“All the art of living, lies in a fine mingling of letting go and holding on.” – Havelock Ellis.

•••

The daunting task ahead, wasn’t potent enough to take Lekan’s mind off the pejorative thoughts that traversed his mind, like stubborn hunters searching for prey. He was en-route to the site of the meet, where he had agreed to convene with the hired specialists on the train implementation scheme. He had gotten their contacts from Kunle of course, who had once again commended his resourcefulness in the area—before handing over the contact info. Naade was seated beside him in the SUV, as they were being driven to the conference location which was at Excellence Hotel, Ikeja.

The stubborn, obstinate thoughts in his head were something he would have never thought could arise, a month ago. For the past two months, he had pulled the plug on his wild, licentious life so as to adjust to the demands of a relationship. It had been rewarding, as the prize of said ‘fasting’ was being the partner of someone he felt deeply for. They had tested the waters, and he had come to the conclusion that he was not only capable of profound feelings, but wasn’t beyond being spurred by said feelings to become a better man, a changed person that could stick to one woman at a time, and discipline himself not to sample other side dishes in the process.

Anjola’s father death had plunged her into a dark chasm, where she had severed virtually all communication with him, in a bid to recuperate. He understood her need for solitary, as anyone’s wellbeing would be injured greatly by a tragedy of such magnitude. But that didn’t exactly smother his ravenous desire and thirst for her—for human contact, and sensual pleasures.

Even when he was with her, he still craved for the goodies he couldn’t enjoy anymore as a result of his resolutions, but at least her company and their minimal sipping of the wild waters, had kept his thirst on a level he could manage, but now that he had no access of any kind to the stream of pleasure—he was parched to the point, that he feared he would lose his head.

He couldn’t intrude on her recovery, just to feed his appetite. That was a selfish thing to do, and it would probably end their relationship, as Anjola would find such behaviour intolerable. But he was losing his mind, in the process of desisting from his old ways, which was quite nerve-racking, because a month ago, at the hospital, when Anjola’s dad died—he remembered feeling like he could go all the way, he remembered the confidence and compulsion coursing through his veins—flooding him with the courage and conviction, that the work was done and that he had almost completed his journey, to the express of the ideal man.

How foolish I was.

Lekan didn’t doubt the fact that he loved Anjola, but the truth was that—she was the only thing he loved in the reality that came along with her. While he did love her for being the person she was, he hated everything else. He hated the fact that their relationship didn’t fully satisfy his sexual needs. He hated the fact he had to refrain from partying and other canal pleasures, just so, the probability of him succumbing to temptation, remained at a bare minimum. He hated all the numerous restraints, and impositions that this new life came along with—and for the first time, since Anjola came into the picture, he admitted to himself that he missed his old life.

He missed the rush of driving at criminally high speeds at night, with his roof wound down and the cold, air rushing at his face as if to strangle him. He missed clubbing, feeling all the giddy delights of having his body pressed up against the curvy, luscious curves of women with music blaring from the speakers in a deafening volume, that it made his ears numb with noise. He missed being in a gathering of men, who led similar lives like his—to share their most adventurous and audacious escapades with women in the past. And most of all, he missed being entangled with the body of another—in a sexual waltz to climax and orgasm.

In his new life, asides Anjola, there was almost nothing that appealed to him. And now that Anjola was out of the equation, because she was mourning—he was cranky and antsy all the time, as if there was an itch in his brain that he couldn’t scratch. The analogy was perfect in using to describe his predicament, since he knew what he wanted but couldn’t exactly dare go for it.

He wanted to believe this new, discipline oriented life wasn’t originally appalling, as it would be a lot more enticing if Anjola wasn’t lost in the desert of grief, trying to find her bearings. Then they’d hang out, and spend quality time with each other, which was more than effective in keeping him in line, but now that he didn’t have that, he began to wonder if it was all worth the stress and hassle.

Sure, Anjola was a gem but that more than emphasized the fact that she was too costly and perhaps, he couldn’t afford to keep her? What was the use if he hated everything about his life, and loved her alone? Besides, she was yet to verify the true extent of her feelings for him.

