Short Stories

The Abortion Series: Mr Anonymous’ Story

The day started like any other; morning came, met me lazing around and left. Late afternoon met me fed and doing the dishes. Just as I finished, my phone rang. Spotting the callers ID, I groaned. I hadn’t spoken to her in a month and after our last conversation had hoped I’d never again have to. I answered the call and looking back, wish amongst other things, that day had turned out differently.
      “Hey. What’s up?”
      “I’m pregnant and I think it’s yours.”
In one seemingly eternal minute, my mind went back to the first and only night we’d spent together. Our relationship had officially ended two weeks before. She was supposedly a virgin and I hadn’t planned to sleep with her but in 30seconds of madness, I planted life in her.
      I remembered the last time I’d spoken to her. She’d called the day before worried because she’d missed her period and didn’t know what to do. She called that day to say it wasn’t what she’d thought; it was only an infection. I remember freaking out and falling ill, my sickness induced by the thought that I too was infected.
      I remembered why the relationship ended. She’d wanted to get married and I hadn’t, not to her. All the time we were together, I suspected her of cheating. I lied, told her I never wanted to get married and she vowed to change my mind.
      All this I remembered in a minute.
I asked her what next. She said she didn’t know. I told her I wouldn’t support an abortion, she said she wasn’t considering it. 9 months passed, months of arguments, unwavering looks of disappointment from parents and family, months of external pressures on me to marry her. I stuck to my guns, I couldn’t marry her. If the relationship didn’t work out, then marriage most definitely wouldn’t. Marrying the man that got you pregnant for want of a ‘better’ option or marrying a woman for responsibility sake, is erroneous at best. Those months were extremely difficult for me…but considerably more so for her.
      At times I considered encouraging her to terminate the pregnancy but in the end, decided to let God make that decision for us. This may sound crazy but miscarriages happen, people give birth to stillborn children, babies die every day. If the baby wasn’t meant to be, it wouldn’t be. I couldn’t shake the thought that if we had an abortion, we might never again have the chance to be parents. Ever. Being pregnant and unmarried was one mistake. I didn’t want to make another by having an abortion.
      I am single, she is now married and has a daughter in addition to the son we share. A recurring ‘issue’ in my relationships is my son. It’s a massive consideration for any woman looking to spend the rest of her life with me. I’ll be honest, it has crossed my mind how much less complicated my life would be if I’d encouraged her to abort. Yet, however I think about it, it would have been the wrong thing to do.
      I have friends who regret making that decision. They see little kids and can’t escape the question, “what if?” Funny thing is, the same thing happens to me. I see little kids and ask myself, “what if?” For all the regrets I have, the decision to have my son isn’t one of them, for when life presents itself at its most hopeless, hearing him say “I love you daddy” always, always brightens my day.

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This is a factual account of Mr Anonymous’ experience and I’d like to thank him for sharing his story with us. Thanks buddy!

xxx

Waila

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The Abortion Series: Adiva’s Story

When you’ve been with someone over 4 years, you probably would have talked about love, marriage and having babies. My boyfriend and I had gone down this path. Sex wasn’t something we frowned upon though we are Catholics that go to church every Sunday, pray the rosary and try to live a sin free life. He always said that our only sin was sex and maybe God understands.

At the start of the year, I had the flu (or so I thought). Like most people, I didn’t go to my GP. I self medicated.  By Valentine’s Day, I knew there was definitely something wrong. We spent our Valentine’s Day in a walk in centre in Bolton. The first thing the GP asked me was “when last did you have your period?” My heart sank. I knew I was pregnant. At this point, my boyfriend was visibly shaken, probably worse than I was because immediately I thought I was pregnant, I had already made up my mind that I wasn’t keeping it.

Flash back to 2 years ago. I had this abortion conversation with my friends and swore with every living cell in my body that I’d never do it. “Over my dead body!” I said… but look how quickly I made the decision once I was in the situation. The GP ran the necessary tests and yes, I was pregnant. Everything else she said was a blur. My boyfriend kept consoling me. He said we’d have the baby and get married later. I was 24, he was 25. We were probably at the right age. Was it the right time? The right circumstance (pregnant before marriage)?  No. I knew my mom would kill me. I quietly rang my GP and made the appointment.

