Debbietiyan:
Sorry for keeping you guys waiting. I've tried two consecutive times to update my next story. The first time ( the day before yesterday), the post disappeared soon after I updated it and then I couldn't find the 'reply' icon. I assumed the problem had to do with the site, so I chilled and tried hours later. Same problem. I emailed the mod and soon after it was fixed.

Yesterday I tried again. Same o' message(You can't do that now, try again in a few hours) after posting. I googled the phrase and attached Nairaland at the back of it. That was when I found that I had been banned, for a day.

Ban from my own thread kwan

The story does not contain any swear word o, just to clear things up.

I'm going to try again, and if the same thing happens, I promise to post a different story. So, if you all see me lurking around this section but without an updated thread, blame the malfunctioning bot.

CC: Dominique please help

JeffreyJamez:


CC: Dominiq.ue please help

Done, both posts are visible now.

dominique:


Done, both posts are visible now.

Thanks ma'am

Debbietiyan we are good to go!!

JeffreyJamez:


CC: Dominique please help

Aren't you a darl

dominique:


Done, both posts are visible now.

Thanks a lot Ma! and see me patiently serving my term

6: 07pm

“What did you just say? Repeat am again make I hear you.”

“You heard me clearly Madam. This,” Debbie said, raising up the new bucket. “is not a filthy thing, as you can very much see, its new.”
“E be like say where you dey come come, una no get elders abi?”

Debbie looked at him, wondering why he wasn’t saying anything to defend her, why he wasn’t even speaking up to the man-bred mountain. She wasn’t normally that stupid brave. But she hadn’t expected the woman to flare up. It had been a mistake and she had apologized - albeit hastily; but she had all the same. If it hadn’t been for him, she wouldn’t even have been in that situation in the first place. But there he was; she turned, glaring at him through hooded lashes. There he was, cowering by the pillar of the grinding woman’s partition, his flowery shirt, his only visible source of identification.

A crowd had gathered. A crowd she hoped would be her saving grace. They’d prevent matters from escalating, and if worse came to worst, would defend her – feebly looking angel, against the iron wrought fire-breathing-mountain. That was all the motivation she needed to reply, “Oh Please…” and then she turned and made to leave.

She felt a supernatural force pull her back and next thing, she was face to fist with the giant. She was quick enough to wedge her left eye with both hands against the blow but wasn’t, for the resounding slap that followed.

Debbietiyan:

Thanks a lot Ma! and see me patiently serving my term

Anytime. Next time just send us a mail using the 'mail supermod' feature at the bottom of FrontPage.

dominique:


Anytime. Next time just send us a mail using the 'mail supermod' feature at the bottom of FrontPage.

Ok Ma.

Oh my......Debs hope you're typing o ,you can't leave me like this!

JeffreyJamez:
Oh my......Debs hope you're typing o ,you can't leave me like this!

lol, yep. It's quite short. Would post the whole, today.

Debbietiyan:


lol, yep. It's quite short. Would post the whole, today.

(Giggles)

Okay... patiently waiting.

6:01 pm

“My house is barely a 10 minutes’ walk from here, you’ve tried, I can take it from here.” Debbie said, taking a quick glance at her wristwatch and then attempting to retrieve the bucket from Ekene.

“If you claim you look nothing close to half of how pretty your mom looks, I don’t mind carrying this,” he gestured to the bucket, “filled to the brim with water, to the angel who birthed you.”

She smiled, and her eyes caught the grim, red, and unsmiling ones of the tomato seller’s. She took hers away a little too hurriedly so much so that it appeared she had eyed her. The woman spoke. “Abeg make una no dey block my market o.” This time, Debbie eyed – really eyed her. If only she had seen ten seconds into the future.

It all happened once. A grid of events occurring at the exact moment.

