TAGS: FICTION, ROMANCE, SERIES
click here for Episode 6
Her question, like a catapulted
stone, hit deep into my heart and electrifies my body. Her pleading eyes and
cloudy face send chills to my veins.
I shiver.
Then lower my head.
My throat is heavy with frozen
words. As much as I need you like oxygen, value you like my eyes, dream of you
like I was Joseph, you never love me. This, certainly, will be a pretentious
and passionless kiss. I wish I could scream all these to her.
MC counting on: 5…..6……
This is inevitable like death.
My head turns upright. For the first time, I
gather the courage to stare directly at her treasured face. When I look deep
into her emerald eyeballs, her body shivers, her eyes flicker. Like a naked lamp
in the wind. Meanwhile, between our locked eyes, she is clearing the drinks
aside. The table is less enough for a comfortable meet.
7….8….
We start inching our lips closer.
Four inches gap.
My breaths pacing fast—my heart, faster.
Three inches.
I can feel her loud breaths storming
at my nostrils.
An inch.
Her round lips are flipping, her shoulders
quaking.
Then...
Gently she arrests my lower lip,
cocking her head aside, while I claim her upper lip. Our noses press together
like pads. Slippery, glossy, fruity, I suck slowly—like a sleeping baby to
mother’s breast. Her jerky breaths, as warm as steams from boiling water, blow
across my nostrils—rushing down my lungs with rosy scents.
Our lips alternate position. Her lower
lip, likewise delicious as a succulent apple, slip into my mouth and I suck. And
she angles her head more, to the right, grabbing my both hands on the table,
tighter and tighter, as if to pull my body close to her. Her eyes, after shining
bright like greedy flames, close tautly. Her tongue is sword-fighting and
melting with mine, swirling around my throat—like she is licking an ice cream. I
gulp her flavoured, juicy saliva, unconsciously. I regret she is a better
kisser, and somehow in control of me—going out of hand. I close my eyes, too. Radiating
in my blood is a feverish heat, awaking and igniting all the tissues in my
system; like petrol on dying fire-woods. Then I slip…
“Stop!”
The speaker bursts out, just as my soul is
beginning to drift outside world, and when the impact has started shooting ‘downstairs’.
Trying to free my lips, she
wouldn’t let go; like a desperate fly on palm wine vessel. She must have forgotten
the deal. She is still clutching to my arms.
We both pull apart, slowly and
calmly.
“Sor…sorry, please,” She whispers,
slants her head aside, panting like one who has just finished a kilometer race.
I also bend my head. I feel so renewed,
like a dead tree being restored by the rain.
Nonetheless, I feel sorry. I reckon that I have taken advantage of her.
Was that even my fault? Why am I blaming myself?
She is now hunching over her drink,
her breaths slackening. Resting her left hand on the table, she sips a drink from
the right. She wiggles her head from side to side, to reset her flowing hair—a dark,
natural shoulder-length.
From the stage, the MC is praising
every couple for a well-performed love show. I glance at my wrist watch. 6:33pm.
But the sky is more of yellow than blue, bathing the atmosphere with twilight.
“Thanks,” she finally reveals her
face, supporting her jaw with the backside of her both hands, elbows on the
table, “for not disgracing me.”
“You’re welcome,” I drop my head, tapping
my fingers around the Bacardi glass.
She again lowers her head and says,
“Mathew.”
“Yes,” I lift my head.
She casts a look at me, with narrowed
eyelids.
“I want you to understand,” her
voice weakens, “that you are no longer an ordinary staff to me. We have become
friends,” she takes a deep breath, pouting her lips, “in that case; you gat to start
addressing me by my name. I prefer Janet, Ada is my native name.”
After a brief pause, I say,
“Okay.”
“But,” she continues, tooth-picking
aimlessly on her suya, “at the office, you can maintain my official identity,
until I sort out myself.” She has said, as if unconscious of her words, “I hope
you wouldn’t reveal the false engagement issue to anyone.”
This time, she stares at my face with
questioning eyes.
“Yeah,” I nod fast, furrowing my
brows in assurance.
“T…Thanks again, for earlier on,”
her voice sways, head drooping.
I sigh. “It’s okay.”
ADAEZE
I’m arriving home by 8:25pm, now turning
the golden handle of the white door. I open to the main living room, pacing across
the gray mirror-like floor.
