Getting Paul to leave the house didn't take as much conviction as it did yesterday, my cramps have reduced to a mild throbbing which I am used to, plus the heating pad will take care of it should the pain return. Besides, he has other things like cooking and winning to worry about, I am a big girl, I will be fine with him gone for a few hours.
The dining looks empty without the decor of our date night, sitting here, eating alone feels odd. I stir the cornflakes and coco pops mix swimming in my bowl of milk minutes after his departure, taking spoonfuls of the cereal as if he's here to reprimand me for eating late. A list of things to do swirl in my head, my eyes lower to the bottles of nail polish I found in Chi's room and I pout.
A beep interrupts my reverie, I retrieve my phone laying face down on the table and my eyes round to saucers at the time on the screen. Twenty minutes past three. I erupt into a fit of giggles, my hand goes to cover my mouth and I snort. I sigh, I sleep too much these days. In truth, a lot has changed with me since I was rescued and I don't know yet if my sleepiness is simply on my period or among the little but new changes.
We are going on a date. My lips curve into a smile on seeing that message from Paul, I dial his number but it goes unanswered. I stand, the chair clatters to the ground and I roll my eyes before picking it. The fact we will be stepping outside of the house causes me to be giddy with excitement, I choose to ignore the time of the message and strut to the kitchen with an extra sway of my hips.
Dumping the clean bowl in the cupboard, my back rests against the tiled walls with my foot drumming into the ground as I redial his number. My heart sinks to the pit of my stomach, I skip to the Instagram page and relax when I see their recent update: Busy. The notification bar shows I still have an unread message, I tap on the screen and my heart flutters when I open the message.
I make people happy, I make people sad, I make people cry, I make people laugh, I make people smile. I drive people into doing crazy things, some say I am complicated. But I am also patient, powerful and kind. What am I?
What? I let out a small laugh and make my way out of the kitchen and into our room. I have missed Paul's cheesy notes and corny lines but I can't wrap my head around this riddle. The serious part of me tries to come up with words but none of them seems to fit the context, I pucker my lips, eyes set on the ceiling as if the answer will appear on it.
My phone pings, the butterflies in my belly go haywire and my heart beats too fast I have to take deep breaths to calm myself. I place a hand over my chest as if to calm my heart threatening to burst out, heave a sigh and my eyes water as I read the words out.
Love. I love you Pauline Ifunaya Eneh.
I squeal, tears leak to my cheeks and I jump on the bed with the excitement of a child receiving her first Christmas present. Paul loves me. I twerk to the music playing in my head. I love him too; I love him more. My fingers itch to type the response I know he expects from me or better still, call him and scream it into his ears. I exhale and instead, input his words from the club and wait.
You are not in love with me, Paul. You are in love with the idea of being in love with me.
Seconds roll into painful minutes of silence with no reply from him, I get to work on picking out outfits for our date but I can't concentrate. My eyes fall back to the phone on the bed, I trace a line on my collarbone and sigh. Maybe the joke was too extreme. I am halfway across the room when my phone rings, I skid to the bed and my heart skips when I see the caller. A mischievous laugh escapes me, I clear my throat and let my head sway in tune to the ringtone.
On the third ring, I swipe right on my phone screen and Paul's breathing greets me from the other end. I sink my teeth into my lip, rub my hand against my knee while waiting for him to break the uncomfortable silence.
"What's the meaning of that message you sent?" he asks in a strangled voice. I can imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose or his brows furrowing as he tries to rein in his annoyance. A frustrated Paul groans into the phone, I chuckle, it is hard to rile him up but I keep trying. "It's not funny."
"But it was funny when you said it, right?"
He sighs, I bring my knees up to my chin and my back connects with the headboard. "You almost gave me a heart attack, I don't like it. Why didn't you pick the first time?"
"I love you too," I reply.
