|Imran Adebayo Ibrahim|

The bass thumped through the walls, echoing the energy of the lively gathering in my stepbrother's room. As I reluctantly stepped into the chaotic scene, I couldn't help but feel a sense of irritation. The air was thick with laughter and the overpowering scent of cheap cologne. I navigated through the crowd, attempting to find a corner where I could blend in unnoticed. The music blared, drowning out any chance of escaping the festivities. Despite my discontent, I resigned myself to the fact that I was stuck here, a reluctant participant in a party I never signed up for.

That was the universe's way of punishing me for snapping at my mother earlier that afternoon.

Fortunately, the living room was devoid of teenagers whose oxytocin levels were surging uncontrollably. The room didn't house any virgins with the intention of losing their innocence to Zayd. Attempting to watch Riverdale on Netflix, I struggled to focus due to the vibrant music bustling from my stepbrother's room. The irresistible Afrobeat compelled my feet to rhythmically tap on the wooden floor.

I was so preoccupied with the silent Netflix series I was watching that I failed to hear my stomach's grumbling. My intestines were in turmoil, signaling my hunger. Since my mom hadn't prepared any food before she left, I had to order pizza. The catch was that I had no cash on me, as Zayd held all the money. My willingness to attempt entering Zayd's room was zero, but in order to survive I had to enter inside.

I felt like a foreigner in my own home, as if I had ever truly belonged. With a quiet, hesitant step, I made my way to my stepbrother's room, where the muffled sounds of conversation and laughter seeped through the door. I attempted a soft knock — as if trying not to disturb him — but eventually, after persistent tapping, I turned the doorknob and was greeted by a scene that resembled Grand Theft Auto brought to life. The room looked exactly like the BDSM club in the game. I never fancied GTA because of that specific spot in the game, that's why I go for Fortnite.

My jaw was literally on the floor board. The room was dimly lit, with a seductive ambiance that hinted at an air of mystery and excitement. Deep, rich colors were casted on the walls, casting sensuous shadows across the space. Heavy, velvet curtains hung from the ceiling, muffling sound and adding to the intimate atmosphere. Leather couches and plush, cushioned seating were logically placed around the room, encouraging the teenagers to relax and engage in conversation. The centerpiece was a polished wooden bar, stocked with an array of tantalizing beverages, both alcoholic and non-alcoholic, to cater to diverse tastes.

How did he even fit in a bar island inside his room?

The room was adorned with discreet yet alluring artwork, suggestive of its resemblance to a BDSM club. Chains, leather straps, and intriguing sculptures added to the allure. Subtle, low-frequency music played in the background, setting a sensual rhythm for the gathering. A mere sight of it sent waves of desire down my spine.

Mutely, I entered the room shutting the door close behind me. Shutting the door closed, I was noticed.

"Hey, it's the new Nigerian kid!" Someone pushed me from behind. Even though the attempt was playful, I still landed on my face, crashing into the leather straps.

"Ew." I whined in disgust as I struggled to stand up and wiped off the white tacky oily liquid that had smeared on my forehead. God, I shiver at the realization of what it was. Sperm.

"Hey!" I yelled, walking down to my brother who was playing a party game — a dirty party game. "Zayd, I don't even wanna know what this is—" I began, eyes flashed with irritation, "can I have some money, I want to order pizza." I spoke rudely, slapping his drunk face with my words.

"Chill bro. It's my crib. I can do what I want here, and besides, don't tell me you don't like what you see, man — no cap, point at anyone and they'll go on their knees for you!" He said drunkenly, staggering in front of me and almost falling on my shoulder.

I pushed him away and he tried his best to catch his balance but failed. He thought this was a baseball match; he thought wrong.

"Stay the hell away from me, you're disgusting." I spatted, shepherding his body with my eyes, I noticed he was wearing those latex suits and harnesses. In his hand was a cuff and on his head was a cop's hat. I imagine how he still claims to be a Muslim.

I once considered myself a less devout Muslim, but the sight I saw made me realized I was better.

"Why are you staring at me like that? I know you fancied me." Zayd's eyebrows furrowed, like he was surprised.

My cheeks burned in embarrassment. "No, I'm not." I searched his room for his wallet and I saw it on the bed, buried underneath male spandex and female underwear.

The things I did for pizza.

I buried my pride and dug inside, rescuing the mini-bank from the clutches of dirty laundry. With the wallet in my grip I passed by a drunk Zayd who was now dancing seductively with my classmate Ella: she hit on him after all. "All I want is a Smut-Free home." I whispered on my way out, banging the door loudly.