The entire relationship was borne out of the need to test a certain hypothesis, and while his feelings for her had deepened—there was no confirmation that it was the same for her. What if she then decided that her feelings for him were short-lived after all? It was just like Chibuzor had said, a month back at the club. It was a fruitless venture, if the relationship wasn’t heading to marriage—the next phase, where Anjola would be willing to give her all. And Marriage? Well, the thought wasn’t exactly repulsing, but he couldn’t think of it, without a sharp pain coursing through his head.

That was enough indication that he wasn’t ready for it yet. His next meeting with Anjola was going to be one of great importance, because they had a lot to talk about. So much to talk about.

“Hey, are you okay?” A familiar, effeminate voice punched him back into consciousness. He looked around, firstly at Naade seated by his side, looking as dashing as always, in a white chiffon off-shoulder flare blouse—dotted with starfishes—a navy blue high waist pencil skirt, with a front slit and black pumps. Being in close proximity with Naade was also one of his many afflictions—not being able to have his way with someone that attractive, who wanted him as much as he did her.

Then his eyes roamed to his left, to peer out of the windows and he realized he was in a car garage, which overlooked a massive dome—that spilled out to a picturesque park, buzzing with life. They had arrived at the hotel already, and he had failed to notice it because he was deep in thoughts. His left hand then grappled the teeth of the side door’s knob, and he was about to pull when he felt Naade’s hand on his right shoulder, pushing him back to relax on the chair and sending a whorl of current on an orbit to somewhere dangerous in his body.

“Why are you in a rush? I just texted our contact, he is yet to arrive. Besides, we’re like an hour early.” Naade’s monotone was a blend of skepticism and concern.

“Oh,” His eyes widened, and he released his body to relax. “Alright then. So we wait.”

Naade edged closer to him on the seat—although still maintained a reasonable distance—and crossed her legs, forcing him to lower his gaze to her fleshy, immaculate lower thighs that bulged out fully, and revealed a preview of her upper thighs that disappeared into her skirt.

He swallowed hard, and raked a hand through his hair. For the past few weeks, he had prided himself on the fact that he had gotten the hang of securing his thoughts safely around Naade, but lately that he had become more vulnerable, he could feel his thoughts slip more and more out of control, venturing into the red zone.

“You’ve been awfully quiet all through the journey, something is on your mind, right? And don’t tell me there is nothing on your mind, because if you weren’t so deep in thoughts you’d have known we have arrived, especially when the security personnel at the gates were being nasty, and one of them even winked at me, and told us to have a good time, as if it’s only sex people come to hotels for, and business appointments don’t hold here. I’d have naturally assumed it’s the weight of the whole project that’s weighing on you, but you’ve been nothing but confident, so you can’t start panicking now, today of all days.”

She had backed him into a corner, and he knew he couldn’t wriggle his way out through dodgy antics. But did he really want to open up to her about his problem? Wasn’t that somewhat contradictory? Telling her that he was pressed for sexual pleasures, because his new relationship prohibited him from indulgence in it, especially when she was the most tantalizing temptation around him. It all felt anticlimactic, but since he didn’t exactly have a score of options to choose from, he went on anyway.

“Well, um…yeah a lot is on my mind and it has almost nothing to do with the meeting that we’re here for.” He sat ramrod straight, and clenched his fists. “But trust me, I’m not about to spill all what’s going on with me, when I know the driver is in the car listening to us.” He didn’t pause to look at the designated driver, but he knew the poor man had tensed up. “I’m not buying into that movies shit, where the drivers in the car are around for all these crucial conversations, and miraculously don’t listen in on it. Or if it’s the fact that they don’t care about it, still not comfortable with a third party listening on it.”

“I see,” Naade nodded, a faint smile glowing on her left cheek. She tilted her neck forward, and increased the volume of her voice. “Um, Mr. Ajala, please excuse us. As you’ve heard the man, we’re about to discuss something sensitive here.”

The middle aged man hurried out of the car with such speed, that one would think his life was threatened. The scene was quite amusing, but Lekan repressed his laughter as he watched the man climb down from the car, almost tumbling to the floor as he wobbled out of the vehicle. After the door was closed, he faced Naade who was giving him an attentive look and started.

