PIECE OF ME

TWO HALVES

CHAPTER 6

When I got back to school, it felt like stepping into a place that had been waiting for me to fail. Nothing had changed on campus—the noise, the rushing students, the smell of food from the hostels—but I had changed. Everyone else carried on like life was simple, while I dragged mine like a body that refused to stay buried.

The first day I walked into the hostel, I felt eyes on me. Not just eyes—pity, whispers, judgment all mixed together. I pretended not to hear anything, but it was too loud to ignore.

“That’s her.”

“The girl that almost died.”

“I heard it was abortion complications.”

“No, it wasn’t abortion, they said she was carrying for one married man in NLNG.”

“Big men always use them and dump them.”

I heard it all. Their voices weren’t even soft. They wanted me to hear. They wanted me to feel small, and I did. I carried my bag into the room without saying a word, dropped on the bed, and faced the wall.

Steph wasn’t around when I got in, and part of me was relieved. I didn’t know what I’d say to her. She hadn’t visited me once in the hospital. Not one call, not one text. A part of me wanted to believe she was busy or didn’t know how to show up. But another part of me whispered the truth I didn’t want to accept—she chose to stay away.

That night, Steph came in. I pretended to be asleep, but I felt her stop by the door, glance at me, then quietly arrange her things. She didn’t ask how I was. She didn’t say “welcome back.” She didn’t even make the effort to sit on my bed like before. That was the confirmation I needed—whatever bond we had was broken.

The next morning, I forced myself to go for lectures. I walked into the hall, and immediately, laughter erupted from the back. It might not have been about me, but I felt it sink straight into my chest. A group of girls stared openly, then one whispered something that made the rest laugh harder. I sat down, heart racing, palms sweating.

The lecturer came in. He didn’t even look at me directly, but after class, he called me out.

“You’re behind in coursework. You missed tests. If you’re not serious, you will fail this semester.”

That was it. No concern, no human understanding, nothing. Just the blunt fact: I was failing in school the same way I was failing in life.

I walked back to the hostel with tears stinging my eyes, but I refused to let them drop. I still hadn’t cried—not for my dad, not for Daniel, not for the twins I lost before I could even accept they were mine. The tears sat like stones inside me.

By evening, my phone buzzed. Daniel.

“Hope you’re fine. I sent 60k to support with your bills.”

I stared at the message. The alert was there too. I didn’t respond. I didn’t care. Money couldn’t fix what he broke. He wanted to wipe his conscience clean, but I wasn’t going to make it easy for him.

An hour later, he sent another text:

“You’re ungrateful. Do you know how many girls will thank me for this kind of support? Don’t ever disturb me again.”

Ungrateful. That word cut deeper than a knife. I dropped my phone and sat there, my chest heavy. He had reduced everything I went through to five thousand naira insults, denials, and now sixty thousand naira conscience money. That was the worth of my life to him.

Later that night, I overheard some girls in my hostel talking in the corridor.

“They said the man already denied her.”

“Which man?”

“One big shot from NLNG. You know how they like these small girls.”

“She should have just enjoyed the money while it lasted.”

Laughter followed.

I stayed quiet in my room, pretending not to hear, but my fists were clenched under my pillow. It was one thing for Daniel to throw me away, but now I was entertainment for strangers.

Steph came in that night and didn’t even look at me. She slept off immediately. I wanted to shake her, ask her why she abandoned me, but the words stuck in my throat. Maybe I was afraid of the answer.

Days passed like that. I dragged myself to classes. I ate without tasting food. I lay awake most nights, replaying everything. My father’s smile. The doctor’s cold words. Daniel’s voice calling me a liar. The nurses whispering. My body split into two halves—one half alive, walking around, the other half buried in pain no one else could see.

Then one evening, I sat outside the hostel on the concrete bench. The night was quiet, with only the hum of generators and faint voices from the distance. I just wanted air. I just wanted to breathe without feeling trapped.

That was when I saw it.

Across from me, near the Faculty block, a shadow stood still. At first, I thought it was just someone passing by, but no—it didn’t move. It just stood there, facing me. My heart started beating faster. I squinted, but the light from the security bulb wasn’t strong enough to show a face.

I looked down at my phone for a second, then back up. The shadow was still there. Watching.

I froze. I wanted to run inside, but I couldn’t move. It wasn’t until I finally stared straight at it, refusing to blink, that the figure slowly turned and walked away.

My skin crawled.

I whispered to myself, barely breathing:

“Who is following me?”