Tried a different angle from previous posts in One of Those Things. Four posts into Fiction Friday and I would like to put out a disclaimer that these stories are not written from personal experience. My writings are not exactly me, especially when the narration involves the pronoun I. We good? Enjoy!
I have never been a fan of long-term relationships. Having been raised in a home where love was conveniently replaced with money which we had plenty of, love was a myth to me — sitting on the same scale as seeing my parents home on a weekday.
But Nathan is one of those men you see and you are literally spellbound, unable to pull your gaze from him. It would seem as if God took part of the seventh day he spent resting crafting him.
He was perfect.
There followed days of wanting to know more about him. Caught myself being desperate for his attention but shame is but a strange word to me.
He knew it. Knew the power of the charm he carried and made me suffer. The type of suffering that was more of a turn-on than a pointer to leave him alone. Left me breathless one too many times then my phone calls would end up unanswered and messages not replied.
“Does this situationship of ours make any sense to you?”
I asked one time.
He shrugged and carried on with what he was doing that moment.
Listening was not a problem for Nathan. He stored away minute information about me as if there was a special memory unit for it. In the middle of my ranting about how my father was being unfair with the work I was doing at the company, he would run his hands over my shoulders, giving the best massage for a needless problem or hmming to my talk. Either ways, we’d find our way to the sheets, having me turning his room upside down for my underwear the next day before dashing out to work.
“Nathan, what are we going to do with us?”
“What do you want to do? Are you not happy like this?”
I nodded in the affirmative.
Happiness is relative but there was something missing. Something more than falling asleep at his place, more than driving round the streets of Ikoyi and more than the money I transferred weekly into his account which was my way of paying for his being with me. I had a big future ahead of me and my father expected more from me than ‘an ordinary illustrator’ in his words.
“I think we should stop seeing each other.” The text I sent read.
His reply was simply ‘okay’. We should stop seeing each other okay? Okay I saw this message? Okay what?
A hiss of annoyance found its way out of my mouth as I deleted his phone number and tossed my phone on my bed. Got a bottle of wine from the kitchen and I stripped. Served myself glass after glass till I passed out.
It has been how long now? Four years exactly. I know because the date I sent the last text is a detail my brain reminds me everyday.
A message notification some time last week had my heart palpitating on seeing it was from him. He’s in town the text said, after being in Michigan for three years or, so I heard. A dinner somewhere close would be a good idea.
I cleaned the lipstick smear on my lower lip and realized I was wearing Ruby Woo, the red one he likes. It had been selected unconsciously — that is one of the things you do when you are in love.