liar was too much for her, so she preferred to let me take the fall. What was it about me that made people see me as an easy target for their wickedness? First, it was Eserovwe’s mama, now Sarima.

With each word she spoke, something twisted tighter and tighter in my heart until I couldn’t hold it any longer. I tapped the phone’s speaker, dropped it on the sofa, got up, and began pacing Shukudi’s sitting room with my hands on my head.

She must have realized that I was no longer listening. “Hello... hello? Are you there?” she called out.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. It could have been Shukudi or Ezioma; I didn’t know. But I heard Juoshi nudging me to continue, to ask her about her visit today.

“Ask her why she came,” Juoshi whispered. The smallie wasn’t supposed to know about this, but at this point, there was no hiding it from her.

“Bro Oghene, are... are you still—”

“Sarima,” I interrupted, swallowing hard to regain my composure. “Why were you really at my house today?”

The line went silent for a moment, then her voice came through, more fragile than before. “I came because... I wanted to see you. I wanted to... make things right. I know you didn’t want to see me, but I thought... if I came over, you wouldn’t send me away. You’re a good man. I couldn’t live with what I’d done. The guilt was eating me alive. Please, Oghene, believe me. I didn’t come to hurt you again. I came to confess and beg for your forgiveness.”

But she saw Ife in my house, and something snapped inside her. Was it jealousy? Was she hoping to meet me alone so she could try again to seduce me and trap me in some unplanned situation? Did she have feelings for me, and seeing Ife made her panic so much that she decided to do anything to dismiss her?

It was ridiculous. I never had an eye for Sarima from the beginning. She dated Abraham and left him for another man. Now she was single again, and Abraham had no space for her as he was now married. Why must I be the one to bear the brunt?

“I was shocked to see that sister in your house, and... she was asking me a lot of questions...”

My insides sank. My knees too. So, I sat on the ground, leaning my back against the center table. I thought I knew what pain felt like. I thought pain was me standing before the church council members while they condemned me because of a lie. That was nothing. This, this was pain. The ache in my chest and behind my eyes as I listened to her tell the truth. The knowing that things will never be the same again. This incident had forever changed the way I view people, I suppose.

“Sarima,” I said, my voice trembling with fury and pain, “do you have any idea what...” Shukudi’s firm grip on my shoulder made me pause. I looked at him and caught the message he was trying to pass to me without words. I shut my eyes and took a deep breath. “Tell me where you are so I can come and meet you there.”

My chest was tightened with the memories of sleepless nights, the whispers behind my back, the shame and humiliation—all because of her lies. It was difficult to not let out a scream, to not allow the dam of my emotions to break. But that would spoil everything. I wanted justice, not her apology. And this was my only chance to make her pay for the pain and shame she caused me, my chance to clear my name.

She began to sob uncontrollably. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could take it all back. You’re a good man. I wish I had gotten to know you better all these years. You would have treated me better than Abraham and... and—”

She dey mad.

It was almost nine o’clock when we arrived at the state’s CID. We made our entry, and submitted Sarima’s address, along with the recorded conversation we had.

Agu met us on our way out and joined the ride to make the arrest. As we pulled up to Sarima’s house, my heart pounded in my chest. I knocked on the door, and when she opened it, she was beaming with a wild smile, a smile that vanished instantly when she saw three of the four policemen who had come for the arrest closing in on her.

“What’s going on?” she stammered, backing away.

Can someone please tell me the legitimate time when it would be okay to punch someone in the face? I was almost tempted to do that when she asked that question, but I stepped away to give the officers access into her house where she’d stepped in and was trying to shut the door.

When they finally brought her out, with her hands cuffed. She looked at me, her eyes widened with shock and fear. “Oghene, please. Abeg nau...I swear it was the devil’s work! I wasn’t thinking well. Please, for the sake of God!”

Xavier5:
You know, Rosemary33, when at the end of Temptations you said your next story was going to be a Christian romance with a dark villain, I was super excited and looking forward to it, and when I saw this story, I screamed "Finally!". Aside from waiting for the newly released seasons of The Boys, and House of the Dragons, I haven't waited with hunger for any story like I did yours.

But finally, en don land, and dem no born Devil well say I no mount. The mounting self pure because the story over do pass em self. E worth the wait 🙃.

There are writers, and there are WRITERS. You no need me to tell you where you belong 😌



#Xavier

Hi!!! Xavier. This is not the story with the dark villain o. I have finished that one but didn't write it here. I published it some months ago. When the print copies are out in Nigeria, I fit run a give away with free copies here .

Butt I am super glad you are here and enjoying this story. It's been a while

****
Ife

If there are moments in life I wish I could take back with all my heart. Moments I wish I could erase from existence. If I could, I'd erase myself right out of existence too, just to make that moment disappear. This was one such moment.

We stood there, looking at each other, saying nothing, the kind of nothing that spelled out the obvious. In his eyes, there was no trace of the softness I’d grown accustomed to in such a short time. He was angry. And he truly wanted me out. There was an ungodly determination on his face that shattered something inside me.

So that was that. Our unplanned but beautiful moment together was over. I had this flicker of doubt about Sarima’s story—a few things she said didn’t add up. But some things remained unclear, and that left me more confused, scared, and so incredibly sad. I was torn. A tiny part of my heart kept thumping with the question: ‘What if it was true?’ while the other part wanted to silence the doubt because Oghene wouldn’t lie to me. This little time spent with him had shown me how transparent and true he was.

Yet, right now, I didn’t know what to believe. So, I concluded that leaving like he ordered would be best for both of us. At least for now. There was too much to process. The thought of leaving his place now made me feel a familiar ache in the pit of my stomach, that lost, regretful feeling of not knowing someone as much as I thought I knew him.

I was the one to look away first.

I spent some more hours in the sitting room, pulling my thoughts together, before heading to the bedroom to pick up a few things to leave with.

He was there, standing by the window with his phone to his ear. He was speaking to someone on the other end. I watched him end the conversation and turn to face me fully.

He started to say something, maybe an apology, maybe not, and then he stopped. His demeanor had shifted to a much softer, calmer, and slightly helpless one. Once again, that part of me that believed so strongly that he wouldn’t do what he was accused of resurfaced, and I wanted to close the distance between us and pull him into a hug. But that unsure part of me hadn’t recovered from the shock of realizing that the decent-looking man I agreed to marry turned out to be the face of evil.

But that was Preye. Oghene was different...was he, really? God, how I wanted to believe him. The way he was looking back at me, one eyebrow raised, I knew he wanted me to believe him, to be by his side because it would ease his tension.

Abandoning the idea of picking up a few things, I turned towards the door.

“Wait!" he yelled.

I didn't turn around. Then I heard him slam his fist on the wall. It made me turn.

“I didn’t do it. You hear me? I didn’t even touch her in any way! I don't have any plan to have sex with a woman until I am sure who she is to me. And if I have the plan..." He stopped abruptly, allowing me to speak.

“Oghene, I am confused right now. I-I don’t know what to believe. Why didn’t you tell me about this? And...and you were hiding it. Your neighbors knew.” Now it all made sense. The hostility, the remark one of them made the day they barged into his house to look for some missing items. I had asked him what that day was about, but he had lied.

“I didn’t do it,” he repeated. “I am not that kind of guy. If I am..." He broke off again.

I could feel it when the control he was trying to maintain snapped, and rage like a dark garment wrapped him like bandages. When he took steps towards me, an alarm jolted through me, and I lurched toward the door. Before I had even made a step, I found myself seized and pinned against the wall by his body and hands.

“Oghene...Oghene please...” I didn’t know what I was expecting, but I was scared of the animalistic rage exuding from him together with the smell of his sweat-dampened shirt. “Please...”

A million and one things ran through my mind as it flipped back to my ordeal with Preye. Was Oghene going to hurt me, beat me until I passed out like Preye did when he lost his patience?

But he pressed his parted lips against the skin of my temple, his breath snagged, and there was a moment of stillness.

Nothing prepared me for the tingle that started from within my chest and spread like wildfire throughout my body at the electrifying touch of his tongue at the very tip of my eyebrow. He breathed against the tiny wet spot, a waft of hellfire that sent chills through my entire body. Slowly, he brought his mouth to my ear and traced the intricate inner edges.

Was I supposed to be feeling this way now—with this uncertainty taunting me?

“I am not that kind of guy.” His whisper seemed to come from the deepest part of his heart. "If I am, Ife...then by now, I would have shredded your clothes with my hands and teeth until you were naked. By now, I would have lifted you and thrown you on the bed and put my hands beneath your breasts and lifted them to my mouth. I would be kissing them...licking them...until the tips were like hard little stones, and then I would bite them so gently..."

There was something wrong with me. Obviously, there was a part of my brain that needed a reset because why was I drifting into a slow half-swoon as he continued in a ragged murmur when the whole of me should have been alert and in flight mode because of what I heard he did?

"...I would kiss my way down to your thighs...inch by inch...and when I reached down between your legs, I would lick through it, deeper and deeper, until I found the little pearl of your clitoris...and I would rest my tongue on it until I felt it throb. I would circle it, and stroke it... I'd lick until you started to beg. And then I would suck you. But not hard. I wouldn't be that kind. I would do it so lightly, so tenderly, that you would start screaming with the need to come...I would put my tongue inside you...taste you...eat you. I wouldn't stop until your entire body was wet and shaking. And when I had tortured you enough, I would open your legs and come inside you, and take you...take you... But I am not that man, Ife. I am not unreasonable."

Then, as if the demon that had entered him a while ago left him abruptly, he stopped and leaned off me. His eyes widened in shock like he’d just realized what he had done and said to me. Then he slapped his forehead.

“Ife, I... Jesus Christ. I am sorry.”

When I didn’t speak, he grabbed a shirt that was hanging over the wardrobe's door, changed out of the old one, and left the room. Leaving me still leaning against the wall, frozen, aroused, panting.

It was some minutes past 10 p.m. when he returned.

“You didn’t leave?” he asked. It was a simple but loaded question.

The answer, like it could remove all tension from the past few hours, stood out in my head. “Yes.”

Twenty-two
Oghene

My paleh would always say when he was alive and was loving my maleh scatter, that women would forever be big babies to their men. They didn’t suffer being single to come and be doing pass themselves in a man's house. Shuu? See Ife nau, small time wein she dey for my house and I pamper am small, she don turn baby. All those tough fronts she put up when we hadn't known each other so intimately seemed to have vanished. It almost felt like she was on the verge of asking for a Capri-Sun.

“I wan buy 2k own. Give me seven instead of five nau?” I said to the apple seller who was insisting on giving me five pieces of apple for two thousand naira.

Ife didn’t call to demand that she wanted apples. She never asked. I guessed she hadn’t gotten that comfortable to demand such extra care. There seemed to be that part of her that kept reminding her that we were not into anything serious. That this moment, no matter how awkwardly beautiful it was, would come to an end eventually. But the look on her face each time I did things for her; like the times I returned with snacks and roadside meat jerky and barbecue fish for her—thanks to Juoshi who hinted to me that ladies loved to receive those from their men when they were on their menses, the few days I stayed up late just to hold her hands and speak softly to her while she fought scary menstrual cramps together with the pains from her bruises, and would watch her sleep and my goshhhhhhh....

Her skin, her perfectly carved brows that I was sure she did herself when I was away, her lips, her waking up intermittently to the pain narrowing her gaze at me, and then smiling and relaxing back. It was so damn perfect.

And like Shukudi said this evening, in an attempt to pull me out of the foul mood Sarima’s call had induced, I was a finished man. Ife had taken over my entire being. There was no room left for anger over Sarima’s intrusion.

“Oga abeg nau,” the apple seller, a woman in her mid-thirties, pleaded. “Apple cost nau o. And you know say dollar don cost too. People no dey import again. We do even see Apple buy. Oya. Make I give you six pieces for two thousand.”

Six apples for two thousand naira seemed like daylight robbery, but what could I do? I remember when apples were sold at a thousand naira for seven pieces. Some boys hawking along the road even sold eight pieces for the same amount. Times had changed.

“Thank you, sir.” The seller handed me the nylon bag containing my purchase, and I left.

Stopping by the aboki’s shop three buildings away from my compound to pick up my shoe from Malam Faruq, my heart skipped a beat when I remembered Ife was waiting for me at home. I paused for a moment, imagining her with her hair plaited in cornrows, her jaw tilted up, her eyes soft and beautiful as she stood to welcome me. I still couldn't fathom why she always got up from the sofa each time I walked in, smiling so widely. Those moments made her even more desirable, and it was unfair that she continued to become more irresistible the longer she stayed in my house. Each time she welcomed me back, I felt a little more out of reach. Should I hold her, pull her into an embrace... what should I say when her smile transformed her face at the sight of me, and she greeted me with her first ‘Hi!’ after long hours apart?

As I approached my flat, the subtle smile tugging at my lips grew wider, and I fought to curb it because Papa Sempe, who was washing his car outside, was giving me a side-eye. His wife and her friend paused their gossip to stare at me. My caretaker, seated on his balcony, was fanning his shiny big stomach while glaring at me.

If I gave in to the grin, they would all conclude that I’d gone crazy. What kind of man grinned like a man who just picked a gold coin when he had a weighty accusation hanging over his head?

The answer was easy. A finished man who was hopelessly in love with a woman who he wasn’t sure felt the same way about him. There was a good chance I’d regret allowing this flame I once wanted to quench to bloom into a wildfire, but until then, I resolved to enjoy every second of this moment.

My neighbors could go to hell. In fact, Sarima, my pastor, and every church member who must have heard about this and was silently cursing me in their hearts, they all should get lost.

I climbed the low steps leading to my door, knocked once, and opened it. The sight that met my eyes froze me in disbelief. Sarima sat knee to knee with Ife. Their hands were locked together. Their heads whipped up when I entered, and I only needed one look at Ife’s face to know that the devil had once again succeeded in snatching the happiness rug from under my feet.

“Ife,” I said, taking a step closer but stopping midway as her face grew paler with every foot I placed before the other. The color drained from her as if she had been struck a physical blow. Her eyes held a mix of disbelief and horror, and for a moment, she seemed to shiver, as though a sudden cold had come upon her.

“Ife—”

"No," she said in a whisper so faint it was almost swallowed by the silence in the room. Her lips formed the word again, but no sound emerged this time. Her entire body was tense, her shoulders drawing up as though she were bracing for an impact that had already hit.

“Ife, abeg—”

Her eyes darted around the room, desperate and searching, as if looking for something or someone to anchor her in this moment of shock. Her breathing had become shallow and rapid, her chest rising and falling in quick, uneven bursts. She pulled her hands away from Sarima’s, wrapping her arms around herself, clutching her sides as if she was trying to hold herself together.

"I told her it’s not true," she said, her voice trembling, barely controlled. "You are a good man. You’d not hurt anyone. You can’t rape a woman.”

Right before me, her body flinched as if from a physical assault. Her eyes were clouded with tears, but she blinked them back, stubbornly refusing to let them fall as if saying to herself, “Not here. Not now.”

“You can’t do it.” She was convincing herself, but her gaze was on me, pleading, praying that I affirm her conviction. Yet I felt she wouldn’t believe me if I told her it wasn’t true. That she was right. I would never do such a horrible thing.