Debbie’s swift turning, her purse swinging a little further than she had expected. The seller’s heaped tomatoes wobbling until it settled back on its pile. Debbie mouthing sorry. Ekene turning, handling the bucket to Debbie, not wanting to be caught in the perceived crossfire. Debbie trying to balance the bucket by her side, her elbows wedged inside. The woman getting up in slow motion, her head touching the nylon-stuffed rusted aluminum roof, her body filling the width of her stall.

“Idiot, I no tell you make you carry that filthy thing comot for my shop? you wan destroy my market?” She pronounced filthy as fil-ry, and Debbie more concerned with the seller’s assault on the English language than the demeaning names she was been called, replied: “It’s filthy not few-ri and as you can obviously see, the bucket is brand new.”

Present time

“Debbie?”

She stares at him, bewildered for a second, “How did you get here? I mean, what happened?”

“She was talking to you and then you blanked out for like a minute.”

“She?” Debbie asks, looking around. “Oh, jeez, not again.”

“What’s wrong?” Lifting his hand to her forehead, he says with exaggerated concern, “Are you okay? You look pale.”

“Trust me,” she laughs weakly. “You wouldn’t want to know.” She turns to the Bucket vendor, lifting up an orange coloured medium pail, “How much is this one?”

“750 naira aunty.”

“Can I get it for 600?”

“Oya take am 650 last.”

She digs into her bag and fetches the thousand naira note. Ekene takes the bucket and offers to carry it for her. She lets him, and hands the money over to the trader, who has already gotten the change ready.

“Ready?” He stretches out his hand to take hers.

She pulls back. ”Oh you don’t have to, I can take it from here. My house isn’t too far off now.”

“No no, my lady. Now if you claim – “

“Don’t complete it!” she screams, dashing to place two fingers on his lips. “Let’s just get out of here.”

“Erm, okay” he replies skeptically. “You’re acting funny.”

Looking side to side as though watching and hiding from someone, both at the same time, “Yeah, it’s one of those days.” She murmurs.

As they walked through the narrow passway between opposing stalls, his phone rings. He reaches into his pocket and lifts it out, gesturing a ‘please excuse me’ to her, with his fingers.

“No problem,” She mouths, smiling.

“Abeg make una comot from my stall, you dey block market.” The familiarity of the voice makes her shiver.

She looks up, about the same moment the speaker bends to ruffle through her sack. She signals to Ekene, and they move adjacent to her stall, as opposed to standing directly in front of it. The last thing she needed was a déjà vu emergence. Ekene, trying to switch the phone to the other hand, unwittingly clashes the bucket with the wooden pole behind them, losing his bearing for an unfortunate second, he falters forward, the bucket slips to his wrist and lands gloriously on the Tomatoes sellers’ arrangedly heaped merchandise.

They turn to face each other simultaneously. The shock mirrored on her face was all Ekene needed to put away the phone, taking three steps backward.

The Mammoth Being rises. ”Una wan destroy my market?”

She looks at her wristwatch, it’s three minutes after six.

Hell no.

Debbie sees the future ..

That's some Raven level shii right there

JeffreyJamez:
Debbie sees the future ..

That's some Raven level shii right there

lol, you got the idea, I was thinking not many would

Funny thing is...I dreamt that story up

Debbietiyan:


lol, you got the idea, I was thinking not many would

Funny thing is...I dreamt that story up

I was an ardent fan of "That's so Raven" so I could relate to this one.

Your mind tho, facinating!!

Would Be Not



He stood perched by the girder on the corridor, staring down at the figure in checkered white and peach, seated on the wooden bench under the mango tree. Their school was a big one. Four blocks of three storied buildings, all enclosing the garden. And so, standing by the banister, on the second floor of the senior’s block, he watched the ebony black beauty, head bowed, tugging at her neck-length cornrows deducibly lost in thoughts.

After much contemplation, he turned back and climbed down the flight of stairs, eagerly moving towards her.

He thought of saying Hi, but instead sat, hoping she’d turn to see who encroached her space. She didn’t as much blink, and so he observed her, only just realizing how much he enjoyed watching her. Ever since she walked into his classroom, and ultimately his life, he could never get tired of staring at her. Her features were as familiar to him as the lines on his palm.