On the appointed date, I woke up early, my boyfriend and I said a prayer, he rang a taxi and we went to the clinic. It was the worst day of my life. They didn’t let my boyfriend in. I was alone. He had to sit in the waiting area for the next 5-6hrs. I filled out paperwork concurring that I was in the right state of mind to kill my unborn baby and had a scan to show that the unborn baby was growing healthily.  The nurse took a sample of my blood and kept asking if I was sure I wanted to do it. I had to see a therapist who explained the series of emotions I might go through after the abortion. I got stripped down to my panties and then they gave me a hospital dress and wheeled me into the theatre. This was the first time I cried. I swear I wasn’t emotional; I was just numb so I don’t understand where the tears came from. I kept asking if I could see my boyfriend, they said no. I prayed again, told God I was sorry but needed him to understand.

Once I was in the theatre, the doctors smiled and told me to stop crying. They’d seen my type so many times. At this point, I was being injected with anaesthetics. I was saying the Hail Mary…and woke up 15mins later in a recovery room, my clothes next to the bed along with a note explaining I might be dizzy but to put on my clothes when I felt ok. A nurse came in later and gave me a glass of orange juice and some biscuits. I dressed up as fast as I could and made my way down to the waiting room. He was there, waiting. He called a taxi, we went back home and both cried for the next hour. We had nothing to say so we cried. He promised to be with me forever, which I know is true but it can never erase what happened. Right now, we live with the guilt that we’ve done something so terrible.   

Apart from the sinful aspect, it is a very scary process. I was shaken and there was nobody to hold my hand or whatever. I kept wondering “what if I die, what will I tell God? Will he forgive me? Can I still go to heaven?”

The whole thing messes with your mind.

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This a non-fictional account of Adiva’s (real name withheld) experience and I would like to thank her for having the courage to share her story with me and the rest of the world. I am beyond honoured my friend.

If you have an experience you would like to share, please email your story to me @ wailacaan@gmail.com and be assured that your identity will be withheld.

xxx

Waila

The Abortion Series: Life For Life

            I sat by her bedside for hours, stroking her left hand where it lay limp against the rumpled blue sheet. I couldn’t stop staring at her breasts. I remembered how they cradled my head while I wept at the death of my mother. The very same breasts fed our daughter Dani. Now the doctors say they are cancerous. Organs that once nurtured life had become advocates of death. At the thought of death my blood ran cold and I shivered. My stomach began to churn and I made it to the sink just as it relieved itself of its contents. Father, why us?

           “You have to make a decision soon Mrs Williams. The cancer is spreading fast and we will have to start the treatment as soon as possible to give you a fair chance of survival.”

Didn’t my opinion count for anything? She was willing but I couldn’t let her die, leaving Dani and I behind. Dani needed her mother and by god I needed my wife!

            “What about your son?” my heart whispered.

“Honey, are you okay?”

I looked across to the bed to find her staring at me, concern forming creases along her forehead. Making my way over, I sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand in mine.

“Why us Debbie?”

 “Sweetheart, I’ve told you not to think that way. You will get through this.”

“WE will Debbie, I am not letting you die!”

“I can’t have an abortion Darren, I can’t sacrifice the life of our son for mine. What kind of mother would that make me?!”

“I need you here with me, I can’t raise two kids on my own. If you go ahead with the abortion, in time, we can have other children.”

“And if we can’t?”

“We already have Dani, she’s enough for me. There’s no replacing you, don’t you understand that?”

“I can’t do it Darren. It goes against everything I believe in. ”

“We don’t have a choice! If you have this baby you will die. Heaven knows I would give anything not to be in this situation but it is what it is. We can’t afford to let our hearts do the thinking. Dani and I need you here. We can have other children, we’ll adopt if we have to.“

“It won’t be the same…”

“And our family won’t be the same without you in it,” I interjected.

“Oh Darren! Do you think this is easy for me? I’m terrified of dying. My head is saying one thing and my heart, another. I know it makes sense to abort the baby and start the chemo but my heart won’t let me.”

Leaning over I gathered her in my arms and we wept at the hand that fate had dealt us.

“Mummy!”

We pulled apart just as Dani came bounding through the door, my mother-in-law following closely behind her.

“Don’t jump on the bed darling, mummy isn’t feeling very well.”

Reaching down I lifted her onto the bed so she could give her mother a cuddle.

“Mummy, grandma says you’re going to heaven. Is it true?”

