“Love is a many-splendoured thing.”
Bull. Shit.
Love blows. Even the idea of love, the similitude of it, the attempt of it, blows. It tears you open in ways you have never thought of before, after making you as miserable and vulnerable as a baby seal. Love is pain in places one didn’t know he could feel pain, and discomfort in ways one is not meant to be discomforted.
I’m not usually a philosopher-in fact; most of my deepest thoughts come out of Genevieve Magazine. Nevertheless, after giving two years of my life to the low-down gutter breeder known as Rowland, I think I have earned the right to postulate a little.
Two years! I could have been taking dancing lessons! Or climbing the Everest! Or getting a degree or something…whatever people who don’t have boyfriends do. Arrgh! I don’t know how to do this-be a single girl. In every relationship I have been in, I always have a replacement lined up. Guys who are just waiting for one to fail so they can get a taste of me.
Rowland walked into the salon that hot afternoon and I could not think of anything else or anyone else but him. I didn’t care that he was there with his fiancée, I went after him with a single-minded purpose that scared and startled and overwhelmed him.
So what if said fiancée was my sister? Semantics! Abeg jor, a guy is a guy. If she’d held on to her man better, maybe I wouldn’t have been able to…lol, what am I thinking? He never stood a chance, the poor guy.
I remember cornering him in the bathroom of that club, the loud thump-thump of the generic dancehall song, the intoxicating rotating flash of the blue and red strobe lights…there was magic in the air that night. The magic of sweaty, hot, young bodies grinding to the insistent beat of popular music. The magic of adrenaline and sex.
I was wearing the little, racy number, the silvery sequined playsuit I…well, this is ironic, I took it from Chigozie too. I think it was appropriate that I take her man in her clothes. I watched him enter the bathroom, and I followed him and closed the door behind me, cutting of the sound from the club.
‘Ife! What are you doing here?’ ‘Seducing you.’ ‘What? Chigo…your sister…’ he backed up to the sink and I followed him, unzipping the side of my dress.
The rest, they say, is history.
Of course, Chigo flipped. She stopped talking to me and once again I was the family pariah. She got daddy to fire him from the tech company she had begged daddy to employ him in, and just like that, I became the man in the relationship.
I can’t believe I supported that swine for two years and he still had the effrontery to cheat on me. I gave him the clothes on his back and put food in his mouth. He should have been freaking worshiping me!
I feel like an evil spirit, the evil spirit of love, possessed me. What was I thinking?
Now he’s run off with my money and my pride.
Someone has to pay. Someone has to pay for this pain I feel. Someone has to pay for the wounds love has caused.