Emotional facade

Emotional facade

She grew up in the hands of gold, silver and pastries. Her father, a senior accountant at a reputable bank had set her up for her further degree in University of Pittsburgh to study for her masters degree in financial policy. Before she went that far, both of us have had a rough play in secondary school where she would draw my trouser to a corner, kiss me, romance me, just to play with my schmuck. I never bug her for being uncontrolled, but allowed her to do anything she wants. Later, I noticed she has been emotionally abused from home. She has four sisters and three elder brothers. These ones always come home with their boy and girl friends to have sex and rough moments together, but she was ever left alone to play in the compound. The gateman, Ori, could call her at times to make her feel at home. He would tell her that she would later become like her siblings, smiling and laughing at her and drawing her nearer. She couldn’t try harder with holding herself back from such immoralities, so she later brought up friends.

I happen to be one of her new friends. She came too serious for me and desperate to have a boyfriend. I told her that she doesn’t need such until she told me all that happened. We were still in secondary school and she was craving for sex like ice cream and chivita. Yes, what do you expect I would do? Sex is good, nice and gives your a body flush. You feel light at times and when you sleep after having sex, it seems like you’re the most blessed among all men. I gave her the sex she wanted: told her to pick between male, female or hermaphrodite. She got angry at my joke and felt I couldn’t give her what she wanted. Just like the unspoken reason some girls give for breaking up, she got tired of me. But I didn’t leave her. If I did, she would be taken up by the thong, rape off her innocence and defiled. I can’t remember the last time she cooked, so I decided to take her to my house and cooked some fatty food for her.
It happened this way until she got into the University. We didn’t tell each other about our choices but we met in the same school – University of Ibadan. We got here and started a new life afresh – a more promising life, full of hope, decision, and focus. We met during our medical clearance. When I stepped into Jaja clinic, with my uncle, I was focused as if I wanted to do evangelism for those in “fate”, but uncle left after seeing the medical records officer because he wanted to jump queue for me. I sat at the receiving session and looked across the passage. Rose was sitting at the pharmacy after she had completed her registration. She was tired, so I had to help her to her hall. I was so glad we met again. When I saw her off to her hall, Queen Elizabeth II, we hugged then I went back to the clinic.
Rose was still in her battle of emotional cramp. She found no one to help her, and had already planned on masturbating if such thing like intercourse feeling comes to her mind. For some weeks, especially during a two-week break, we were together, reminiscing on the past. One day, after some hours at her convenience (her room), she was uncomfortable and started sweating, having a strange feeling like someone on cocaine. I could remember what happened in secondary school, but I made a promise that I won’t allow her to perform any drama. So, I took her off to my hall and sat outside. We were outside for hours while she pleaded that we get into my room. “Let’s get into your room now, please”, she pleaded. I didn’t know what would be my reply, so I bought her popcorn which she rejected. “Rose, we can’t get into that room. I won’t leave you, and I won’t allow you to turn my body to your balloon”, I replied. The definition of safety, to Rose, is when she needed anything and I didn’t rebuke her. I felt broken and burdened, but I didn’t know what kept me going.
She’s a definition of beauty: a perfect touch built in her, lilly of a hill and unhidden cloud of pink sky. I couldn’t just leave her because I know her. Nobody knows anything about her, than the fact that she spends hours in the bathroom, watches pornography and acts accordingly with her own body. I’ve eavesdropped about her several times, she’s been caught masturbating and when she sleeps at times, her roommates do not stop her from her unconscious drama.
I was sad, broken, confused. I approached the counseling unit and did all I was told, nothing worked. She has been affected with battalions of deadly brothers and sisters, but her Dad is yet to know about it. Now, she’s at Pittsburgh. Presently, I’m in South Africa. Nobody still knows her, except I. When you find her, don’t judge her until you know about her.

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