“Did you do it?” she asked. “Oghene, please. Tell me. Did you touch her?”

As the question left her mouth, the room tilted, and the walls began to close in around me. My heart thundered in my chest, each beat ringing in my ears like a drum, drowning out all other sounds—disappointment, pain, anger. How could she ask me that, like somewhere deep inside, she harbored a slight doubt about my innocence?

"No," I whispered. "Everything she told you are lies."

“She said you spoke with her today,” she continued as if I hadn't replied to her first question. “You asked her to come over so you can settle with her.”

Was that what Sarima told her? That I invited her here for settlement, painting me as guilty and desperate to buy her silence? “Ife...” I couldn’t get myself to continue talking as my stomach churned, and nausea rose in my throat as if I had swallowed something vile.

Facing Sarima, who had been quiet all the while, I said, "Didn’t I tell you not to come near my house?" The words escaped through clenched teeth, laced with rising fury. Her uneasy demeanor grated against the memories that still haunted me—that night at the reverend’s house, the act she’d put up. How easily her tears had flowed and how fast they believed her. Now, she was doing it again. God! What did I even do to this lady other than take her in when she needed a place to lay her head for the night?

Now she was hell-bent on ruining me?

Every muscle tensed, hands balling into fists at my sides. My vision narrowed, focusing solely on her. How dare she step her foot into my house after I warned her? Rage erupted within me, and I advanced towards her.

“Oghene... Oghene!” Ife sprang up to restrict me from reaching Sarima, who also sprang up and ran to stand by the door, fear flickering in her eyes.

“You’ll not touch her!” Ife shouted. Her initial shock had given way to anger, hardening her features. Instantly, I realized that she would never look at me the same way again. She would never be that girl again. The girl who desired me and enjoyed being with me, even though she might not want something permanent. And it saddened me so much that, like the others, she had chosen to take Sarima’s side.

I felt anger, like a volcanic surge, threatening to consume me. I stared at Ife, the barrier between me and the target of my fury, desperate to see her face soften, to read understanding in her eyes. But I found none. Then my gaze shifted to Sarima, who was now huddled by the door, her sobs wracking her body just like they did the night I was summoned at the reverend’s house.

"Leave," I managed to say in a broken voice. "Both of you. Just leave."

Ife didn't move. She didn’t even turn her head when Sarima hurriedly slipped out the door and shut it behind her. Her eyes searched mine. And after a tense moment, she nodded and looked away. And I understood. We were over. Finished. Even if she wasn’t sure who was telling the truth between Sarima and me, she wouldn’t want to ally with someone who had such a strong accusation hanging over his head.

I didn’t wait for her to leave. I turned and bolted out of the sitting room, my movements frantic and uncoordinated, stumbling down the short passage to my bedroom. Collapsing on the bed, my body folded in on itself as the first anguished groan broke free. How do you wish away ugly situations like this one? You don't. You remember every word, every look. Even when it hurts, you still remember.

mostob:
After the public shame and ridicule, you now want to carry your apology enter through the back door? Ko possible. Daddy Falana is on the case presently. We shall meet in court.

Madam Rosemary33, you're weldone o. Biko, some of us are single and the weather dey somehow here.

hug pillow o

Twenty-one
Ife

Have you ever looked at someone and seen pure poetry? A vision so aesthetically pleasing, utterly intoxicating, and authentically irresistible. For me, that someone was Oghene. In these few weeks spent at his house, I watched the night sky bathe in the reflection of his glittering eyes and breathtaking smile—a sight more beautiful than anything else in the world.

Around him, shedding my shame and embarrassment was effortless. His love made it easy: kind, caring, and considerate. A love that gently said, “We don’t have to talk about what happened if you’re not ready.” A love that checked on me constantly, ensuring I felt safe. His laughter at my lame jokes turned me into a comedian in his eyes.

These days, Oghene’s love made me question if I had ever truly been loved before. It was so wonderfully terrifying, this kind of love. Sometimes, I’d watch him, wondering if I deserved this love, if I was meant to be here, with him, in his home, receiving his kindness while offering nothing in return. Often, I fought back tears because all he seemed to want from me was my mere existence. His heart was full simply watching me.

And when he wasn’t around for my eyes to feast on, for he was so sexy that my body always went all hot whenever I saw him shirtless—initially, he wasn’t comfortable walking around bare torso, or his sweatpants drawn a little lower below his waist and he was sweating in the kitchen or while doing something else. I always felt like I was having an erection only I was a female. I’d lie in bed, thinking about us, feeling inadequate. He cooked his own meals, kept his place spotless, did his laundry impeccably—I couldn’t see where I fit into his life.

I feared he didn’t need me, and that thought tore at my soul.

I loved him.

Oh, how I had fallen—shattered the ground and plunged deep into the core of the earth in love with this delicate Warri boy. I didn’t know what to do, feeling like a fraud. Why hadn’t I chosen him when he first wanted me, before Preye led me to pain? Why hadn’t I realized sooner that the man I’d been waiting for was right in front of me all along, wearing a work coverall and an unsure, sexy smile?

Yes, he was sexy. Brother Oghene was a sexy son of God-knows-what. Shy, a little fearful when it came to sensuality, and cute. These few weeks revealed he was also a bad boy who loved Jesus. He didn’t know that side of him yet. He wasn’t aware of how disarming his lopsided smile was, or how his little gestures could make a daughter of Zion desire to UnCloth. He was everything I never knew I wanted.

Last night, when he walked into the room, it wasn’t my intention to make him uncomfortable. But when I half-opened my eyes and saw him staring at me, his chest rising and falling with desire, I couldn’t stop myself from drawing him in.

My cheeks flushed, my body came alive as he sat beside me, leaning closer, his forearm muscles flexing as he bent his elbow. He touched my bruises, his lips nearly grazing my nìpple. I was acutely aware of him: his scent, the heaving of his chest, the warmth of his breath. His wrist brushed my aching nìpple, making me fear my heart and essence might explode. I thought I would dissolve into the mattress when his wrist brushed against my nipple. But I didn’t. I opened my eyes slightly, breath caught in my throat as he looked at me from beneath his lashes. That simple look—one that said, “I respect you. I honor you. I care so much about you. But I also want to rip your clothes off and make love to you until you shatter beneath me”—ruined me completely.

I closed my eyes when he stroked my lips, his voice shaky, his fingers trembling. Then he pulled back, stood up, and I wished I knew how to capture moments like these and revisit them forever. Because that brief moment when his lust caught him off guard, and his desire for me became so visible, was everything.

But by morning, that moment was gone, rudely snatched away by neighbors who barged into the house in search of stolen items. When I asked Oghene about the commotion, hoping for more than a simple answer, he just said, "I had a fight with one of the tenants, and now they all don't like me."

His answer didn’t add up, but I let it go because he seemed to be avoiding a conversation. He made me breakfast as usual, smiling when I strolled into the kitchen, gently slapping my hands away when I reached for the bowl of tomatoes, guiding me to the corner where a plastic chair was and made me sit down. He even brought me my pills, carefully instructing me on how to take them.

"I know already, Oghene. I'm not a kid," I grumbled, but he insisted I listen and do nothing but bathe, eat, rest, and eat some more.

The sudden hum of the AC announced the restoration of power. I grabbed my phone and headed to the living room, hoping to find something interesting on the television.

As much as I loved this life, I feared I’d get too used to it. When it was time to leave and face reality, I worried I wouldn’t know how to be the alpha and omega of my own life again.

I turned on the TV and sat down to check my messages. There were a couple from work colleagues who I had told about my serious accident. Three were from Aleruchi, asking where I was and if she could visit.

"No, girlfriend. I wouldn't want you to see me in an oversized shirt at a man's house—the same man we both thought wasn’t good for me."

My brother had also left a message after calling me countless times. He wanted to know when I’d be returning home. "There’s something we need to talk about before your wedding."

I replied, mentally singing, "Satan, the number you are calling is not available," at the thought of the supposed wedding.

I also checked my email and responded to three messages from my HOD, reminding her that I’d return to work at the beginning of next month. This meant I had to leave this place by the weekend.

The thought of leaving suddenly dampened my spirit. I thought of how it had been between Oghene and me these past weeks, and I missed it—missed him. I realized how much I hated being alone. If I left, I’d be alone, and that would make me sick with longing for him. It was weird, this fear that my body would stop functioning normally without him. My heart wouldn’t be steady, my soul would sing numb, my fingers would grow cold. I would die of longing.

The feelings that would hurt most, the emotions that would sting, would be those that were absurd: longing for impossible things because they are impossible, nostalgia for what never was, the desire for what could have been, regret over not saying yes to him when he offered himself to me, dissatisfaction with a world without him. To regain balance, I’d either have to shamefacedly plead with him to ask me out again or learn to live without him. I feared doing the former because I wouldn’t know what to say if he asked why I chose him now. The latter wasn’t a better option because I’d tasted him, a forever sweetness in my mouth, a flavor noble, manly, and sexy.

Done with my emails, I dropped my phone and fixed my gaze on the TV where Mercy Johnson played a street girl in an old Nollywood movie. It held me for a while, then I lost interest. I picked up my phone again, stared at the screen for a moment. Maybe I should call Oghene. It was already evening, and we hadn’t spoken since he left in the morning. But what would I say?

I could tell him I was craving suya, or that the pain in my shoulders had resurfaced. Or that I missed him and wanted to hear his voice. It might not sound as sexy as his waking-up voice, but it would still be beautiful.

Goodness, Oghene’s waking-up voice could make a woman’s essence squirm and drip. The first time I heard it, my heart had dropped into my stomach, which felt like it had horses galloping in it. It was a Saturday, and I had woken up before him, walking into the living room where he lay on the sofa, on his stomach, the blanket tossed aside, one leg on the floor, the other on the sofa.

I had watched him for a while, then called his name twice before he stirred, turning to look at me, rubbing his eyes. His voice had come out in a low growl when he replied to my morning greeting, shaking my very core. Was that sofa big enough for two adults, and did I have the nerve to act on the stupidity that flowed into my head—

A soft knock on the door interrupted my thoughts. It came again, louder this time.

When I answered it, I saw Sister Sarima standing outside, shock written on her face.

"I—I," she started.

"Sister Sarima. Long time," I interrupted, trying to hide my embarrassment. I hadn’t seen or heard from her since her rushed wedding. I didn’t owe her an explanation for being in a brother-in-the-Lord’s house, but I felt a little bothered she might misinterpret the situation. "Ah-ahn. After your wedding, you just disappeared. How far now?"

She nodded, looking down at her fingers. "I am fine. I thought...I am here to see Bro Oghene."

"Sorry, he’s not back yet," I checked the time on my phone. "He’ll be back any moment."

She nodded again, then looked up at my face. There was this fleeting look—like anger, distrust—that disappeared before I could put my finger on it.

"Can I come in and stay for a little while?" she asked.

Twenty
Oghene

One terrible thing about having a grievous accusation hanging around your neck in Nigeria was that you were sentenced before you were declared guilty. Worse still, you automatically became responsible for every other crime in the neighborhood. Even if you were dead at the time of the crime and got resurrected afterward, they’d say your ghost did it.

It had been three weeks since I got bailed out from the police. Twenty days of returning every evening to whispers, offensive, accusing stares, and pointed fingers that reminded me of how desperately I needed to get a new apartment so I could move out of this one. I was sure that if I spent another week here, having my neighbors look at me with eyes burning with judgment as I left for work in the morning, and as I returned, hearing their hushed conversations and murmurs that erupted into aproko—gossip as soon as I passed, I would fall and die.

I fit mud myself. But baba Godeh no go gree.

I’d rather beat one or two of them up instead. At least that would teach others to mind their business and free me. Make them allow me make I die first before them bury me.

Yesterday morning, when I stepped out to buy pap and some Akara balls—breakfast for Ife—from Mama Clara, I overheard my landlord’s daughter speaking to her friend while pointing at me. "That's him," she’d said, loud enough for me to hear. "The rapist. I don’t know why the police released him. Now he has another woman in his house. I saw when he brought her in. She’s not come out since then. I worry about her. Who knows if he is raping her inside there."

I had clenched my fist, my nails digging into my palms as I walked past, wondering how a reasonable man like her father could give birth to mushi like that. The more I overheard her voice, the more I wanted to turn and scream at her to shut her mouth, but I couldn’t. I had to get a grip on myself. They were still seated outside when I returned. Avoiding eye contact, I walked past them again, each step feeling like I was dragging a ball and chain.

This morning, loud knocks at my door woke me up. It wasn’t even 5:00 a.m.

A girl had gone to have her bath and, when she returned, her phone and laptop had been stolen. Of course, I was the major suspect. If I could rape a woman, I could equally steal from a woman. I was so embarrassed and almost went into fight mode when our overbearing caretaker—who I swear was close pals with his village deity, his face could make a pregnant woman give birth to a masquerade—some over-enthusiastic, search-everywhere-by-force neighbors, the victim, a guy who had friends over, a commercial bike rider, and two males with speech impairments barged in and began turning my house upside down, responding to Ife’s confused insistence to know what was going on with:

“You no get family? You no go go your mama house? Na so una dey carry una body give men way be wolves in sheep clothing.”

After they were gone, while I was tying up my sneakers’ laces, getting ready to go to work, Ife asked me again what the whole drama was about. When I looked up at her face, I also saw the unasked questions.

“Why are your neighbors so hostile to you?”

“Why do you hardly leave the house to interact with any of them once you come in?”

“What do they mean by ‘wolves in sheep clothing’? Were those words referring to you?”

I wished I could tell her all about it—Sarima and the rape accusation. But I was afraid. Obviously, she hadn’t heard, and that was good for me. These few days she’d been with me while I took care of her had been my happiest moments in a while, although she still hadn’t told me what happened to her, and it hurts to see her like this, her bruises like the marks of an angry man—the kind I saw on Onuwaje mama’s body when I was a kid. Bruises that became less painful than mine as I tended to them, as I kept calling Ezioma, Shukudi’s wife, for instructions.

It was Ezioma who told me, that morning I returned to my house with Ife, the type of sanitary pad to get, the drugs and ointment for her bruises, and where to get some underwear and lady’s casual clothes, after I had embarrassingly explained things to her. Two days later, she visited with Juoshi to see this woman who I had the mind to keep in my house. That was when I told her about my feelings for Ife. Not that I could hide it anyways—she had pointed it out a few hours after she arrived, and her sister-in-law kept teasing me with my restlessness, my inability to sit still for a long time without going to check on Ife.

“Would you want Juochi to stay over and take care of her for you?” Ezioma had asked, not only concerned that I’d not gotten out of the rape case and now had a helpless woman in my house, but also the fact that it was risky for a single Christian guy like me to harbor a woman in my house whom I admitted I had feelings for.

Although I shared her sentiment, I told her that I could handle the situation. Juoshi could always visit and go back home. What was a sick woman that I couldn’t handle? What kind of man was I if I couldn’t control my desire for Ife while taking care of her?

But my gra-gra died last night when I walked into the room she was using without knocking and saw her in bed, wearing a subtly transparent nightgown. I was about to ask if I had bought that along with the other clothes when I remembered that I had. God, I didn’t know it was that...provocative. I could clearly make out several dark patches through the cloth: her bruises. One was a large mottling on her hip, another a bigger bruise on her ribs and stomach. But the others were not bruises at all. Her darker nìpples were clearly visible through the nightie, and the smoothness of her thighs was so evident.

