I felt it, most times, deep, in my marrows, that he loved me. Sometimes, I felt extremely special through the ways he treated me. The feelings were not static. Those times he knew how to spice things up, in his own little ways, how his touch sent scented drippings down my legs.
The way he’d hold up my chin, caress my cheeks and run his fingers through my jaw line; those times, love shone through his eyes. A great support system. He would push me to my limits; encourage me to not let my guards down. For some reasons though, he found it hard kissing me. I wondered. He did all these things but never allowed the meeting of our lips, even when he knew I yearned for it.
Then, those times I just hated him. Friends said it was hormonal; mood swings? I just couldn’t place it somewhere. The emotional roller coaster drove me crazy. Those times he made me doubt if he ever loved me at all. Those times he made me question our being together. When I felt like shutting out everyone, him inclusive.
He’d listen to me complain of needing so much, but do nothing. He’d fold his arms, stand like a robot, at the sight of my tears, irritating me. “Why couldn’t he just do something to make them stop? Worst was, he had all it took to make them stop – Wealth. Fame.”
“You say you love me. Why don’t you help me out?” I’d shout at the spur of those moments. “Give me money to make my hair? I want to fix my nails! My false lashes are coming off. It’s not like you don’t have the money. Why is your style so different from the rest of the men in your league? You are being so stingy? Eh? Why?”
“My dear, you don’t need a new hairdo; you definitely don’t have to fix artificial nails. I love you, just the way you are. Just keep the nails simple and short. I’ll provide you with only the things you need.” He’d reply calmly, like the waters, making me regret ever asking, raising my voice.
“That’s it! I hate you! It’s official. Don’t ever squeal you love me again, else?” I’d snarl, sticking a finger to his nose, brushing past him, and hurrying away.
“Oly, Oly, please, don’t leave?” He begged, but who cared? I couldn’t keep letting how he made me feel tie me to him. Useless feelings that didn’t even actually cause anything to happen.
He made things worse weeks later. He wouldn’t let me be. He warded off other guys that wanted something with me – fought them, threatened them, all those stuff jealous ex-boyfriends did.
“Oly, I swore I’d protect you.”
“From what? I’m not a child. I don’t need your protection! Just go far, away from me.”
“You know the sacrifices I make for you, Oly, please, do not talk to me that way.” The way he pronounced my name, the stress he placed on the ‘y’, like he personally gave it almost confused me.
“What sacrifice do you make? What exactly have you done for me? Is it the local food, abi na the shabby clothes you buy for me or what? Don’t you have eyes? You don’t see the IPhone Amaka uses ọkwaya (right?). Her boyfriend works in your company! In your company! That one you own!” I sank a finger into his chest, tapping my feet intermittently on the ground, my full breasts bouncing at each tap. “Look, it is over. Tufiakwa! (God forbid) I’ve never met someone so stingy. Don’t look for me, ever!” I had turned, not looking back.
For months, he begged using all the ways he knew how. My mind was all made up. It didn’t take so long before the acts he did in secret for me surfaced, like oil on water. I lost my job. My fiancé eloped with another woman. The other guys I shared my bed with cut me off. They said I was short and ugly; that the pimples on my face were enough to reduce friction. They did see all these flaws before making advances. I couldn’t possibly be perfect. I cried.
I didn’t believe it when he said I’d miss him. He accepted me just the way I was. My pimples, my height, even the insults. He tolerated everything. I had to find him. I couldn’t reach him. He had travelled abroad. How foolish I was. No one could ever love me like he did.
“Oly,” Goose pimples spread all over my skin. A voice fed my soul with solace and serenity. My love is back! I heart jumped for joy, but shame wouldn’t let me turn to look upon his face.
“I heard you’ve been looking for me.” The bass, like the sharp sound of a string of a guitar, made me fall in love all over again. “I was just waiting, patiently, for you to come back. I prayed to my father that you come back. I forgive you, for everything. If only you know how much love I carry in this heart, just for you.”
I couldn’t believe he was smiling. The tears. They tricked down, in crooked lines, like drops rain on a shiny glass. I was expected rejection. How could a man love me so? No, I forgot. He is not man.
As fast as my feet could carry me, I ran into his large arms. He held me tight, and since then, I’ve never let him go. Meet Jesus, my lover.
Also Read: 9INE MONTHS