“I’m in a relationship, you know that. You also met my girlfriend the other day, when she came to the office.”

“Yeah, I did. She’s really pretty by the way.” Naade replied, a genuine smile on her face and honesty dripping all over her voice. Once again, he felt another twinge of guilt that her feelings for him, wasn’t reciprocated. She was a great person, and she deserved the best. “When dark women are that pretty, it’s really intimidating you know. They aren’t even like, radiant and obvious, yet they’re killing it. It’s something I can never compete with.”

“Yet, a lot of these dark women would kill to have your light complexion and spotless skin.” Lekan smiled, returning her enthusiasm and not wanting to ignore it altogether. “Well, the thing is that this relationship, although it’s a real one…it was birthed on the grounds of a ‘let’s get closer to each other, and find out if we’re compatible and if our feelings would still remain after getting to know each other’ basis. You get the picture I’m trying to paint here?”

“Yup, I do.” Naade nodded. “You both wanted to test the waters and try out new things. Right?”

“More like we wanted to test the true nature of our feelings for one another and see if it was built on legitimate grounds. And we did test it and for me, well it turns out it was deep after all. I really do like her, so much that I think I love her, I mean I did throw away all the pleasures that I used to enjoy, just to try and be this new person, that is needed for the relationship. And that’s the essence of love right? It’s a decision, it’s a sacrifice and it’s all about giving and placing the other person’s need first?”

“Ouu, not bad for a playboy.” Naade cooed, with an impressed look and her eyes widened when she saw the resulting smirk, that emanated on his face. “Oops, sorry. You get pretty touchy, whenever I call you that. What do you call yourself again? A liberal sampler? Woman tasting machine?”

Lekan wished there was a throw-pillow nearby, so he could hurl it in her face. “I’m just a person, that likes to take what he wants, if I happen to be the other person—want also. It’s simple trade by barter, and there is nothing really demeaning about it, though.”

“Of course, I was only kidding Lekan. I had sex with you multiple times, did I not?” Naade tilted her head up, with such ease in her composure as if the fact she had stated, was related to a trivial thing like the weather. “Yup, your definition of love is pretty spot on. What’s the problem then? You’re not show if she reciprocates it?”

“Of course not, that’s not what I’m saying…” He trailed off, as it hit him. “Wait a minute? She hasn’t exactly, admitted it out like I sort off did. Plus, I’m the only one doing all the changing. If she does love me, she should be willing to sacrifice, like I’m doing right?”

He looked up to see Naade looking confused. “What I mean is that, ever since the start of the relationship, it’s been only me trying to change. Of course, I would be committed and stuff, and shouldn’t be sleeping about, but why isn’t she willing to compromise also? She doesn’t believe in premarital sex, so why isn’t she trying to change that part of herself too when she knows sex is something, that I…you know, would appreciate.”

Naade’s eyes widened infinitesimally, in a way that showed she grasped the crux of his analysis. “Aha, I see where you’re going to. You do love Anjola, but you’re stuck in a hard place because you want sex, and she won’t give you. Is that all to it, though? I feel there is more to your dilemma, than her being unwilling to have sex. You miss your old life, don’t you? You miss being able to have your way with anyone you wish? You don’t need to be ashamed to admit that. It’s your life, you’ve been living it before Anjola came into the equation.”

He nodded. “Uh, well you could say that. But I’m sure, I wouldn’t miss it that much if she was down for sex.”

“You think?” Naade’s right brow quirked. “You’re not just missing the sex, mister. You’re missing out all the aspects of your old life. The partying, the drinking, the staying out late, the liberty that comes with not being attached or devoted to anyone. It’s the full package. The sex withdrawal is just being a trigger to it all. Sooner or later, you were always going to come back to this point.”

“What’s your point?” His patience was waning, and he was getting tired of the pull-and-push game of whether or not he was fully aware of the rudiments, the toll had on his psyche.