A gasp of horror caught in my throat, but before I could grab a pillow and a blanket and leave, she called my name while drawing the duvet up to her stomach.

"Bro Oghene."

"Mh?"

“Can you...can you help me massage my shoulders with the Aboniki balm?” Her voice was low, pained. I had massaged her shoulders and back the first few days she was here, without this unholy desire, probably because I was so concerned about her getting better. By the sixth day, she was looking up, and my worries shifted into something else. Thank God she decided to relieve me of the task of massaging her. I doubted if I would have remained as aloof as I was in the previous days.

I looked distractedly down at the shoulder she’d turned slightly, at the bruises there that I’d seen and tended earlier, but that night, I was more concerned with other issues, like her near-nudity. When I moved the neckline of her wear to run my fingers across the bruises, she sucked in a startled gulp of air while my breath blew hot and rapid on her skin. I swore she felt it on her nìpple through the transparent nightie because the effect was almost shocking. She lay completely still, holding her breath as I examined her injury, taking an exceptionally long time doing so, much longer than I’d done in the previous days. And the whole time, I was inhaling and exhaling, deliberately sending warm puffs of air over her nipple, while my heart thundered with the guilt of this sweet immorality.

I knew it was wrong. My brain set off a warning alarm, urging me to quit this stupidity and leave immediately, but I couldn’t. I loved the feel of being near her, touching her skin, stroking her chest with my warm breath, watching an odd little tingle go through her each time my breath touched her skin. Then I lowered my hand to run a finger lightly around the discoloration on her arm, and my wrist brushed against her nìpple through the cloth.

She must have thought it was accidental, but the effect on her was startling. She closed her eyes, torn between telling me to stop and stay put to enjoy the astonishing effect I had on her.

I wanted her to do the former, to push me away as roughly as she could. Yet, I didn’t want that. I wanted to kiss her. Seriously, I must kiss her, or I would die of some sort of thirst. But then I had to heed the alarm in my head. This was a sin I wouldn’t want to bear the burden of its guilt. But God...it felt so damn good I could almost taste it—taste her.

She wanted it too. I knew she did because she was allowing me to do this, tilting her body slightly so her breast was near my face, her nìpples hardened and needy, daring me to stroke it, to lift her dress and run my tongue over them. Jesus! Her face, the corner of her bottom lip slightly trapped between her teeth.

I wanted to kiss her so badly that I felt the hunger swimming all over me. If she had just whispered, “Please, touch me, kiss me,” like she did that night in the Siena, I swear I would have thrown caution to the wind. The voice in my head said, ‘This is fleshly lust, the kind that would chop your wings off and make you spiritually lame,’ but the more I ran my fingers over her skin and watched her face melt with desire, the more my loins burned.

When I finally withdrew my hand from her arm and stood up, she opened her eyes. Before she could regain her senses to speak, I sat beside her again, tilted her face up, and brushed a shaky finger lightly in a circle along her left jaw.

"The bruise here is almost gone," I growled.

"Oh," she breathed, as my finger followed the edge of the bruise past the corner of her lips.

"You’ve beautiful eyes, Ife," I murmured, sounding in my ears like a stupid boy contemplating a naughty thing. I was shaking with fear and excitement.

"So do you," she whispered, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. She knew I was scared, and unsure, and burning with desire. And she found it amusing.

When there was nothing else to say, and all that was left was to give in to the desire gnawing deep inside me, I stuttered an apology and hurried out, breathing heavily, like one who’d just escaped danger, when I got to the sitting room where I’d been sleeping since I brought her in.

Now, thinking about that night, I had to agree that the life of faith was nothing if not an unending struggle of the spirit against the flesh with every available weapon.

But I wouldn’t deny that I loved that night—the way she shivered at my touch, the hunger in her eyes. And I wouldn’t want to change that for any reason. That was why I couldn’t tell her about the deep kasala I was in. It was a good thing she hadn’t heard it from somewhere else. I hoped it stayed that way until the truth came out and I was vindicated.

I told her I had a fight some weeks ago with a neighbor who had sworn to make my life miserable. I felt she didn’t believe me. But she didn’t ask further.

“Waffi boy, how your babe na?” Shukudi said behind me, slapping the back of my head.

“Oghene get babe?” Agu asked, the toothpick dangling between his lips. They were just coming back from Nwanyi Calabar’s Kitchen where they had breakfast.

“You no know?” Shukudi said, giving me a wink before returning his attention to Agu. “I no blame you. Me sef, I didn’t know. I overheard my sister saying it some months ago, but I dismissed it as children’s talk because if it was true, this big head here would have told me.”

“Then how you come know say na true?”

“From my wife o,” Shukudi said, sitting down on the only bench in front of Oga Cee-to-Cee’s spare parts shop. “It happens that our friend here is more comfortable with my wife than with me.” He cleared his throat and spat on the ground. “But I am not jealous o. When he marry him own, I go do him back.”

“Wait o, Igbo boy. Watin you mean? You think say...Chai, you dey crase. Waka.” I retorted as the three of us burst out laughing.

In a short while, Shukudi was already letting the whole gist out about Ife and me, adding some salt and pepper to make the story juicy. They would glance up at me and laugh.

“We dey here they plan how to save this fool from the winch girl way accuse am of rape, him dey busy dey take care of another babe for house. My sister said he cooks for her. E remain make him baff her sef.”

The two let out more bouts of laughter, then Agu looked up at me.

“My man! My man!” he hailed. “Oghene the sharp guy. So you too like woman, ehn? You. Spirikoko church boy.”

I gave them a stink eye, hissed, and started walking off, but they followed me.

“The babe get yansh?” Agu asked, poking my back. “You know say yansh is life.”

“Agu you no get sense,” I muttered while he and Shukudi laughed, “Abeg comot for my back. Go find work do.”

“Oghene, why you dey pretend like say this thing no dey sweet you. You get babe. It’s a good thing. No dey tight chest like new dreadlocks.”

That was the problem. They thought I was already in a relationship with Ife and didn’t want to tell them. But that wasn’t true. I didn’t have any part of Ife; not her heart, not her commitment, not even her body. I knew she wanted me, maybe for a moment, just to quench her thirst. But I wanted more, so much more that taking the little she was willing to offer would leave me dry and dehydrated.

“You don shag am?” Agu asked, shocking me to a stop. “Ehen? If you fit get babe, then I no go surprise if I hear say you dey chop her kele behind God’s back. Ah, all these church guys sef, una too much o.”

I didn’t know if I should get offended by his stupid comment or be amused. “Agu, I no be you. I don’t gbensh like that.”

“Swear say you be virgin. Idiot. Swear with your village ogun make e kill you nau-nau,” Agu challenged, while Shukudi kept laughing like a mad person.

“I no get your time,” I dismissed. “But so you know, God’s original plan is that we all marry as virgins.”

“Then why didn’t he wait till our wedding nights to give us genitals?”

Jesus! Oghene bikor! What kind of people had I been paroling with as friends like this? Was I not just cursed with the naughtiest and senseless guys as friends?

About four hours later, while I was working on a customer’s car’s oil filter, my phone rang, and I regretted answering it immediately I heard the voice at the other end. A surge of anger roared to life within me, scorching and relentless, burning from the depths of my soul. My hands trembled, each muscle in my body taut with barely restrained rage.

“Bro Oghene. Please...don’t cut the call. Hear me out. Please.” She was crying. “I’m sorry. Please. I am so sorry...I didn’t know what happened that night and... Please. Forgive...”

Her words were like gasoline poured on the fire burning inside me. How dare she call my number just to yan okpata? Forgive her? How nau? Why? My blood pounded in my ears.

“I want to make things right,” she continued. “Please, let me come to your house and—”

“You dey crase!” I gritted, my teeth grinding together as I struggled to keep my voice steady. "You wan come my house? Come nau. Come if you know say you don sign your death certificate. Orkpokorise."

I jabbed my finger on the screen to hang up, but the anger remained, simmering just below the surface while I tried to concentrate on my work.

do4luv14:
happy new week @Rosemary33
trust you had a splendid weekend and Sunday,
hope you had a sweet night rest

I say make I greet you ooo

lonesome501:
Hmmmm..
I dey reason am

No reason am o

Nineteen
Oghene

I went house-hunting this morning, and the agent took me to a two-bedroom apartment in a swampy area. When I complained about the canal at the back, the stupid man pointed at a stick in the water and said, “Look at fish!” as if I had told him I was looking for a house with a "point and kill" pond. Only God made me keep my fingers off that man’s face. I should have known early enough that this man was an agent of darkness sent to test my patience, and I had to walk away before I did something I’d regret.

I didn’t know how he convinced me to follow him to a second house for rent. This one had a grave site directly behind its window. When I pointed this out to the agent, the madman shrugged and said, “That one no be anything na. All of us go die one day. You, you no go die before?”

I simply told him, "Waka there." "God punish you," and left before I’d be tempted to curse him more while calling the name of the Lord in vain. “Forgive me, Jesus,” I muttered under my breath, briskly walking out of the street, crossing to the other side of the road, and waiting for any incoming bus that would take me to the workshop.

Tomorrow, I’d embark on another hunt. However, I wouldn’t want to have anything to do with this agent Agu recommended. Hopefully, I’d get another agent’s contact by the end of the day.

I would have left the house-hunting thing until this rape case was over. Making an abrupt change of location while the case was ongoing would set off a wrong signal. However, the atmosphere that greeted me this morning when I returned from my site was thick with hostility. My neighbors’ cold, silent stares conveyed their disapproval more clearly than any words could. They didn’t even bother to return my greeting. The final blow came about thirty minutes after my arrival. I’d had my bath and was getting ready to go to the workshop when my landlord knocked on my door, handing me a letter. With that single action, I decoded what was going on.

The 100% rent increase wasn’t about money but a strategic move to force me out. I suspected the other tenants had pressured the landlord, unwilling to share a building with a man they believed to be a rapist. And the landlord, caught between protecting his property and appeasing his tenants, had chosen the latter. Who would blame him? The poor man was just trying to safeguard his investment.

"Give me some time to find another place," I had said to the man after reading the letter in front of him. There was no point in arguing. This wasn’t about the rent. It was a calculated effort to make me leave. I understood the landlord’s predicament and held no grudge against him. Until now, the man had been kind and fair.

After the landlord left, I immediately called Agu, who gave me a house agent’s contact. Unfortunately, the agent only added to my frustration.

I hissed in annoyance and focused my attention on the road. Within moments, a bus pulled up in front of me.

“Rumuokoro!” the conductor shouted, to my disappointment. “Oga, you dey go?”

“No. Eliozu-Airforce,” I replied, and the bus zoomed off.

The next bus that drove past was full. My agitation grew as I realized how desperate I was becoming. A client was waiting for me at the workshop, and time was slipping away.

Then, a bike drove past and stopped a short distance away. At first, I didn’t pay much attention; my priority was getting back to the workshop. But when the next bus I waved down drove past without stopping, my frustration peaked, and I followed its taillights until they vanished in the distance. That’s when I noticed the bike again, and more importantly, the woman seated at the back.

The hint of recognition hit me like the first drop of unexpected rain—subtle but undeniable. Drop by drop, realization dawned on me. Her braids, her back—everything seemed familiar, yet unclear. Aside from the upper part of her ridiculous old maid’s dress, which looked somewhat neat, the rest of her was stained with patches of wet sand and what appeared to be dried blood. Despite her disheveled state, my heart lurched toward the strange yet familiar figure.

Another bus stopped in front of me. This one had space, but my attention was riveted on the woman on the bike.

“Airforce. Oga, you dey go?

I shook my head and walked towards the bike, a mix of hope and fear churning inside me.

“Ife?” I muttered, drawing closer. “Ife?” It was her. Jesus, it was her! And she was looking at me as if she just dreamed I was another person standing there, calling her name. Now that I had a good look at her, I noticed a little breakage. Or rather, a very noticeable one. Like glassware that had encountered a series of manhandling and was waiting for that one tap that would finally shatter it.

“Ifenkili, are you okay?”

“Oga, you know am?” the bike man carrying her asked. But before I could answer, she jumped off the bike, into my arms.

I had always thought of pain as a squeeze in the heart that made one scream so loud, a very visible thing that tossed breath into the sky like a ball. Instead, the one that left her to grab me robbed me of my speech and my air. I was pinned in place by the anguish she was transporting into me and I didn't know what to do.

"Ife, Ife," I kept saying, stroking her hair, her back, her waist, while she sobbed so freely on my shoulder.
I allowed her to press her face against my neck. My body sparked, and I couldn't move, except to draw her much closer, holding on to her so tightly, not minding the passers-by and the motorists staring at us. I was filled with concern, so big and terrifying it was as if I was with her in a dark place, falling into a deep well with her, spiraling down and down and down. And as frightened as I was, I didn’t want to come up for air and light without her. No one had permitted men to feel this way, and I thought I might not be allowed it. I combed my fingers through her cornrow hair, willing myself to be calm, for I felt she would also relax when I achieved calmness.

“What happened to you?” I asked her. But she couldn’t speak. She held me tighter, her body trembling against mine as she sobbed some more. “Where you dey go?”

“I don’t know,” she managed to say.

“Where you wan go?”

“I don’t know,” she cried.

I was confused about what to do with her and what to do with myself. She was like a scared child in a pit holding on to a rope that had been thrown down to her and wouldn’t let go. And I... I felt like the rope she was clinging to climb out. The weight of her pain was on me like a frozen knife stuck in my chest. An awful pain, but the funny thing was I seemed thankful for it. It was like her pain and my very existence were one. Like I was the one seeking release and not her.

“You go follow me go my house?” I asked her. I didn’t plan to go back home until darkness covered the sky. I wouldn’t want to meet the unsettling stares of my neighbors. But for her, for Ifenkili, I’d brave anything just to make sure she was comfortable. “Ife, you go go my house?”

She lifted her head off my shoulder, and as if she was just realizing that she’d been in my arms, as if she was embarrassed by it. Wiping her face with the back of her hand, she nodded. Glanced up at me and lowered her gaze. “Yes. I-I follow you to your house.”

“Madam, your cloth done stain for back o. Be like say na blood,” a man said casually and walked past. It hit me immediately, the reason passers-by kept looking at us. At her first, then at me. It wasn’t because we were holding each other in a rather intimate way, but because she was stained and exposed and... I didn’t know?

She didn’t move. But I watched her face come down in a distressing frown. And when I asked, “Is that...are you...your period?”

She looked at me with a face that showed how much she wished that there was a trapdoor behind her. Just a little exit hatch she could disappear through.

Quickly, I pulled my shirt off. “Hold still,” I said to her and proceeded to wrap the shirt around her waist. Then I tied the sleeves in a knot.

“It... it’s going to get stained too,” she murmured as I took her hand and began leading her to the other side of the road where I hoped to get an empty taxi that would agree to take us to my house.

“No reason am,” I replied.

Eighteen
Ife

Many are mad, few are roving.