She spoke without looking up. “Seeing anything Interesting?”

The venom of the question was lost in the softness of her voice. “Matter of fact, I am.”

“What do you want?” She asked weakly. “I came here to hear myself think, and having the cutest boy in class leering over me, isn’t helping.”

“You think I’m cute?”

“Duh, everyone thinks you’re cute.”

“Thank you.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

He smiled, picking up a fallen leaf. “So why are you out here, hearing thoughts, when you are supposed to be in there –“ pointing to the road leading to the cafeteria, he continued. “ –eating lunch.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Her stomach growled.

“Your tummy doesn’t seem to agree with you.” He said, stifling laughter.

“Stupid worms,” she accused, pressing her palms against the waist band of her skirt. “Fine, I’m avoiding someone.”

“David?”

She turned and gazed intently at him. “Stalker much?”

“It’s him then.” He rubbed his hands together. “It’s not a hard nut to crack. The whole school knows you both are an item.”

“Were.” She corrected, trailing shapes on the sand with the tip of her shoe.

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Her stomach growled again, and this time she laughed. “I think I’ll get that lunch now.”

“Then we’d better hurry, the bell goes off in five minutes.”

“You’re coming with me?”

“Of course, after hearing yours’ sing, their brethren in my stomach seem to have started a rebellion.”

She laughed, and he felt something stir within him. “You should laugh more often, hiding that dentition from the public, should be considered illegal.”

“Mr. Dimple has got a sweet tongue.” She laughed.

“Faith speaking?” He joked.

“If we don’t get going now, not even a spoonful of flour crusts would be left.” She got up, stretching out her hand to him. He took it.

“I guess this makes us friends now?”

“Friends, we are.”

Two months from then, 17-year-old Anthony would introduce his first love to his Mother, as his girlfriend.

Six months later

Gloria sat on the kitchen counter, legs swinging, watching an aproned Anthony stir a steaming pot. He reached for the pepper shaker in the open cupboard above his head and shook profusely into the cooking pot. Gloria sprang to her feet, dashing to snatch the seasoning from him.

“That’s too much pepper, idiot,” she laughed, peeling the pepper shaker from his hand. “It’s yam porridge, not pepper soup.”

“The only two dishes you know how to prepare.” He mumbled under his breath.

“What did you just say?”

“Nothing baby, you heard something?” his eyes were dancing.

“Better.”

“Okay, so…what to add next?” he turned and stared hopefully at her.

“Mr. All Knowing, asking for directions?” She arched an eyebrow. “Fine, Groundnut oil.”

“Serious?”

“Yeah.”

“Then how’s it supposed to come out red?” he asked confusedly, stirring the porridge.

“The spices would react with the oil, then the colour would change.” she replied, trying to suppress the rupturing laughter forming in her throat.

He stared at her skeptically and turned back to do what he was told.

Lifting the lid few minutes later, he gaped dazedly into the pot. “What happened?”

“What happened where?” She asked innocently.

“Fool me once Gloria, fool me once.” He sang, nodding his head slowly.

Unable to control herself anymore, she flung her 5’7 body to the ground, giving into the explosive laughter that engulfed her. Anthony, staring from the pot, to her and then back to the pot, couldn’t deny the humour of the scene, burst out laughing too.

“Mum is definitely going to crack once she sees what her to be future daughter-in-law prepared for lunch.” He said, using his index finger and thumb to smoothen an imaginary beard.

“You wouldn’t dare.” She replied, her face contorted in a frozen laughter.

Winking at her, he hobbled out of the kitchen and she sprinted off after him.



Tina slumped onto the green sofa, the only settee in the sitting room which she could comfortably stretch her legs, hissing for the umpteenth time. She thought of all the places she could have been in but instead sat idly at home, drenched in her own sweat as the stupid power company hadn’t deemed it fit to provide electricity.