With bated breath, teeth sinking into my lower lip, I wait for his response which comes after seconds of torturous quiet and guilt gnawing at my throat. My lips curl into a smile as his words settle on me and I blink rapidly. He loves me back, all shades of my annoying self. I switch to a meditative pose, our conversation moves to the show, they will finish earlier today. It's harder to keep the smile off my face after hearing that and for the rest of the call, I am grinning and nodding along to whatever my boo says.
"I have to go now," he says, "I love you."
Smoothening the invisible creases on the bedsheet, I purse my lips. "I love you back."
"Are you up for another riddle?"
No. I roll to my stomach, prop my elbow on the pillow with my feet hanging in the air as he awaits my reply. I let out a sigh. "Yes."
The call ends with his promise to send some fun riddles, seconds later, I am staring at my phone with a bewildered expression. I blink, my phone drops to the pillow and I don't bother to pick it, what does he think I am? A cook? Or his assistant chef? I get off the bed and snatch the phone, still confused as my feet carries me to the kitchen where I search through cabinets and pots looking for that which is hidden in a compact space.
His oven comes into my line of sight, I find myself bending to take a peek at the object inside. My phone pings with a new message from him telling me to check the oven, I hiss, it came a little too late. Spurred by curiosity, I pull the handle of the oven and my breath catches in my throat at the sight of the cupcake I retrieve. I pout and send Paul a hasty text to let him know I found it.
On the chocolate cupcake is a tiny rainbow candlestick which I pull out, unsure what purpose it serves. I take a bite of the cake, my eyes close as the velvety goodness melts on my tongue, I moan and shake my head, my boyfriend is the main deal. My phone pings again, I stump my feet and my eyes fly open. I groan, my nostrils flare, I don't want another text or riddle, I want him.
Happy one month anniversary love.
Tears well in my eyes, I struggle not to tear up as my fingers repeatedly tap on the call button. He doesn't pick, I rub my sweaty palm on my stomach and a text comes in shortly saying he can't receive calls at the moment. I send him a quick reply. My heart constricts as I stare at the one-line message again and the corners of my lips twitch. I am a horrible girlfriend, how did I forget?
Shoving the phone into the pocket of my bum short, I march to the bedroom to sit in front of the opened wardrobe. Clothes stare at me, I inhale feverishly as I consider what to wear, I don't want to think too much about the competition but I am hoping we are going out for a double celebration, our anniversary and his winning. My fingers run through the knots on my head and my shoulders sag, it is nothing a little spritz of leave-in conditioner and water will not fix.
Minutes go by, my confusion heightens as I sit there, staring. I run my hands through my face, lower them to palm my stomach and sigh. My eyes scan our room through the lens of a stranger, the white, plain ceiling with fancy lights on it and thick curtains to stop sunlight from filtering in.
The AC is off but the place still feels chilly, I hug myself and my gaze lowers to the floor. My thoughts are scattered as I jump to my feet after being unable to find a reason for sitting there in the first place, I burst out laughing and officially declare myself nuts.
Curiosity driven by boredom takes a hold of me, I move to Paul's side of the wardrobe, my fingertips brushing the embroidery on the sleeves of some of his clothes. Clothes I always suspected to be too fancy for a cook or waiter. I let myself laugh at a time from long ago, I should have trusted my instincts. A sigh escapes me, I make to leave when the sleeve of my crop top gets caught in the zip of his travel bag. I yank the top, the sound of ripped fabric pierces the air and I shrug.
My fingers fiddle with the zip, I extricate the tiny piece of flowery material still stuck in it and my eyes lower to inspect the extent of the damage. Giving in to the tiny voice in my head I shouldn't be listening to, I open the bag and chuckle at the sight of folded clothes. It is so like Paul to have all of his things in a particular order, even his side of the wardrobe looks more organised. My eyes round to saucers at the shiny outfit poorly hidden between two of his trousers, I succumb to my curiosity and pull it out.