I wasn’t mad. Maybe I was because the few people I met along the Port Harcourt Elele Road at that wee hour of the morning, after I had navigated my way through the bush for what seemed to me like forever, stopping by at the broken fence of a secondary school, scaled through to get to the backyard where some girl’s uniforms were hanging on the line, picked one and wearing it, thought I was.

That or that I was an unfortunate lady who had fallen victim to the trending yahoo boys and had been used for rituals.

This misconception started when I was still in that secondary school and had the undersized school uniform on me. Some students, early risers, saw me and raised an alarm.

They were the first to call me mad, throwing sticks and pebbles at me even when I tried to make them understand that I was okay. I only needed help to get to the road. And if I could get a phone to make a few calls, that would be appreciated.

But the more I tried to make them understand my plight, the more their voices rose higher, their agitation grew louder. The sight of a disheveled, wild-eyed woman in a stolen school uniform must have been frightening. One girl came running forward, tears streaming down her face, crying for her uniform to be returned. Apparently, she was the owner of the uniform I was now wearing, while some others insisted she let the uniform go because, according to them, having one’s cloth taken by a mad woman could spell misfortune.

Ah! Me! Mad! Standing before a group of kids that would usually accord me huge respect as a big auntie, now looking at me with a mix of fear and curiosity, and trying to prove to them that I wasn’t insane but a victim of kidnap, really made me understand that one’s life could take a drastic downturn in a moment.

The commotion must have pulled some of their guardians out of bed. In a few minutes, four adults joined the scene. Three women and a man, all in various stages of early morning disarray—hairnets askew, wrappers hastily tied, sleep still evident in their eyes—dispersing the children with a cane and taking me with them to the security post. The man, who seemed to be in charge, barked orders for everyone to calm down while the women surrounded me, their faces a blend of suspicion and concern.

At the security post, a small room with a wooden desk, a few chairs, and a calendar on the wall, they sat me down. One of the women, her face stern but eyes kind, handed me a bottle of water and asked me to explain myself. I took a deep breath, the events of the past few hours flashing through my mind in a jumbled blur, and began to tell my story, hoping desperately that they would believe me.

As I recounted my ordeal, their expressions softened from suspicion to concern. The stern-faced woman, who had introduced herself as Mrs. Chikwendu, the school’s matron, interrupted me gently. "Wait, let me get you a fresh cloth first." she said, disappearing for a moment and returning with a simple, clean dress. "Here, put this on," she urged, helping me out of the borrowed school uniform and into the dress. The fabric felt comforting against my skin, a small respite from the nightmarish events I had endured.

"Do you have someone we can call?" the man, who I learned was the head security officer, asked.

I hesitated, biting my lip. The thought of calling someone—anyone—and narrating my story filled me with a deep sense of shame. How could I explain what had happened without sounding foolish? How could I explain what had happened without sounding foolish? Just a few days ago, I got engaged to a man I thought was the answer to my ‘God when?’ prayer. Now, I had barely escaped death at his hands. They would ask me how long I’d known him and if I was stupid to accept a ring from a man I had only met less than two months ago.

As I sat there, the name of that one person who might not blame me, who wouldn’t tell me I was responsible for what happened, eluded me. Even Ale wouldn’t spare me. Hers would be subtle, sprinkled in every word she would say to me, every gaze she would give me.

For some reason, I thought of Bro Oghene and wondered if I would have called him if I knew his number by heart. Would he blame me too? A part of me concluded he would. After all, I had left him for this man who turned my life into a nightmare. Yet, deep inside, a faint hope reminded me of what a perfect man he was—a mixture of kindness, a bleeding heart, big emotions, and an expansive mind. Even when the world felt dark and scary, he was the type who would whisk you away to go dancing, assuring you that laughter could ease some of the pain and beauty could pierce through your fear. He was a good man, and the odds of ever meeting someone like him again were as slim as biting off a piece of the rainbow.

But I wasn’t going to call him. Not because he wouldn’t come for me, but because I couldn’t face him. Not now. Maybe later, after I had gone through this ordeal, forgiven myself, and found my way back to some semblance of normalcy. Then, I might want to call him, even plead to see him again.

“Madam, don’t you have anybody you can give us their number to call?” the matron asked again, her voice tinged with concern.

The only option left was family—my brother. But I didn’t want to involve him. My mother and father were in the village, too far to help, and I wouldn’t want to agitate them. Tears welled up in my eyes as the enormity of my situation sank in.

"No," I whispered, shaking my head. "I don’t have anyone to call."

The matron looked at me with a mixture of pity and understanding. "It's okay," she said softly, patting my hand. "But can you remember your place? If we get a bike for you, can you find your way home?"

I nodded. “I stay in Port Harcourt,” I said. “I can find my way home if I get a bus going there.” The idea of going home alone aroused my anxiety. What if Preye found me again? What if this was just a temporary reprieve? I suddenly wished that he was dead, that he wouldn’t recover from the hit I gave him on the head. But what if he did? Quickly, my mind took a mental score of my journey from where I was held to this place. Did I leave a trace that would make it easy for Preye to find me?

‘God Abeg.’ I might die of fright if I ever set my eyes on Preye again. His cruel eyes and mocking laughter echoing in my mind still sent jitters through my body. I couldn’t count the many times I’d thought of that room he placed me, that seemed to morph into a threat, every creak of the old wooden floorboards that made my heart race, the ropes that had cut through my skin, the beatings he gave me, the thought of death. I wished one of these kind people could escort me to Port Harcourt, but that would be asking for too much. I’d rather try to be focused and alert.

I watched the women and the security man discuss among themselves, their voices low and serious. They decided to let me stay in the security post for the time being while the matron went in search of a trusted biker friend who’d take me home. But there was a problem, I was leaking blood so heavily that the fresh cloth given to me had already gotten soaked.

And I stank so badly, of stale menstrual blood and dirt. I wanted a bath, fresh underwear and a sanitary pad so badly. But I was too mortified to ask these people for further assistance. I’d never been in a condition where I needed assistance with my basic needs.

The head security officer handed me a cell phone. "In case you remember who to call, you can use this," he said. “Meanwhile, the bike man will be here soon.”

I nodded, clutching the phone tightly but unable to dial any number. My fingers stung and ached, but I still held on to the phone. I didn't know why tremendous shame and self-loath had suddenly joined the train of my feelings, why I felt so selfish and foolish. I shouldn't- shouldn't feel that way, should I? I know I shouldn't, but I couldn't help it.' I almost dropped the phone when it rang. “Sorry,” I said, picking it up from my thighs and handing it over to the security man.

I was foolish. I thought I knew Preye, but I didn't. I didn't even know what he did for a living, yet I accepted him so easily. My brother, Aleruchi... they didn’t stop me from making this mistake. There it was, the giant pain that cracked me in two if I thought about it too long. Why did I expect them to see what I couldn’t? They wanted what I wanted. This was on me.

I couldn’t shift the blame. I believed the illusion was real, and now I felt shame and anger, like I deserved this.

Society would say I deserved it, right? ‘You deserve what happened since you couldn’t see reason.’ It didn’t matter that I was deceived by a man I thought was my better half, that he preyed on naive women. If society could blame an online vendor for being unfortunate while making deliveries, or a job applicant who was murdered during an interview, they’d condemn me once my story hit social media. I prayed it wouldn’t, but I knew any of these people could be social media thirsty and use my story for popularity. So far, none of them had lifted a phone to capture my face. Maybe they had when I was too distraught to notice. I shuddered at the thought of my picture, looking like someone out of a mental asylum, making rounds on the internet with a misleading headline.

A Port Harcourt baddie runs mad after being held captive for days by her Yahoo boyfriend.

People would be drawn to it.

The matron arrived with a bike man and a nylon bag in her hand. “Come,” she said, helping me up and leading me to a smaller room in the security post. A few minutes later, she led me out, helped me onto the bike’s backseat, and handed me some naira notes and a piece of paper she wrote her number on.

“He is my cousin,” she said, referring to the bike man. “Call me when you reach Port Harcourt.”

I was grateful for the fresh underwear, although it was a little loose, and the tissue paper she handed me to soak my flow, even though I feared it would disintegrate and fall off with time.

The sun had sat perfectly in the sky when the bike man pulled over at the side of the road and announced that we were at the new road round about and wanted to know if I’d want him to continue down to Rumuokoro or turn left and head towards Eliozu.

It took a while for his words to sink, and a longer time for me to come up with a decision. And I was about to tell him to continue towards Rumuokoro when I heard a voice that tore my heart out. The sound of vehicles on rush hour wheezed past my ears, the angry shouts of the road safety men hauling insults on motorists distorting the rhythm, but all I heard was that voice calling my name.

Had I imagined it? His voice. Bro Oghene’s calling my name?

Definitely. For there was no way he could be here. Waiting, like a man on a bus stop, for a lost lover. Of course, what I’d been through had brought madness upon me, and that madness had worn me down. Now it was easier to hear what it said was there. A voice. A song. A breath. To see what it said was present. This way, it takes over my mind so I wouldn’t know where it ended and I began.

I heard it again. The voice. My name. Madness had completely taken over me because the sound was so close, like he was standing right next to me. Anxiety burned inside me like fuel, and I turned my head.
He was there, right beside me, staring at me.

“Ife what are you doing around here?”

My temples were pounding. I wanted to dismount from the bike, but I could not put my weight on my feet without falling. With my eyes still on his face, I tried to get a grip on the metal carrier of the bike behind me, but it was like there was nothing to hold onto.

“Are you okay?” he asked me.

“Oga, you know her?” The bike man who seemed to be in a haste to push me off his bike and drive away as fast as he could, asked.

I couldn’t tell whether I was the first to move, to throw myself into his arms or he was the one that lifted me off the bike and held me tight in his embrace. All I knew was that the whole of me had crashed against his body and he wasn’t ashamed to hold me so tightly, as if he feared I’d disappear if he let me go.

“Jesus. What happened to you?” His hands were around my waist—my waist! And they felt so right. I liked this closeness. Maybe I liked it too much. After I got tied up in that tiny room, I never thought I’d see him again. Never. And even after I got free, I concluded I wouldn’t have anything to do with Oghene. wouldn’t want to see him because I was too ashamed.

Now here I was sobbing shamelessly in his arms. My heart beats frantically, while he held me in place, only stroking my disheveled hair. Why on earth would a guy like him want to hold and sooth a girl like me?

And why didn’t I pretend like it wasn’t him but his illusion, so I could escape from him. It was the adrenaline rush. That was what it is. I threw myself into his arms because I was still experiencing the adrenaline rush from that brief moment I heard his voice. Or maybe it was madness that attacked my senses earlier. Now I’d forgotten how dirty I looked, the soaked tissue paper under my loose panties, the oversized dress that felt sticky somewhere at the bottom part. All that mattered was these arms shifts, and I love how that movement caused my body to shiver with comfort after a terrible long night.

****
Ife

I woke up with ropes tightly binding my hands and legs. Preye sat beside me, a bottle of beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He was stark naked, his eyes bulging like a madman. Fear thickened in the back of my throat as I considered the possibility that he had raped me while I was unconscious. But apart from a feeling of stickiness between my thighs, everything was intact—my clothes, my panties.

“You don wake? I been think say you don die o. I don dey pray make 4 nack so I ft go bury you.” He laughed, took a drag from his cigarette, and exhaled a cloud of smoke. “Where did we stop?”

I tried to speak, but my mouth was dry, and my tongue stuck to the roof as if stitched there. I managed to free it, swallowed the little saliva I could gather to moisten my parched throat, and began pleading for him to let me go.

He laughed again, took another puff, and a swig from his beer. “My sweet Port Harcourt baddie,” he hailed, laughing once more. “I’d rather die than let you go. Do you know how much you’re worth? If I get four more girls like you, I’d recover the money I spent wooing you and make extra gain sef."

The implication of his words seeped in slowly, making me sick as I realized I had been kidnapped by either a ritualist or an organ harvester. This large compound in the middle of nowhere was a den where captives awaited their ends.

The more it dawned on me, the more I felt hot urine pushing against my bladder.

“Please... I beg you, please. I swear I won’t tell anyone. Just let me go.”

My plea infuriated him. He stood up. “Do you know how expensive you were? You made me spend money I didn’t have, yet you showed no full interest. I had to offer you marriage and get you a car so you could totally believe me.” He mocked me, recalling how quickly I accepted him at the sight of a ring and a car.

He called me a cheap LovePeddler deceiving myself in church. He didn’t even pay for the car he gave me; he had already arranged with the dealer to return it after a few weeks. By then, I would be dead, and he would concoct a believable story, which my neighbors would believe and allow him to take the car away since he had a spare key.

“You get luck say you dey bleed. I for do you watin no make sense,” he said with disgust. “I would have raped you until all your holes tore.”

H-he didn’t rape me? God! I never thought I’d be so grateful for my menstrual flow. But my relief was cut short when I remembered that I was going to die in this man’s hands, my body cut limb by limb, either used for money ritual or my organs harvested and sold.

“Preye, please—”

He drew close and punched my face so hard that I tasted my own blood. Then he began hitting me with his fists so many times that I passed out again. When I later opened my eyes, I thought I was dead. When my body registered the excruciating pain, I knew I was still alive.

He was gone, but I was still tied up. I tried to steady my breath and began the almost impossible process of untying myself. My bones were sore and weak, my limbs numb with pain, my throat dry, and I had peed on myself.

I was yet to begin untying myself when he walked back in with a pair of scissors and started tearing my clothes off. I was butt-naked when he was done. The sight of my blood on his bed seemed to piss him off. He slapped my thighs, stomach, and breasts, calling me messy and blaming me for soiling his bed with my dirty blood.

“Go clean yourself up,” he commanded.

When I didn’t move, he burst out in laughter. “Look at you. Handicapped. Way that your mouth way you dey use tell me say you don't want to have sex because you a Christian? The hand way you dey use push me, no be am I tie like this?”

He untied me and showed me the bathroom. I couldn’t walk properly as my whole body was a mess. When I finally reached the door he pointed at, I pushed it open and cringed. It was a tiny space with the smell of urine and dry poop on the floor. There was a sizable stick propped against the wall and a large bowl that seemed to take up the whole space.

I managed to get close to the tap, turned it on, and water rushed out, drowning his voice that was barking at me to hurry up and get back into the room. I must have stayed inside the little space longer than he expected because he lost his patience and burst in.
I didn’t wait for him to reach me. I grabbed the stick and hit him on the head as he pushed through the door. I didn’t think my action through, nor did I know where I got the strength to execute it. But I was grateful for the sudden rush of strength. I opened the door wider and saw him slumped on the floor. Quickly, I rushed out of the house naked. There was no sign of the woman and her child, nor the other guy. But the
the gate was locked, so I decided to try the backyard.

There were a lot of women’s clothes littered there, old wigs, and half-buried handbags. Shoes too. The fence was lower there, and some blocks were missing. I looked around, gathered some empty crates, and made steppingstones. I finally climbed over, landed on a farm, and started running.

I had never run like that in my whole life—naked, breathless, with pain searing my body.

Seventeen
Oghene

Sometimes, all it takes is one experience, one encounter, to believe, confess, and be convinced that Jesus is Lord. In my case, it wasn’t the pastor preaching salvation the first day I followed Ezioma, Shukudi’s wife, to their church. Nor was it the supposed life-altering miracle I witnessed at one of those big crusades usually organized at the Port Harcourt Liberation Stadium, where a blind man I used to see begging every weekend at Elekahia Road got healed.

