“...President of the Democratic Republic of Nigeria is…” the announcer on the television paused for effect as everyone around the country waited in bated breath. It had been a long ride, filled with twists and turns that no one saw coming, but the day had finally come and the country was about to be handed a new president. “...President Jonathan Okafor.”

Sitting back in his chair, Adam sipped from his cup, watching the proceedings with drooping eyes. He’d waited all day, watched the counting and collation of votes. He wasn’t a part of the race anymore, but that didn’t mean he didn’t care. He was still, after all, a Nigerian. It was his place to stay aware of what was going on.

Even though his own life had spiraled into a confused state of stagnance, his heart rang for politics. His heart cried for the people. 
Jonathan Okafor wouldn’t have been Adam’s first pick for president, three months ago. He was just as obscure as Adam, relegated to a quiet state that didn’t cause any trouble or scandal. But with Adam gone from YPC, the people had scrambled for anyone beyond the big boys who were destroying the country.

He was easily the only other choice.
Belching into his cup, Adam took another sip, watching the officials pitter and patter around on the screen.

He wanted to blame everyone. Lucifer most of all. There were nights he successfully convinced himself that there was no way he could have seen what Lucifer was doing. There was no way he could have fought off his advances. Lucifer had come at Adam from all sides and Adam had been unarmed and unready to handle the full weight of Lucifer’s attention.

Sometimes, he convinced himself that that was true.

But then he had to remind himself that he’d gone along with it. Without reporting, he’d let one sin lead to the next, as if unaware of the consequences of lies and cheating and fucking murder.

He drank from his cup, but there was almost nothing there. Barely two seconds into the gulp, he got nothing more. He sat up on the chair and reached for the bottle, dressed in nothing but a pair of boxers, as he refilled his cup. He hadn’t been leaving the house. He hadn’t been showering. He hadn’t done anything but obsess over the election results. Because he was nothing else.

He knew he was to blame for it all. It was all his doing.

He’d fired all his domestic staff because without a salary, how was he going to afford them? The first month, everyone had called to find out if he was okay, if he was going crazy, if there was a gun to his head. The true answer to all three questions would have been yes, but he’d chosen not to reply. Especially since some of his correspondence included threats from people who’d assumed he’d change the country and their lives. People who had given up hope the moment he’d withdrawn.

One awesome act of bravery after another, he’d thought to himself.
He’d considered getting rid of his phone, but it was the only thing keeping his parents from dragging themselves up from Ibuno to see him. As long as he kept replying to their texts, Lucifer could keep them at bay. As long as they knew he was alive, they wouldn’t come and he wouldn’t have to clean up. 

He wouldn’t have to shower.

What was the point anyway? His life was over. He had nowhere to go and no one to be. He was a man in his forties whose best years were behind him because he’d let a charlatan into his life.

His phone rang as the battery alert dinged, signifying that he needed to charge his phone.

“What?” he asked, as soon as he answered.

“Hey,” Evelyn said. “How’s the boss doing?”

“He’s the boss of no one these days.”

“You still haven’t gotten off that chair, I’m sure.”

“Did you call for a reason?” he asked.

She went quiet at his tone.

“Sorry,” he said. “Sorry, I sounded like that. What is it?”

“Emm…” she said. “I’m still listed as your assistant so I’ve been getting some of your letters?”

“Really?” he said, gulping the entirety of his cup’s contents.

“Mm Hmm. I recently got a letter from Uniport, Political Science Department.”

Adam frowned as he sat up slowly. “I studied there.”

“I know,” she said, a smile edging into her voice.

“What did the letter say?” he asked eagerly.

“Well, they’ve been trying to get a hold of you. The department is hosting a nationwide event for Pol. Science majors in June and they’d like you to be the keynote speaker.”

“What?” he asked, almost feeling excited.

Someone wanted to listen to him. Someone wanted to hear what he had to say, even after the fiasco he’d made in his political career. He’d spent weeks, months, waiting for someone to launch an investigation into the claims he’d made at the YPC primaries but no one bothered. He wondered if Chatachi had anything to do with it. He wondered if he was worthy of any grace at all. He wondered if no one was bothering him because he was nobody. He was a hermit, wallowing in his own filth, and people who would have seen him as a political problem probably pitied him. 

In the shadow of his fallen name, maybe there was room for him to be something else. He didn’t think he deserved anything, after all Gregory was still dead. Adam may not have been the mastermind, but his hands had slit an innocent man’s throat.

He knew that. He ought to pay a price for it. Punishing himself with bad hygiene was hardly worth the price of Gregory’s life and he was going to spend the rest of his life hating himself for it. Maybe if he was more than a  coward, he would have turned himself in, but Adam had never been able to do it. He’d tried, but he’d soon come to the conclusion that he would never be able to hold himself accountable. 

He’d lost the presidency and he prayed everyday that that loss had to count for something. He really did.
With that in mind, he wondered if he could dare it. If he could even think of it. If he could try… to move forward.

Holding on to his phone like his life depended on him, Adam closed his eyes as he said, “Okay.”

“What?” Evelyn asked.

“Tell them I’ll do it.”

“You will?” she asked, voice sounding bright through the phone.

“It’s just a speech. I can whip something up very easily.”

“Oh, Adam. I was so worried about you, but if you’re up to it, I’ll be so relieved. Let me get back to them. I’ll call you later.”

As the phone went dead, Adam sat in his funk and silence, listening to the television drone on. In a moment he was going to take a shower. And turn on his laptop. In a moment.

First, Adam closed his eyes and apologized to the memory of Gregory and to all the people he’d disappointed. To his constituents. To his parents. To Evelyn. To Chetachi.

But also, to himself.