Glaring at my mother-in-law I responded, “No baby, mummy isn’t going anywhere. She’s  sick but the doctors will make her better.”

Her eyes darted around the hospital room taking in the army of machinery surrounding her mother’s bed. As she noticed the multitude of cables attached to her mother’s chest, her little eyes widened and the tears began to fall.

“Don’t go to heaven mummy!”

She tightened her grip around her mother’s neck and wouldn’t let go when I tried to take her in my arms. Nothing I said consoled her. She sobbed uncontrollably while I stroked her hair and tried to assure her everything would be alright.

Our eyes met communicating the words our lips could not speak with Dani present. She couldn’t bear to tell our daughter she was leaving her. I pleaded with her to change her mind and knew she had when she nodded and turned away from me. A fresh wave of tears engulfed us both and we wept silently for our unborn son who would make his entrance into the world a dead man.

The Abortion Series: The Memory of Pain

“You didn’t lose the baby did you?”

His eyes were like lasers, tearing through the layers of deception guarding the truth that lay buried in my heart. The lie sat heavy on my tongue, I tried to spit it out but it wouldn’t budge.

“Did you have a miscarriage or an abortion? Answer me!”

The rage was sending tremors down his spine, his eyes spewing contempt like a volcano erupting.

“I had an abortion,” I whispered, “I couldn’t have the baby Chris, not when the prenatal test was positive.”

“We agreed Angel, we agreed that whatever the outcome we would have the baby. How could you kill our child?! Where is your heart, your conscience?!”

I couldn’t bear to watch the tears fall from his eyes, couldn’t deal with his pain alongside mine. Eyes clenched, I willed him to understand.

 I was 16 when my sister Jo died. A miracle child they’d called her.  For years my parents tried for a second child. The doctors couldn’t give any explanations and neither could the pastors or native doctors they consulted. They had all but given up when Jo came along, 10 years after I had. I was so excited I asked daddy if he would let me take her to school to meet my friends. I fed , bathed and sang her to sleep. I wouldn’t let anyone near her.

“Are you her bodyguard?” daddy teased.

“No daddy, bodyguards are men! I’m her guardian angel.”

That was the last time either of my parents called me Helen.

I remember how the day started. Mummy made us breakfast, fried yam and corned beef stew. Daddy wanted more, she said no.

“Honey, look at the size of your stomach! The doctor said you have to go on a diet.”

Haba, what is wrong with my stomach? It’s evidence of good living! Jo, don’t you like daddy’s tummy?”

Hopping out of her seat, Jo ran to him and wrapped her arms as far around his midriff as she could.

“I like your tummy, it’s like a pillow.”

We all laughed and I sneakily threw a few pieces of yam under the table. If daddy didn’t want to lose weight, I did.

Mummy and daddy went out after breakfast and Jo and I stayed home with Aunty Nneka, the nanny. I was in my room trying to finish reading my M&B before my parents came home and caught me.  In typical fashion, Jo burst through the door and jumped on my bed, her skinny legs knocking over the stereo on my bedside table.

“I’ve told you to stop jumping on my bed, look what you’ve done!”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to fall your stereo. I just wanted to come and play with you. I’m bored and Aunty Nneka won’t let me go out to swing because it’s raining.”

She looked set to cry and I regretted yelling at her.

Swinging back my duvet I motioned for her to lie next to me.

“Should I tell you a story?”

Her eyes lit up instantly. She loved my scary ghost stories. I held her close, tucking her head under my chin.

“One night in a boarding school in Epe, two girls went to fetch water at the taps…”

I was halfway through the story when I noticed Jo hadn’t said a word since I started. Usually, she would interrupt my tales with cries of “It’s a lie!” or “me I’m not going to boarding house o!”

I looked down at her to check if she’d fallen asleep but her eyes were open…and staring at me, yellow as the sun. 

“Jo! Jo!”

She didn’t respond, not even a blink. My heart began to beat double time. I tried to remember everything daddy had taught me to do in an emergency. Staring intently at her chest I realised it wasn’t rising and falling. I screamed.

 “Jo, wake up! Aunty Nneka!”

Grabbing her left hand, I pressed two fingers against the base of her palm. I felt nothing…and remember nothing else. The doctors say it’s my brains way of dealing with the trauma.

“She died in my arms Chris. Do you have any idea what it felt like, what it feels like? I can’t have a child with Sickle Cell Chris, I can’t watch that child suffer, die, knowing I could have done something to prevent it and didn’t. Call me selfish but I can’t live in fear of my child dying. I can’t do it!”

