When Love Finally Hurts

Chapter One – I Don’t Know How to Love “Alex, I don’t know how to love.” Didn’t even mean to say it out loud. I just… blurted it, like a kid confessing to breaking a window, except this was my whole chest cracking open. The words felt sour on my tongue, bitter in my mouth. I wanted them back the second they left, but nope—they were out there, floating between us like cigarette smoke, impossible to ignore. Alex just froze. Leaned back on my wobbly table, arms folded tight across his chest, jaw all tense. The look on his face? Not surprised, really. More like he’d finally heard the thing he’d always suspected but hoped wasn’t true. His silence filled the room—heavy, suffocating. I’d take him shouting or cursing at me over that kind of quiet any day. So, I did what I always do—I made a joke. Tried to laugh it off. “You know me, abeg. "I just dey talk rubbish,” I said, my voice was way too high-pitched. He didn’t move. Didn’t even blink. “Janet,” he said, slow, like he was trying not to break something fragile. “Do you even hear yourself?” My stomach did cartwheels. My heart wanted to leap across the room and wrap itself around him, but pride is a stubborn animal. I sat up straighter, put on my best ‘I’m fine’ face, when inside, I felt hollow. Like someone had scooped out everything that made me real. “I didn’t mean it like that,” I whispered, my voice barely there. “It’s just… I don’t know how to do it the way you do. You’ve always been the one giving, like it’s nothing. Me? I’m always behind. Always doubting myself, doubting us. I don’t know how to keep up." He shook his head, gave me this tired, crooked smile. That smile hurt. Like, physical pain. “Nine years, Janet. Nine years. And you’re just realizing this?” My eyes stung. “I didn’t mean—” He raised his hand, palm shaking. Like he was holding back a tidal wave. For a split second, I thought he’d reach out, tell me I was being silly, that he still loved me. But that was just wishful thinking. He picked up his phone, shoved it deep in his pocket. “I’m tired, Janet."" Tired of fighting for someone who—” he stopped, exhaled, “—who doesn’t even know if she wants me.” Panic. I stood so fast my chair nearly toppled, reached for his arm. “Alex, please—” He stepped away, face like stone. Then he turned and walked out. Out the door. Down the corridor. Out of my life, maybe for real this time. The door slammed—felt like thunder. The kind that shakes the walls and rattles your bones. I slid to the floor, knees hugged to my chest. Tried to breathe, but my lungs felt full of sand. I wanted to scream, to run after him, to promise that I’d be better, do better. But pride? It’s a stubborn, ugly thing. It keeps you chained. My phone buzzed on the table. For a second, hope flared—maybe it was him. Nope. Just ₦200 from Mama. Are you kidding me? I dropped the phone like it bit me. --- That night was long. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t even taste water. Just lay there, staring up at the cracked ceiling, letting the memories do their worst. Alex in uni, always saving a seat for me even when I ghosted him for days. Alex, grinning as he handed me akara, soaked with oil, after a crappy day. Alex, standing in the rain, shivering but refusing to leave until I came out. And me? I left. Left him for guys who flashed smiles and made empty promises. Three times, I tried to find something new, something better. Each time, I ran back to Alex, and each time he opened his arms, no questions asked. Loyal to a fault, that guy. But tonight? Tonight felt like watching the last page of a book close—and knowing there won’t be a sequel. Somewhere between ugly crying and exhaustion, I must’ve passed out. Woke up with my pillow soaked, head pounding. The sun was peeking through the curtain like it was mocking me. My phone buzzed again. For a second, I let myself believe it was Alex. Maybe he’d forgiven me. Maybe he missed me too. I swiped the screen, hands shaking. Unknown number: “He was never yours to begin with.” You know that moment when your heart just stops? Like, full-on ice bucket to the chest. Who the hell? Alex wouldn’t send something like that, not in a million years. Was it one of his friends, trying to mess with my head? Some random? Or worse—was it true? I deleted it, but the words felt tattooed behind my eyes. --- Dragged myself out of bed next morning, threw on whatever clothes didn’t smell, and shuffled down to Mama Nkechi’s kiosk for bread. My hair was a mess, face swollen. Mama Nkechi gave me the side-eye. “Janet, you dey sick? Your face be like dem beat you.” I forced a laugh. “I’m fine, Mama.” Biggest lie of the year. Turned the corner, and—bam—there he was. Alex. Standing under the old mango tree, sunlight streaking through the leaves. And he wasn’t alone. She was there. Some woman I’d never seen before, slim and polished, not a single hair out of place. Her skin practically glowed, like she’d swallowed the sun. She leaned in close, whispered something, and Alex—he laughed. Not just a regular laugh, but that deep, belly laugh that used to belong to me. I swear my bread nearly hit the gutter. My knees went weak. My brain just short-circuited. She looked straight at me. Not just a glance, but a full-on, “I see you,” with a smile that said, “He’s mine now. Try me, if you dare.” I stood there, paralyzed. Wanted to run, to scream, to throw my bread in her perfect face. But I just froze, my tongue thick, my pride shriveling. Watched Alex squeeze her hand tighter. He didn’t even look my way. Or maybe he did, and decided I was invisible. Which is worse? No clue. Both sucked. Back in my room, I slammed the door, slid down, and just sat there. Bread on the floor, forgotten. Nine years. Nine years of jokes, fights, make-ups, all just… gone. The tears came hard. Not the pretty kind, either. We’re talking messy, snotty, can’t-breathe crying. I hugged myself so tight it hurt. Rocked back and forth, wishing I could go back and unsay everything, do it all over. But you can’t rewind life, can you? Phone buzzed. My heart jumped, hope rising like an i***t. Same unknown number. “This is just the beginning.” Dropped the phone like it stung me. Heart pounding, hands shaking. Who’s doing this? Why now? Why does it feel like they’re right—that I never really had him, not truly? I curled up on the floor, staring at the ceiling, wondering how you’re supposed to learn to love when you’ve already broken the one person who ever tried to teach you.