School had resumed two weeks ago, but sure lectures weren’t going to commerce until about a week after, she decided to stay back home.
But it was the second week and she was meant to leave for school today. Her Dad was supposed to drop her off, but unfortunately, an office emergency had come up and he had to attend to that. She had suggested taking public transport but he would have none of it.

She yanked off her ear plugs, stuffing them into the hollow of the chair. She hissed again, picking up the novel she had unsuccessfully been trying to read since the last five hours.

That was when she heard the screaming.

Interesting...


I thought you had abandoned me o ehn Debbie

JeffreyJamez:
Interesting...


I thought you had abandoned me o ehn Debbie

How can
Next update is tomorrow

Debbietiyan:


How can
Next update is tomorrow

Yay!!

Hope you're good tho?

JeffreyJamez:


Yay!!

Hope you're good tho?

Very good, Thankyou

He had gone into the bathroom to take a shower, no thanks to the blazing heat, while she laid on his bed with outstretched legs crossed at the ankle, leafing through an old newspaper.

“Mom wants me to fill in UNN as my first choice for Jamb.” She said as soon as he emerged from the bathroom, his white singlet clung to his wet bod, and his jeans, unhooked, hung loosely around his waist.

She squinted up at him, head to foot. “You went in without your towel again. How many times do I have to remind you?”

He bent his head forward, sweeping out water from his hair with his right hand and smiled. “It was intentional this time.” He went over to where she lay and pretended to pick up a clothing item, stopped halfway and planted a quick kiss on her cheek. “Not everyone is cold-blooded like you.” She picked up a pillow to throw at him and he doubled back, running to the end of the room to avoid being hit.

She laughed as the pillow still met him square on his leg. He picked up the pillow, and drew to sit on the bed’s edge closest to her, his back towards her. His face now wore a solemn expression. “So, we won’t be schooling together then.”

“Not if you apply to the same school.”

“That’s impossible Gloria, you know Dad –“

“Yeah, I know.” She reached to stroke his arm. “Dad is a professor in Unilag, and therefore admission into school is sealed.” She completed. “I understand, it’s just…” unable to find the right words, she kept mum.

He turned and stared at her. “I miss you.”

She smiled. ”I’m still here. We haven’t even written Jamb yet.”

“I know, but I also know how miserable not seeing you for a day makes me feel, much more a month – or two –or three –or four.”

Seeing the feigned puppy dog look on his face, she doubled over laughing. Straightening to her knees, she hugged him from behind, her face to the back of his neck. “I miss you too.”

He paused, sniffing wildly. “Can you smell that?”

“Smell what?” following suit, she sniffed around.

“Like something burning – sh*t”

“– Oh my gosh.” They interjected at the same time. Both made for the door, running hysterically towards the kitchen.


Oozing from the gaping brown mahogany door, were curlicues of dispersing white smoke. “No, no, no,” Anthony kept muttering as he skipped down the stairs, his breath catching in his chest. Gloria got to the landing first, and darted into the kitchen.

Maybe if she wasn’t so caught up searching for the mittens, and then too busy lifting the pot with its incinerated content to the sink, she would have noticed he didn’t get into the kitchen but merely stood by the door frame.

Maybe if her eyes weren’t misty from the stinging effect of the smoke, she would have seen him leaning by the door, clutching at his chest.

Maybe if her ears weren’t obnubilated by her own profuse coughing, she would have heard his urgent wheezing amidst his stifled cough.

Maybe if she weren’t so tied up, knotting the window curtain by the kitchen sink to let in fresh air, she might have heard him call out her name.

Maybe if she had known he wasn’t acting the part, she wouldn’t have walked up to him, teary-faced from the smoke, jokingly calling him a cry baby.

Maybe if he had told her he was asthmatic, she never would have let him cook in the first place.

Maybe if he, in a bid to hide his sickness from her, hadn’t hidden his albuterol medication in his travelling bag, at the topmost cupboard of his room when he knew she was visiting, she would have known where to find it as soon as the symptoms and his hand gestures made sense to her.