“My point is that whether or not she gives you sex, you were always going to return to this point. It’s an inevitable reaction. The sex withdrawal once again, has only being…um, what do those scientists call it again? Aha, a catalyst that sped up the rate or reaction. You’re experiencing withdrawal symptoms, like every other normal addict. Now back to your point of whether or not Anjola should change for you by tabling up sex, I’m pretty sure she ruled that from the onset and you agreed to it, right?”

She paused for him to clarify, and he nodded before she proceeded. “So yeah, that’s wrong of you to expect that when you had initially agreed it wouldn’t be on the table. If things are done that way, then you should have a good enough excuse to cheat and sleep with other women, just because she can’t satisfy your thirst and she wants to be understanding of your ravenous needs, and so she lets you…even though you agreed on exclusivity initially? Do you get where I’m going with this?”

He did get where she was going to. “It’s the foundation of what we built the relationship on, and so it can’t be changed that way.”

“Exactly,” Naade snapped her hand, to imply that his thoughts were in sync with her words. “Expecting something different, when you didn’t sign up for it…is wrong. So no, she can’t change and compromise herself just for you even if she loves you, because she didn’t agree to do that. You on the other hand had promised to do whatever it takes, to be committed and you have to stick to the other end of your agreement. Violating it because you’re drawn to your old life and the relationship isn’t fully satisfying to you, isn’t justifiable. If you go off track, you go off track.”

“So there is nothing that can be done?”

“To salvage what, exactly?” Lekan didn’t realize he had said the words out loud, until Naade replied. “If its still about the sex thing, then you guys should renegotiate a new relationship where sex is on the table. If she isn’t willing to do that, then you gotta stick with this for now. And you said, she doesn’t believe in premarital sex? Meaning, she believes in marital sex.

“Sounds to me like you have your answer. You want the full package, you propose to her and put a ring on it. You love her, don’t you? And if she is worth putting everything behind then you should go for it. You have moves, Lekan. Use your weapons, and make her fall hard for you…so she can’t say no to your proposal, and give her the conviction that you’ve truly changed.”

“What if I don’t want marriage? What if the thought of it doesn’t…intrigue me? What if the thought of it scares me, because all I can see is a cage and…” He trailed off, and ran a hand through his head. “I have a serious problem, don’t I?”

“You have to decide, Lekan.” Naade continued, in her nigh scolding monotone. “If this relationship isn’t satisfying at all, and the cons outweighs the pros…then pull out. You love her, but people move on. There is a chance you’d eventually move on to a more comfortable relationship. And with the way you sound about marriage, it seems to me like you’re not ready to change. I’m not an expert on this change thing. But I know that if you do want to change, you should be ready for the changes and be willing personally to change, and not rush into it, just because it comes as a clause in relationship with a person, that you adore a lot.”

Lekan was yet to depart from the juncture of crossroads he was, but Naade’s words had provided some much needed insight and directions, that would be more than instrumental in mapping out his exit from the abyss, he was stuck in. Hopefully, and eventually—he’d make the right decision, and no one would end up getting hurt, because for some reason, he couldn’t shrug off the nagging feelings that things were about to implode.

“Thanks Naade,” He smiled genuinely, as gratitude overwhelmed him. “If someone had told me it wouldn’t be weird at all to discuss my love life, with someone I was previously involved with, I’d have assumed they hadn’t had sex before, and definitely don’t know the clauses that apply to it. But it’s indeed possible for it not to be awkward, so thank you.”

“Don’t get all mushy on me, now.” Naade tore her gaze from his, and lowered it to her wristwatch as the color flooded her cheeks. Her gaze hovered on her wrist for so long, that he knew she was trying to hide the fact that she was flustered. “It’s time, already. We should head out now, even if our contacts are yet to arrive.” And then she lifted her gaze to his, and reached out to touch his forearm. “I trust that you’d do the right thing.”

Unlike earlier on, when there was nothing but sympathy in her eyes—this time, there was another emotion entrenched in her eyes, that was quite indiscernible. It hearkened somewhat to longing, but he couldn’t be so sure. Naade had already declared herself off limits, and hadn’t encouraged anything sexual affiliated between them, so why now of all times? It didn’t make sense. He had only misread the emotion in her eyes.

