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Abortion Pills Inside My Fiancée’s Bag / Chapter 7: The Last Blow
Abortion Pills Inside My Fiancée’s Bag

Abortion Pills Inside My Fiancée’s Bag

Author: Brittany Wu


Chapter 7: The Last Blow

[Second male lead love just too shallow. As female lead talk, if e really love her, wetin bad if e dey be her substitute for three years, ten years, or even forever?]

[True talk, second male lead just selfish and too chauvinist. Because say she be him babe, she suppose dey loyal forever? Why?]

[And una notice? When second male lead dey argue with her, e face dey dark like say e wan slap person. If na so before marriage, after nko? E go turn real wahala.]

[That one don too much, sha. For this matter, female lead really wrong.]

[So? Female lead brave to dey find love, still dey get insult? Some people get agenda. As usual, the world na one big Palm Grove.]

E be like say social media dey inside my parlour. As dem dey drag me, my mind dey wonder whether to laugh or cry. Everybody na judge and jury.

Online gbas gbos just burst everywhere.

I just dey look space. Na when I hear Ifeoma voice, I return.

“Why you dey look lost?”

She dey squint, dey look me like say na spirit dey my body.

“You hear wetin I just talk?”

I nod, but the thing just dey scatter my head like when danfo driver miss road.

I just laugh, frustration dey my voice.

I no even know whether to laugh or cry. You know that kain moment wey all your energy don commot?

“Anything else wey you wan talk? Abeg, drop everything today.”

I no get strength for extra wahala. I just dey find peace.

Ifeoma frown, no understand.

Her eyebrow dey up, as if she dey measure my patience.

“Wetin you mean?”

She talk am with small confusion and pride.

“Okay. Nothing again? Na my turn be this.”

I stand up, collect my phone and lighter, waka go balcony, light cigarette, let the smoke just dey rise. I light my cigarette, the smell mix with suya smoke wey dey drift from street corner.

Na that moment, breeze blow, my mind clear small. I dey look the sky, dey ask myself how I reach this junction.

Na then I face Ifeoma, wey vex dey her face.

She stand near door, hand for waist. Her mouth tight like person wey swallow bitterleaf.

“All this your talk, no be just story? No dey tire you?”

I talk am with all the pain wey dey my chest. Sometimes, man gats talk am as e dey do am.

“Wetin you talk?”

Anger flash for Ifeoma eyes.

Her eyebrow bend, she fit throw something if she get am for hand. But I no fear. I dey ready.

I no send her, I just spread hand. “If to love you mean say I suppose accept anything—even your cheating—where you get that kind sense? If na so, I fit go dey mess around, come back, expect you to welcome me, and if you no do am, na you wrong. Abi?”

I dey look her eye to eye. I wan see whether she go gree say na so love suppose be.

“Why your face come change? I talk lie? Or you feel say e good for you to dey waka, but if na me, e no good? Why? Because you no dey reason? Because you no get shame? Or you no get self-respect or boundary?”

I dey para, but my voice still low. I no want give neighbour gist.

“Ifeoma, abeg use your head small. All these years, I treat you bad? I force you do hard work? I ever push you to do wetin you no like? I short you food, cloth, gold, even simple gifts? Wetin make you cheat? Wetin be your reason to dey argue?”

I dey look her, dey remember all the times I sacrifice for her sake. I no get answer.

“If you no like me, you for talk from beginning. I for respect you. But you date me three years, we dey talk marriage, now you cheat come dey talk say make I no mind. Where your conscience?”

Na so my voice begin crack. The pain too much.

“I know say you dey blunt, but that no mean say you fit talk anyhow. Listen to yourself—na so human being suppose talk? Your parents know this your way? Na your family teach you say woman suppose cheat dey proud? Or na just your own style, you like this kind dirty thing, you feel say pure love na some kind big thrill?”

I just dey look her, dey wait for answer. For my mind, I dey pray make I get sense pass this wahala. My hand dey shake, but I no wan show am. Na man I be. For this Lagos, na traffic dey slow you, but na heartbreak fit finish you. I no sure say I go recover.

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