11th November, 1969.
9:09 pm

My father once told me I attract bad luck. Tonight I have attracted my doom.

I was out of breath, my chest felt like it would implode and my bones would pour at your feet. I placed my hand to my heart trying to gather the flesh, to squeeze out my love for you. Have what I ever cherished about you trail down my fingers but I could only grasp at the fabric of my navy blue Everest sweater.

I was beaten up, the corners of my lips that once tasted like your favorite morning drink now bloodied.

I told you to save me, to bundle me up and tuck me in your embrace, in your essence. I told you that the founding children wanted to kill me.

I had forgotten you were one of them, since the day of your birth, before you learned how to spell your name, Nabeel Talha, before our bodies merged under the rain and your fingers traced down my bare back.

I forgot.

You used to call me smart. I knew I was, Mo ti gbon ju. I was smart, I had always been a smart, clever, ambitious, intuitive girl. A strategist, a builder.

You had also once called me wicked, you weren't in your senses then, you thought I wasn't too, that I would forget. But I didn't, I remember the stench of the black puff escaping your lips like silk, I remember the heated gaze in your eyes as though you would stab me with the stone at your feet and bury me in the sands of the beach. But then you laughed and before I could say another word you brushed your nose up the crock of my neck.

Now it made more sense, standing 50 feet above the ground our eerie shadows dancing on the cold stone walls that the brightness from the lantern hanging above couldn't scare off.

You stared blankly at the river fall on my face, deep croaky sounds breaking out my throat, they echoed through the room. Through the silence that had nestled between walls, the staircase, and which the bells hung regally up a few steps in front of us.

I told you it was Haliya, Haliya Amari. However, she wasn't the one who had hit me over and over all over, forcing me to drag my body like a sack of sore and hurt to escape. She wasn't the one who I had locked up in the dusty dark room at the white party all night and sung in her place to impress the grand names of Whitepocket that were in attendance. That was Kathryn Mohreen, the prima donna, through and through.

Haliya wasn't the one from who I had stolen the stash of marijuana and hidden it in your book bag, the same one that had slipped out onto the concrete floor the day you were bombarded with journalists over your family's recent scandal. The same one that brought light to your substance abuse and addiction to the whole of Abuja, the same one that ripped you of your firstborn inheritance. No, that was Tiwa Fagunwa, the president's son.

Haliya also wasn't the one who I had taken advantage of their drunk state and slept with. She wasn't the one whom I had indirectly blackmailed to help me through the tests and university applications and gave me the best gold-pleated record sheet his father's school could offer, using his guilt and fear of having his connections with you broken if it ever got out as I pleased. No, that was Cyrus Amaechi, the son of a tycoon.

Haliya Amari was the willowy dark-skinned girl that leaked of gentility and poise. The girl who helped to clean up the class even though the mop looked so out of place in her hand. The girl whose smile scared of bad days and whose light shunned the darkest corners. The girl who was formidable, the epitome of pure femininity. The girl was a one-of-a-kind person who could only be born after a thousand years.

Haliya was my muse. The reason I stood in front of the broken mirror on the water-patched walls of my cramped room and practiced my stance to be as straight as hers, to see how I looked when my shoulders were high with grace just as hers, to see how I would look if I was her. If I was excellence.

Haliya, that beautiful witch, she was behind this. I had told you that night in hot ugly sobs that she was behind it all. She wanted to rip us apart and she had turned the others against me.

You had stayed quiet until I said Haliya loved you and that was why she did it all. You had laughed, so intense, so thick, so rich, so you and so not you at the same time.

It was the first time I had been scared of you.

The laughter held me by the throat and if I had eaten the little leftover soup instead of offering them to mummy that morning before school, I would've thrown up on your expensive shoes.

It was short and then silence and then your eyes were hot, like you had dipped them in luminescent acid. Then you apologized, insincerely, mockingly, that the thought of Haliya being able to love that way was just too hilarious that you had to laugh at your bleeding, crying mess of a girlfriend's face.

It was then I wondered who Haliya really was. It was then I unlocked a new level of hatred, of envy, of fascination.

You stepped closer to me the force of energy around you too strong, too bitter that it made me take a step back, then I found myself taking two more and then eight more steps. A whiff of cold air halted me, like a warning sign, it screamed for my feet to pause.

