10 DAYS - Episode 4

Edisemi Thompson

I was lying on the bed browsing through pictures of wedding gowns on my Tab while Butch knocked. I was really pissed at the discovery of him smoking in the closet. It gives me the chill to picture him in all of that smoke, not to mention channelling them into his lungs. I can’t forgive him for that one. He’ll have to tell me how long he’s been at it and why he hadn’t told me before getting me into this shitty point where I have to choose whether to continue with him or not. Then, if we’re to continue, he’ll have to sign an undertaking never to return to the habit. They say old habit doesn’t die, but when he’s faced with choosing either me or the habit, I’m sure old habit will learn a new way to die.

While I’d forgiven his sweet self – I can’t stand a grudge with Butch for more than thirty minutes – I needed him to pay the price of the forgiveness. My forgiveness doesn’t come cheap. He’d knock there all night without a response from me and if he so happens to leave his knocking spot for anything, the grudge extends for an hour or two… but not for another day. Even I can’t stand that.

I happened to have selected a gown and was checking the credibility of the vendor when Butch stopped knocking. I paused and looked at the door. 

Something was happening. Butch was no longer alone. I waited to falsify the obvious. It had to be butch speaking to himself, or say his phone had rang at some point while knocking and he had to pick it. 

How do you hear two clear voices from someone making a call?

The answer wasn’t far. I got off the bed, gently placed the tab on it and tiptoed my way to the door. My heartbeat sped, hitting at all angles of the cage of my chest in no distinguished pattern. Butch wasn’t alone at the door. Julie had joined him and from their conversation, she’s as drunkenly useless as an overfed pigeon. 

Hadn’t I known that something was going on between these two?

The things Julie was demanding from Butch were things only I should demand. I grew hot with jealousy as I heard the strained tone of my man voice as he tried to hold on to righteousness. I willed him some of my strength, praying he’d get the bitch out of his way and keep knocking. God knew that if he knocked at this point, I’d quickly open. 

Butch didn’t knock, he’d devoted his attention to fixing the bitch. Julie knew what she was doing. There was nothing about her to be fixed. I could feel it from the texture of her voice, which is heavily laced with sexuality. The whole drunk display was sham. I felt like screaming it to Butch from the gap between the door and the wall; like opening the damn door, dragging him in and kissing sense back into his retarding brains. 

You know you shouldn’t do that.

“Yes, I know.” I muttered to my voice of reason.
But right now, pressed to the door as if to melt into it and materialize at the other side, it’s the only thing I wish to do.

“Kiss me, boo and I’ll be alright.” Julie says.

“Let’s get you cleaned.” Butch responds.

“Kiss me, Butch.” She insists.

Their voices begin to fade. My heart races along with them and seems to be unable to keep up. I lead my hands to my chest and hold it tight. This is the first sign of a heart attack. I feel it coming, riding on a black horse, smiling as the horse neighs. My knees grow weak and I let myself slide to the foot of the door. The water in my eyes steam up and I feel the first hot drops of tears gather.

Stop it, this is a time to fight and not a time to weep.

I gather myself up and the tears roll down anyway. I don’t feel relieved, nothing at this point is capable of that, until the bitch is put back in her place. 

What if her place was with Butch and she’s always been there?

I think back to the times I’d been away from Butch, away at work. Butch spends most of his time painting, of course. But there surely are gaps in between, when he’d drop his brush – you see, he’s his own boss and can decide when and when not to take a break – and I’d still be at the office editing news and articles. 

What did he spend that time doing? Where does he spend that time? And Julie, does she have anything she does for a living? Is she always free when Butch is free and needs some sensual inspiration?

I realise these are questions I should’ve asked long before now, and they lead to fresh questions: 

The weeks Butch decides to go stay at his parents’ place, does he really go there? Does Julie live close to Butch’s parents’ house?

“Oh God. I know nothing about this bitch.” I moan.

Well, nothing other than she’s Butch’s chum from back in the days. This leads to other questions: 

What were they really back then? What did they do back then? What are they still doing now?

There’s only one way to find out. 