* * *

The doorbell rang for the first time and I did not budge. It rang for the second time, this time I increased the volume of what I was watching, disregarding whoever was knocking, thinking it was one of the rager goers. The third one was frantic and the turmoil that was built in my stomach got worse as I swallowed the last Pringle chip.

"Coming!" That was when I realized it might be the pizza delivery boi.  Face glued to the TV, I walked backwards to the door, dancing to the slow intoxicating music coming from Zayd's room — by that moment everyone was wasted upstairs.

I quickly unlocked the door, still not facing the door. I might have opened the door for a psycho but I didn't care: Betty, Archie and Veronica were all half-naked and it looked like they killed Jughead. I couldn't miss such a scene. "Drop it." I said nonchalantly.

"Least say hi, bruh." The pizza boy startled me, making me look directly at him this time.

Standing in front of me was my archenemy: Omar Alvarez. He was wearing a branded polo shirt which had the logo of the restaurant paired with comfortable khaki. I thought he came for the rager my brother was having, but the baseball hat in his head and the white box which had Antico Pizza Napoletana written on it, I knew he was my pizza boy. I tried so hard to hide my laughter but it came out as a chuckle and I instantly cleared my throat.

"Here—" I handed him twenty dollars, keeping our conversation short and mature, "—keep the change." I added before he could utter a word.

He collected the money from me and stopped me as I wanted to throw the door at his face. "Wait," he called, shutting the thermal bag he'd brought close. "Mind if I come in? This one's my final delivery." He said, welcoming himself in before I could.

I mind very much. I whispered angrily.

"Zayd's having a BDSM party? Lit bruh." Omar acknowledged before bouncing on Jamal's sofa, increasing the volume of the television and sipping my soda.

"That's for me." I complained, frowning at him before taking my seat far from him. "You can go join them if you like." I said, pointing upstairs at my stepbrother's room.

Omar groaned, "I'll rather drink toilet water than attend that disgusting thing. The last time I went, I had jizz all over my face." He said, breaking a laugh at the end of the sentence.

I couldn't hold mine too, I burst out laughing as we had the same experience. "Me too. That was disgusting. My stepbrother's disgusting!" It felt good saying that to someone.

"You watching Riverdale, I love that show." He said to me, opening my pizza — the one I ordered from their pizzeria. Before I could stop him he picked a slice and took a deep bite. "Man..." He moaned as he chewed the cheesy food, "we make the best pizza."

"No cap," I frowned. Shifting the box away from me. I wanted to stop him so badly, but I just couldn't say the word.

"Try one bruh." At least he wasn't a stingy scum. He picked another slice, placing it on the other side of the pizza box. "Try it," he nudged me.

I took a bite and it was heaven. It tasted nothing like the pizzas I ate in Nigeria. I savored each bite of the pizza, relishing the perfect balance of cheesy goodness, flavorful sauce and the satisfying crunch of the crust. The combination of textures and tastes created a delightful experience with every mouthful. That was the first good thing that had happened to me throughout the evening.

"I told you, it's good." He flashed a smile at me and I felt guilty for thinking the worst of him when I haven't gotten the chance to know him.

On his face I could see a scar that was unhidden. It wasn't big yet noticeable. I tried my best to avert my gaze before he could realize I was watching him — that would be weird.

Hella weird.

"Thank you so much new kid, for showing me your house and sharing your pizza."

None of them I did, but I sighed instead. "It's okay."

"I'm sorry for being a punk at school. You were kinda intimidating for real." Omar revealed.

This new revelation made a smile crept out of my lips, if a cool — dope guy as Omar could get intimidated by me, that means I am cool. "What could be intimidating about me," I asked anyway.

"You're just unique, plus you made sure everyone gets the hint that you're a Muslim."

I frowned at that. "What's wrong with being proud of my faith?"

Omar shifted close to me. "Dawg, I am a Muslim too, but I never liked to acknowledge that openly, but by the way you welcomed me, I might try." He whispered to me.

"You better." I forced out.

He stood up abruptly, "I will. Thanks for today, it was fun. I hope we do this again homie." With these said, Omar left with the last slice of pizza and also with my jaw.

I stood petrified as he walked out of my house. Maybe Omar wasn't as bad as he seemed. I couldn't wait to share the good news with Francis and Sahar.

Author's Note

Salaam y'all! How've you been, I'm sorry for not updating for a while now, everything has just been down here at home (I still can't believe grandpa's gone 😪😥) — nevertheless, today, I had the strength to update, so vote, comment and share. And I have a question, why do you think Omar is being nice?

Glossary

1. Jizz: Semen