Maybe if she had immediately called his mom, instead of screaming; which drew in Tina, the next door neighbor to house, she might have directed her to where the spare was kept.

Maybe if Tina had paid attention in Biology class, she wouldn’t have attempted a Holly wood version of administering CPR to an asthmatic patient during an attack, instead of an ABC.

But unfortunately, an infinite number of maybes couldn’t overturn the advent of a future that would be not – a future with Anthony.

And so, as Anthony’s head lay convulsing on her laps, mouthing the incoherent words of one made delusional from lack of oxygen, he lost consciousness.

Which he never regained.

Incoming

Night Wishes





Jennifer

The sky is an empty black, not even a single star in sight. I snuggle closer to my pillow, willing myself to fall asleep. But I can’t. I reach for my headphone on my bedside drawer. I swipe at the screen, locating my playlist, I select my all-time favorite song: let her go, depressing the volume increase button, I attempt in vain to drown out the thoughts that haunt me. But they keep coming back. He keeps coming back.
We broke up a month ago. I did, with him.

I was hoping he’d react or show a sign or something, to prove we had something together. He did neither. He only shrugged and asked me if that was what I truly wanted. It wasn’t, but that didn’t stop me from lying. When he turned to leave, my pride threatened to go with him. It yanked at my brain, willing itself to break loose. When he walked away, I wanted to run after him. Even if it meant losing myself again. I was devoid of sound reasoning. My feelings had the full control of my whole senses. My eyes wanted to drown in his. My nose wanted to breathe his air. My tongue wanted to taste his lips. My skin wanted to feel his touch. My ears wanted to hear his gentle whisper, nuzzling behind my ear. My brain shut down the control of my limbs, so that I stood rooted to the ground.

He didn’t look back, not once.

I cried when I got home. From the being of me, I cried. I deleted his mobile numbers. An impractical attempt at distancing myself from him. I had his numbers by heart and in print, and by print I mean, calligraphically scribbled on my lecture notes. I deleted his lone pictures from my phone and on my laptop. The ones we took together lie reclusely in the recycle bin. A million times I’ve have looped between the restore option and the delete button. An iterative process that starts and end my days. Hoping one day I’ll be strong enough to finally let go.

Sometimes I wonder if he thinks of me, the same way I do about him. Does he miss me? Does he smile every time he conjures a picture of me in his head? Does he replay the old conversations we had together and pick up his phone to call, only to drop it, pathetically finding solace in the old pictures we took together, the ones that had been umpteenthly deleted, but never cleared, so much so that the recycle bin is more or less a normal picture folder topping the quick access list. Does he say my name with longing in his voice, vehemently convinced that of all namesakes, mine is fitted to perfection? Does he ever just wish that time could roll back, and we’d begin our book, once again, from the title page? Does he regret saying ‘if that’s what you want’ and he had kissed me instead, or does the three months of our being together mean absolutely nothing to him?

I’ve forgiven him, but I’m not sure for which.

I’ve seen him a couple of times in school after that. He always waves. I too wave back. We never speak. One time we passed by each other so close. I could smell his perfume. I would have done anything to stare into his eyes, to see if those eyes – the softness, they assumed around me, was still there. He glanced right over my head. His expression was blank. He didn’t stop, or maybe it was I, who went by too fast. He nodded in greeting, and I smiled in return, or so I think. Maybe it was me seeing what I wanted to see, but then I could have sworn he turned and stared from the corner of his eyes. For a second or so, I could have sworn he did.

Maybe love doesn’t exist. Maybe it does. I’m still not sure yet. What I’m sure of, is the gaping hole I felt was punctured in my heart, when he walked away – when I sent him away.

Prince

The searing headache is at it again. I pull out the ear plugs and check the time. It is a little past ten pm. I roll out of bed and head to the bathroom to wash my face. I return to my room to take a paracetamol dose. It’s routine now.

