Monday came and left. So did Tuesday and Wednesday. “Should I post this half-baked article just because I promised them I am going to do it on Monday??” I thought to myself and refrained from hitting that Publish button. I wrote the piece I was to post on Monday then re-read it. Calling it shitty would not be an insult because nothing pointed to it being otherwise. I had to take time to edit it. Over and over until I got to that point where I thought it could be posted. That editing spilled to today. I know that’s betrayal to the ardent readers of this blog but don’t crucify me just yet. Read on and tell me whether the editing was worth it. I know there’s someone cursing as they read this article, “aah…he doesn’t keep his word”. And maybe there’s a group that would curse if I posted the article on Monday without caring to edit. They would point at me with their chins (si you know how they do in those gossip groups) and say “that’s him. He’s the guy who writes shitty articles that leave a bad taste.” That editing was necessary, I think. Are we good?? Yes?? Thanks. I knew you’d understand. By the way if you did not read last week’s post, read it here.
Two years after getting into the relationship, I was clearly the happiest man. The woman of my dreams had actually become mine. On this night she would realize how much she meant to me. I made an early exit from work and passed by the florist, bought red and white roses then headed to Nakumatt Lifestyle for a bottle of Rosé (her favourite drink) and a packet of durex. Two packets actually. I was going to ‘reward’ her for always having my back. I got home and googled some recipes for a romantic night. I wrapped an apron around my waist and got down to making some pilau for dinner. She would (dis)approve of my culinary skills after getting home. In an hour and a half, all the meals and drinks were ready.
I fixed the bulb that gives a dim sensual light, lit the scented candles and arranged the lovely roses on my bed. I then created a playlist with her favourite songs on my laptop. The house was set for her arrival. It was the perfect yard of love.
I tried her phone. I wanted to tell her that I was home earlier than usual. It was off. I assumed it had run out charge and I went to shower. As the lukewarm water fell on me, a quick surge of lust ran through my mind. I imagined us hungrily kissing as our hands restlessly looked for a body part to touch. Hers on my crotch. Mine on her titties and thick derriere. It was going to be a good night. The splendid anniversary night. I ended up taking longer in the bathroom than expected. (Of course showering, he he)
I tried her phone again. This time, the call went through but she did not pick up. It was already eleven o’clock. A rare rash of impatience started to rub on me. I figured something was amiss but hoped she was fine. When she finally picked up, she spoke in an unusual tone explaining that she would be working late but did not know the time to leave the office. I felt bruised. The candles were melting away and weariness started creeping on me. It overpowered me and I ended up dozing off on the couch. The sweet aroma of the freshly prepared pilau had dwindled as well. Soft music played from the stereo. Her absence filled the house with emptiness. And loneliness.
I was roused from my deep sleep by the loud rumbling of a Subaru outside the apartment followed by a loud knock at the door. Almost a bang. It was her. She stood at the door clutching her purse, hands folded at the bosom. She struggled to stand upright as goose bumps invaded her from the cold of the night. I let her in. She staggered to the couch. She belched, letting out a strong scent of alcohol. She had been drinking as I worked my ass out to surprise her. She hopped onto the couch and started ranting in gibberish claiming that the department boss had overworked her and had to pass by the pub to grab a drink with ‘friends’. I asked whether she still remembered that that was our anniversary night but she was too sleepy to give a ‘yes’.
As she lay on the couch, her phone rang. She was too beat to hear it. I took it from the purse. It was Tony calling. I hang up and texted, “he’s here, please text”. In less than a minute, he replied “I miss you already, I enjoyed every moment you spent on my arms” Boom!! This hit me harder than I expected. Last time I asked, Tony was the company’s driver. A rude shock greeted me that he not only had a steering wheel on his arms, but also my woman. I composed myself and replied “next time control yourself, you almost killed me.” This was a text that he could respond by either saying in future he would drive safely or he enjoyed making love to her. He sent the latter after about ten minutes. A long text detailing how she expertly moved her hips as her boobs jiggled from the up and down movements she made while on him. My heart started racing, beating faster as fury overwhelmed me. I could not take it anymore. The music stereo had stopped playing but I did not take note of it. The text messages clouded my vision and impaired my decision.
Like an agitated lioness protecting her cubs, I sprung up from my seat and shook her so vigorously that she woke up cursing, further irking me. I informed her that Tony had called and I responded to the call. She stirred from her half-tipsy condition to full sobriety at the mention of ‘Tony’. She pretended to take it on a lighter note and said,
Her: Aah, that driver called? What did he want this late in the night?
Me: He wanted to know whether you’re fine
Her: He’s so caring. I hope you told him I am okay in your arms (she loves arms, apparently)
Me: I did but he needed to know whether your loins were still burning out of pleasure.
Her: Ati what now?? (She looked at me. Without batting an eyelid)
Me: You heard me.
Her: He’s just a crazy ass man. He’d say anything. Ignore him (She brushed off the topic)
I held up the phone and showed her the messages he had sent and my responses. She froze and mumbled things I could not comprehend. At that point, my rage knew no bound. I clenched my fists and inched closer to her. I wanted to punch her in the face. I refrained and instead slapped her on the right cheek with my weaker arm. She fell on the glass table shattering it into a million pieces. She hurt her shin. Blood gurgled from the wounded leg and she retaliated. She picked a piece of the broken glass and hurled it towards me. I ducked. It landed on the curtain and left a big dent on it. She started screaming uncontrollably in the dead of the night. I regretted hitting her but could not take the betrayal. Loyalty had flown out of the window.
She ran to where I was while blood still oozed from her leg. She grabbed my shirt from the collar and tore it jerking all the buttons from their positions. As if that was not enough, she dropped the bottle of Rosé to the ground, spilling all the contents. Glass pieces were scattered all over the house. Blood stains on the floor and the wine streamed from the mouth of the bottle. A grotesque sight. I reached for her neck and threatened to strangle her to death. She struggled to disengage from the tight grip. One kick in my privates with her right leg and I let go. The pain was so excruciating that I fell to the ground gently squeezing my loins. As I lay prostrate on the ground, I started connecting dots. I realized why we had had the on and off thing in the name of a relationship. Her cold words on that STEERS day came to life.
She limped to the bedroom and collected all her stuff. The bras (FYI this are perfect items to mark territories used by ladies), the shoes we bought at Jade, her photo that hang loosely on the wall and the make-up kit. She shoved them on my back pack and left walked to the door. She banged it on her way out. The birds chirped to signify new dawn. I was sad that she had left but happy that there would be no more thirsty Tonys after her.
This was not the kind of night I had anticipated. I had hoped that we would savour the meal I prepared as we talked of the highs and lows we had had in the past two years. I had hoped that we would laugh at the people who were green with envy every time they saw us together. They thought we would never make it in love. I had hoped that we would spend the night in a tight embrace. Her hand directing mine to grab her butt as my index finger of the other hand strummed her nether regions. The joke was on me.