It’s been two weeks, and four days since I told Sloane to
fuck off. I keep count because it keeps my rage alive and burning. I need that
rage. I need it wrapped around me tightly like a toxic blanket so that I don’t
admit that it’s HER I want wrapped around me, all sinewy muscles and the scent
of jasmines in her stupid gorgeous hair.
It’s funny isn’t it? When I wanted her to talk to me or
acknowledge my existence, she seemed to look through me and prance around
everywhere but at my face. And now that I don’t want to be within a foot of
her, she shows up everywhere all pleading eyes and uncertain smiles. I want to
shake her. Scream at her.
I haven’t read the stupid note. I want to, but I can’t.
Because she might be asking the same questions I have been avoiding myself. Why
does it matter that she doesn’t want me? I know myself better than I know
anyone else, and I know that I am acting a little bit too crazy for a one-time
thing, even though I did admit that I have had a teeny tiny crush on her for as
long as I can remember. But crushes never matter in a place like this, you fuck
whoever happens to catch your eye and pray to God they don’t think you are
dating because you let her finger you in the rec hall during one too many
Nollywood movies.
It all came to head
one night when I was smoking behind the shade pretending the silence wasn’t
overbearing. I swear I didn’t choke when she rounded the corner and froze,
cigarette on her lips, matchstick blowing out against the wind.
For a minute I forgot that I was nursing a bruised ego and so
badly wanted to go back to our usual unusual camaraderie, where we smoked in
silence and I didn’t remember how her smirk felt against my mouth. But then the minute she stood in front of me
and opened her mouth to speak, I wanted to throw up and cry all at the same
time. But pride is a beautiful weapon to have in moments like this.
“If you came here to smoke then please, by all fucking means do so quietly! “ I snapped and watched with satisfaction as her mouth pursed into a thin line.
“…did you..”
“Read your note? No. “
My fingers were cold, my nose was cold, and the cigarette
went straight to my head and I knew I had to get away from her if I were to
keep my mouth from running off.
“You should have.” Stoic. Frigid. Unmoving and my already
frayed nerves snapped and before I knew it, I had her backed up against the
shade, looking so deep into her eyes I could see my reflection, with a
forgotten cigarette burning out on the ground between us.
“Fuck off Sloane. What part of that do you not quite grasp?”
I want to say that my teeth were gnashed in anger, but I suspect that last part
was more of a plea, a groan, than anything else. She heard it too I guess, and
her gaze softened, eyes filled with something close enough to pity that I
wanted to punch her.
“why are you mad at
me?”
I stared at her. She was serious.
My incredulous bark of laughter seemed to scare her more
than my tone. She took a step back, palms raised in front of her as if to ward
me off.
“Why am I mad? Are you fucking kidding me right now?” I
tried to keep calm. I really did but it seems I failed because she took another
step back as I took a step forward.
“No, I’m not kidding. I don’t know why you are so mad. It’s
not like it was anything more than a good shag, was it?” The question was
tinged with sly hope and a small smirk and I wanted to punch her all over
again. One day, I just might.
“Fuck off Sloane.”
“But that’s not what you want me to do is it? I won’t fuck
off.”
And her hands are balled into fists by her side, chest
rising, eyes blazing .
“Then I will. Don’t come back here. You’ll regret it.”
Three nights in a row she came back. On the fourth, she
showed up just as I was buttoning up my shirt, lips swollen and red as I smirked
at a second year girl with a pixie cut and brown eyes.
She froze. Eyes wide, furious and hurt as she stared coldly
at us, as the girl whose name I didn’t know picked up her bag and
surreptitiously tried to dust off the grass from her skirt.
“Er…I’ll see you round Lola..?”
I pretend that she isn’t looking and I stroke her face, “
Sure thing…erm, ..”
“Tina…” she breathes, eyes fluttering. God this is too easy
sometimes.
‘yeah, Tina. I’ll see
you around’
Sloane scoffs. Mutters under her breath.
“What do you want?”
“I came to talk,” she says, looking everywhere but at me,
“but I see you were busy” she mutters darkly.
“Yeah I was. I’m tired. I’m going back in. “
“Lola…”
“You were right you know..” I look at her, and her gaze
focuses on me. “ It was nothing more than a good time and I can have a good
time with anyone.” I finish and I see her eyes shutter as I step aside and walk
away.
She didn’t come back after that.
But we couldn’t avoid seeing each other everywhere else. We
had atleast three classes together, and in all she would approach my desk and I
would move away. Other times, she would walk in, glance at me and resolutely
look down and sit as far away from me as she could.
I didn’t even know what I was doing anymore.
I was still so mad at her, but not because I didn’t get to
get my rocks off, but because she was able to remind me of who I am, what a
mess I was, and then look ever so disappointed in me when I did exactly what a
mess like me did.
I take out my history notebook and the note she passed me
fell out. And damn it all I had forgotten about it. I tried to ignore the note
which all but burned into my notebook as the teacher droned on and on about
some fallen and forgotten hero of the war, but my stupid heart wouldn’t stop
pounding hard enough to drown out the class. What harm could it do to read it,
I asked myself and slipped it onto my desk.
Lola,
That day under the
tree was amazing.
I think you are
amazing, but I’ve heard so much about you and I don’t know what to believe,
that’s why I’ve kept my distance. But maybe I was wrong? Meet me under the tree
at 3.00p.m today.
S.
