Claimed by the Mafia King

Ken changed me. The way I felt about myself, how I saw my family and the world at large. Everything. He had violated me in the worst possible way, it messed with my head badly.

I convinced myself over the past four years that only the feebleminded felt things like love, trust or happiness. I was sure as hell not going to be weak a second time!

The high walls I built to keep my emotions protected soon became impenetrable, mostly because I had given up on everything.

I remember how I had almost shut down when I admired a boy in high school. He asked me out and I bluntly told him that I didn’t believe in love. I even tried convincing him that love doesn’t exist.

He had stared at me like I was insane. A teenager who had already given up on the delusion of love; was devastating. We were classmates in our senior year. I felt pity for him for falling in love with someone heartless. When he refused to reason with me, I walked out whispering something along the lines of ‘I’m sorry, forgive me,’ like a pathetic little girl. Though I didn’t care if he forgave me or not. Did I? Yes, I did. I won’t lie to myself. I couldn’t exactly turn myself into a robot no matter how much I tried.

I didn’t like watching him get hurt over something that was not his fault, but I knew there was no other truth than what I had told him. I wasn’t so wicked as to let him be with someone who would never fully give in to him. Or trust him. Someone who rejects her feelings till they become mere illusions.

He had been the head boy of my high school and girls loved him and flocked around him like bees to honey. I would have had the perfect high school love story had I accepted him, but I was far too broken for it. Too scared to let myself trust anyone again. So I set him free to find better.

He wasn’t the only guy who tried to date me, but he was the only one I paid attention to just to chicken out when I should have embraced him. I did lead him on. I was a coward. Yes. I would rather be one than be a fool who makes the same mistake twice.

As every day passed it soon became harder to believe in my self-acclaimed emotionlessness. However, I held onto hate and vengeance reminding myself over again that if my father didn’t love me, how could another boy who wasn’t my blood do so? My parents had too much vile between them. Maybe there was a time they truly loved each other, but it faded. You see? Love is fickle. My brothers loved me, yes, but it wasn’t enough to fill me. They are my siblings, they had to love me right? All I wanted to do even after so many years was to make enough money that would help me get justice against Ken. File a police report, see him In jail or dead.

~~~~

A month after graduating from High school, I started working in a boutique a few streets from mine because I hated staying idle. My mind was dangerous when still, so I tried to keep it busy lest it led me to sin. I also wanted to start saving for college, so I could fend for myself to make up for my parent’s lack of financial capability. I soon saved enough to at least cater for my first year in college whilst depriving myself of other indulgences.

I decided to finally write JAMB this year the second year after my graduation, and before I turn eighteen, I hoped to pass. I had just myself to hope on and God. I still believed in God. The only invisible thing I felt was visible. More real than any other. I never gave up on my faith as a Catholic and I tried not to miss any program during the holy week no matter the situation at work. I explained this to my co-worker, Esohe. She was quite understanding, and the closest to a friend I had. Secondary school friends are fickle. We rarely spoke to each other except when our paths crossed.Original content from NôvelDrama.Org.

Esohe let me leave early on days I had to go to church, and I returned the favour on days she wanted to leave early too. Maybe to go see a man, who knows?

On good Wednesday, rain fell heavily in Warri. It was usual since April began ushering in a heavier rainy season. The roads were flooded. Gutters filled to the brim. The system to get rid of this was simply nonexistent.

I walked on the road trying to stay away from unclear water.

Cars splashed water on my clothes while I ran gingerly, eager to attend mass on time. I struggled to evade falling into a pit, potholes or worse being hit by a moving vehicle. My black skirt clung to my legs and my pink shirt was almost transparent showing my green bra slightly. My scarf was dripping with water soaking my dress even more, I was sure my hair would smell if I didn’t wash it tonight. Amidst all this, I didn’t stop.

I kept breathing in and out, slowly, trying to calm my racing heart.

Luckily, I got to church just when the priest was still processing it. I found an almost empty pew at the back. Unusually, I decided to sit there today because I was too wet to join bodies with others at my usual middle pew. There were only two women in the pew. An old woman, and a middle-aged woman. The old woman sat at the edge. She gave me a once over when I tried to get in, but she let me pass anyway. I sat in the middle directly under the ceiling fan so it would dry my clothes even though it made me shiver. I prayed that it didn’t make me sick at least.

After resting on the pew throughout the first reading I raised my head to finally focus on the mass. My prayer book which I had put in my leather bag was safe with my phone. I was glad it was just my bag that got wet, so I placed it on the pew so it could dry up. I looked around to be sure there were no familiar faces. My sigh of relief was halted when I saw an old friend from primary school, Peter, sitting at the adjacent pew. He caught me staring before I could pretend not to have seen him.

I smiled at him. He waved and smiled back, mouthing that he would come to me soon. Great! I wasn’t in the mood. I wished I hadn’t shifted my gaze from the altar.

He looked almost the same from the last time I saw him. Only a little thinner and his face was a bit rough with pimples. A sign of puberty in boys my class boys used to say. It was definitely y boarding school effect, his sister, Yole, who attends a day school looked ravishing the last time I saw her. I reminisced briefly on our childhood memories before my childhood was taken from me brutally. Good times. During the offertory, he came to sit with me, and we went together. I noticed a significant change then, his height. He was much taller now, towering over me. I used to be taller just last year. Boys grow weirdly.

His beauty still stunned me. I craved to play with his long curly hair like I did when we were little. It was shorter and darker now, but I still admired it. I wasn’t the only one, everyone stared at us at some point. It definitely wasn’t my beauty stunning them. That time had passed. I was sure everyone around us had seen me at some point if they frequented the church. I grew up here and was in the choir, so it wasn’t me definitely. Maybe it was the both of us together. They probably thought we were siblings. Whenever I walk with any beautiful light-skinned person I will always get the “Oh, you look like twins” remark even if there is little to no resemblance. I remembered how my friends used to tease me in secondary school that, “I escaped being albino.” If only they knew Peter, although his father is white so it made sense. Through the pictures my mum showed me of her parents I knew I got my skin colour from my grandma. She was the epitome of beauty.

“Long time, how’s school?” I asked, after a while with a stretched smile. I could see he was struggling with starting the conversation. Shy boys are my thing, I guess.

“School is fine. Why are you all wet?”

Wet? “You mean my dress?” I laughed awkwardly. I was such an Idiot!

He looked confused, “Yes na. Your dress.”

“I work far from here. I had to come under the rain because no Keke was willing to stop for me.”

“Oh. Good Christian ma.” He teased.

“I’m not the seminarian.”

“God will reward us all.” He chuckled.

“Amen oh.” I giggled.

He looked intently at me for a minute only averting his gaze when he noticed I was getting tensed.

My prayer book fell from my thighs when I tried to adjust my skirt. I went to pick it up and brushed my breasts softly on his arms. “Sorry,” I whispered, sitting up straight. I mentally cursed myself for doing that. It was on impulse but it felt good. He didn’t look like he noticed what I did, or he was excellent at hiding his emotions.

I was losing my mind. Teenage hormones, ew. Is this how I’ll keep my virginity for my husband? No, no, don’t think of that. You don’t care about that Mirabel. You don’t.