My friend Agu had slapped my head and whispered to me, deflating my spirit completely as he revealed that the healed blind man was never blind. In fact, the man once worked as a security guard at Crowder Memorial Girls School and had retired, only to pretend to be blind to receive alms. It was clear that the minister who organized the crusade knew about the old man’s pretense and decided to take advantage of it.

My encounter also didn’t come from the beautiful woman who stopped Shukudi and me on our way back from the workshop to give us flyers, inviting us to her church’s Holy Ghost service.

“Make sure you come with your friends and your enemies,” she said, as if we were even going to read the flyer in the first place. But for some reason, I didn’t throw the paper away like I usually did. It remained in my hand until we got home.

My personal encounter was a near-death experience.

The uncovered septic tank where we used to draw water when we were still managing life in that uncompleted building was low, barely reaching my waist. The water in it was almost at the bottom. I could barely see it because the tank was very deep. The day after the crusade, there was heavy rain, and everywhere was slippery. I was fetching water when I saw a hawk descend and, with amazing sharpness, snatch up a chick from across the road.

It was funny, watching the mother hen scream and cluck loudly. But the hawk was gone.

As I turned back to my fetching duties, I slipped. The accident that all the boys sharing that uncompleted building feared would happen one day was happening to me. I was falling headlong into the deep tank, and my life was surely over.

I screamed so hard and squeezed my eyes shut. It was too late anyway. I was already over the short barricade and flying into the well. I wasn’t thinking about how I would leave this earthly plane so early. Instead, I was thinking of my maleh and who would take care of her in my absence.

I was still screaming, almost vertically inclined and about to begin my quick descent into death.

The contents of my shorts were already flying past my face and into the darkness when someone grabbed me by the neck and forcefully dragged me back.

That feeling of life, that relief after escaping the jaws of death? There was nothing like it.

With my eyes still shut, I turned to hug whoever it was, only to realize that there was nobody there.

I opened my eyes, turned back, and there was nobody. Nobody. Just… air.

Someone or something had pulled me from the brink of death, and to this day, I have no idea what or who it was.

My moment of realization came when I looked into the well, straining my eyes to see if maybe the person had fallen inside after pulling me out. I only saw the things from my shorts floating on the surface of the water.
And prominent among them, right in the center, was the pamphlet that woman gave me. On it was a picture of a man with a bald head and a soft smile, and some words boldly written.

“Jesus Saves.” How I was able to see that bold writing in such a deep, dark well, together with how I got pulled out like one being snatched from the jaws of death, has remained a mystery to this day.

So, on a cold night like this, when I couldn’t sleep because my brain refused to rest and my lips wanted to blame God for not caring for me enough to fight for me when men accused me for reasons best known to them, this profound “Wellish” experience blasts into my head like a slap, and I’d only groan and allow tears to flow.

My heart was heavy, my head a raging storm of thoughts. The words to express my feelings slipped through my grasp like sand. It felt as if God Himself didn’t want to engage in a conversation about my kasala because He had His matters too, but His steeze no gree am talk. And I didn’t want to pray the ‘thy will be done’ kind of prayer as the last time I did, the will showed me shege. I cried like a goat. Never again, abeg. Tonight, I wanted to tell Him how it was doing me, hoping He would come through. But since I entered this shade and shut the door, I had been awake, desperately trying to pray. But all I managed to do was groan, my tears streaming down unchecked, while my voice remained silent. The words refused to come out.

As the night wore on, I began to feel that urge again, that strong burden that settled on me when I first entered here, the one that made me mutter Ifenkili’s name like she was Lazarus in the tomb for four days and I was Jesus calling her back to life. The more I resisted the urge, like I did some hours ago, the more insistent it became. I wanted this night to be about me, my pain, my sorrow. Yet the compulsion to pray for Ifenkili grew stronger, deepening my sadness.

“Why, God? Why now?” I whispered into the stillness of the room, my voice barely audible. “Don’t I matter to You? Don’t my fears, my pains, my sorrows count?”

The room was silent, offering no answers.

“Na so you hate me reach?” I asked the darkness, my voice cracking with the strength of my feelings. “You no even wan reason my matter at all.”

As if it was by the door, waiting for an opening, the memories of my near-death experience, that time I almost died inside the well, resurfaced like a comforting assurance. I had been so close to the edge, yet God had saved me, even when I wasn’t fully His.

“You saved me then,” I murmured, a faint smile playing on my lips despite my tears. “You cared enough to save me. So why does it feel like You no send me tonight?”

The silence in the room was deafening, and I felt a flicker of anger mixed with my sadness. I sat up. “God, watin I do You?”

The only response was the quiet rustle of leaves outside, while the urge kept getting stronger and stronger, as if someone was piling stones on my shoulders.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and with a heavy sigh, gave in. At first, I grumbled the words. But after a few emotional struggles, it became easier. I found myself not just uttering intense pleas accompanied by heart-wrenching groans but feeling my love for Ifenkili seeping out of me like steam, settling like a suspended rain cloud over my head, its wind enveloping me like a forceful shackle.

“I love her,” I groaned. Even though after I learned of her engagement, after she showed me the ring and I saw how genuinely happy she was, I had wanted to hate her so much, for that was the only way I could let her go. “I love her. I love her. I love her.” I didn’t love her because she was very attractive, although that certainly didn’t help. Before we got this close and parted again, I’d sometimes catch myself staring stupidly at her, admiring her perfect profile, her watery eyes and those cheekbones, her figure and curves. And her yansh, God, she had all that and she knew how to flaunt it. Some people had the compassion and intelligence to become decent people while also being very beautiful, but Ifenkili wasn’t one of them. She wasn’t loud too.

After that night I learned about the engagement, I desired to hate her. And when that proved impossible, I hated how much I wanted her, how I wasn’t smart enough to just admire her and move on because that would have saved me. I also hated how she raised my hope only to dash it against the rock. She should have left me where I was. In the distance. Where I only had to stare and dream.

“She no send my papa, but I still love her.” And that hurt so much. We never really had a beginning. For her, it could be that day at the house opening party, or when I visited her bank. But for me, I simply dreamt of her and woke up loving her. For months, I fought this feeling, only to indulge a little when I was alone. Then we locked gaze one day in church, but we pretended what we saw in each other’s eyes wasn’t there.

“Ifenkili,” I whispered, shaking my head at the craziness of this night. It was as if I was being forced into confessing my innermost weakness instead of praying. “All the time wein we dey look each other, they form jagaban on top feelings… hell. What if I’d spoken up earlier? Maybe we would have been in a better place. She wouldn’t have had any space in her heart to accommodate this new guy because I’d take up every space.”

I took a breath. “I love you, Ifenkili. I love you.” The strength in those last confessions, like the first splash of cold water on the face, made my heart stop. Everything stopped. That place deep down inside me burned and tingled. “You are such a fool.” My voice wobbled. “And so am I. Maybe that’s why I love you so damn much.”

I didn’t know if what I was doing was praying or uttering selfish, carnal words I wasn’t supposed to be uttering before God. But as I went on and on, a strange sense of peace washed over me. “Come back to me, please. Ife, my love. Leave that man and come to me.” What was this? A deep call from an obsessed, finished man? Whatever it was, I didn’t care. What mattered was that I was pouring my heart out even though this wasn’t what I had in mind initially, and I was also finding solace for myself. The burden in my heart felt a little lighter, the storm in my head a bit calmer.

“Babe God, maybe You dey reason my matter small sha. You do care,” I whispered.

The room was still, but the silence no longer felt empty. It felt like God was listening. Somewhere in the corner of the room, I heard the faintest laughter and lifted my head immediately. Had I imagined it—was that in my head?

****
Oghene

“Na this kain thin make me fashi church, I swear,” Agu murmured lazily, lifting his grease-stained shirt to expose his bulging stomach. We had just come out of the police station where I had been held since morning and had ordered some plates of pepper soup and drinks in a local bar nearby, the exhaustion and humiliation of the day weighed heavily on me.

It all started with a loud bang at my door, a noise so jarring it yanked me out of sleep. I stumbled to the window, peering out with bleary eyes. At first, I couldn’t understand why a police van was in our compound so early in the morning. But when I saw my landlord speaking to one of the policemen inside the van and looking towards my flat, I knew whatever this was about had to do with me.

With a sense of dread settled in my stomach, I hurried to my front door and unbolt it, but before I could grab the handle, the door was thrown open by someone on the other side, slamming me against the wall with it. Pain shot through my shoulder, and I barely had time to react.

In the blink of an eye, kpokpo men full my house. One dey drag me by my knickers, another one hol my shirt, and others dey shout for my ear.

“Rapist!”

“Na so una go dey disgrace men up and down!”

“See as im dey! See him face!”

“We go comot that preek wey you dey use rape women!”

There was no time for me to ask questions as I was dragged like a man wey steal fowl for market and bundled into their van. My mind raced, trying to make sense of the situation. The van sped off some minutes later, followed by another car. My Rector’s wife’s car.

I had expected the day I’d be summoned to the police station because of this case, but never in my wildest dreams did I imagine it would go down like this. With disgrace. Now my compound people don hear say I rape person. I couldn’t erase the looks of shock and disgust on their faces from my mind. Each face, each expression, was like a knife twisting in my gut. If I’d ever prayed for death to come faster or for me to vanish from the surface of the earth, it was at that moment because I knew this accusation had forever altered my life.

Even if I proved my innocence after all this, I’d never be the same Oghene. Something had snapped. My sense of self, my place in the world, it was all shattered.

“See ehn, if I was present at that police station, I would have killed a lot of people!” Skala said from the live video Shukudi initiated. “Ah-ah. What happens to ‘innocent until proven guilty’?”

“You say! O’boy you think say here na yankee? Na Naija be this o,” Shukudi responded.

“But mehn, Naija is a messed-up country. You can’t try this shit over here. What the hell?

As I watched the men wein no wan make I cry my cry, the men who’d come through for me, as I listened to them rant over my case, I couldn’t help the cloud of tears that gathered in my eyes. It was difficult to reach Shukudi because I didn’t go to the police station with my phone. And when, after writing my statement, I demanded to make a call, no one offered me a phone. Not even my pastor’s wife. Not until noon when the DPO arrived and decided to grant my request.

Shukudi showed up at the police station with Agu so fast, and in less than no time, I was released on bail. I heard they didn’t pay a dime because Akan’elu got involved. The guy had friends in high places. He only placed a call to the Rivers State commissioner, and I was released. The relief was palpable, but it was quickly overshadowed by the dread of what lay ahead.

My problem was far from over, and top on the list was house hunting. I needed to leave my area before shame go kee me. By now, every fowl and goat wein dey street go don know say Oghene rape woman. All eyes would be on me the moment I stepped out. I really didn’t want to face my street people. Not now, not ever.

And I didn’t want to crash at Shukudi or Agu’s place. Those two had done enough for me; I wouldn’t want to be a bother to them anymore. Their kindness was a lifeline, but I couldn't lean on them forever as leaning on them no mean make I press them die. I needed to find my own way, even if it felt impossible right now.

Shukudi’s slap on my shoulder called my lost mind back to the present.

“Skalas is asking what you’d want to do now?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I’d go home and rest for today,” I said, stirring the pepper soup in front of me that had gone cold. “Tomorrow, I’ll start looking for another house.” The thought of facing my neighbors again made my stomach churn, but what choice did I have?

“Definitely—”

“My thought exactly—” Shukudi and Agu said simultaneously.

But they were worried about tonight. How I was going to survive. Agu suggested I follow him home, Shukudi offered me the comfort of his home too. Skalas suggested a hotel; he would pay for as many nights as I would want to lodge there.

But I turned all their offers down. I had my own plan.

Tonight, I’d like to be alone. I’d like to set chairs so baba Godeh and I go yarn, we go run this night under personal relationship levels. I go wan tell the man wey dey for heaven how e dey me for mind. Jesus! He had to tell me why I was in this mess. What did I do wrong?

And how best was I supposed to handle this?

We spent the remaining evening at Agu’s place. By midnight, when we were sure my Neighbours had all gone to bed, Shukudi drove me home and waited for me to get int before he drove off. I packed a few things and left again.

The silence of the night was almost oppressive as I hurried down the street, braking only by the distant croaking of frogs and the occasional rustle of leaves. I kept my head low, avoiding any potential gazes from curious neighbors who might still be awake. I stopped when I got to the road and brought out my phone to book a ride. The battery life was only twenty-four percent. I hoped there would be electric power in my new workshop. The site had been fenced and there was an old, unused shed. I never knew I would have any need of it until now

In less than fifteen minutes, the bold rider pulled over by the site.

“Oga, na here?” he asked.

“Yes.”

I watched him stare at the deserted looking place for a while, then he turned to look at me. I understood the fear in his eyes. The place was still a developing area with very little human activities. But I couldn’t think of any other place I’d want to be tonight. One leaf of the gate had given way to rust and had fallen to the ground. The shed had a door but no windows. The floor was rough and cold. There was no single light bulb in the place, but there was a socket that I could plug in my phone charger.

I closed the door behind me, spread the blanket I’d come with on the cold, hard floor and lay down. The solitude wrapped around me like a blanket, offering a brief respite from the turmoil of the day. Then my mind became a storm of thoughts and emotions, a mix of fear, anger, and sadness. But when I opened my mouth to kabash, one name pushed itself to the forefront of my mind. Ifenkili. I didn’t know where or how it was able to do that, pushing every other fear and worry to the back seat so it could take prominence.

The more I tried to push it away so I could pray for myself, the more it became a burden heavier than all I was going through put together. So heavy that I didn’t know when I began to mutter the name like a spiritual groan that could not be uttered.

Seventeen
Ife

My people always said one could never identify a bad market day from its morning. But there were always signs that a particular day would end up being a disaster. Signs like heading to the clothesline in my backyard to retrieve the outfit I planned to wear to work, only to find that my landlord’s dog had pulled it down and pooped on it. Then, as I hurried to catch up with my colleagues for an official assignment, the heels of my newly bought shoes suddenly came off. To top it all off, I boarded a speedboat to Bonny Island, and it ran out of fuel in the middle of the river. My heart nearly left my body because it was my first time on a boat, and I thought I was going to die.

Fortunately, death was merciful—or perhaps the dark entity was simply passing by. Another boat came along with a gallon of fuel, and our pilot was able to refill his tank and get us moving again.

The company we went to meet was in Finima town. The meeting with their management wasn’t supposed to take more than two hours, but there we were, six hours, twenty-seven minutes, and three seconds after we’d arrived, still sitting at the reception hall like de-feathered angry birds, waiting for a meeting that was scheduled for 9 a.m., to start by 11 a.m.

I was the most agitated. I was supposed to travel down to Elele with Preye today by 5 p.m., I’d be sleeping over at his village house so his people would get to know me better while I also know them. I’d already written to my HOD and had gotten the required permission.

“Excuse me,” I said to the receptionist who was grinning at a video playing on her phone. TikTok Video I guessed. “Excuse me,” I said again to get her attention.

She looked my way, stared for a moment, and unplugged her earphones. “Yes?” she said with irritation.

