*NOT EDITED*

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Those paintings–she once said when we were ten–had a piece of her soul in them. There were portraits of Mom and I amongst them, but some of them awakened something bad in me, made my spirit bitter.

❦︎

~[VICTORIA]~

“And we’re done!” Fidel hooted in excitement as we concluded our project, he quickly caught himself and slapped his palm over his mouth, scared not to attract the wrath of the grumpy librarian.

I beamed, laughing. “It was nice working with you, Mr. Essien.”

“Oh, the pleasure is mine, Ms. Kanayo.” He went along with my little joke and we both tried as much as possible to stifle our laughter.

The laughter reduced into a fit of giggles and chuckles and then we soon calmed down. Silence ensued between us, but it was comfortable. I was picking at my afro, eyes on the table but I could feel his eyes on me, it was burning at the top of my forehead.

“Maybe we should go out sometime.” He spoke and I looked up to see him grinning lopsidedly. “What do you say, Bubbles?”

“Uh…” I took a few seconds to think of it. It didn’t sound like a bad idea, especially since I had come to enjoy his company. “Sure. But not this weekend though, Tracy and I have plans already.”

“Oof, I'm wise enough not to hijack you from the almighty Tee.” He rubbed his elbow, shivered in mock fear.

I laughed, shaking my head. “The almighty Tee? You're dramatic.”

“No, seriously. She’s jovial and all but you don’t want to step on her toes.” He scooted closer, looked around and then he said, “She once slapped a teacher.”

I gasped, my eyes widened and my jaw slacked. “Why?”

“She deserved it.” He shrugged, leaning back into his chair, “She called Tracy’s sister a whore and even worse names just because she mostly hangs out with boys.”

“Hold on,” I raised my index finger, squinted at him. “Tracy has a sister?”

“Yeah…” he looked around carefully, then continued. “But I only know that because I'm friends with Tega, so this stays between us.”

Tega… Tega… I had heard that name before but I couldn’t place my hand on when and where.

“The only girl with short hair in SS2.” He expatiated. “You must have seen her around, she’s as social as Tracy is.”

Tega… short hair… SS2. Oh! I remembered. It was the girl Tracy asked to escort those girls that fought in the rose bushes to the clinic. The girl with the vibrant copper skin and short hair.

“I remember her now,” I stated, nodding. “I’ve only seen her once though.”

“Well, she’s Tracy’s sister. And she’s cool, one of the few SS2s that willingly obey us seniours. Her twin is nasty, I tell you.”

“So, Tega, Tracy’s sister, is a twin?” I was yet again shocked.

“What did I just say?” he deadpanned, pursed his lips. “Her twin is that stupid girl…” he snapped his fingers as he tried to remember the name of whoever Tega’s twin was. “Preye, her name is Preye. Very ill-mannered thing she is.”

If I remembered correctly, Tracy had called one of those girls by that name, the ones that were fighting in the rose bushes. She called the abuser that name.

“Dark-skinned with long, straight hair and dark eyes?” I asked, awaiting his confirming.

“Yeah, that description fits her. Sometimes, I wonder how such a beauty could be such a rascal.” He shook his head, a slight grimace on his face.

I sighed, shrugged as I finally digested the new information. “Character is not always written on the face.”

“True talk.” He nodded. And then he suddenly smiled, tilted his head. “But you still owe me an outing, I’ll remind you when I'm ready.”

I grinned, taking my eyes from his dimples to his dark eyes. “Whatever you say, Mr. Essien.”

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                                                             ~[JASON]~

 
“Damn, bro. We’re going to have the highest scores for this masterpiece.” Chris cooed as he skimmed through the photos we had printed out in the school’s studio. “She did pretty well for someone who has never modeled.”

“Well, she’s used to cameras,” I countered, rolling my eyes. “She’s the Nigerian Einstein, isn’t she?”

“Yeah, but those paparazzi take her photos without her knowledge most times, they don’t even go near her unless it’s a public event.” He said, still not taking his eyes off the photos.

“I'm surprised she doesn’t have bodyguards or drivers.” Jude added from behind us. “Almost like she’s not aware of her status.”

“I guess she prefers her life that way. Simple.” Chris shrugged, finally putting the photos away.

“Please, can we talk about something else? Asides her awesomeness?” I complained, their subject of matter was beginning to annoy me.

Someone grabbed my shoulder and spun me to face them. Jude. “Where were you last night? I waited for my water until my throat was dry as the north.”

“I needed to attend to something.” I said flatly.

“And you couldn’t get me my water first? I could have died.” He dramatically flared his hands in the air, eyeing me.

“Yeah, dude,” Chris walked to stand beside Jude, gave me a once over. “Where were you? I dropped off Victoria and returned, you still were nowhere to be found. And you didn’t even take your phone with you, do you know what kind of thoughts were whirling in my mind? How concerned I was? Jay, you had us worried up until this morning!”

“I—” I exhaled; shoulders slumped as I ran my fingers through my hair. “I needed to clear my mind, I needed space.”

Chris walked closer, placed his hand on my shoulder and squeezed lightly. “It’s fine. Just endeavour to inform us next time, I was worried sick, Jay.”

I nodded and smiled in gratitude at my friend, seeing the truth of his words in his light brown eyes.