You were so close now I could smell the sandalwood scent that wafted around you, I could hear the thoughts drumming in your head, I could see the reflection of your heart breaking in your eyes, I could taste your need for vengeance.

Your voice was low and soft when you spoke next, whenever you spoke you did so as though your words were just for us and no one could share.

You asked how I had gotten my scholarship. I wasn't dumb but I struggled heavily to be nearly on the same level of academic greatness as the students of Everest. It was always interesting how I had gotten a scholarship I hadn't even applied for.

I said nothing. You asked if I my father's fall from this very bell tower was a work accident.

I said nothing once again.

You asked if I had pushed him to get my way into this school.

I said nothing.

You didn't ask why, if you had I would've told you not everyone was born lucky with diamonds and white horses. I would've told you I had to do what I had to do, to better my life because I was smart, clever, ambitious. I was a strategist, a builder.

You asked if I was the Butcher of Whitepocket.

Instead you asked if I was the one writing articles anonymously about the secret endeavors of your families, the founding families. You asked if I was the one exposing you mighty ones to the eyes of the people of Abuja.

I told you it was impossible. I told you it was Haliya. You didn't believe me, how could you have? The Amaris had also been dragged across dirt by the Butcher. How would she, the heiress, do that to her family?

You asked again and I told you the same.

You asked if I was the one who tipped the butcher about you and your puffs of smoke. I didn't say anything, what could I have said the could've salvaged the situation. That I was the one who had provided evidence for your downfall.

You smiled, ife mi, my boyfriend. Tall handsome, and absolutely brilliant. Your face alone brightened the room like you were the son of the moon, sculptured by her hands and kissed with life.

I began to cry harder. How could such beautiful things have cruel hearts?

I hugged you, tighter than I ever had. I told you to listen to me, that I had a reason and when I looked up at you, I wanted to bury myself in your scent, I wanted to melt into your memories. I wanted you. That was my grand scheme, to be worthy of you.

It wasn't meant to be this messy, this horrid. But once I stepped in, I couldn't for the life of me turn away. It was impossible.

How could I leave all of this? How could I ever willing exchange the fancy dinners and the diamond necklaces for the hungry nights and prodding bones?

How could I ever trade heaven for earth? Immortality for life? The galaxy for a star? Everything for something?

I could not go back to that life. To the endless hustle, working through hours and ache and blood only to get poorer, to feed the rich.

I, Jameela could never. Olorun maje. I would rather die.

You looked down at me, so gentle, just like ever, as though I was the most precious thing you had ever set eyes on, as though I was invaluable.

You were a mistake, Jameela, you sighed and held me, nestled your head at the crock of my neck and inhaled. You were such a beautiful mistake, you whispered.

Over your shoulders in the dimness of the bell's shadow, hovering by the staircase, my eyes met with Haliya's. She had been watching. Her hair fell down her slender shoulders like a sea of venom. She tipped the corners of her lips up gracefully and waved.

She waved my goodbye.

She waved me goodbye as she stood over the ashes of my sacrifices and efforts with such regality. The queen had made her final move in this game of chess.

Checkmate.

You planted a kiss and pulled away, my heart fluttered and then died, I opened my mouth to speak but you beat me.

And mistakes are more bearable to live it when they are buried.

You had said.

And then you killed me.

Haliya, you all, killed me.

However, you can't kill the devil with your mere demons.

The body and bones can decay, the soul can transcend, the mind can wither.

But blood spilled will always linger.

Iya mi o kin se ode lati je ko pa mi, lai se nkan kan si. Mo bú ọ, ẹ̀jẹ̀ rẹ lo ma jẹ́ ìṣubú rẹ ní ayé yìí.

And with mine and my last breath, I prayed for your eternal downfall.

Every single one of you. Everest, every inch of this land.

ROSE'S LITTLE RANT;

Let's begin.

I hope you're grasping the idea of the Founding Families because these mad people are everywhere in this book😩

This our narrator, a good person? A bad person? Is she just as horrible as everyone she named? Well she's dead so that's none of our business 🤭

I just thought a little blast from the past wouldn't hurt, right?

Because you know what they say, history loves to repeat itself 🤭

Thank you for reading!

See you next week

Love, Rose❤️