“Leave me alone”, came the abrupt reply.
“Are you waiting for someone?”
“Leave me alone. I am fine by myself”.
I would have walked away there and then. But I
wasn’t just staying because I thought she
needed help, I was wanted to help her because
I already started imagining how it would feel to
hold her in my arms. She sure was a good
replacement for Shade.
“What is our name?” I asked.
“None of your business”.
“Can I take you to the hospital?”
She ignored my question and instead crossed
to the other side of the road. I followed suit.
“Were you attacked?”
“Is it any of you business?” she replied.
I ignored the anger in her voice and pressed
“Who hit you?”
She wanted to scream at me with her hands
already raised up, but the action must have
ruptured the fibrin forming a thing layer over
the bruise on her brow. Red droplets blood
started dripping down her face.
“Stop being strong headed and let me take you
to a hospital”.
“Do you have a handkerchief?” she asked,
trying to stop the flow of blood.
“Yes, but its in my car”
She crossed the road for the second time
without regards for me. I was surprised when
she went to the passengers corner of my car.i
quickly opened the door and she settled in.
“If I let you take me to the hospital, promise me
you wouldn’t continue with you questions?”
I handed her the scented handkerchief that
Shade usually kept in my car.
“What is your name?”
“I thought you promised not to ask me any
I apologised and decided to just drop her off at
a clinic in Ijokodo, close to the Polytechnic.
She had a short green gown on. her laps were
exposed and I couldn’t keep my eyes
completely off it. her well structured kneecaps
also needed to be admired. her entire leg was
fair and spotless.
“Why did you insist on helping me?” she asked,
turning to face me with equally enchanting
“Because I saw you were hurt and couldn’t just
leave like that”.
“You are a good Samaritan then?”
“Call me a good Ibadanite”.
She smiled and I could swear that was how
angels must look when they smile.
“You are funny”.
I wish Shade could hear this amazing girl tell
me that I was funny. Bleep you hoe!
“This is not the first time he hit me, but I swear
it is going to be the last”.
The words were accompanied by tears.
“Who hit you?” I asked.
That dampened my mood a bit. it meant she
could not replace Shade. but she would still
serve her purpose.
“I didn’t know you were married”.
“I am. I am married to a demonic man”.
he decided to tell me how they met and how he
was the sweetest man on earth until few weeks
ago when he started exposing his bad temper
and need to hit her as a sign of authority.
We had gotten to a clinic and although I still
had every intention of straffing her, I felt she
needed more space to sort out her emotions.
“You can go into the clinic and get yourself
taken care of. Let me get your number so I can
check on you l
she used her hands to clean her tears.
” I thought you said you wouldn’t leave me?”
I was surprised by those words, didn’t know
what else I could do to an injured and abused
“How else can help you?” I put my hand on her
lap, encouragingly, she didn’t react to it.
“I want to pack my things away from his house
now that I can, I don’t want to be around when
he gets back from Ghana”.
“When will he be back?”
It was a Friday and I felt that she could still
leave his house on Saturday, but if she wanted
to leave immediately, there was every possibility
that my house could be a stop over.
“Where would you be going to?” I asked.
“I would go to Iwo road and get a bus to Lagos.
I have a couple of friends there”.
I was disappointed.
The building in which she lived with her
husband was in an isolated part of Jerico,
Ibadan. It must have been constructed in the
80s but renovated to give it a nice look. Though
the house boasted of a garden in front and
bright colors of paint at the exterior, there was
still a hint of darkness hovering over the
She led the way into the two bedroom
apartment. It was very dark inside, I had to
watch my steps carefully, all of a sudden she
stopped moving but it was already too late for
me, so my body crashed into hers.
Immediately, the sweet fregnance of her hair
and the softness of her bumbum heightened
“standstill, let me put on the light”, she said.
The living room was not too spacious, though it
was exquisitely designed.
“Are those your husband’s parents?” I asked,
pointing to an artwork made of oil paint hung
on the wall.
“Yes. Those are the people that gave birth to
“Leave me alone”, came the abrupt reply.