“Do they know we are still waiting?”

“Yes,” she said with irritation, putting back the earplugs and returning her attention to her phone.

I checked the time on the clock showing Lagos time which was between the other two showing London and South Africa Time zones respectively and hissed. A hand patted my back and I turned to see who it was.

“Calm down,” Emmanuela, one of my colleagues said.

As if I had any option. But the truth was that I needed to leave Bonny that moment I Preye and I wanted to still make the Elele journey today.

I was about to let out another hiss when the receptionist picked up a call that came through her landline, spoke to the caller for a short moment, and announced to us that the management was ready for us.

Less than an hour later, we were done. The company was satisfied with our pension policies and would be signing up.

The journey back to Port Harcourt was easier than expected, and in less than two hours, I was fast asleep inside Preye’s Prado while he drove us to Elele.

I couldn't tell how long I had been out when a sudden jolt shook me from sleep. Groggy and disoriented, I realized we had reached the outskirts of Elele town, and the SUV was no longer in motion. Preye had pulled over at the side of the road, his face tense and alert.

“Sorry, babe. I just got a text message that some hoodlums are robbing motorists a few miles from here,” he said, his voice low and serious. He noticed the fear flash across my face and took my hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Don't worry. We’ve actually gotten close to my place. We can leave the vehicle here and follow a footpath down.”

I glanced around nervously. “What if someone breaks into the car? What if they steal it?”

“Are you kidding me?” he laughed, though it lacked humor. “This is my village. Nobody dares touch my car.”

His confidence was little comfort to me, but I nodded, feeling uneasy. The place was disturbingly silent, and thick forests flanked both sides of the road, deepening the sense of isolation. Despite our prolonged discussion, not a single person walked past, which only heightened my anxiety. I tried to rationalize it, convincing myself that the reported robbery had likely scared people away from traveling this road.

“Come, let’s go. It’s getting late,” Preye urged, taking my hand and leading me toward a narrow, winding path I hadn't noticed before. The trail snaked through the dense forest, its twists and turns making it difficult to see what lay ahead.

After what seemed like an eternity, we arrived at a dilapidated family house that looked as though it had been abandoned for years. The structure was weathered and worn, with peeling paint and overgrown weeds choking the yard. A middle-aged woman with a little girl, no older than twelve, emerged to greet us, their faces expressionless. Another man stepped out from a small security house and asked what I’d like to eat.

“I’m not yet hungry,” I said to the man. “We just arrived.” But the truth was my instincts were screaming that something was wrong. The place was far from the magnificent home Preye had described. It wasn’t even half as decent as my father’s modest three-room house in the village. The compound was unkempt as if no one had tended to it in months. Moreover, the woman didn’t look like she could be his mother, and the man certainly didn’t resemble his father.

Preye frowned at my refusal to eat but quickly masked his disapproval. “Come inside, so you can rest,” he suggested.

I was reluctant to follow him and instead asked to see his parents.

“They’re inside the house. Come, let’s go meet them,” he said, a smile curling slowly across his face, one that never quite reached his eyes. His lips parted just enough to reveal a sliver of teeth, and for the first time since we met, I noticed how unnatural the smile seemed. It was as if it were forced by some unseen puppeteer, and it carried a hint of malice that sent shivers down my spine.

“I’m fine here,” I whispered. I couldn’t tell why that smile paralyzed me with dread. Maybe it was the screaming emptiness of the whole place or the way the middle-aged woman looked at me when she walked past. I felt icy fingers gripping my heart, squeezing tightly, making it difficult to breathe. Slowly but persistently, my skin prickled with intense, cold sweat. My mind raced, conjuring up worst-case scenarios.

“See, I no get time o. Follow me inside.” As he spoke, a chill settled over me. Who was this man who seemed to be transforming rapidly before my eyes? His voice had changed too, becoming a deep, gravelly whisper that reverberated through my bones. Each word was drawn out slowly, dripping with menace.

“No.” I shook my head.

What happened next caught me off guard.
He slapped me so hard that I crashed to the ground, my vision swimming as pain exploded across my cheek. For long seconds, I was blind, deaf, and dumb, reeling from the sudden violence.

“You are mad!” he screamed, his voice filled with rage.

“You think say I dey play with you?”

A loud ringing filled my head, and I struggled to get up, my body trembling. But Preye was relentless. He forcefully dragged me to my feet and slapped me again, demanding to know what I had expected when I decided to follow him down here. Before I could muster a response, he pulled off his suit and shoes, discarding them carelessly. He gathered my hands in one of his, his grip like iron. I fought to break free, but he headbutted me directly on the nose, a sharp, excruciating pain blinding me as darkness closed in.
I passed out.

Sixteen
Oghene


If days were shoes, Wednesday would be the one that pinched so much but had a cute design. First, I was accused of rape for the second time in my life. Then Ifenkili got engaged and told me about it while I was still battling the immeasurable pain the false accusation caused me. Finally, when I returned to my house late in the night after my wandering, I decided to keep my mind off everything by busying myself in the kitchen. At 1 a.m., I cooked ogbono soup that refused to draw. Oghene meh! Why bad things go dey happen to good people?

“My man, do this thing make I commot here nau!” Oga Amadi, a stout man with a temper worse than that of a pregnant hen, shouted at me.

“Sorry, Oga.” How long had I been standing there mourning my life that had just been shattered into multiple pieces?

It was eleven a.m. when I arrived at the workshop to Shukudi and Agu’s surprise. Both men knew what happened to me. They spent the rest of the previous night at my place because my heart was constricting with unshed tears, and I feared I was going to die. Cooking wasn’t as therapeutic as I thought. They’d left my house before the sun came out and instructed that I have a good rest.

I tried to shake off the heaviness in my chest, focusing on the familiar sounds and smells that usually brought me comfort. Wrenches clinking, the hum of engines, the sharp scent of oil. However, everything felt muted, and distant.

"I am so sorry, Oga Amadi," I repeated and slid under his car. The man wanted the usual tune-up and handed me his keys, leaving the workshop to get himself something to eat. How long was he gone for?
Jesus, I was supposed to be done with his car by the time he got back so he could drive it to work. I stared up at the car’s undercarriage, but I couldn’t concentrate enough to start work. It was as if the weight of the accusation, the betrayal, had chosen this morning to bury me under the sand and put a tombstone on my grave.

A loud clank snapped me back to reality. I had dropped a wrench. Cursing under my breath, I reached for it, but my hand was shaking.

"Warri boy, you dey kill yourself for there?" Chukwudi's voice cut through the haze.

"O’boy, I dey alright. Just... distracted," I muttered, sliding out from under the car.

"Distracted? My friend, e sure me say you no dey here with us. Na only your body day, your spirit is long gone," he said, crossing his arms. “Seriously, Oghene, do you want to kill yourself because of one winch way wan use you shine? One angry lady who wanted to hook you with her smelling kpekus but God no gree."

But God gree make the karashika concoct febu against me. And my church, my own pastor whom I’d worked with for years, believed her. I was not the person Sarima told them I was. I would never gbensh a woman without her consent. I wouldn’t even want to do it with consent unless I was finally married to the lady because I loved God. My pastor and his wife knew me, or I thought they did. But yesterday I realized how unreasonable they all were. This morning, before I decided to leave the house, one of the council members had called to tell me that they had convinced Sarima to allow them to take the matter to the police as they weren’t a church that would condole such immorality. He said I should expect a visit from the police.

I shocked the man by telling him I’d turn up any time the police wanted me. From the silence that followed my words, I guessed he thought I would beg or sound afraid. I wouldn’t deny that taking the matter to the police didn’t stir fear in me as only a handful of men got vindicated in a rape case even if the man was innocent. Society had always believed a woman’s accusation over a man’s innocence no matter the evidence presented. But I was more worried that if I sounded afraid people would believe her more. So, I must conceal my fear.

“Bro Oghene. Please, son. Between you and I, tell me if you did it,” the man had said. His voice, although laced with concern, aroused my anger afresh.

I didn’t care what they chose to believe. They decided I was guilty even before I was summoned. They were never going to believe me no matter how much I tried to convince them of my innocence.

“My man, how e dey be you na?” Agu, who was just returning from Ikokwu where he’d gone to purchase a Toyota Corolla’s headlamp, asked.

Before I could answer, Oga Amadi interrupted. "See, I will not sleep here with you guys. I have work to do in the office nau."

"I—I'm sorry," I stammered.

“Oga, sorry.” Shukudi and Agu echoed simultaneously.

Then Shukudi stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Let me help with Oga Amadi’s car. You need a break."

“I can’t have a break,” I murmured, lowering myself to the ground so I could slide back under the car.

“My friend, come dey go house before you knock person engine abeg,” Shukudi retorted, squatting down and peering under the car. “Oya, go my house go stay. My wife and my sister dey for house, they’ll keep you busy so your mind will be off this whole thing.”

I considered the suggestion, then decided I’d fare better with Ezioma and Juoshi around me than remaining here, trying to work with a brain that had refused to cooperate.

“Are they aware?” I asked Shukudi after I’d come out from under the car. “Your wife and your sister, I mean.”

“My wife, yes. She had even wanted you to come over last night, but I told her I’d better come around with Agu instead. We are your guys, we will know how to talk you out of mudding yourself.”

“Thank you,” I said, truly grateful to him and Agu.

“Don’t mention,” he said with a dismissive grin. “Mens mount for you. You think if Skalas dey for PH and hears about this rubbish that he won't go to that your church and set everywhere on fire? I told him about it and guy dey para. Even Akan’elu wan contact his elder brother way dey army.”

Akan’elu, one of our secondary school classmates. A notorious boy who got expelled in SS2 and was now into politics in Abia State. “He called me before I left the house. He wants me to give him Sarima’s details.” But I’d refused. I knew how brutal Akan’elu could be and how far he could go to get the desired result. Back then in school, he’d kidnapped and tortured our math teacher for three days simply because the man gave him thirty strokes of the cane on his bare buttock during the morning assembly. His pain wasn’t the punishment—he didn’t even shed a single tear, but the embarrassment. That was the act that got him expelled. The few times we spoke after I got his number from Shukudi, it was obvious that he hadn’t changed. He was still a hard guy wain fit sew collar for paynt if person no hol am. The paynt sef go carry bow tie join.

I knew he could put an end to this at the snap of the finger, but I feared his process. I didn’t want Sarima to claim that she was threatened and forced into admitting that she’d lied.

“You mean Akan’elu called you?” Shukudi asked with excitement.

“Him and Skalas.”

“O’boy, I tell you say mens mount! We gallant for you! Just give us the go-ahead order to change am for that girl and those una church members. Anybody way do anyhow go receive woto-woto.”

We talked some more while he worked on Oga Amadi’s car. Agu came around for a while, talked me into sharing a bottle of coke and a small loaf of bread with him, then went back to attend to another customer.

“Igbo boy,” I called Shukudi.

“Waffi boy.”

“Why you think say I dey innocent?”

Shukudi slid out from under Oga Amadi’s car, stared at me for a moment and shook his head. “O’boy, no be you again? Fear-fear boy that won't hurt an ant. I know you na. You can be anything but not a rapist.”

I was halfway to his house, which was a trekkable distance from the workshop, when I thought of Ife and I mentally blocked the sadness that wanted to grip me. I get more kasala wein hol me for blokos. Funny enough, I knew, after that night in the Sienna, that she was not going to be mine. She made it obvious to me. But I had fragile boy emotions and didn’t know how to man up and move on.

Even this moment, while I veered off the road, entering the street that led to Shukudi’s house, my pulse kicked impossibly higher as I recalled her features I now knew better than my own; the frown that creased her face, the beauty in her lips, the smile that made her eyes glisten. Most of all, I remember her laughter that was like a burst of water splashed across the face, so unladylike yet so sweet.

Last night, when I saw the ring I’d feared, and when she confirmed my fear, I’d wanted to fall to her feet and beg her, to kiss her so hard that she wouldn’t need words to understand how much I wanted her for myself. I was angry that she’d chosen the other guy over me and that she was happy. I told her that I was happy for her. A part of me wanted that to be true, the other part feared for her...and for me.

For me especially because I would always think about her and mourn. I knew people would tell me how time heals wounds and how I’d get over her with time. “Oh, you'll be happy again, never fear.” But I would not forget. Every time I fell in love it would be because something in the new lady reminded me of Ife.

...So, yes. I did the right thing choosing Preye. I might not have the heart-melting, stomach-jumbling, body-floating kind of feelings for him. But he was a good man who had vowed to give me much more than I’d ever imagined. That was his definition of love, spending money on me, buying me things, making sure I had an easy life. With him, I could even quit my job and venture into something else.

“Am I being unreasonable?” I asked Ale who held the car door for me to settle in before closing it. The stupid, materialistic girl had been treating me like her personal Lord and savior since that evening. According to her, she was securing her place as my bride’s maid and personal make-up artist and hair stylist, and partner in chopping life after the wedding.

“Unreasonable, how?” she asked, narrowing her gaze at me in confusion.

Of course, she didn’t understand.

“Choosing Preye over—”

“Oh,” she got it now. “Girlfriend, what are you talking about? Unreasonable, how? You got what a lot of women seek. Babes go to prayer houses, burn candles, and fast for forty days and nights to get a man like Preye, and you are here asking me if you are unreasonable because of one low-budget Romeo that you are not even sure when he would make it in life and if he would even look your side if he makes it.” She hissed and rolled her eyes. “Abeg no spoil my night joor.”

Regardless of my torn feelings, I managed to give off laughter.

“Girl, no dey vex me o.” Ale gave my cheek a mild slap. “You don't know how much I envy you right now. See your moto now. How many of your mates dey drive this kain moto? If you carry this one land for your bank, them go make you the manager sharp-sharp.”

I laughed some more, this time harder. “Ale you are a fool. Eziokwu m, enwero ife eji gi eme.”

That was a relief. The jokes, the laughter. For a moment, I felt lighthearted.

“But I am not lying na. You manager dey drive this kain moto? Girl, you’ll be worshipped in your office tomorrow if you carry this car to work. Asin...everybody go stand salute you—” She stomped her feet and gave me a military salute. “Governor general among the nations...”

Toppling in laughter, I reached for her stomach and punched her. “Stop, please—”

She dodged my second punch, laughing. “But seriously, babe. The sisterhood is proud of you for bagging this price. You don’t know how lucky you are. Abegi come make you dey go before night close and your man go arrest me if anything happens to you.”

We said goodnight and I headed home.

Was I as fortunate as Ale claimed? I now had a new car, a costly ring adorning my finger, and a tangible hope of becoming Mrs. Somebody very soon. Everything seemed to be falling into place faster than I could have imagined.

Tomorrow, I would be traveling to Elele with Preye to meet his family. Preye was confident his people would love me.

“You have nothing to fear,” he assured me. “My parents are kind. You, on the other hand, are lovely and humble. My family will adore you.”

Before he left, we discussed meeting my family and the kind of wedding I envisioned. I wanted a grand celebration, the kind that would make my enemies drink their tears. Preye was on board with that. He loved what I loved and wanted to do everything to make me happy, even offering me a trip to Dubai. Dubai! I had never crossed the Nigerian border, not even to enter Cotonou. The farthest I’d ever traveled to was Abuja, courtesy of my bank.