Then my mind went back to yesterday. The space I had gone to get wasn’t the least bit helpful, but I had only myself to blame. I knew what going into her room would do to me but I still went in there, for the first time in two years.

After Chris and I had our little ‘talk’, I found myself walking up the stairs for some reason, not wiling to go back to my room. It felt like I was not in control of my own actions, my body acted based on what my heart yearned for–to see her, or at least, what she had left behind. So, I walked in her room. It was tidy, well maintained. Mom had been cleaning it up, I had heard her talking to herself many times in there. Her room was mostly pink with only her furniture white and her paintings of several colours.

Those paintings–she once said when we were ten–had a piece of her soul in them. There were portraits of Mom and I amongst them, but some of them awakened something bad in me, made my spirit bitter.

Why didn’t she destroy them after he left us? She even made more? I walked to the other end of the room and yanked them off the wall, and then threw them to the floor with a force I did not know I could produce. They were the portraits of Ebenezer Ugonna, the man who I once called my father.

I stomped on them, the memories whirling in my mind fueled my anger. I was convinced that she left because he left. They were very close, too close, a typical daddy’s girl she was. But were Mom and I not enough for her? Why did she have to go? Didn’t she know how her departure would affect Mom and I? Didn't she!?

By this time, my breath was ragged, my fists were folded so tight I could feel my nails penetrate my palms. But did I stop? No.

I stomped harder with my bare feet, satisfied at how the wooden canvas broke apart. Even when I felt the broken pieces piercing the sole of my feet, I didn’t stop.

But it was now getting difficult to breath, I struggled to take in air and my stomping became weaker. Needles, it felt like needles were continuously stabbing my lungs and my chest constricted at the same time. By this time, I had stopped stomping on the portraits and I was gasping for air desperately. I fell to the floor, clutching my chest with my eyes tightly shut. Sweat trickled down my forehead as I began to feel consciousness drift away from me.

Was I going to die? For whatever reason, it sounded like a good idea. I could not win The Nationals—the one thing SH asked of me, and my father and my own twin sister left me. What other proof did I need to tell me that I was not important?

So, I welcomed it all. The darkness, numbness and that sense of freedom. I gave in, let myself go and slipped into unconsciousness. Willing to never wake up.

But that didn’t happen. I woke up this morning with a slight head headache and a blurry image of Mom in my sight. My arms wobbled as I tried to sit up straight, so I laid back down.

“Chibuike, do you want to kill me?” was the first thing Mom asked this morning. “Your father and sister are gone and you want to go too?”

I massaged my temples, looking at her slightly red face now that my vision was better. “I didn’t know that I would pass out.”

“I saw what you did. You must have had one of your episodes.” She sat on the bed, placed her hand over mine. “When last did you use your meds?”

I looked away, focused my gaze on my couch. I had not taken them since I resumed, but she didn’t need to know that. So, I said, “Yesterday.”

“Don’t lie to me,” she warned, her voice firm. “Plus, I checked your bottle. There’s still so much left. You should be taking your final dosages from that bottle this week, Chibuike. What is wrong with you? Why aren’t you taking them?”

“Cos, I don’t need them!” I caught myself from raising my voice and breathed out a shaky breath. “I won’t depend on some drugs to function normally, I'm not weak.”

“How does taking drugs mean you're weak?” she argued, forehead creased. “You need them to help you control these episodes you have.”

“Mom, am I sick?” I asked, squinting at her.

“No, but—”

“Then I don’t need drugs, Mom.” I said, flinging aside my duvet. “I need to get ready for school now, you should do so for work.”

“Chibuike, you’ve refused to attend therapy already,” she took my chin between her index finger and her thumb, turned my face to hers. “Take your drugs, they’ll help you.”

“I need neither therapy nor those drugs.” My voice came out firm as I looked away from her. “I really don’t want to be late for school.” I got up and I felt her eyes following my face. “We both should get ready for the day.”

And that was how our conversation ended, me walking into the bathroom and Mom out of my room.

“We really need to get to class.” Jude’s voice dragged me back to reality and I blinked rapidly as I became aware of my surroundings. “We have a combined Economics class now.”

“I’ll pass.” Chris said nonchalantly, lazily tracing invisible patterns on his sleeve.

“C’mon, man,” I started. “Mid-term exams begin in two weeks; we can’t afford to miss classes now.”

“Ever the nerd.” He muttered, reluctantly getting up from the stool he was seated on. “Let’s go, just be sure I’ll be asleep through the whole thing.”

“Let’s just go.” I said, dragging him out by the wrist.

We were about to enter the class when someone discretely slipped a piece of paper into my pocket. I looked up to see the owner of the hand. It was Jemima, bearing a sinister smile on her lips. And then she sauntered away, into the class, while I watched the dark-skinned girl, wondering what could possibly be the content of the note.

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A/N

I'm back! 😎

I know y'all missed me.😌

Oya ooo. Thoughts?

Wild guess what's in that piece of paper? Me sef dey wonder. 🤔

Who saw it coming that Tega and Preye would be Tracy's sisters? It's deeper than that, sha know that🙂.

Peep Fidel and Victoria making plans to go out😌. Jason and Victoria shippers, ntorrr😂. But don't worry, I've promised not to be biased. I'll probably just decide to keep Fidel for myself 😌.

Okay guys, chapter 19 is coming soon. All I have to say is, sit tight 🙂.

Stay safe,
Love ya!