“Listen to yourself! You can’t live in fear of your child dying and your genius solution is to kill it yourself? How could you Angel, how could you?!”

I remembered how it felt cradling Jo’s dead body in my arms and as long as I held on to that memory, no one could convince me I’d made the wrong decision. No one.

The Abortion Series

Abortion.

When I was younger and less God conscious, my stance on this was categorical. If I ever found myself pregnant and unmarried, I would quietly pay the doctor a visit and end the matter there and then. I wouldn’t tell anyone so as not to give them the opportunity to try and convince me otherwise…or judge me. No one would know about it, not even the father of the child. Life would carry on and I might feel a little bad initially but I’d get over it.

Now that I’m older, I realise it’s not that simple…mentally, emotionally and physically.

Now that I’m more God conscious, I better understand the spiritual gravity of the action.

Fundamentally, I am anti-abortion but I understand why it’s an option for many.  There are many reasons why people choose to have abortions, some seemingly frivolous and others, arguably justifiable. Nowadays, I’d like to think that if I was ever faced with the option, it wouldn’t be an option but every now and again I stumble on a scenario that makes me question my stance.  I can only pray that if I ever have to make a choice, God helping me, I’ll do right by Him and by association, me.

I’ve been thinking about this incessantly for the last 48hours and have decided to do another series. The first story is in the pipeline and I aim to publish it tomorrow *fingers crossed.* How many stories will make up the series? Will it be a collection of shorts or a sustained piece?  You’ll find out when I do!

Stay tuned!!!

xxx

Waila

Monologue Series: The Future of My Past

I didn’t care how many guys I’d slept with till I met and married Dele, making him an object of ridicule in all of Lagos. I warned him though, I told him everything. I told him about the many politicians and elite business men that had peeked through my curtains. I told him about the many wealthy bachelors that had bought me cars, designer gear and even a flat in Lekki, in exchange for you know what. I told him about the time the vice-president’s wife sent thugs to beat me up because someone told her they saw me with her husband in the Louboutin store in Paris. I told him everything. Of all the things I said, the only thing that seemed to register was that I’d left that life behind. He didn’t care that I’d sold my body for money, didn’t care that I’d slept with married men. All he cared about was the me I’d become, the now, the future.

I was stunned when he asked me to marry him. I’d made my peace with being unmarried for the rest of my life, I didn’t think any man could, would marry me. His sister was in hysterics when she heard about us. His entire family thought he’d taken leave of his senses. They were convinced he was under a spell, cast by me of course. I resent the way they treat me, like slime from a grotty sewer…but I don’t blame them, I’d never have let my son or brother marry a girl like me. The first time he proposed, I said no and didn’t say yes till he’d asked seven times. That’s my Dele, stubborn as a mule. When he makes his mind up there’s no changing it. That final time, I realised just how resolute his love for me is. I said yes.

I shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t have married him. I was foolish to think I could get away from my past. Every time we attend a function, it mocks me. The men I’ve sold my body to follow me around like flies following shit. I can’t escape them. How could he not mind knowing that half the room has been serviced by yours truly?! They smile at him knowingly and sneer at me with their upturned noses. The more daring ones verbally taunt him. Trust my Dele not to react. Sometimes I wonder if he’s human. The other day we were having dinner at Four Points when that obnoxious twerp Kola Kuti walked in with his entourage of pot-bellied loafers. I never could stand the guy but while others paid Dollars, he paid Pounds. I put up with his crap long enough to furnish my flat and earn a brand new Range Rover. As soon as he saw us, he came over and winking at Dele said “iyawo e o’dun gan.” I would have slapped him had Dele let go of my arm. I was so mad I could have killed Dele. What kind of man doesn’t react when another tells him his wife is a good lay?! The kind of man that would proudly marry an ex-prostitute I guess.

I screamed at him for the best part of the journey home. How could he let Kunle get away with insulting us both? I called him a coward, a chicken, a spineless excuse for a human being. I regretted the words shortly after they passed through my lips. His eyes glazed over and for the first time since we met, I didn’t feel safe sitting next to him.

