Cold, frigid bitch!

Those were the words Zoey my room mate screamed as she stormed out after 24 minutes of roundly cursing me. I stare at the door she just slammed.

Cold, frigid bitch.
I laugh a long, mirthless laugh.

She had come in crying 30minutes ago. Her fiancé had just dumped her. I listened to her 5 minute rant after which I said, “Ehh yaaa. Everything will be okay. Emm…. please can I use your slippers?.”
I guess that didn’t go down well with her.

I try for some seconds to feel some sympathy.
I will myself to feel remorse, perhaps some shame. Some guilt perhaps?

She is right.
I am a cold, frigid bitch. Unfeeling. Dead. Not a drop of the metaphorical milk of human kindness in my body. I am unable to feel love for another. No sympathy, no care. I exist as a lone being.

The phrase is all too familiar to me. I yawn and turn my gaze to the daffodil yellow wall. I know she won’t be back to the room we both share for at least three hours. Good riddance! Stretching lazily towards the bean bag by the foot of the bed, I pick the remote control which had been tossed there earlier. I turn on the LG plasma television at the far right side of the room. Frank ocean’s “Thinking about you” is playing on trace.

My phone rings. Once. Twice.
It’s my shrink (Mr Dayo) calling. I know he wants to remind me of our next session, so i ignore the call. The first time, it had taken him just thirty minutes to reach a conclusion; “Dissociation“, he had called it. Turning off my phone, I increase the tv volume to a deafening pitch. I stare blindly at the screen as my mind goes back to 2002. The most dreadful year ever.

“So, these are the two girls?”, Ochuko asked as she strolled into Bola’s room.
“Which one be the husband?”, she yelled, this time directing the question at us; the two kneeling junior girls.
I remained mute, staring at her, hoping i’d be left alone. I looked at the 8 senior girls assembled in the room, they stare at myself and Lola like we are shit.
“Abi you no wan talk?”.
This was Bola, the Labor prefect. I try to say something but the slaps silence me. Two. Ten Twenty…more than I could count. That night, Lola and I were told to kiss and make sex sounds while doing it.
“Kiss! Oya kiss! YOU, rub her breast”, Ochuko screamed as we were flogged with hangers and at the same time, cheered on by the eight girls.
“I didn’t do it”, I screamed, each time the hanger left a welt.
“LELE”, one of them shouted. “Fucking stupid Lesbians!”.

There were more beatings like that. Seven? Ten perhaps? I lost count. Every time, we were made to act in a perverted manner. They watched us…..laughing, suggesting new methods.
Each day it happened, I stared at Lola through the tears, my eyes asking her just one question….. WHY LIE?

I never asked her what had happened that night. I wasn’t sure myself.

It had been the first week in September. I had just resumed in jss2. Some of my classmates and i had gone to a corper’s room to escape being sent on errands by seniors. We met some Jss1 girls there and we had become friends. It got really late and we still couldn’t go back to our corridor because we were scared.
“Abeg, I don’t want to wash anyone’s clothes”, Chidinma grated.
We’d decided to stay with our “new friends”; the Jss1 girls. Sometime in the night, I felt someone touching me. I concluded it was one of my harlequin induced dreams and I slept back. The next morning, we Jss2 girls went our way.

About a month later, I was called by a House Mistress who kept repeating the words “I’m ashamed of you. I’m ashamed of you. You, of all people!”
Apparently, Lola had accused me of fondling her.

I almost got expelled. Every teacher and most students looked at me like I was the devil’s incarnate. Nobody believed my story of not knowing what happened. After all, the senior student always forces the junior one into lesbianism.

The seniors……they came for us most nights.
The jeers….mostly by people whom I thought were friends.
“Senior lele, senior lele”, chants emanating from a Jss1 classroom as I walked by.

I left the choir. No-one wanted the “lesbian” to sing in church anyway. I used to be a hard core youth evangelist; sharing tracts and what-not.
“This lele still dey preach?.”
The five words that made me stop .

After about a month of crying and trying to explain myself, I tuned off. My body was in school but my mind was gone. I dabbled in the dark arts, experimented on mind travel and soul exchange. Whole months still remain blurred. I can’t remember living them.

I grew to hate people. Everyone. The only exception; my family. It didn’t take long before I became devoid of feelings. Hollow. A zombie.

Cold, frigid bitch!
An ex yelled once, years ago when we broke up after a make out session.
I had stared at him.
No tears fell as he walked away.


5 thoughts on “HAZE

  1. Hi, u write good, great actually but I fear u r missin it. Your writeups, my view actually, do not put d environment into consideration, by dat I mean u speak too much grammar. To endear d audience to u I believe u have to give them what academic books wldnt, relaxed reading. Personally think u need to ease up on ur grammar. For me those dat wld understand them are those who wld rather read vanguard or thisday. Or r they ur target audience?…..my views


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