Mum is seated on the white three-sitter
sofa, facing the flat screen afar, twenty feet or more. She is dressed in a
white blouse and floral red wrapper. The other sofas are wide enough for five visitors,
all arranged in half ring, generously spaced. The whole interior is painted in white, except
the stairways which are decorated with pink floral bricks. Any visitor might have wondered if our house is
a palace, for the royal magnitude. Besides, everything in our living room has a
touch of gold. Aside from those on furniture, glass-top table, flower vases,
artwork frames, pictures, it can also be found on the wall-lamps and high-ceiling
lamps—not far from the interior balcony. From up there, Daddy would smile down
at the living room and chant my name, “Nwa’m…Adaeze’m!” meaning “My baby…my
princess!”
My loving old fella—he should be in his bedroom by now.
“Ada’eze!” says Mum, scanning my
dressing mirthfully, “your face is unusually brilliant today. The party must really be
a great one.”
I fling my bag on the sofa and plop down
beside her, like a playful kid. I’m hugging a red throw-pillow— others are
green, yellow, and blue.
“Oh my! It was the best party ever.”
I take a deep breath, laying my palms on my chest, a dreamy smile on my face.
“Guess what,” says Mum,
animatedly, “The dream you had has finally come to pass, as usual. Your Dad met that
same man you saw in your dream. He signed the contract with him.”
“Oh really? That’s a good news!” I exclaim
gleefully, putting my hand around her neck.
Mum says I should tell her
whenever I have another dream. That’s a gift. My dreams hardly go without
coming to pass.
Mum asks about Frances. She
already knows he’ll be back on Tuesday.
What she’s trying to discover is the date we're choosing for a formal engagement. We’ve already
done the introduction. I’ve been deceiving her ever since, that Francis has
been busy on a certain project. Now, her
patience is fast dwindling.
“Make sure Francis sees me once he
returns, “Her voice is tense, “I no longer understand you both!”
“Mum, you can’t even be patient
for once,” I grumble with a frowned face, crossing my arms, “I said he is too
busy this time around.”
“Busy, o gini?” Mum snaps at me,
almost yelling, “That is what you’ve been telling me and your father all these
while. If your father is not reacting, I will. Okay? I...I can’t just take this
anymore. Busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, as if he’s the first business man
on planet.”
“I gat no time for any complaint,
Mum,” I spring to my feet, picking up my bag, “I’m just coming back from somewhere.
I’ve not even taken a rest. God!”
I walk out on Mum between a faked
anger. She is calling me, but I wouldn’t turn back. I head straight to the
staircase, climbing the stairs with thunderous steps. I need to be seeking
escapes till I find a better plan for myself.
On getting to my room, I collapse
to the bed, stomach down. The thought of Mathew creeps to my mind. I took over
the steering wheel at his street junction.
I sigh.
I must call and thank Clara, for
fulfilling her promise. To have included the love show. At last, I have
achieved one of my burning dreams. Thank you Jesus! I had the best pleasure so
far, just within thirty seconds. I wonder what a longer one would feel like. I
can’t wait to have him again and again. I really need him; the way an ocean needs
a fish.
Smiling like a naughty baby, I hit my hand on the
bed thrice, “Gosh. Gosh. Gosh!”
At first, when he stared me in the
eye, I became a draining salt from the magnet in his eyes. The kiss was the worst part.
Adaeze, shame on you. How could he
have driven you so crazy in a matter of seconds? I wave away the voice that has
spoken into my head. There is nothing shameful in that, for heaven sake!
I jump up, perching on the
bedside. I produce my phone from my handbag. Then browse through my Facebook. Fifteen minutes ago, I updated a status: I’M
SO HAPPY TODAY, GUESS WHAT GUYS?
I browse through my notification (58 comments
and 91 likes.)
I shake my head.
“Baby, I’m happy for you. You’ve
found your missing period, right?” a comment by a guy.
“My guessing faculty is now
faulty…Please, can you wait till next year?” says another.
I scroll over the stupid comments.
The reasonable ones. Majority express
that I must have gotten a new car. A new car—my ass. It’s greater than that.
I toss my phone aside.
After taking a shower, I jump into
my white pajamas, then switch off the bedside lamp—a white bulb with a cylinder
cap and silver stand.
Then, I find myself on a snowy
endless planet. I’m dressed in a white gown. The atmosphere is pregnant with
wind and icy smoke, the frills of my gown swirling around my waist. I soon realize
that I’m floating in the air, like a nylon bag.
I feel hollow and empty like a deserted jerry can. Springing up before
me is a black-suited man, backing me—ten feet away. The moment he turns to me,
I’m shocked to discover he’s Mathew. Another man appears with a black mask, far
behind him. I hear a gunshot. Blood
explode from Mathew’s chest. He is slumping to the ground like a falling tree.
But I couldn’t run to meet him.
“No-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o!” I cry aloud,
falling on my knees with splashing tears.
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