She was uneasy and the creaks the bed made each time she tossed and turned made that evident.
She closed her eyes and remembered those words that made her heart grow wings and soar.
That made her soul float in such a slow peaceful way.
“Ezinne you know you forgot about me.”
It was the way he said it; so innocent, so insecure and so unsure.
She remembered back then how she would hold him and make him feel better. She would heal him with soothing words like mentholated balm to tired feet. She would rock him like a baby if need be.
She reminisced of all these times until she choked with nostalgia and tears found their exit from her eyes. She didn’t cry because she missed him but because somehow when he said those words her first impulse was to cradle him in her bosom.
How she missed those days but not him. He ruined it all. They were perfect together but he wanted more, always. There was only so much of herself she could give until she could give no more.
Hearing his voice after all these months made her feel nostalgic for those days but that was all. She wasn’t sad or undone; she just missed those days.
Those days when she was madly in love and wasn’t afraid to show it, but these days she doesn’t feel anything.
She had been hurt badly and it was a horrible feeling but this emptiness, this unfeeling was even worse. She couldn’t feel and it was worse than anything ever felt.
So somehow hearing him say those words the way he said them put her troubled unfeeling heart at ease and she soared.
Because she never once forgot about him, not for a second. But knowing he felt that way and she was the reason for that gave her peace. She took delight in the knowing and she hoped it hurt whenever he thought about her and those long gone days. And the nostalgia from all the reminiscing not only choked him but left him pale and breathless.
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Imade the beautiful, Imade the flawless, Imade the intelligent, Imade the most wanted. Those were words that usually came after anyone said my name or spoke about me. Words of praise and admiration. I miss those words because the only words that come after my name nowadays are “Imade the trapped, Imade the helpless, Imade the victim.”
The darkness that my eyes have grown so accustomed to surrounds me and I feel around for anything that will make me feel grounded. So I would know I’m not floating in outer space and to certify that this isn’t a nightmare of some sort. I’ve lost count of the days and I don’t even bother with time anymore. Life inside this dank, smelly room hasn’t been life; it has just been existing. I can’t remember the last time I had the luxury of having a bath, feeling the warm water caress and run down my body and rid me of dirt and sweat. I miss the soft bed I used to lie on that usually takes me to my happy place; I miss my freedom. The smell of urine and stale air envelopes me and I can no longer tell if it’s me or the room that stinks so.
I lost my sense of being awhile ago when I discovered it was easier to drift off and know that no one would find me and that my captor would never set me free. I hear heavy footsteps grow louder and closer by the second and a male voice slurring “Imade the beautiful, Imade the flawless, Imade the intelligent, Imade the most wanted.” The last part sounds so lustful and dirty so I cringe after hearing that. The door opens and light fills the dark room; my eyes readjust and see his silhouette standing there with a sardonic smile on his face and I cower. I know what is about to happen so I prepare myself for it. I don’t fight him anymore because I learnt it ends faster that way and he won’t be forced to hit me, and even if he does it won’t be anything serious. I prepare my mind and I dream about what my life used to be, about what my life could’ve looked like. I block out what is happening and let my mind wander as my body goes limp by the first touch. Dreaming is beginning to hurt because it reminds me of what I will most probably never have and tears escape from my eyes, and just as he is done with his business he leans into my ear and sneers “Imade the trapped, Imade the helpless, Imade the victim.” I close my eyes and take the fetal position so he wouldn’t see me cry because I swore to never let him see me cry, to never let him know he got to me, and to never give him the satisfaction of breaking me.