“When I decided to marry you Kemi, I knew what I was letting myself in for. The jibes, the sniggers, the looks…I knew they were part of the package. If I decide to beat up everyone that dares insult us, it’s all I’ll be doing for the rest of my life. Besides, I refuse to let them get the better of me, of us. I’m sick of having this conversation. I’m over your past Kemi, when will you be too?”

My guess is never.

Monologue Series: A Slice of Lime

“I think we should break up.”

“Huh? Where did that come from?!”

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while and I don’t think we’re right for each other.”

“Babe, how can you say that? Did I do something wrong? Tell me so I can fix it!”

“Darren, you’ve done nothing wrong. You’re perfect, you’re just not perfect for me.”

“Sorry, what does that mean? Are you saying I’m not good enough for you?!”

“Babe, you’re taking this the wrong way! I’m not saying you’re not good enough for me, all I’m saying is I don’t think we are a good match.”

“Explain it to me Amanda, tell me what’s so imperfect about us!”

“You’re a great guy and I really like you but you don’t, you know, set my heart on fire.”

“Well excuse me for not knowing I was supposed to give you heart burn.”

“Spare me the sarcasm! Look, it’s over, deal with it. I need more than this. I need excitement, someone who will sweep me off my feet, plant butterflies in my stomach. I want the magic Darren and I don’t have it with you.”

He stared at me like I’d sprouted horns. “You’re breaking up with me because you don’t think I’m exciting?! Forgive me for not sweeping you off your feet with fancy holidays, fast cars and champagne fuelled nights out!”

“Now you’re being ridiculous, that’s not what I mean and you know it! All I’m saying is my heart doesn’t skip a beat when I see you, I don’t get goose bumps when you hold me and I don’t feel like my world would crumble if you weren’t in it.”

“You really should stop reading M&Bs.”

Snatching his car keys off the coffee table, he silently made his way out of my flat…and my life. A part of me wanted to call him back, to tell him I was only joking…but I couldn’t. I needed more than he had to offer.  I needed to feel something beyond love and affection. I needed passion.

I have a list, he is the list. Great job, check! Home owner, check! Gentle, check!   Kind and generous, check! Thoughtful, check! Loves me to distraction, check! Romantic, check! Christian, check! He is everything I’ve prayed for. I just didn’t think the man of my dreams would bore me to tears. He is so good, too good. He’s never been drunk, never smoked, never partied, never had a girlfriend, never had sex and wait for it…he doesn’t know who Beyonce is! Come on, even the Pope knows Beyonce! I’m not saying I want a bad boy but he’s too straitlaced. I want someone with experience; been there, done that and had enough but with a little swagger left over. I know he’s a good man and will be a fantastic husband and father but what about passion, doesn’t that count for anything? All I’m asking for is a little something extra…like a glass of water with a slice of lime in it. It’s still water but with an added tang. Is that asking for too much?

Monologue Series: My Body, My Faith

I’d hoped a few kisses and a little groping would be enough but I overestimated my threshold for self control. I tried to stop but my body wasn’t having it. My heart was racing like sand in a hurricane, my senses, swept up to heights far beyond the reach of my conscience. I remembered Pastor’s sermon on celibacy. Does he think us singles are made or bricks and mortar? What are we supposed to do with our emotions and needs? Pastors, hypocrites the lot of them! After they’ve had their fun and bedded half the female population of the world they become born again, get married and start preaching abstinence. Whatever!

“What about God?” I asked the voice whispering in my head, “What does God know about sex? As his fingers found their way beyond the boundaries of my tank top, I knew it was now or never. If things went any further, I would be powerless to stop him. I remembered the last time we did this. I promised myself, promised God it wouldn’t happen again yet there I was, about to drop my skirt round my ankles and satisfy the lust of my flesh. Surely God would forgive me this time too? Besides, He’s all knowing so He knew this would happen, no? Yes, if I confess my sins, He is faithful and just and will forgive me. I asked if he had protection and when he nodded I made a mental note to repent and gave myself up to the moment.

I shouldn’t have. I felt sick, kill me now and end my misery kind of sick. What was I thinking?! I couldn’t breathe, the weight of the guilt was cutting off my air supply. I stared at my naked form sprawled on the sofa and for the first time understood how Eve must have felt when she first discovered she’d been roaming the garden in all her glory. I reached for the throw dangling from the arm of the sofa and wrapped myself in it. When he kissed me goodbye I feigned enthusiasm. I didn’t need him hanging around trying to find out what was wrong, I wanted him gone. Again I remembered Pastor’s sermon on celibacy, this time it made sense. I thought about how hard I’d been working on my relationship with God after the last time. I’d repented and knew God had forgiven me but couldn’t forgive myself. For months I was convinced everything that went wrong in my life was my punishment. I had just about gotten the hang of this celibacy thing. Why did I run into Babs at the gym?!