“Sure, I’d try to break no hearts.” He offered a hopeful smile, and then she retracted her hands—and her expression altered back to the state, he could recognize. Throughout the rest of the day, her professional fascia remained unhinged and stone-cold, that he couldn’t help but wonder if he had imagined her looking affectionate or it was a mistake on her part.

Or worse, he couldn’t help but wonder if it was an advancement—a part of a bigger scheme.

***

When the electric kettle started to hiss, indicating that the water in it had boiled—Anjola hopped off the kitchen island, and ambled towards the gas cooker. After twisting the modulator and switching it off, she lifted the kettle off the cooker and emptied the water into her tea mug on the cabinet. She then rose to her tiptoes and retrieved her pack of Lipton tea bags from the cupboard and dumped two tea bags into the steaming cup, and watched as the tea diffused through the water, overshadowing it completely until it was thick with color. Just the way she liked it.

For some uncanny reason, these days she loved watching the color change of the water—loved watching how it deepened, into a pitch-black body. Probably because it reflected her inner transformation, into something broken—something dark, after the death of her father. Although the excruciating pain, that she once felt had started to deteriorate—it didn’t trump the fact that it was still agonizing, and that some days she was so laden with pain, that she did nothing but lay in bed all day until hunger stabbed her so hard, that she had no choice than to scramble out of bed, so she could grab something to eat.

Today was one of the better days. It was still too early, to say she had moved on but it was safe to say she had begun her journey, to move on. It was the 28th of October, and the burial was scheduled for the 30th. It was required that she pull herself together, and make efforts to be in a stable mind somewhat for the looming event.

Friends and family were travelling from distant locations, to grace the occasion. She knew most of them understood her plight, and wouldn’t expect her recovery to be at light speed, but she didn’t want to look overtly wrecked in their eyes. It would only trigger more sympathy that she feared, would make the little progress she had made so far—worthless.

Anjola lifted the tip of the mug to her lips, and sipped just to ensure the taste was thick and pungent—the way she took it these days. Milk and sugar went in next, the former in greater quantity than the latter. She took a spoon afterwards, and stirred while she exited the kitchen and returned to the living room.

She slunk gently onto the sofa, so that the simmering hot tea didn’t lunge out of the cup and burn her hands and thighs. While drinking, her mind fixated on the texture and creamy arc, the dissolved milk formed on the surface of the tea. It was an intentional action, to distract her mind from the chaos of emotions in her head. It was something she did frequently these days. Over concentrate on trifle, inconsequential details—so she had less time to serve in her long-time sentence of sorrow.

At that moment, her phone dinged with a new message and she was tempted to ignore it just like she had been doing for the past couple of weeks. But there was only so long that she could hold on to that reality—so long that she could act like Mofe’s death wasn’t permanent, and she didn’t have to report it and update everyone that cared to know.

More so, the burial was only two days away and it could probably be a concerned relative, seeking inquiries to the location of the venue that the program was being held. Sighing, and setting her tea aside on the tool on the edge of the three-seater—she picked up her phone and navigated to her message app, meeting an ocean of messages and almost drowning in them, as she scrolled from one end to the other, to discern the urgent ones that she couldn’t afford to ignore.

As expected, there were a couple of texts from acquainted family relatives, making enquiries of the bearings’ of the venue. She composed a text message, that was appropriate to address them all, irrespective of their specific relations—and then forwarded to them all, as a broadcast message.

The message as expected contained details and directions, to aide locating the venue and a formal greeting and acknowledgment, thanking the recipient for their time and concern. The action turned out to be more emotionally unnerving, than she anticipated—that she had to chuck her phone to one side, and bury her head in her face to hit the brakes on her whirling head, that had spun out of control for a brief moment.

A tear escaped her right lid, and she didn’t bother swatting at it. She let it skid down of its own freewill, and soak into her striped t-shirt. She wasn’t sure if she had done much healing since Mofe’s death. Time was supposed to heal like they said, but it had only made her more comfortable with the reality. It hadn’t impaled the pain in her, or made it more comfortable to live with. Or maybe, that was the true definition of moving on and leaving the past behind.

