SMELL OF SUCCESS

CHAPTER 3

I inhaled deeply as I entered my room and locked the door behind me, with my back against the door, I looked at the gown that I was wearing on but it looked useless to me due to the insults from Bravo and Ade.

No matter how this gown was pretty to me the light in my eyes was missing and it pained my heart. There was no way that I could have stayed with them especially after the insult that I had just endured. It remained me and my loneliness in my room and a flood of tears that was just uncontrollable.

The feeling of dejection overwhelmed me, It was just in the morning that I was thinking there is some goodness, but also Bravo has shown not to be good at all.

“What a cruel, sadists of men. I hate them”

Even Bravo who was pretending to be good at he has just changed. Was I just a piece of trash for them?

As I was crying, I suddenly heard footsteps in the corridor; I became attentive and moved closer to the door and peeped through the lock hole. I flinched and pulled away from the door when the footsteps moved closer to the door.

I wiped my tears, rubbed my eyes and took a deep breath. I walked over to my bed, and lay down on my side, in a foetal position and pulled up the covers over my head and closed my eyes to forget the feeling of shame and I didn’t know how I fall asleep but finally I  woke up due to hunger.

I had slept for several hours, it was difficult to see because of the pitch of darkness and the only source of light was the moon peeping through the glass window. I got out of the bed with my gown; I stealthily walked towards the door and stopped.

I saw a figure and suddenly started moving towards me. I realized it was Ade his face partially was in the shadow as if he was the darkness himself.

Why is Ade in my room? How did he get into my room and I locked before I fell asleep? Is he here to apologize for what had just happened earlier?

In my head there was nothing making sense at this time. I just froze and stared at him blankly with fear. Before I could think of anything he pushed me to the wall. He moved closer to me and I could hear his heartbeats.

He lowered his head, and his lips curled up into a rare smile like I had cracked a joke. The painful memories of the insult started flashing before my eyes when he came near me. In this certain situation when you’ve been hurt so badly, so unjustly, you get this strange sense of courage, even if the situation is extremely dangerous.

Unable to understand his intensions I pushed him away with my frail frustration. My heartbeat increased rapidly, skin burned with fear, and an unknown panic seized me.

“What are you doing,” I asked.

“Am just here to look at you, I didn’t mean to talk to you like that,” He answered politely.

“How? Anyway well,” I replied.

Ade moved close to me and touched me, fatigue started to show upon my face and body. He started surveying my face for a couple of minutes and then he left. I was dumbfounded, shocked to my sense as to what was happening. The sudden change in Ade’s left me speechless. My kidnapper is now apologizing to me.

I hated how my body reacted to Ade’s touch my n*****s had got rock hard without noticing. When a person who is cruel and violent to me is now showing sympathy. I backed off and sat down on the bed.

After coming back into my mind the next morning the first thing I did was to remove the gown from my body.

I took a long, warm bath, wrapped the towel around my body and stepped out of the bathroom. I moved closer to the closet and opened it which was packed with so many clothes seemed like they had prepared my coming.

I dressed quickly and ran out of the room to the dining room. A warm smile spread on Bravo’s face and he served me with tea. I looked up at him and he was wearing a red plaid shirt and jeans. His flaxen hair looked like he had hardly combed it for a while. His benign blue eyes and beaming smile were still the same.

“Hi, Maryanne,” he greeted me as he plopped down in a chair.

It took a moment to realize that Bravo had talked to me.

“Hi,” I replied after the prolonged pause.

No matter how good Bravo was I saw it hard to talk to him since I have not yet known the motive of me being in here. I glanced at him and there was indeed shyness in him.

He turned his eyes towards me.

“You look pretty in that dress, its best outfit to you,” he said.

I nervously looked down and answered,

“Thank you.”

“What do you do?” I asked him.

He ran his hand in his hair and responded to me in a low tone, “I am a poet.”

“Are you happy of what you do? It seems that you don’t like it.” I inquired.

“Writing is indeed a tough life,” he said.

“Some people don’t take it serious, they find it had to pay,” He giggled.

I listen to him as he explained the struggles the writers go through. His hand eloquently moved as he talked about it.

I looked at him and asked, “What kind of poems do you write?”

“I write the non-fiction,” he paused and started again, “but I have not published any of them yet.”

“Why?” I asked curiously.

He stared at me and said, “It is kind of a boring life.”

“But writing is beautiful,” I said.

His eyes crinkled and a genuine smile slowly played at the corner of his mouth.

After the talk I got back to my room living him in the dining room.

I sat in my room watching the birds coming out of their homes through the large glass window. I started walking, heart raced erratically, a dreadful panic seized me as my mind and fought with each other to quell the indescribable feeling ravaging through my head.

I balled my hands tightly in my fists, as I walked with momentary glances at the window. I was feeling this emptiness inside me like maybe there was something that I was missing. Entire day I distracted myself, told myself again and again my thoughts were not normal.

I gulped down, nervously looked at the bed, I flicked my hand and brushed the thought away.

“His touch was so unholy, yet it had the power to take me to heaven,” I thought.

I moved away and slumped to the floor and leaned against the hard wooden surface. My breath got heavier and sweat dripped off my temples.