Maybe accepting this proposal wasn't such a bad idea after all. Before Preye left, I handed him my international passport. He would need it to start processing my visa. We laughed at my picture in the document because it was unflattering. It didn't look like me at all, even on my worst days. I remembered my mother asking if I had escaped from a psychiatric ward when she saw the photo.

“You're still beautiful to me,” Preye said, pocketing the document.

Later, we spoke about the genotype test. Ale had brought it up. It shocked me that she would mention it, considering that she knew how much I hated the topic. I despised the existence of genotype checks; they seemed like a cruel flaw in creation. They had taken so many potential suitors from me because I was AS.

But Preye reassured me by confessing he was AA, so I had nothing to worry about.

As I nosed up at my gate, honked, and waited for the gateman to roll the iron sheet open, I thought to myself; Something good could come out of this. What was I even saying? I chose Preye because I knew what I wanted. Marriage, comfort, financial security. And Preye wasn’t dumb when it came to romance. I was the one holding back, closing my emotions towards him because I wouldn’t want to have sex with him. I wanted the ring and his name first. We’d kissed on a few occasions, and I’d allowed him to touch my breasts, squeezing them as if he was trying to extract the last drop of juice from a dry orange. I always cut those moments short because they reminded me of unpleasant adventures than romance, which was a good thing in a way. I wouldn’t want to have sex with him yet.

I was a Jesus babe, and in team ‘no sex before marriage.’

A Jesus' babe? Such a laughable thing to call myself this moment that I wasn’t sure of my salvation anymore. I’d gone from lowering God’s standards because I didn’t want to offend Preye into losing interest in me, to desiring Oghene unhealthy times in two days like an animal who cared nothing about being called a sinner. I guessed the title of a shameless hypocrite would suit me better. Because my emotions had a way of shrinking or completely disappearing whenever Preye touched me in a certain way, making it impossible for me to allow him to cross a certain limit, just kissing and touching. But with Oghene, it would gush like a broken dam. So unhinged. Only the thought of him made me desire to be in his room, on his bed, under him, him inside me while I stared into his eyes. I didn't know if that was love or just need, but I knew I had dwelt on this desire to know him in a much more intimate way than I’d wanted that with Preye. I needed what I'd never known, and I needed it from him. It might destroy everything or build something. I really didn't know. I just knew…

Why was I even thinking about him when I should be planning my trip to Elele with my husband-to-be?

Sixteen
Ifenkili

“That’s him?”

“Hmm.”

“He’s fine o.”

And he was walking away without looking back. Bouncing along as if we were just commuters who had boarded the same bus, shared a few smiles only to part at the bus stop. I looked over my shoulder, hoping to catch him standing a distance away, staring at me. I only caught a fading image of him jogging—almost running down the road.

I wanted to think that he was hurt by the knowledge of me getting engaged, that the realization that I would never be his no matter what he felt for me...I felt for him... would drive a stick into his heart and as he watched me leave, even the shreds of his heart would be shriveled into dust and blew away. But I didn’t think he felt a thing. Not sadness. Not lost. He was like a man drained of emotion.

When he said he was happy for me, I wanted to see the lie in his words, but he disappointed me with that smile that was neither of genuine happiness nor hidden sadness. Had he given me a frown or called me a fool who wouldn’t know a good man even if he fell from the sky, I would have been glad.

But he did none of those. Rather, he denied me from seeing how much I meant to him, poured upon me that nasty feeling of grief, and made me want to crawl into a hole and cry myself to sleep. Can one grieve the loss of something that had only begun to flicker with the promise of existence?

My first thought, when I didn’t notice any shift in his countenance as he saw my ring, was that it wasn’t fair that he still looked so peaceful and in control when I was shaking like I’d woken up in the middle of an ocean. The second was that he smiled when I told him of my engagement. It made me feel like I never took any part of him which he was going to miss. And he never had any part of me he’d hidden in the store of his heart, which he would fish out like a jewel thief when no one was watching.

I wished I could be as strong as he was, so that I wouldn’t spend night after night, at least for months to come, thinking about him, mourning the relationship that never was. And when my ache for him dulled, I would only have the distant memory of him to hold on while I built a life with another man. He would not go away from me completely. I knew that now because, somehow, within this short time, he had made his way into every cell, had taken over every thought, and had been responsible for the best and worst feelings I've ever had.

And I had fallen in love with him. I didn’t know the depth of it until today—tonight, while looking at him and thinking; “Ifenkili, what is it that you want and why aren't you fighting for it?” Truly, love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.

But this was for my good. This truth, this separation. For what was love without marital and financial security? Oghene hadn’t offered me marriage but a relationship that might or might not lead to marriage. We would just be testing the waters until he was ready to settle down and we were both convinced that both of us would want to do life together.

What if we never come to that conclusion?

One thing was certain though, I loved Oghene. I didn't know if this would change as I do life with Preye. But now, this moment, No one, not even the doubting part of me, could make me feel bad for admitting this to myself, and this conviction that I could have that great love that I've read about in novels with Oghene.

Only that a girl had to do what a girl had to do to secure a future for herself and her local government. Even Auntie Okwuchukwu, my mother’s younger sister said this to me the last time I spoke with her. “A girl must consider financial security among other things when choosing a man.” It was her regret, not choosing a wealthy man over her current husband. “Love a poor man all your days, if you choose, but don't let it spoil you, for it is wicked to throw away so many good gifts because you want a fairy tale love.”

Nwiboko26:
Nothing pain person pass false accusation. Wetin Samira go gain for this kain thing chai I dey pity brother oghene o. Coupled with Ifenkili's engagement. Thank you very much Aunty Rosy for the update

do4luv14:
Aunty Rosemary33, I no read again o<

which kind double gbas-gbos you dash Oghene for a day, kaiii 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

Oya, no vex

mostob:
If I break my phone today, you all should hold the author responsible.

TBH, fasle accusation is something that triggers my anger...and that, to the highest threshold. But the satisfaction I get when the truth reveals itself is the most soothing. Hopefully, Oghene comes out of this web.

Weldone Madam Rosemary

No break your phone o

...
She screamed and struggled to free herself from my grip. The reverend’s wife sprang to her feet immediately and grabbed my arm. "What...you want to beat a woman?” she shouted, trying to free Sarima. “You are a fool. An idiot!”

The others swung to action, grabbing my arms, and my waist. Slapping my back. They succeeded in pulling me away and took Sarima to a safe distance.

“So you don’t only rape women, you beat them too?” My reverend blurted, giving me the most hateful look I’d seen.

"I..." My breath comes in a hiccup. "I didn't—" I wasn’t going to lay my hands on her. I was only going to make her look me in the eyes and blow that Fabu...that lie again.

"You are worse than I thought.” My reverend murmured with disgust.

“Pathetic rapist," his wife added.

Rapist. Something within me snapped at that word. It was the same thing Eserovwe’s papa called me, a stigma that traumatized me for a long time. Heat raced through my body, driving in the urge to smack someone so hard that my knuckles would burn with the impact while I keep repeating the words, ‘I am not a rapist,’ over and over until they get it.

“I am not a rapist,” I gritted, staring my reverend hard on the face, breathing hard.

He stared back. “If you are not, why then did you invite a young woman to your house in the night?”

"Shut up," I said so harshly to him, yanked my arm from his grasp, and turned to leave. Then I cast one last, desperate glance back. My eyes met Sarima’s for a fleeting moment. For a brief second, I thought I saw a flicker of guilt in her tear-streaked eyes. She looked away immediately and I walked out of the room.

‘It’s happening again,’ I thought, slamming the door behind me and racing down the stairs. Outside, cool air hit my face, mingled with the pain that was clawing the whole of me. I lowered my head and walked fast out of the church’s premises and into the night. I didn’t want to go home. I’d scream and break things if I found myself alone. So, I kept walking, oblivion of the children still playing on the street, of couples holding hands and smiling up at each other, and of women coming back from the evening market. My soul was becoming so cold with hatred for everything. I was sure it despised the moon right now. I cringed at the sight of the young man in a white cassock strolling down the other side of the road—I knew him, he was one of our priests. My stomach coiled at the laughter of the two ladies walking out from Ekere Street, I felt like they were laughing at me, so I hastened my step to walk past them.

Then I heard a very familiar voice

“Bro Oghene?”

It was Ife. Her voice temporarily brought me back from the dark like a tether that dragged me to some sort of sanity. I stopped but didn’t turn or retract my steps to meet her. I heard murmurs, like deliberation between her and the lady she was with. Then she approached me.

“Oghene—I didn’t think...what are you doing here?”

She touched my shoulder and I flinched. Did I hate that too—the touch? It made me want to turn around into her embrace. And in that position, she would understand my pain and loss without asking me to explain. She would only wrap me in her arms, hold me, silently stroke my back, and let me know that she was there with me.

I finally turned. “I came to see Rector,” I said with composure. “You, what are you still doing outside?”

She gave me a funny look. “It’s only 8 p.m. I followed my friend home and she’s seeing me to my...car.”

Something about the pause before she mentioned ‘car’ struck a nerve. I ignored it and shrugged. “Your friend seemed impatient,” I said.

She glanced back at the lady who had her hands akimbo, and her stare trained on us, and waved. That was when I saw it. The ring on her finger. It was huge and shiny. I didn’t know anything about precious stones but that one seemed very expensive.

She caught me staring at it and brought her hand down immediately, almost hiding it.

“I...Oghene I got engaged today.”

The only kind of shock worse than the totally unexpected was the expected for which one hadn’t prepared for. Her news didn’t only shock me. It hurt me like a stab in an open wound. She was looking at me so closely, probably searching for any sign of crack.

“Oghene I—”

“I’m happy for you,” I interrupted, forcing a smile.

She held my gaze for a moment, then returned the smile and nodded. “Thank you.”

“Your ring is beautiful.”

Her smile grew.

“I guess he is good to you.”

She laughed now. “He is okay,” she said with a satisfying nod.

I understood when women like Ifenkili addressed a man, with such satisfaction on their faces, as being okay. It meant the guy was more than everything she’d wanted. A total package. Maybe I was wrong about this man she got engaged to. He might not be as bad as my intuitions made me believe. And she seemed to be happy.

Her friend shouted her name, “Come make you begin go nau,” she said with irritation. “You know you have a new car. Make bad boys no collect am abeg.”

She’d got a new car. Another thing she didn’t want me to know, perhaps. So I suppressed the urge to ask her when she got it or if it was part of the engagement package. “Your friend dey vex,” I said. “And she is right. You should get home before it gets very late. Port Harcourt is not secured at night for a young girl like you.”

She nodded. Waved me goodnight, a gesture that I interpreted as a goodbye.

“I’ll see you,” she said.

I don’t think so, Ife. I don’t think so.

Fifteen
Oghene


"He raped me!"

My emotional pain included the feeling that I had lost all capacity to be strong and get a hold of myself. The agony I was going through was excruciating and looked as if it would never end. Suddenly, I felt beaten down, agitation, emptiness, and incoherence. 'Snap out of it,' sounded like a demand to high jump ten feet.

“I am telling the truth. He tore my clothes and raped me!”

I had woken up this morning with an odd feeling that something would go wrong. Today no go level. I’d done a mental check and searched my dreams from last night for a hint. When I couldn’t find anything, I kabashed and left for work, but nothing seemed to cheer me up. The bright blue sky made me sad. So did the little talks at the workshop, the phone calls, and the food. I felt uneasy. My heart swelled with the tears my eyes couldn’t shed as I went through my day. I tried to keep my focus, ticking off the to-do list: service cars, send text messages, return calls, pay bills. But the panic kept growing, exploding in my chest, eating me up.

I couldn’t count how many times Shukudi asked if I was alright, and I’d replied that I was fine. I seriously wanted to be fine. Instead, I was consumed by an undefined fear, like something terrible was closing in on me. Initially, I blamed it on Ifenkili’s rejection. It angered me that a mere rejection could send me into such a state of disturbance, especially when I’d prayed and asked God to help me forget about her.

But as the day went on and this feeling of impending trouble took over every part of me, I knew it wasn’t just about Ifenkili. This dread woke me up, went to work with me, and returned home with me. As I moved around the house like a man stranded in water, getting ready for my meeting with Reverend Osondu, a persistent note of feverishness came over me. I’d called Maleh and my siblings to find out if kasala burst for house and was told that ground level for their side.

When I was ushered into the Reverend’s sitting room, where four men from the church council, the Reverend himself, and his wife were waiting, their faces etched with a seriousness I couldn’t understand, and Sarima, her eyes red and puffy from crying, my heart began to race faster.

“It’s him. He raped me!”

I stood frozen for what felt like an eternity, looking at her in confusion. Her words echoed in my head like a death knell, and the expression of fear and loathing on her face hit me like a punch to the gut.

“Did you do it?” the reverend asked.

Before I could shake off my stunned state to reply, his wife interrupted.

“Daddy, why would you ask if he did it? What do you expect him to say? Of course, he’ll deny it. We are not going to honor him with that privilege,” she spat, standing up to address me. “Oghene, you are evil! A wolf in sheep’s clothing. God!”

Soon everyone was talking at once, fingers wagging at me, faces contorted with anger. Sarima sobbed louder and louder, clutching her hands to her chest as if the mere memory was causing her physical pain.

But I didn’t do it. I dey smoke kpakpa to try that kain thing?

My mind raced, struggling to process what was happening. "How... How nau?" I wanted to scream, "I no do am! I no fit do dat kain tin!" But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, I felt like I was drowning, the room closing in on me, the walls pulsating with my increased heartbeat. I was rapidly sliding into a storm of black panic and half-demented malfunction that started almost unnoticed, like a careful housekeeper locking up a rambling apartment, noiselessly going about and turning off, one by one, my mind’s thousand small accesses to thinking.

“Please... please. All of you. Let’s take it easy,” the reverend said. He was the only calm person among them, but in his eyes, I saw the same thing I saw in the others: disappointment, disbelief, a verdict already passed. “Tell us what happened, Brother Oghene.”

My mouth went dry, my pulse thundering in my ears. “I-I don’t... I didn’t touch her,” I managed to say, looking at the reverend and his wife, seeking some sign of understanding. But their faces were stern, their eyes filled with condemnation.

"I no lash this babe na," I found my voice and said. My use of a vulgar word must have worsened the situation because the reverend’s wife muttered the name of the Lord, and the others narrowed their disapproving glares at me. "I no do am. Sarima, na watin dey work you. I didn’t touch you nau. Tell them. Tell them how you came to my house that night and what happened!"

Sarima's sobs grew louder and more insistent, and every tear that fell felt like acid on my skin. I clenched my fists at my sides, my nails digging into my palms, trying to anchor myself to reality. But the reality was a nightmare, a dark storm of disbelief and horror.

"I swear I no touch her," I croaked as my voice failed me again.

With a tap on her lap, the reverend calmed his wife, who had started raining curses on me. Then he stood up, and moved forward, his eyes boring into mine. "Did you take her into your house?” he asked.

“Yes. She called me that night. She said she was stranded—”

“You liar!” Sarima shouted. “You were the one who invited me. You took my number when we met in the market, and you called me. I told you it was late but you said it was important. I trusted you—" She was speaking too fast, words tumbling out. "I came because you said you were depressed and needed someone to talk to. You deceived me. You raped me!"

