CHRISTMAS DATINGEpisode 6..
.I cried a million tears. I cried so much those first three nights that one would have thought I was bereaved. To feel lonely once again was painful. Solitude was written all over my life.
Jojo’s eyes were starring at me when I woke up that morning. No, they weren’t his real eyes. They were the eyes on a framed image of his that stuck to the wall above my bed. I sat opposite it, muttering words that I didn’t know if he heard. I just wanted to pour my heart out, all my thoughts, my feelings. I spoke to the framed image as though it were his real self present and listening.
And he watched me pour out my heart, not uttering a word, like the great listener that he was. Sometimes I wondered where he got the strength to tell me long stories. He never spoke too many words when we spent time together.
I reminded him how he walked to my table at that birthday party where we first met. I made him understand that I fell in love with him not because I trusted men anymore, but because I wanted to give him a chance to prove that good men still existed. Amidst tears in my eyes, I wanted him to tell me what happened to the chemistry between us.
I wanted him to explain how he slipped out of my hands so quickly in just one week of my absence. I told him how much I had missed him, how much I yearned for his soft touch, how much I wanted him to cuddle my undone hair, how my body had missed those unseen lines he drew on it.
My name is Esomchi Collins, and I’m the one who fell in love with Joseph Adewale, the man who meant everything to me, my sweet Jojo. I didn’t realize that I’ve not really told you my name. You can pardon me. You know, when a woman tells her love story, especially of one whose name she wrote on a soft spot in her heart, she forgets little details like her name. She becomes unaware that her name has been twisted. . .like mine — from Esomchi to Sugar.
A moment of silence descended upon me. I waited. As if Jojo’s motionless image would tell me how sorry he was, how he never meant to treat me this way. I was done crying. I braced up. Took a shower and walked to the wardrobe to change. His clothes were there. They weren’t there when I left for Abuja. It was obvious he had spent a few days in my house. But why? What was he doing here? I didn’t give it too much thoughts. I took one of his shirts and sniffed in his romantic cologne until it filled my lungs.
I left the house in search for peace and calm. The first place my mind went was where it all began. The venue for the birthday party. I wanted to swim in the thoughts of how my journey with Jojo began. How I couldn’t stop gazing in his direction even though I hadn’t obliged him. I was surprised at how calm and serene the place could be on a regular day. No noise. Peaceful. Soft music. I enjoyed the moment. I gave myself the chance to be romanced by nature. I closed my eyes and felt my legs floating, my body soaring. Then I heard a voice. It was Jojo’s.
His eyes were red. The kind of red that has been diluted by some white. Hot tears were pouring on his face. His mouth was filled with words, I noticed, but he couldn’t say a thing. The feeling was mutual. Another hush of sorrow descended on me.
“Sugar! I’m sorry. It’s not what you think, please,” he said, throatily, as if he was choking with tears. “I don’t know, Jojo. I don’t know if I still love you anymore.” I cried. “Please, Sugar,” he walked to my chair and stooped by it. “Let’s talk this over. I promise you, I can explain. Please.” He was shading real tears. His hands shivered. I wanted to lock my lips with his so deeply. I wanted to hug him tightly and fall back into his hands. I wanted us to start all over again. I didn’t like to see him broken. He suddenly looked life a baby who needed attention. His eyes begged and begged for forgiveness, but his mouth wanted to say it all. I took his face in my hands, wiped his tears and planted a soft kiss on his forehead.
“I’m sorry, Joseph. But this can’t work.” I stood up and ran as fast as I could. I didn’t turn back. I didn’t want to leave him there. I was still in love with him. Maybe I wanted to show him how much he made me feel pained. Or I wanted it to be a deterrent if he got a second chance at having my love. But I ran. Fast.
I didn’t go straight to my house. I went to the beach. I wanted to feel the breeze on my skin once more. I wanted to float on the sea. I wanted to plant my feet in the cold sand. Jojo was on my mind. I still loved him so much. I knew I would give him a second chance, but not so soon. Later that evening I went home. Nature had rubbed off some dust of sorrow from my heart. I was inspired by the moments of love and togetherness I shared with Jojo. I just found myself smiling now. I knew I had forgiven him the way I didn’t think he really did anything wrong.
Stuck my key in the lock only to notice that my door was unlocked. I was afraid. Who was in there? Only Jojo had my spare keys. Was he in my house? I tiptoed. I was being cautious. And there was my Jojo. His face was swollen. His eyes crimson red. He sat on the sofa with his inhaler in his mouth. He was gasping for breath. I rushed to help him. I couldn’t see the Jojo that had his fingers cuddling another woman’s hair. This Jojo whose head now lay on my laps was my Shakespeare, my hero. I missed him. I wanted to hear everything. But I didn’t want him to gasp again. I careesed his face, kissed him.
“Sugar, I promise it’s not what you think. . .I can. . .” I was sure he wanted to end with ‘explain’. “Shhhhhh!” I shunned. Rubbing my fingers on his chocolate-like lips.
He told me everything. Every single thing. He was in serious trouble. And I was ready to help him with every breath that I had. To be continued. . . — Michael Ituma
Very interesting