I’m all out of. I took the last set yesterday, making a mental note to get another packet, that, I obviously forgot about. At least I have a new source of pain to drown the old one. This pain, I can bear.

It’s harder at night. When I’m all alone, and all I can think of, is her.

How she must hate me.

It was up until that evening things went awry. Why else would she want to break up with me, if it hadn’t been for that stupid joke? I should never have listened to Timothy.

I miss her.

Unfortunately, I fear she doesn’t, as she can’t even stand my guts. Seeing her almost every day and yet not being able to talk to her breaks my heart. There are a million things I want to say to her. A million kisses I wish I could rain on her. But I can only nod at her, hoping to catch even if it’s a ghost of a smile on her lips. What wouldn’t I do to watch her smile back at me…what wouldn’t I do to hear her call out my name…

Every day, I regret walking away. Shamed by the tears on my face. If only she had asked, if only I had offered. I wouldn’t be here. We wouldn’t be here. Resignedly, nothing can ever happen between us again. She seems to have moved on quite well already, looking more beautiful than she did the day before. While I remain shrouded in dismalness, hoping for what is literally long gone. There is no use explaining now, and somehow I doubt it would have made a difference if I had explained then. Her mind was made up, I understood that then. Alas, now I wish I had tried. It may have lessened this pain, or maybe not.

As is now a custom, I close my eyes and wade back to the first memories of us. It’s all I have now, moments until June 8. Which is now stamped as the worst day of my life.


Jennifer

It’s no use, nothing this night seems to be helping. Maybe Taiye is right, maybe it’s time I move on. I glance over at her. I might as well be the bed cover, she hasn’t said a word to me since she got home. She is seated in front of the wall mirror, apply makeup to her face. Her pink towel still wrapped around her petite figure.

“So you’re back now.” She says, staring at me through the mirror.

I smile.

”Is my rain check on the party still on?” spending a late night out and getting myself drunk doesn’t sound like a bad idea now. She stares as me as if she regrets inviting me to the party three days ago. “Are you sure? Or maybe I should just stay home with you?”

“Not a chance in hell.” I say, getting off the bed, even though I don’t feel as enthusiastic as I sound.

“It’s an all-nighter,” she warns.

“I trust you not to settle for anything less.” I reply, yanking my towel from the door and stepping into the bathroom.
I guess it really is time to move on.



I’ve almost forgotten what it feels like, I’m on my second drink but well aware by now that coming here was a mistake, the music is too loud and the people are too sweaty. Taiye is nowhere to be seen now, we’ve been here for about forty minutes and just until five minutes ago, She had been peeking over my shoulders, throwing ‘should I come over’ glances at me. I had to dance a bit to prove to her that I was okay and the last thing I needed was a chaperon, hawking over me at her own boyfriend’s party. Some of our friends are here too. I pull at my bum short, it’s so much tighter now. I laugh, remembering a joke of chocolates and heartbreaks. I glance around, I can fix about fifty percent of the faces but I’m only familiar with six percent of them. She is here. Jamila, Imagining she is here with him, I suddenly feel suffocated, realizing I had been holding my breath. She sees me and waves, walking over, I take a swig of the remaining content of my cup, downing along with the liquid, the fulminant chucking sensation. I stare at her placidly, I am in no mood to act nice or feign ignorance. I heard the rumors, and though I am not one to play the blame game, I can’t help the little voice that says none of what happened would have happened, had she kept her big mouth to herself. Even though I pulled the trigger, she was the one who handed me the gun. Half way to my where I am seated, she is swooped by Mofe, a course-mate of ours, into a slow dance and as she playfully wriggles out of his grip, I stand to leave, picking up a can of Smirnoff ice from the counter on my way out.

I walk out, to the hallway of the hotel, grateful for the soundproofed hall and head to the balcony in need of air to clear my head.

