Improvised Plan #ProjectNigeria

37- Spiral

"My drink is here. Great," he says, moving towards the refrigerator to get himself a drinking glass.

Unable to watch him spiral, and knowing he'd rather prefer some space at this point, I move towards the bed and dim the bed side lights before tucking myself in.

While he is pouring the golden brown liquid into the cup, I close my eyes with a sigh. I hear him sigh and murmur something I don't register.

Getting drunk will turn him into the bitter, unhappy man he was the first night we met.

At least he'll still have a sense of humor, I think with a mental shake of my head, remembering how he'd still been able to make me smile.

When I open my eyes, he is standing beside the bed, looking down at me.

"I know you're dying to know what happened at the hospital, aren't you?"

"I'm concerned, that's all."

He settles beside me under the sheets and pulls me closer. There is no alcohol on his breath; he has not tasted it. I lean against the headboard of the bed, and he lays his head on my chest. My hands stroke his cheek, his hair, his shoulders, trying to convey warmth and love and support.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask softly.

"Much better than getting drunk and turning into a sarcastic, angry ass hole."

"I am glad you made the choice yourself."

"My mother left a suicide note before she slit her wrists and overdosed on sleeping pills."

I hold my breath, trying hard to process what he's just said.

"In the note, she apologized to me, but still blamed me for her would-be death."

"Oh," is all I can manage.

"And the best part, I cannot see her because the doctors and my father believe that the mere sight of me may send her careening over to the other side again, as soon as she recovers. And next time, she may actually succeed."

"Oh, Saheed. I am sorry."

"I may never see her again. And she may never be cursed to set her eyes on me again."

"Baby, no. Don't say that about yourself."

My eyes suddenly begin to leak. My vision is blurred from the tears, and I begin to blink rapidly to keep them at bay. Saheed, my Saheed, is hurting and I cannot stop it.

He scoffs. "And to think I hoped...for twenty years I hoped that something would change. I was so foolish. I am still foolish. The foolish boy who got his brother killed, and kept hoping there would be forgiveness."

Saheed laughs without mirth, a sound full of self loathing.

"I'm good as dead to her, Ola. Or worse. I mean, I'm alive and Ibrahim is not."

Unable to speak, I listen. My free arm protectively holds him close, pinning him to my body, unfortunately unable to shield him from his anguish.

"I wish I'd just been obedient enough to take my afternoon nap. Ibrahim wouldn't let me go out alone, and I knew. I knew, and I insisted on sneaking out. I just wanted to race him to the estate gate. I didn't mean to cause trouble. I just wanted to play with him. Ibrahim... I'm sorry, I really am..."

Saheed suddenly starts to shake. Startled, I lock my other arm around him and just hold him there, silent, relieved, and helpless at the same time. He makes no sound, but his weeping is rooted in pain and trauma buried under years of guilt and coping as best as he can, trying to prove himself to the world, to his mother.