Regrets and Hope 2 – Written by Cisi Eze

Continued from Mahogany Digital Magazine Mar/Apr 2018 Edition here

My efforts to reach her line wound up in futility. Worried, I called her fiancé and it was not funny. He claimed he knew I had a thing for her. On and on, he raved and threatened to report me to the police.

I felt threatened for the first time in my life

At the time, the Nigerian federal government had signed the anti-gay bill into law. What amused me about this law was everyone was guilty in the real sense. “Anyone that engages in sexual activities against the order of nature…” Most people engaged in oral and anal sex; these were deviant sexual acts. Some people engaged in paedophilia in whatever guise. We were all guilty of breaking that law. Still, I was petrified. Thinking he had beaten her for my sake made me sink.

Two weeks of muddling through life with sadness sitting on my shoulders went by before Nelo called to say she wanted to see me.

Seeing her at my doorstep that Friday evening melted the anger, frustration, and sadness I bottled up. She did not wait for me to turn around from locking the door; she pulled me into an embrace and kissed me.

How cruel of her! So many emotions were whirling within me and she did not give me time to organise my feelings.

What started as frenzied kisses culminated into series of orgasms. We clung on to each other until the wee hours of the following morning. Jocosely, I asked, “What are we?”

In response, she silenced me with a feathery kiss on my lips, which made my head spin and I imagined I was floating. Gently, she twisted the curls of my afro while smiling into my eyes.

Disappointment hit me in the gut on realising that I had been another girl’s experiment. Once is a mistake, twice is stupidity, and thrice is madness worthy of chastisement. I deserved chastisement.

Sitting up with my elbows propped on the bed, I inquired in a voice devoid of humour, “Chinelo, what are we?”

“You ask too much questions. Let’s bask in the moment,” she drawled. Something about the way she said it made me feel used.

“Basking you say? I’m not a lizard; there’s nothing to bask.” With that, I rolled off the bed and stormed off to the sitting room.

“Nicky!” She hurried after me and caught me by the arm. “Nicky, stop.” Her hand cupped my chin and gently, she brought me to face her. Searching her eyes, I saw the earlier playfulness replaced by something more sombre. Words caught in my throat and I looked away. “Nicky,” she held my chin again. “I’m confused. I don’t know anything anymore.”

I was beyond livid. “Wait, you were confused and you felt the way out of your confusion was fucking? Fuck this!” So repulsed was I that I yanked my arm away from her grip thereby making her nails scratch my arm. I did not know which hurt more – she breaking my heart or my bruised arm.

“Nicky, please, I don’t want us to stop being friends. I want you in my life.”

I had not moved two steps when I felt her breasts pressed into my back. It felt sinfully delicious; I wanted to turn around, take her in my arms, and make love to her mouth. I did not want her to let go. Nevertheless, I had to do what was right even though my heart would bleed. “Well, I want more than that,” I pried myself from her arms. “You don’t have sex with someone, who you know has feelings for you, and think things would go back to the way they were.”

We stared at each other in silence. A space materialised between us, pushing us away farther from each other, as each second ticked by. Nothing could close that space. I was scared. I was hurt. I was angry. I was disappointed. I was tired. I was in love. I was in lust. I was hopeless. I desperately needed her to say something.

Few minutes later, few heartbreaking silent minutes later, I watched her leave my apartment.

Every day, I called her line. It never went through. She blocked my number. That blow sent me reeling and spinning – I thought I would lose my mind and do something bizarre. In turn, I deleted her number and blocked her on all social media platforms to save myself from the temptation of contacting her.

It was not until October 2016 that I heard from her.

To be continued to here

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