Raising the gown to my eye level, I swallow the imaginary lump in my throat and a corner of my lips twitches, we have come too far for me to jump into conclusions. I am also the one invading his privacy. The gown might be for me, he buys me clothes all the time. On further inspection, I see the V neck halter gown is my size and I have to place a hand over my mouth to muffle my laughter.
This period is messing with me, my cramps vanished to make room for my insecurities. I smoothen the front of the gown, after an internal debate, I return it to his former place and my eyes fall on the blue office file at the bottom of the pile which comes into view with my constant fussing. I frown, I don't want him to know I was in his space.
The urge to take a peek at the file is strong, I clench my fist, take a step back but that tiny, niggling voice in my head is quick to remind me that curiosity may kill the cat but satisfaction will bring it back. I close my eyes briefly, satisfaction will bring it back, it is only a peek, then I make a dash for the bed with the file tucked under my armpit.
A smile flits to my lips, I try and fail to think up reasonable excuses should Paul stumble on me now. I purse my lips, his bag attacked me, yes, that's it. It sounds stupid even to me, but for now, it will have to do. I empty the content of the file onto the bed and a giggle escapes me when Paul's baby picture falls out. My fingers trace a line on his puffy cheeks, I cackle and bring out my phone to take several pictures of his chubby version.
Tears stand in my eyes, roll down my cheeks and I snort when I happen on an old picture of Paul with an arm around his sister's shoulders, both of them grinning at the camera in their oversized matching jumpers and thick-rimmed sunglasses. I hold it up and snicker, snap and send to Chi.
Her text comes in almost immediately: Who is this? I don't know them. Delete that thing.
I wheeze, I hope she can maintain this same energy when she finds the picture on my WhatsApp status. They will come in handy on her birthday, I will do her the honours.
Moving on to more embarrassing pictures of the twin duo, I snicker each time my phone's flashlight appears as I capture more images of them for future taunting. Paul will not hear the end of this, neither will Chi. I pull out the thick picture peeking out from under the bunch and blink at the words in gold, cursive letter glaring at me.
My head refuses to process the lines I read and I read them over and over again with little understanding as the first time. I gulp, the card drops to the bed as my eyes fixate on the female's name written on it and my heart slows to a dull, almost painful beat.
Her name is what I type on Facebook before switching to Instagram because everything happens on that app and I am rewarded with an overflow of women with similar usernames. I take a deep breath and tap on the first name on the list. For once, I hope to run out of luck but her full names stare at me. She has three hundred posts but it doesn't deter me, I start scrolling, I don't stop until a picture of her and Paul appears on my screen. Like a robot on autopilot, I tap on it, follow the tag to his Instagram page and my breath hitches in my throat.
I blink. Once. Twice. The cosy images of the young couple littered all over his feed remain there. My head throbs from staring at them for too long, my eyes shut tight but the images replay behind my closed eyelids until my shoulders sag in resignation.
When my eyelids finally flutter open, drops of water appear on my screen that has gone blank and it takes a reflection of myself on the phone for me to realise I am crying. It hurts. I swipe at my wet cheeks and sniff.
A glance at the teary-eyed female staring back at me from my screen and a sound between a choke and a sob escapes me. I should have dropped my phone, waited for him to come back to offer an explanation for this but I don't, I spend the rest of the evening zooming in on their pictures until I am sure I can identify her from a distance.
My eyes zero in on her hand splayed on his chest, the ring on her middle finger and the pain in my chest intensifies, the knife lodges deep into my heart. I wheeze, my eyes sting from trying to hold back my tears and I almost throw my phone on the wall when his name appears on the screen. A text pops in, I close my eyes and try to think of my sweet boyfriend, not the guy smiling at this pretty goddess with the perfect shape.
Hey, are you okay? I am guessing you are not with your phone. They are taking longer than they should so I might be late. I love you.
There are so many things I want to type in reply to him but none of those words sound like love. I arrange the pictures into the file, tuck it into his bag, my phone starts ringing again, I take one look at it and switch it off.