Dragging myself off the sofa, I made my way to the bathroom. Standing under the shower, I began to scrub myself clean. I scrubbed and scrubbed but the dirt wasn’t external. I stared longingly at the bottle of bleach standing next to the bathtub. Perhaps it would beach my blackened soul? I shook the thought out of my head. Wrapping myself in a towel, I turned off the shower and made my way into the bedroom where my white bed sheet stared mockingly at me. “So much for purity,” it smirked. I wept. Never again, I promised God, never again! I knelt and began to pour out my heart in prayer. I told him how frustrated I’d been, how hard I’d tried to stay away from Babs. For the next three days I fasted, prayed and ignored Babs’ calls, deleted his messages.

On the fourth day I was getting ready for bed when I heard my doorbell. “Ignore it,” a voice whispered in my ear. “It might be important,” another warned. I decided it might be important and opened the door to find Babs staring at me, confusion in his eyes. “Why have you been avoiding me Anita?”

“We shouldn’t have, I shouldn’t have.”

“You shouldn’t have done something that’s as natural as breathing? How many times will we go over this? I’m a Christian too you know. God hates promiscuity, but there’s nothing wrong with intimacy between two people who genuinely care about each other. You know I want to be with you, I want us to go the distance.”

“If it’s so right why do I feel so guilty? I can’t let it happen again, I just can’t! ”

“You can and you will! We both know you want this as much as I do, why fight it?!” Taking my face in his hands, he kissed me. My head forgot, my body remembered. “Did that feel wrong?”

“No,” I whispered. That was all the invitation he needed.

Monologue Series: Unrequited Love

          I watch him as he dresses up, one arm shoved into a sleeve of his crisply ironed white shirt and then the other. One button done up and then another and another till it’s all buttoned up. That’s how this mess started. A coffee here, a mojito there. Dinner with friends, dinner for two and before I knew it I was lacing his shoes, sending him off to work with a hug and a kiss. Friends with benefits, that’s what my friend Debbie calls it, this screwed up arrangement that’s turning me into a nervous wreck. Damn it! I don’t want to be his friend and he knows it. I love him and he loves me too. He’s never said it but I know he does. The way he looks into my eyes, cradles my head in his hands, tickles me till we collapse in a heap laughing, the number of times he’s told me how grateful he is to have me in his life… what else could all that mean? Damn that girl for breaking his heart!

           It couldn’t have been easy for him to discover that the girl he’d been planning to spend the rest of his life with was cheating on him. I would never do that to him though.  I thought he needed time, time to see that I’m not like her. I told myself to be patient and I have been, so much so that my friends think I’ve lost my mind. I think I have too. How long is a girl supposed to wait?! It’s been a year and I’m still waiting. How long does he need to get over his ex? Like seriously!

          I’m scared. Scared to ask him what this thing between us is. When people ask if I’m in a relationship I don’t know how to respond. What am I supposed to say, it’s complicated? Damn it Femi, what do you want from me?! In one breath you tell me I’m the most important person in your life and in the next, you say we’re just friends. What am I supposed to think? I can’t stand this anymore. I need to know where I stand. Do you care enough to commit or is this a strictly cum and go affair for you?

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“What do you want from me Femi?” It took him so long to respond, I thought he didn’t hear me.

“What do you mean what do I want from you?”

“I didn’t speak Chinese. It’s a simple question, answer it. What do you want from me?”

“You women ask the strangest questions. Isn’t it obvious?”

“If it was I wouldn’t be asking. You say you want us to be friends yet you spend your nights tucked between my thighs. What am I supposed to think?!”

“You think what I tell you…that I want us to be friends”

“Then why the hell are you boning me! Is that what friends do, have sex with each other?”

“I’ve got to be at work in half an hour, I don’t have time for this Abs. You know the score.”

“Like hell I don’t! You’re a friend who cares about me, thinks I’m special, thinks you’re a better man for having me in your life, takes me out on romantic dinners and surprises me with thoughtful present, touches me like your life depends on it and goes to asleep in my arms…is that the score?

