Improvised Plan #ProjectNigeria

2- Late Night Convos

Ola:

He is so close, too close. An arm rests on my shoulder and his breath, which reeks of alcohol, fans my neck because his head is hanging low, as he has no energy to remain upright.

"I was so stupid," he murmurs. "So stupid."

Shebi I told you before and you were vexing?

"I'm sure whatever it is, you'll be fine," I reassure him. "Just hang in there, don't throw up yet."

The thought of being covered in vomit nauseates me. And I won't be able to remain mad at him, because it won't be his fault. His body is trying to expel the large amount of foreign substances he'd put into it, and so vomiting is normal.

But not on me.

"Miss Ola," he slurs. "Why did you accept to be my girlfriend?"

"You lied too fast."

"You could have said no."

"Well, I didn't."

He goes silent, and the only sound is his fast and shallow breathing.

In the mirror panel of the elevator, I observe that he looks really sick. His eyes are sunken, his already high cheekbones look sharp, so sharp, I could slice some okazi or afang leaves with them.

Serious dehydration.

I hope for the end of this elevator ride to the sixteenth floor. My prayer is answered, to my relief. The moment we get into his suite, he falls to his knees, breathing heavily.

"Toilet," he murmurs. "Before I-"

I don't even wait for him to complete his partially incoherent sentence before I half-drag, half-guide him to the toilet door at the opposite end of the spacious suite. Inside the private area, I watch him eagerly hug the toilet bowl and retch so miserably as his body does its work.

Lesson learned. Now, wait for the huge headache, fatigue and muscle pain tomorrow morning, I think with a smirk.

"Feel better?"

He nods weakly. His eyes focus on me. They are amber, between orange and gold. "I'll take over from here. You can leave, thank you."

"I might as well finish my girlfriend work," I tell him. I feel I'm relatively safe in the event of any trouble, as he's too weak to even get to his own feet. I bet if I walked out now, he'd black out right there on the floor and wake up twelve hours later.

He makes a small sound, but the smile on his face is cynical. I get the feeling that I know what he's thinking of, but I brush it aside. He is handsome, and if I saw him outside, I'd definitely take a second and a third look before being on my way.

His skin is shades lighter than mine, contrasting nicely with his short, dark curly hair. A square, shadowed jaw. Thick, dark lashes frame his amber eyes. And from our previous contact, his musculature is perfect.

Awon heartbreaker prototype, I think to myself. I'm just a good Samaritan.

With a clean glass sitting on his sink, I give him some water which he gulps eagerly. He asks for more and I oblige him. This is a good sign. He is still very much drunk, because he tells me, "This feels nice. Having you take care of me and we're total strangers."

"You'll probably forget me tomorrow morning."

"I hope I don't."

I hope you do.