Prince

She steps into the balcony. A scenario I couldn’t have imagined. She stares unreadably at me and my breath falters. I’m taken aback again, like I was twenty minutes ago, when I walked into the party and saw her. Although it still hurts, the feeling of seeing her so close to another, even though I could tell she was halfheartedly dancing. Definitely not the same way she danced with me. I couldn’t watch them nevertheless, the urge to take a jab at the dick was overpowering. When Timothy called and told me she was at John’s party. I had only come hoping to see her, now we’re standing face to face with each other, barely six steps away. From her outfit, I can tell she’s added a few pounds, all in the right places. She stares at me and the words leave my mouth. Her beauty takes me off guard, just as it had done the very first time I saw her. My chest tightens with the need to hold her, never to let go again.


Jennifer

He’s right here. The first person on my mind and the last person I expected to see. He stares straight at me, albeit contemplating about leaving, I’m scared he’d walk away and so I decide to instead. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know anyone was here. I’ll just get going.”

“You don’t have to speak so formally to me.”

His voice caresses me. I can’t believe I went the time length I did without speaking to him. The fact of it annoys me. “I don’t even have to speak to you at all.”

“I thought all these were passed?”

“Did you?” I reply, feeling the sudden rush of anger accompanying the built up anticipation of this moment. “Do you realize that this, is the most you’ve said to me in over a month?”

There’s a flicker in his eyes, which I learned while we were still together, meant he was in an internal struggle of trying to control his emotions, hate, anger, annoyance, I’m not sure which.

“You pushed me away.”

Prince

I’m such a fool, a pent-up moment such as this, and I’m spitting out rubbish. The words are all coming out wrong and all on their own self will. I should be the one apologizing but I find myself getting defensive.

She’s still mad at me, and strangely that makes me glad. It shows at least she feels something toward me and I’d rather she yell at me than walk away, I’d rather she screamed at me than act like we’re total strangers. “You were the one who pushed me away.” I say, trying by all means, to keep her talking.

Her face turns crimson red, her eyes blazing white against the blackness of her eyeliner. Her lips are half their size, pushed against her teeth to form a pout. She looks fiery beautiful when she’s mad, I smile, my undoing.

“What’s so funny?” she squints, girding herself by the waist. She’s probably added jerk to the list of my profile names.

“I’m sorry, you look beautiful.” My mouth keeps running off without my brain’s consent, the words are out even before I consider how appropriate or how inappropriate they sound.

“This is a mistake.” She says, letting her hands drop to her side. She seems to be oblivious of the can in her right hand, as it drops resoundingly to the ground, wetting her, thigh down on its way to the floor.

Alarmed, she takes two steps backward. I reach into my jean pocket and fetch my towel, and then I hand in over to her. She shakes her head in refusal, bending to sweep off the liquid with her palm.

“Thank you.” She says without taking it.

As she is bent, I take the chance to surreptitiously drink in her presence. She is clad in all black, a long sleeve crop top with the figure “18” embroidered on it, black bum grab shorts, and black accessories (a choker and star shaped earrings) even her weave, which reaches all the way to her spine is black. Giving her the perfect medieval look. Some of the braids, following the movement of her head falls over the half left of her face. My heartbeat races with the thought of stretching out my fingers to tuck the wayward strands of hair behind her ear, and staring into her big brown eyes.

“You look beautiful,” I repeat.

“You look well.” She replies without looking up. “Jamila is inside, I saw her about five minutes ago.

It takes a second for my mind to process the information. I wonder what Jamila being in the party has to do with me. “Okay” I respond, unsure of what else to say.

Now she looks back at me. “Why did you do it?” The question catches me off guard.

I had waited for her to ask, hopped out explanations, diffused blames, but now that she was asking, none made sense to me now. Thinking it out in my head even sounded stupid. Do you really have a valid reason for drugging your girlfriend? and so instead I say what I should have, over a month ago. Talk about crying over spilled milk. “I’m sorry.”

“Which for? Drugging me, me hearing it through Jamila or finally asking her out?

“I'm sorry.”

Girl you're good!..just saw this thread and I'm glad to tell you that you have an active reader/follower.
Ride on!