“I’m not ready to be in a relationship. The last time…”

“Damn the last time!” I screamed cutting him off mid sentence. “Yes she cheated on you but was two years ago Femi, you can’t punish me for another woman’s sins.”

“Who said anything about punishing you? I have to go Abi.”

“You can’t leave me confused. I can’t go on like this, it’s killing me. I need to know where I stand. I love you and you know it but do you love me? Is this thing going anywhere or is this it for you?”

Tearing his gaze from mine, he picked up his briefcase and silently headed for the bedroom door.

“Femi, I need to know,” I pleaded as he opened the door. He turned around and the instant our eyes met I realised how foolish I’d been. “I need to hear you say it. Say it so I can move on with my life,” I whispered, tears streaming down my face.

“This is all I’m offering Abi, I’ve always been clear about it. You can’t blame me if you allowed yourself hope for more. I care about you but I’m happy with what we have. It works perfectly for me.”

“What about me Femi? Doesn’t what I want matter? You can’t do this to me Femi, you can’t!” I sprung to my feet and latched onto his shirt collar. “When will you be ready? You have to be ready! I’ve waited a whole year, you can’t do this to me!”

“You don’t get to tell me what I can or can’t do. If this isn’t enough for you, make sure you’re not here when I get back.” Flinging me onto the bed, he adjusted his collar and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Monologue Series

There’s a guy you really like.  He says he likes you but isn’t ready to commit to a relationship. You hope he’ll change his mind, hope you can help change his mind. When he kisses you, you kiss him right back. He reminds you how much he cares about you and how wonderful a friends you are. You cling to hope, the hope that in time he’ll see sense and realise how lucky he is to be wanted by you. You get horizontal. Before you know it you’ve been on your back for a whole year and he’s still telling you how he needs to take his time before committing to a serious relationship. You’re now hopelessly in love with a man who won’t commit.  

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You meet a guy. He’s a bad boy, all wrong for you and you know it but the attraction is palpable. There is no way on God’s green earth you would consider dating him but you can’t let him walk on by without leaving a little something behind. You tell him nothing can happen between you but you will him to disbelieve the words passing through your lips. When he touches you, there’s an explosion. You wanted it to happen and it carries on happening but you know you will never commit to him. All you’re after is someone to scratch that itch and as soon he does, you let him go. You go to church on Sunday, repent and take up your cross of celibacy…until the next one comes along.

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He is perfect for you; you couldn’t have created a better man if you created him yourself. He ticks all the boxes, is everything you thought you wanted in a man. Now that he’s standing in front of you, you’re not so sure anymore. He is boring, too straitlaced, swaggerless. You’re not saying you want a bad boy but you want someone with…experience. A reformed bad boy. Been there, done that and had enough of it but has some residual sparkle in his eyes, a little swagger left over in his step. He still ticks all the boxes but has a little something extra you didn’t know you wanted…till now. You know you’ve found a good man but do you hold onto him or let him go hoping someone more ‘exciting’ will come along someday?

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You’ve been around and everyone knows it. It was fun while it lasted but you’re ready to settle down. You’ve thrown out the black book, cleaned up your act but your reputation precedes you. No one wants their brother to date you, their son to marry you. The big boys know you and they sure as hell won’t marry you. You find yourself a good guy, untouched by the rumours that circulate the ton. You give him an overview of your past and tell him how you’ve seen the light. He believes in second chances, believes that people change. He gets to know the new you and falls in love with you. By the time the details get to him, he’s well and truly sprung. He stands by you, marries you. To him you’re a princess but to the rest of the world you’re the skank that got lucky. It really pisses you off and you wish people would stop judging you based on who you once were. You now fully understand what the term ‘mud sticks’ mean.  

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 Hey guys!

You’ve just met four characters in a four part semi-fictional series I’ll be developing for this blog. Thanks to blogging, it’s been ages since I wrote anything resembling a short story. I’ve challenged myself to write four monologues centred on the four characters I’ve just introduced you to. I can’t believe I’m publicly committing to doing this giving that I know many of you will hold me to it. I’m a little bored of my recent posts so I thought I’d try and shake things up with this series.

Stay tuned!!!

xXx

Waila

p.s.

I asolutely LOVE the painting I used. It is copyright of the artist and was taken from the broadway gallery’s website www.broadwaygallerynyc.com