I grit my teeth and walk back to the bed to properly dispose my Tab and get my slippers. If they thought they’d do stupid things together under my nose, they better wake up. A glance at the beautiful wedding gown displaying on the screen of my Tab strengthens my resolve. We were to announce our wedding to these guests during the party before this drama started. In as much as I detest going into a marriage that looks to be incubating some dismaying uncertainties, I know I can’t chicken out of one just because some indecent bitch decides to covet him.

I switch off the tab, place it carefully inside my drawer and march to the door, the episode of Butch’s closet smoking momentarily forgotten.


Buchi Agwu

Before we crossed the door to the bed, Julie finally relieved herself of more of her stomach’s discomfort. She threw them right on my shirt and albeit I’d lifted my upper lip as if in a snarl to block the whiff of her vomit from snaking its way into my nostrils, I still caught the smell. It wasn’t as foul smelling as I’d thought. The smell was like alcohol mixed with old tomato stew. I breathed it in cautiously as I carried her to the bathroom.
The pale-yellow liquid of her vomit not only clung to my shirt, some residue was on the floor. As I took off Julie’s clothes (and mine as well) to lift her into the bath tub, I made a mental note to wipe the floor.

Julie’s head must’ve cleared a bit. She looks at me now with a better understanding of her surroundings glinting in her eyes. She’s completely naked – her clothes are in a little puddle on the ground – and I’m naked too from my chest to my waist.

“Thank you, Butch.” She says.

“You’re welcome. How do you want the water, cold or warm?”

“Can’t you do more?”

I pause and am forced to look at her. At her hot body. At her breasts with the ever round and hard nipples. At her pierced navel. At the dark triangle that housed her honey pot. And back to her face with the well sculpted lips. It’s not a new sight to me. 

It’s a sight I’ve seen all through it’s developmental stages. I’m still yet to explore it and the need now is stronger than ever. I have decided not to do this. I can’t have what isn’t mine. Right from the start, I’d known Julie wasn’t mine.

“After you, once you’re done.” I say and leave the room.

I feel her smoking gaze at my back, turning my will, trying to break it/him/me. I feel the eyes marking the muscular ridges on my back, attempting to knead them in a loving massage. I need these things as badly as she does. My breath steams inside my nostrils, my face goes feverish with desire. I consider branching off to the sink to douse water on my face, visually seeing the steam it’d let off. I fear lingering for anything at all will break me. I walk stiffly to the door and shut it behind me.

I collapse into the bed and inhale my scent. Yes, this is my room in Edisemi’s house. We’ve been living together in her house since we started dating. It’s a decision reached nem con like that of celebrating our birthdays on the same day. Formerly, I stayed with my parents who are ever glad to have me in the house. It’d do them just fine if I decide to raise a family under their roof. My getting a place has never been a matter to be brought under discussion at dinner, unlike my bringing a woman to the house. These folks were torn between joy and sadness when I announced I was going to stay with the woman I hoped to marry.

This room is the place I spend the nights when Edisemi is on her period, or the nights we fall out over petty things that refuse to remain petty. This is the room I sometimes hide in when I’ve had too many bottles of beer to feel comfortable. Edisemi doesn’t object to my drinking, however, she gets grumpy when I’ve had more than two bottles. Two bottles usually are a starting point on good days, and on bad days…

The bathroom door creaks open and Julie appears behind it naked, with beads of water trailing down her body and forming a small puddle around her legs.

“Towel.” She demands.

It’s on my lips to ask if she didn’t see the towel hanging on the stainless-steel rail beside the porcelain sink. I don’t ask because it’ll offer me the leisure of scanning her perfect body, which is something she wants. I walk to the wardrobe, get out the spare towel and hand it to her.

She spreads her arms and whirls in a one-eighty-degree arc, leaving me her backside for pleasant viewing.

“Wrap me.”

What? I intend to say but I move in to wrap the towel around her. 

This is a trap, my mind screams, so I walk carefully into it, hoping to have some part of me out of it when it catches. The rat with just a paw in a gum trap has a greater chance of escaping than one completely into it (body and soul). That former rat could even run with the trap to its kingdom where the fate of the trap, and not that of the rat, would be decided.

I get in close and wrap the towel around her. She takes the towel and my hands when they enclose her. She places my hands on her breasts and holds them there. My heart pushes confusedly against her back and my nose fills with her smell.

Butch, you’re too close for comfort!