Anjola hardly received visitors. It was of her own doing of course, as she hadn’t been hospitable to anyone who visited. Not that she had being rude and belligerent, and had driven them out of the house, with a cane on their heels, but it had been more than glaring in her comport and attitude towards them, that she wanted to be left alone. And they had respected her wish, by staying away. Tiolu still dropped by, every now and then, to check up on her and ensure she hadn’t taken her own life—because her best friend was sceptical, she might try to pull of such stunt.

The truth was that she didn’t have such courage, and it didn’t help that she was raised by devout Christians, who had drilled the consequence of suicide in her head. She had no reason to doubt the legitimacy of hell, since virtually all the prophecies in the Bible had come to pass anyway. Although her mind occasionally ventured to the thought of what came after death, she knew she couldn’t take such drastic step. Imagining it was one thing, and executing it was another.

Her phone vibrated again, and she picked it up from the stool. Not that she cared much for replying promptly, as she had scores of messages she hadn’t bothered replying, but her mind had been invaded by harrowing thoughts already, and she needed an escape—no matter how brief or temporal. She surfed back and forth, for a distraction she didn’t know she was searching for, until she accidentally stumbled onto the message feed of Mofe’s old contact. She was about to exit, when an idea struck her over the head.

When he died, she had been too sore with pain to face him and talk, and for the past few days—she had been preparing her mind for the monumental task of the burial proceedings. She knew she’d be ready in due time, but at the moment…her emotions were in disarray. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t text him. He’d never see or read it of course, but it was still as efficient as conversing with his corpse, and accompanied with less arduous pain. She exhaled hard, and cracked her knuckles—searching her head for the things she wanted to say, the emotions she wanted to convey. She started to type anyway, unsure of her destination.

Hey Dad, it’s been about a month or thereabout since you left. Yep, I can’t quite use words like ‘since your demise’ or ‘since you died’ because it’s too heavy to say. Because the pain is still that much, and I want to believe you’re not necessarily dead. You’re now in heaven, watching down at us earthlings…lol. One time, I listened to the life beneath, from a skyscraper, and the feeling was…simply amazing. So I can’t imagine how the view from heaven must be so awesome.

As her mind drifted to the memory of the skyscraper incident, thoughts of Lekan invaded her mind. The thoughts visited occasionally, but she mostly kept them at bay because she was too weak to process them. She had insisted that he didn’t visit, alongside everyone else—but only Tiolu had been stubborn enough to defy her wish. She didn’t blame Lekan, and she liked that he stayed away because she was too wounded to be the person, he needed her to be. She didn’t know what that meant for their relationship, but she knew she didn’t want it to be over just yet, as her feelings for him had become much clearer these days.

They were indeed deep, and not unstable. But the time wasn’t right to take it to the next stage. She wasn’t sure, if the time would ever be right judging by the dawdling progress she was making towards recovery, and she didn’t want to make him wait long. But she hadn’t been calling the shots of her emotional state, since Mofe left. She was still wrestling for the reins, with sobriety. She resumed typing,

I hope you’re adjusting nicely to your new environment, nicely. Me on the other hand, isn’t doing such a great job but I’m sure I’d make progress soon. I’ve decided to resume work next week, so as to take my mind off things. It’s the same method I used when mom died. You know, bury myself so deep into work that I had little time to grieve. And it’d be better, because unlike school—the entire company don’t know of the news, asides my close friends at work, so there would be no condolences at every turn, reminding me of your death. Which I think is good for me, right? That’s what you’d want me to do. You’d want me to move on.

And trust me, I really do want to move on. This pain is just so unbearable. On some days I can live with it, but just yesterday, I couldn’t get out of bed. On some days, I cry really hard. Other days, I successfully distract myself to the point that I don’t have to face these feelings. On some days I’m in the middle of all these, like today, but still so sad because I don’t want to accept a reality without you in it, yet. You know? That’s what moving on means. And the truth is I want to move on real fast, so I can climb out of this hell but I don’t know where that puts me. Does that make me a bad person for wanting to move on so fast? And also, once again…a part of me doesn’t want to accept that you’re totally gone.

