Survival Tastes Bittersweet
1095 Words
I knew it wasn’t just generosity.
When my boss started giving me food, I didn’t let myself believe it was out of kindness. There was always a price for things like this. But I told myself, don’t question it too much. Don’t risk this job. Not now. I needed the money. My tuition wasn’t going to pay itself, and there was an assignment that still required funds.
So I accepted the meals.
For two straight weeks, every afternoon, food was placed in front of me. And strangely, it worked in my favor. I didn’t eat three times a day like others—I barely ate once. But now, with my afternoon meals covered, I saved the little money I used to spend on food. My tuition fee was ₦56,000, and somehow, I managed to save ₦69,000.
I was proud.
But I wasn’t stupid. My boss hadn’t asked for anything yet, but I knew what he wanted—me. He wanted me to be his. But since he hadn’t said it outright, I played along, using the situation to my advantage.
At work, I made friends. Femi, the hotel receptionist, had a thing for me. He was funny, fair-skinned, and sometimes, when the light hit just right, I found him cute. Then there was another guy who worked for someone selling drinks mixed with hard drugs. He liked me too, but I handled that well—we remained just friends.
That night, exhaustion clung to my bones. Tomorrow was my off day, and all I wanted was sleep. I signed out, my boss watching nearby.
“Boss, I’m heading home.”
His eyes flickered up. “I’ll drop you off.”
I hesitated. Why?
“I’m going that way,” he added, as if sensing my reluctance.
Every part of me screamed no, but I reasoned with myself. It’s just a ride. Nothing more.
So I got in.
I reached for the backseat, but his voice stopped me.
“Sit in front.”
My stomach tightened. This is fine. It’s just a car ride. I forced myself to relax as I sank into the passenger seat, pressing my body as close to the door as possible.
The drive was mostly silent. I had my earpiece in, using the music as a shield.
As we neared my neighborhood, I gave him a fake stop—a little distance from my actual house. I don’t need him knowing where I live.
I reached for the door handle.
It wouldn’t budge.
I glanced at him. “Can you unlock the door?”
Instead, he spoke.
“I need to talk to you.”
His tone was firm, leaving no room for refusal. I braced myself.
“People are talking,” he said. “They think we’re dating because of the food I’ve been giving you.”
A wave of relief hit me. So that’s what’s bothering him? For a second, I was happy. If he cared about his reputation, maybe he wouldn’t take things too far. But then, fear crept in. What if he fires me?
My relief was short-lived.
“Since they are thinking we’re dating..let’s just start dating.”
My heart stopped.
I stared at him, my mind scrambling for words. But I found none. Silence wrapped around me, thick and suffocating. If I say no, will I lose my job? If I say yes..
I froze.
I nodded to whatever else he was saying, not agreeing, not disagreeing. Just… existing.
Then he reached forward, arms outstretched, trying to hug me.
I flinched back.
“Oh,” he chuckled, “you’re just not used to me being your boyfriend yet.”
Disgust crawled up my skin. Boyfriend? The word sounded vile coming from him.
But I thought of my sister. Of the business I dreamed of starting. Of the hunger I never want to feel again.
I schooled my expression, masking every ounce of anger, and asked him to open the door.
I walked home in silence, my thoughts screaming.
And after hours of thinking, I made a decision.
I would pretend to date this man.
If I refused, I knew he’d fire me. And I couldn’t afford that.
The next morning, I stepped onto campus, and people stared.
Whispers followed me.
“Is that really her?”
“She looks so different.”
“See how she’s glowing.”
I barely recognized myself either. My skin was clearer, brighter. I had put on a little weight in the right places. My lower body was curvier, my upper body still slim. Pear-shaped.
I had never looked this good in my life.
And the best part? Hunger was no longer my reality.
With joy swelling in my chest, I paid my tuition fees.
For the first time in forever, I felt safe.
That evening, I remembered it was my day off. A luxury I hadn’t had in weeks.
I wanted to rest.
But first, I needed to eat.
I wandered the streets, looking for food, when I met a guy. He wasn’t my type, but he offered to cook for me. He lived far, but I thought, why not? A little fun after so long.
I let him buy everything we needed.
His house was cramped, shared with five others. There was barely space to breathe inside, so I sat outside, watching them interact. It was a simple night, but it felt good to be around people without expectations.
The next day, I saw an opportunity.
Since my boss believed we were dating, I should take advantage of it.
“Boss, I need assistance. School tests have started, and I won’t be as available.”
I held my breath.
“Alright,” he said without hesitation. “I’ll get an assistant for you.”
Shock flooded me. Just like that?
For the first time in weeks, I felt free.
I had time to breathe. Sleep. Live.
That evening, the guy who cooked for me invited me to the pool. I went, but I didn’t like him. Not his face. Not his personality.
I was just… existing.
Then, in the water, it happened.
I swam far, deeper than most dared. People gasped, murmuring about my skill. I was fine—until someone shouted:
“Haa! That’s nine feet! Stop going further!”
Fear.
It gripped me like a vice, squeezing the air from my lungs. My mind betrayed me, flashing images of him—my father. His voice, his anger, the pain.
I forgot how to move.
I started drowning.
Screams filled the air. No one moved.
- Writer