This, however, is comfort.

“Julie… you have to… see…”

“It’s alright, Butch, just this once won’t hurt anybody.”

The entrance door crashes open and as I turn to behold the inflamed face of Edisemi at the door, I pull out my hands and scream: IT’S NOT ALRIGHT. EVERYBODY’S GETTING HURT HERE!

The towel doesn’t drop to the ground as I’d dismally expected. Julie had somehow managed to hold it firm. She wrings it into a tight knot around her chest and dashes back into the bathroom.

Edisemi pounds her way into the room, each footfall seeming to shatter the tiles and quake the room. SHIT! I say repeatedly in my mind until she reaches me and does the expected.

I accept the slap. My cheek burns from it and I don’t link my hand there to allay it. She lands me a second, a third and lifts her hand for the fourth slap. I hold it mid-air. Yes, Jesus said when slapped on a cheek, turn the other. That’s two slaps in all. I took three for good measure. Hey, there’s no scriptural backing for four slaps on a row.

Edisemi is wild with fury. Her reactions are right. Things are slipping out of my control and going against the plan. Yes, I’d signalled Julie to come meet me upstairs. Yes, I’d purposely gone to knock on Edisemi’s door, knowing so well she won’t let me in. Yes, Julie was supposed to play drunk… but actually getting drunk and stripping away my emotional guard to this point where we are now?

“You fucking cheat of a smoker!” She cries.

That is a first from Edisemi and I know I’ve reached her boiling point. She’s never said foul things like these to anyone, none that I’ve witnessed.

“How dare you touch her in my house?”

“Chill out, baby”

“If you dare!” She wriggles her hand free and I catch hold of it before it gets to my face again.

“Get the bitch out here. I don’t need any explanation from you. She’ll tell me what gave her the guts to enter my house and decide to whore around with you.”

“You don’t get this.”

“Shut the fuck up, Butch. Why don’t you get out of here already?”

“This is a minor misunderstanding.”

“I’ll call the police on you. I mean every word of it.”

And I see she does. She reaches for the pockets of… she’s wearing a gown without pockets. She curses and fixes me a final glance. 

“Get out!”

“That’s the thing with you.” I say, hoping to speak to her logical, or is it emotional, mind. “Do you ever give one the chance to explain himself?”

“You’ll be doing a lot of explanation from your parent’s place.”

“Is that it?” I feel tendrils of anger encircle me.
Edisemi begins to move towards the bathroom door. I go after her, my anger building. I mean to pull her by the shoulder to face me. I keep my emotions in check and bite my lips hard. 

Julie comes through the door before Edisemi gets to it. She’s fully dressed and the places on her top and shorts where there’d been puke are now wet patches. She’d brushed them off with sponge and water (possibly) during our short dustup. I fancy her in her calmness, with her nipples poking through the thin fabric of her top. I bite my lips again at my inability to keep my thoughts in check and this time, my mouth is filled with the metallic taste of blood.

“Uh huh, that’s it. You go around my house braless to entice my man with your perky little breasts, right?”

Edisemi advances like a Tiger on her terrified prey, only Julie isn’t terrified. There’s a little smile playing at the corners of her mouth. I pray she doesn’t say something smart at this point. I wish she takes the smile off her face even.

“You’re not scared of me, right? You stand there looking at me with your self-righteous hookers’ smile, asking yourself what this bitch would do next, huh?”

“Not at all, madam. I’m just imagining the things your mother did outside the house the times your father was busy fucking all the hookers in the neighbourhood.”

“What?”

That’s it! Julie has just acted like Julie. I’d hoped for a miracle in vain. I grab Edisemi just before she hurls herself at Julie, who’s amazingly staying put in her spot. I encircle my hands tight around her. She fights and kicks me to set her free. I direct my anger at Julie who’s still smiling.

“Just get out of here!” I yell at her.

The smile disappears and in it’s wake is a hapless look, one I’ve never seen on Julie’s face.

“I’m sorry, Butch.” She says, and I know she means it.

I refrain from saying anything until she’s gone and the door is shut behind her. Edisemi bites my arm. I withdraw it in alarming pain and sets her free. She starts towards the door. I grab her before she reaches it. I know I’ve signed a night with the devil.

©Storyestate

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