As she spoke, something sharp struck my heart. It was as if Sarima’s accusation was uncovering something I’d put a lid on and had left unattended. Down there, among the motionless dark figures, lurked sleeping things—nameless, shapeless; things that could only be felt when they stir. One of the long-lost terrors of childhood returned to me, Eserovwe’s papa’s accusation that disgraced me. Everything became unreal, even the evidence of my own senses became intangible.

As Sarima dissolved into tears again, wailing uncontrollably, my fierce emotion became like an unwanted rope, pulling my past trauma back to the surface.

I wanted to speak, but the reverend’s wife waved a dismissive hand in irritation, cutting me off with a look of pure venom. "I vote that he be dismissed from the church," she spat, her voice trembling with rage. “Before anything, he must be dismissed first.”

“That is not punishment enough. What if he changes church or relocates to another city?” one of the church council members said. “I think we have to publicly shame him.”

“No... no,” the reverend began to object but was interrupted by the council member who had suggested public shaming.

“My Rector, sir. I insist we announce his dismissal in church. We must state the reason for this so that members would know that he is such a beast!”

“I still say we keep this quiet for now until we get to the bottom of it,” the reverend said. “While trying to do the right thing, we must be careful not to cause damage to the church’s reputation—”

They deliberated as if I wasn’t there with them. I wasn’t actually, even though my eyes were darting between faces, my legs light on the ground, it almost gave way.

"I didn’t do it," I said in my mind. "I no touch her"

Sarima’s wails intensified, and she buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking. And I felt tears prick my own eyes, not of guilt, but of despair. "Why is she doing this? " I thought desperately. "Watin she wan gain?" Then I began to feel a surge of anger. Bellowing, howling anger that I first felt at the soles of my feet like an increasing body of water. It rapidly consumed every part of me. I marched toward Sarima and wrenched her to her feet...

do4luv14:
Marry Who, 🔥 🔥 🔥 burn that yeye proposal to Ashes Amen 😥😖😞

Bia Hanty Rosemary33, I no like this update oooo, Oya talk say na dream

Who dey? Make I run before them catch me

...“Where your mind dey. Abeg, anything you are thinking that is not about how to accept this good man’s ring when he offers, so we can start planning your wedding immediately, I reject it for you in Jesus' name.”

I laughed. One of the beautiful things about my friendship with the crazy Aleruchi, who sucked as much as I did in picking men, was that we had a way of making light of each other’s situations. Here I was, struggling with my newfound feelings for one man I never knew I could give a second look when I should have been full of glee because of this crazy attention I’d been getting from Preye since morning, and Aleruchi was dismissing my confusion with humor.

But I had another fear. The whole back-to-back act of care from Preye seemed odd. I didn’t know why it smelled of all the love-bombing Chizi carried out on me summed up in less than a day. While my female colleagues were literally envious of me today because of this special care and I felt so special and loved after a very long time, I still had this fear.

You know, the last time I was treated this way, I soaked it up. Like, “Yes, I’m the most amazing woman ever. Yes, I do deserve the world even though I’d known Chizi for less than a month.”

Then I found out the truth and I was left stunned. My boosted self-esteem was strongly affected. Now, it was happening again. Even though I felt that Preye was different, serious, and straight to the point with me, unlike Chizi. I couldn’t shake off this discomfort that made my heart skip each time I thought about how fast I was going with Preye.

Maybe it was the bro Oghene’s effect and nothing else. It must have been because until last night, I was feeling so excited about Preye, but now I was struggling to keep the excitement on. No be juju be this?

“Madam, what is it?” Ale asked, shifting closer.

“What is what?”

“Why are you suddenly cold?”

“Cold... how?”

“I expected that you’d come here to invite me to paint the town red with you. Girl, your new man sent you a money bouquet. Real money, not fake. How much is it sef?”

“A total of 450k.”

“What?” Ale screamed. She grabbed my hand, and I felt her excitement from her firm grip. “Girl, this one loud o.”

“See doings na,” one of the ladies in the salon muttered. “Na this kain man I dey find. Men that don’t get scared of spending money on their women.”

“My sister,” Ale concurred. “Men that can match you aura for aura. Maintenance fee 500k.”

“Dey play,” the first lady said dreamily. “This kain man can pay even a million for maintenance.”

The talk went on and on. Like the ladies in my office, these ones felt I was lucky. They wished they were in my shoes, advising me not to lose Preye because he was the dream prize for every woman. Soon, I began to see through their eyes and understood why I must be happy. I loved the soft life, and Preye had shown he could give me that and more. It was when I was finally alone with Ale that I casually mentioned Oghene.

As I spoke about him, I felt this sense of loss, of emptiness, and need for a soul to cling to. A body to keep me warm. To rest and trust; to pour myself into. Like magic, I felt him so close even though he was not. It was like a pull in the pit of my stomach, like hunger but deeper, heavier. Like the saddest kind of expectation.

“What type of job does he do?” my friend asked. “Does he have a car... a house he built by himself? Is he a spender... you know, can he take care of a woman?”

I told her he wasn’t rich but comfortable. He might not have been a spontaneous spender, but he took me to the club and gave me a good time. I told her that he was a nice Jesus guy who would give any woman peace. But Aleruchi turned her nose up in disgust. She didn’t like that I would think of considering an average man for a relationship or marriage.

“Peace doesn’t put food on the table. No woman makes it in life by dating a nice guy who can’t spend lavishly on her.” She called him an impoverished and broke dude.

“No disrespect to anyone,” she said, “but I don’t think you were raised to have a man and still be struggling. Assuming this Oghene asked you to marry him, and you agreed, girlfriend, you’ll continue to struggle. It’s supposed to become easier, not harder, as you progress in life. Suffer no dey tire you?”

I hated it that she would talk about him like that. But sadly, I agreed with her. I’d known struggle all my life as if there was a generational curse upon my head. From hawking stuff along the road to raising money for something as small as exam fees to taking up menial jobs to support myself in the university. I also started drop shipping and kids’ extra moral classes during my NYSC. Now, I had a decent-paying job, but it was never enough as family bills seemed to be choking the living daylight out of me. I should have changed my car—an ancient Kia Picanto given to me by one of our unmarried sisters in church who had relocated to Berlin—but I didn’t seem to always have money to do anything extra for myself. I only had enough to look decently good and live one day at a time.

Seriously, I envied people who had no responsibilities to take care of, no battles to fight, and no generational curses to break. Their homes did not need rebuilding. They just grew up to have everything easy... going to school, getting jobs, inheriting wealth and connections from their parents, and living their best lives. Why wasn’t I one of those people? God, I needed a break. Preye seemed like that break.

I liked him. He was such a cool guy, even with his annoying egocentrism and arrogance. But did I love him enough?

Ale said love alone wouldn’t cook a pot of soup or buy a soft mattress. Besides, since in just a few weeks, he seemed to have checked all my financial boxes, and I’d developed a sort of likeness for him, love would blossom with time.

But Oghene... such an ordinary warmth I allowed myself to take in like air. Such a sweet man. That night he sent me away, I’d wanted to hear him running after me. Then the sound of my door, which would not be locked, being pushed open as he'd step into my apartment. I had imagined him slipping his arms around me, drawing me close, covering my mouth with his without asking, making me want him more than I thought I could ever want another living soul, gently, softly, and with kindness.

A part of me regretted why I was only realizing my feelings for Oghene now. Another part mocked me for being ridiculous. In life, a lady must be intentional when choosing a man, and if I was being realistic with myself, Oghene didn’t seem to be the guy who would give me financial security and comfort.

I wasn’t a gold digger, trust me. But even the Bible spoke about resting from struggles, ‘There remaineth a rest...” it said. So, I needed rest from my struggling.

Yet, Oghene... he was everywhere in my head like an unsettling soulful song, following me everywhere, sleeping and waking up with me. While I tried to concentrate on my day’s tasks, while I chatted with colleagues, while I received Preye’s lavish gifts, ate the food and pastries, counted the money, and celebrated with colleagues, I caught the briefest impression of him: an average tall man possessing a broad form packed tightly with the kind of muscle hard-won through years of hard and strenuous work. Then there was sadness on his face each time I imagined him. It was the same look he had when I refused his offer. Maybe I should give him a call when I got home. We would talk about last night and why we would never be anything other than two delulu adults desiring each other. I would confess to him that I might have fallen in love with him, but love doesn’t buy Prada.

I waited for Ale to close for the day. Then we headed for her place where she changed into something more suitable for a night out and followed me to my house. I’d wanted to change out of my work clothes too. But I wasn’t ready for the surprise waiting for me at home.
None of us were.

Parked in a very conspicuous space in my compound was a brand-new C-Class Sedan Mercedes-Benz decorated with ribbons and balloons. My first thought was that Benson, my neighbor, had gotten his wife a love gift. That man too dey do too much. He was always rubbing how much he adored his wife of seven years to our faces and would grab every little chance to buy her things. The last one was a Toyota Highlander on Salah day! They weren’t even Muslims. I would never forget the day I joined them at the cinema to go watch A Tribe Called Judah. I had already planned to go but then heard them talking about it while walking to their car, so I decided to save my fuel and join them. Eziokwum, that was the day singlehood pointed a gun at my face. These lovebirds almost killed me with public displays of affection. They couldn’t keep their hands away from each other even for a minute.

“Who dem wan propose to for your compound?” Aleruchi asked, admiring the car.

“I know?” I grabbed my friend’s hand and dragged her along towards my flat, while I mentally shuffled through the single guys in my compound who could afford such a ride for an intended wife. Or a lady whose man could afford to gift her this kind of car.

My door flung open before I could slot my key. My brother stood in front of me, wearing the widest grin I’d ever seen on his face. I stared at him with suspicion. Why was he still around? And what was responsible for that smile on his face? Had he won a big bet?

“Sister!” he cooed, pulling me into a very tight hug that I struggled to breathe. “You don hammer!” He lifted me off the floor. I had to kick and punch his shoulders for him to put me down.

“What is this about?” I asked. “What have you done that you are trying to cover up—kedu ihe imebiri?” I looked at Aleruchi to confirm that she was suspicious too. She was also grinning. I knew that grin. She always wore it on her face when she had connived with someone to either surprise or undo me.

Ale glanced at her phone that had just beeped, nodded, and raised her head. “Babe, follow me,” she turned back.

“Follow you to where?”

“Sister, follow her nau. No dey do strong head.”

Before I objected, Aleruchi grabbed my hand and we headed towards the parked car. There were more than a dozen people gathered now—my neighbors, smiling as if they were in on a prank. I was sure someone had planned this and had gotten every one of these people involved. How much did the person pay them?

I stopped walking. “Babe... Aleruchi...” I tried to free my hand from her grip.

“Ife, I no dey carry you go do yahoo-yahoo,” she said, holding firm. “Trust your babe!”

The grin on everyone’s face grew wider and wider as
we neared the car. Aleruchi made us walk to the other side of it and... I froze. Down on his knees, with an opened box containing a ring and a car key in his hand, was Preye.

“Ife, marry me.”

Fourteen
Ife

If my mother's dream was anything to go by, I would be having my traditional wedding in December. Okay, let me give you the gist. I had woken up to the sound of my brother banging on my door. My mother had been trying to reach me, and when I wasn’t picking up my phone, she called my brother who, luckily for her, was still in my house.

At first, I thought that something bad had happened to her, my father, or any of my siblings and relatives. I was relieved to learn that it was none of that. The reason for the urgent call was because of a dream she had the previous night.

In the dream, I was getting married to a very rich man during the festive season. She said it was a confirmation of an answered prayer. Apparently, my mother had visited a prophet who instructed her to start getting ready; my marriage was assured, and it would be at the end of the year.

The prophecy came with terms and conditions though: block all calls from all unknown numbers because her enemies would want to use my voice as a point of contact at their coven. I had asked my mother what concerned her enemies with my number, and why there must be a contention between heaven and hell before someone’s son would take me seriously.
Anyway, the future looked promising already. For the first time in my adult life, I got breakfast, lunch, and a money bouquet today, courtesy of Preye. Truly, miracles no de tire Jesus.

Parking my car in front of a provision store, I crossed to the other side so I could get to Aleruchi’s shop. An unruly and uncouth biker brushed me with the metal body of his bike as he slowed to let a passenger alight.

I lifted my hand in his direction and spread my fingers. “Waka!” I spat angrily.

“Big nyash, getat… Comot for road,” he shouted back.
I was about to return the energy when his comeback settled on me. He had called me ‘big nyash.’ Me, big nyash! “You dey craze,” I muttered with a smile. The man was confused at first, then he smiled back.

“Fine geh,” he said and drove off.

I stepped into Aleruchi’s place with that smile on my face, ignoring her and her customers to go check myself in her full-length mirror. Actually, I checked my backside. I had never thought of myself as a big nyash owner. I never imagined that my backside had enough personality to make a statement. But I was aware the babe was just there, not lacking, not doing too much either. Just chilling. But if an angry man said it was big, then I was compelled to believe him. The man could have called me anything, anything at all... but he chose ‘big nyash.’ That meant he knew what he saw.

“Babe na watin—why you dey look your small bom-bom?” Aleruchi asked.

“Ale, please, allow me to have this moment.”

“Ha, small yansh dey shake,” she retorted and burst out laughing.

“You say?” Taking a balanced stance, legs slightly widened, I bounced so my behind could clap. It did. Ah, who would have thought...I never knew, I’d never tried it before. “See—Ale, can your bom-bom ever! Don’t annoy me now o.”

“Ife, e don do. Your nyash big, I agree,” she hissed. “Something that will not matter in heaven.”

Everyone in the salon laughed.

“Ehen. Make I enjoy am here on earth. Hater.”

After a while, when she was done with the cornrow she was making for a customer, we settled down to talk.

“So, are you going to marry him?” Ale asked with excitement. I had been gisting her about my relationship with Preye, my fears, my concerns. About last night, how he stood me up, though I was able to have fun regardless. Today, while at work, I had kept her updated with the turn of events: the food and the money bouquet. I even made a short clip inside the toilet with the bouquet and sent it to her.

She had awwed.

I had squirmed.

But this question about saying yes to Preye if he eventually popped the question, why did I have to hesitate before giving a response? I knew what response to give, but it would amplify this feeling of uneasiness gnawing inside me since last night, since I left Oghene.

Hey, Oghene. I had planned to call him today, if possible, I had wanted to go in search of his house this evening after work. There was so much I needed to know, feelings I needed to explore, questions that I wanted answers to: like why was I awake half of the night thinking about the kiss he denied me, and my stomach tensing so hard it hurt? Why was I panting softly as the sensations of my longing for him consumed me? Why did I have my eyes shut tight, and in my mind, I felt myself grinding against what felt like the palm of his hand or maybe his wrist, loving the friction it created over and over again? Why did I have to squeeze my thighs, whimpering words that didn’t make sense while imagining him gently kissing my skin, licking it soothingly, murmuring his praise, apologies, filthy words against my damp flesh?

“Madam,” Ale slapped my shoulder. “Where you keep your mind?”

“Oh, sorry,” I hissed. “My mind was somewhere else.”
...