She paused to sniffle, and bat another tear.

I’ve kept my friends at arm’s length. I need the solitude, besides like I said earlier…I plan on resuming with life next week, so I think I deserve the space to grieve in peace, right? I just hope everyone doesn’t hate me, by the time I’m ready to return back to real life. Well, the burial is in two days…so we’d know for sure, if things are that sour.

My best friend, Tiolu still checks up on me though. Yesterday, while I cried for about ten minutes…she just sat beside me, draped an arm through my shoulder and texted people on her phone. It felt so natural and easy, that I couldn’t help but realize how I was wrong, in thinking you’re the only family, I have left. She understood that I didn’t need to hear sorry multiple times, and also knew that I needed support anyway. Only family can understand you that way, and like I said earlier…you were right, once again.

You were right in saying, family isn’t all about blood relatives and all that. Tiolu is my family, and maybe…Lekan also. He’s not shown up here against my will, but he messages me everyday anyway, even though I don’t reply his texts most times, and I give lazy replies. He fills me on the stuff he’s been up to in my absence, and always ends it with a prayer, in the hopes that I’d get better soon. And he makes sure to include that he hopes I’d get better for me, and not for us and our paused relationship…so yeah, that’s very understanding and selfless.

I really wished you were here, Dad. Asides from the fact that I do miss you that much, I need your sage insights. I never told you about Lekan until now, and I feel so bad and horrible for that. If I had done so earlier, perhaps you’d have offered the one true answer to the question that has been haunting me, since I agreed to the relationship with Lekan. Whether or not he is capable of change. He’s shown that he’s capable of affection, capable of empathy and sympathy, capable of being selfless and putting others first. But it’s still a huge leap from there to changing the essence of who he was.

I know he hasn’t cheated on me, but I can’t help but feel that I’m sitting docks. Or sitting ducks? How do they say it? I’m not sure, but I think you do get my point. I think I love him, because I really do care about him…and he’s hinted at his love for me, but anytime I subtly bring up marriage, the frown on his face stings me hard. Marriage has always been the deal for me. I don’t care much for dating. I date for marriage only, and the only reason I made an exception for him, is because my feelings for him came about mysterious and confusing. So, I really don’t know what to do?

I’ve put a lot into our relationship, but I’m still afraid to go all out, in case I don’t get what I expected. Besides, I can’t force him to propose to me, right? Even if I’m going to motivate him, and hint that I’m ready for that, I have to be sure he likes the idea before doing so and so far, I don’t think so. I don’t want to stay in this relationship for long, and waste my time in it, just to discover down the road that it’d never lead to where I want. Even if he does change, if we don’t get married, it’s still sort of pointless because I won’t be able to give my all and contrary to what even him thinks, I want to give it my all but I can’t.

He’d be at the burial definitely, and of course I can’t ignore him. Perhaps tomorrow, we should talk and discuss the future about our relationship? Now that I’ve thought of it, I’d definitely do that. So, this is where I say goodbye dad. Not that I can ever get tired of talking to you, or not because I need a break from this…but because, I need to go off, as this is getting more emotional than I thought, and I don’t want to soak my phone up in tears.

She grabbed the helm of her shirt, and used it to wipe the wet screen that a couple of tears had dropped on.

So goodbye dad, I love you so much. I probably shouldn’t do this again, as it’d become some weird habit, and it wouldn’t help much in helping me move on. So yeah, this is just a one-time thing. Matter of fact, I’d delete your number after this so I’m not tempted to message you again. So, bye and be well. I’d be well also, I don’t have a choice. And I do want to live a meaningful life, like you did. So, um…yeah. Bye.

It was all she could type before dropping the phone back onto the stool and sinking into another wave of tears. She didn’t stop anytime soon, and didn’t have the intention to.

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Her pain is quite heart wrenching  isn't it? Once again, I'm not one of this writers that enjoy putting their characters through pain. This phase is necessary and pivotal to the story.

Tell me what you think in the comments, and tap that star.