Citrus

twenty-seven

Bisola

"I gave you one instruction," Matthew Salami began, his voice firm, "And that was to keep your mouth shut. Now tell me who was it you told?"

John said nothing. He's eyes on me. Hate. Disgust. Anger masking his once solemn expression.

"I told you not to say a word to anyone," Mr Salami continued, his face red with rage, "I told you if anyone gets you to know of this it would ruin my business. My reputation, everything that I had built. What do you want me to tell the press huh? That my son killed an eighteen-year-old girl?"

John, unflinching, finally tore his gaze away from mine, making my heart race as he looked at his father, his jaw tense.

Mrs Salami, who was confused, parted her lips to speak, "Dear, please calm down. You know this may just be some kind of misunderstanding—"

"What kind of misunderstanding Helen?" He turns to stare at his wife. "You're son has tarnished my business with his little stunt. The press is on my neck and they need an explanation. What do I tell them? Where do I even begin?"

A grim silence engulfed the garden. I stood there, dumbfounded and unaware of what to say. I didn't know if I should apologize, or tell him that I wasn't the one knowing that he wouldn't believe me. I was the only one he had told so and in his frame of mind, I was the one who also did this. To even make matters worse it was my dad's company that published the article.

What was Issac getting at? What does he want? Was this the payback he was planning for? What had it got to do with me?

My mind raced. My breath hitched. I was confused. Perplexed. Bewildered.

John does not trust me.

And I'm sure he never will.

Matthew Salami kept on shouting to a silent John, whose face was downcast, saying nothing as he stared at his father blankly. My throat was dry, and I tried to will words out of my mouth but couldn't. I didn't even know where to start.

Mrs Salami tried her best to calm her husband down and finally, she succeeded as he stomped off into his house, his leather shoes slapping the pavement as he went with Mrs. Salami trailing behind him. James looked at his brother, and then me, shaking his head as he followed them also, and it was only John and I left in the garden.

I breathed. Once. Twice. Then parted my lips to speak.

"John, it's not what you think,"

His angry gaze turned to me and I flinched back, wary of the expression on his face. He looked hurt, broken.

Betrayed.

Oh, God.

"It's not what I think?" He said, his voice distant, cold, unrecognizable. "What do expect me to think, Bisola? I poured out my heart and told you everything, and then you gave the guts to betray me?"

"John I swear," I began to sob, "It wasn't me. I would never do that to you. Ever,"

"Then who?" He asked, his eyes red with bitterness and at the same time glistening that looking at them made me shatter into a million pieces. "Who would have done this except you? How did your father get to know about it?"

"I don't know," I yelled back, hoping he would hear the sincerity etched in my words, hoping he would believe me."I don't know John but I swear to you this isn't me, I would never do anything so hurt you,"

He seemed unconvinced, then he shook his head, pointing his index finger at me, "Look, I don't want to hear anything from you, and I don't want to see your face ever again," then he turns, leaving me with a heavy heart.

His words make me feel as if a hole had been punctured in my chest. And it hurt even more as I watched him drift away from me, and snapped the front door behind him shut.

*

Walking back home with a dejected look on my face, won a confused expression from both my mother and father who were sited in the living room.

"Omo mi, what happened, why is your face like this?" my mom asked

I didn't answer her as I rushed to my pockets to fish out my phone, pulled it out and scrolled to the article then walked in front of my dad.

"What is this?"

My dad stared up at me, then at the phone, squinting his eyelids through the frame of his glasses. As he skimmed through the contents, his eyes widened as if he had never seen it before. Like he knew nothing of this.

"Ki le leyi Bisola?" He takes the phone from my hands and sits up. "What is this?"

"You're asking me?" I hiss back, not even trying to hide the rage in my voice. "Aren't you the one that did this?"

"I would never!" he replied, his face still buried in my phone.

"Then who would have done this except you?" I ask again, now confused. From the looks of it, it didn't seem as if my dad could have been the one to have done it. Then how the hell did Issac get such information to be passed down through my dad's print media company without my dad's knowledge?

"Bisola calm down," My mom says and I take my gaze in her direction. "This might all just be a misunderstanding, you don't need to be blaming your dad!"

"But Mummy—"

"Calm down nau!" She cuts me off. "We'll find a solution to this, okay?"

I turn my face to look at my dad, whose eyebrows we're still squeezed together in confusion. He then reached into his pocket and took out his phone, dialling a number.

"Hello, Kayode. Yes. Come and meet me at my residence this instant. Don't ask questions. Yes. Okay." he cuts the call.

I shake my head, tiredness and fatigue making a headache slowly creep into my skull. Clutching my bag, I walk upstairs to my room, carrying up my legs as they felt like bags of cement. I stroll into my room, slamming the door shut and locking it with my key, then slumping onto the bed like a deflated balloon.

It didn't take long, I began to cry.

Wetting the sheets with my uncontrolled tears, I began to wonder where I had gone wrong. What I had done to deserve this.

And the answer was nothing. Nothing at all.

❦

I know it has been another silent week but finally, I'm done with my exams (and anything concerning school) so updates will be twice as fast!

Dedicated to aanuolu07