AN ABH LOVE STORY 2

If you missed or want to re-read the first part, click here to read. 

We arrived at the event hall and the decor was so beautiful, it had me fantasizing about my dream wedding with Múrewá. We took loads of pictures, albeit more of him taking pictures of me, but it was a win for Múrewá either way. The event started a little late as people appeared to want to sleep on the red carpet but the beautiful performances made up for it. From dance performances that made me want to get on my feet, to those that nearly burnt the building down with their fire tricks, and the contortionist that had me cringing so bad, I had a lot of fun. The MC almost made me go up on stage to sing, but Múrewá rescued me and everyone had a good laugh from his terrible rendition of Tuface’s African Queen. I clearly was not with him for his voice.

I helped myself to some small chops for appetizers, and pounded yam and ẹ̀fọ́ rírò that I couldn’t finish for my main course. I couldn’t decide on what I wanted for dessert so I had Múrewá get the chocolate truffles, while I got the chocolate entremet, so I could try both. They tasted divine and I almost stained my dress from all my binging. The main event was soon to wrap up and it was time for me to order a Bolt ride. I had had so much fun, I almost wanted to cancel my surprise. In retrospect, I wonder if I should have.

After assuring Múrewá that I could make my way to my ride without his help, I made my way over to the ladies’ restroom instead, only to find it packed to the brim with other girls who, like me, had come to change into their second number for the afterparty. I waited outside for what felt like ages, and after I figured out that the place was not going to free up completely anytime soon, I decided to join those changing in the open part of the bathroom, in lieu of the stalls. Time, they say waits for no man. I’m not sure if it was the hurry or the anxiety, but I ripped my beautiful white dress while trying to get out of it. I am not sure if that was an ill omen of some sorts, but I almost burst into tears because that dress had cost me ₦25,000.

I struggled to get into Cynthia’s incredibly short red dress and I realized that I would definitely be needing the fishnet stockings I had carried along just in case. The dress was short short, and I’m shorter than Cynthia so I was starting to wonder if she gave me a top because surely, she wouldn’t have worn this dress anywhere, right? Anyways, back to more pressing issues. I had kind of smudged my makeup while trying to get dressed and I didn’t know the first thing about makeup. I probably could not successfully apply lipstick. I presume my frustration was written clearly on my face because some girl (whose name I didn’t bother forgot to find out) kindly offered to help me touch up my makeup so I looked just as beautiful as earlier in the evening. I think the heat of the bathroom had my face looking a little flushed but if anything, I was prettier.

Now fully dressed, I packed my white dress in a polythene bag and took off from the bathroom in hurried steps. I was literally giving myself pep talks in my head to remind myself to stop constantly trying to tug the hem of my dress down, as well as to attempt to have fun: “You are not naked, Ìrètí; you are not naked.” “You dance in your bathroom all the time, what is a little audience? Plus Múrewá will be there. You’ve got this. Cynthia will kill you if you go back to the hostel now.” The pep talks were not exactly working but at least, I didn’t turn back.

The closer I got to the hall, the closer I felt to sensorineural hearing loss secondary to noise pollution. The only thing that kept me going was my love, Múrewá, and the beautiful surprise he would wear on his face when he saw my sexy self. I opened the door and the first thing that hit me wasn’t the noise or Múrewá’s face but the darkness. Why were we partying in pitch blackness for goodness sake? You could barely see ahead of you, and that was a major flaw in my plan, because how do I find my man? Alright, that might be an exaggeration because there were club lights, but they were doing very little to light up the room.

It took my eyes at least 5 minutes to adjust to the darkness as I stayed rooted to the ground questioning my life’s choices. I eventually began to make out people dancing. There were two girls grinding against each other right in front of me; a rather shocking sight for me. But seeing as I almost never attend parties, anything would be quite shocking. Some guy had a girl pinned to the wall to my left and get this, they were kissing and still managing to dance at the same time (why not just have sex on the damn dance floor while they’re at it?). To my right, there were some guys just casually drinking booze, occasionally laughing and observing the rest of the crowd, and sometimes suddenly breaking into the weirdest dances. I figured I’d find Múrewá there.

I shut my eyes and opened them, and believe me, it worked. I slowly started to make out the faces and while some of those guys were familiar, they were not my boyfriend. I began to move through the dance floor, weaving through several sweaty bodies, and by the time I got to the other end of the room, I still could not find my man. I had not counted on getting to the party and not actually finding Múrewá so I wasn’t sure what to do. Some idiot came up behind me to attempt to dance and it took everything to not give him a slap that would send him straight to hell. I realized I was starting to sweat without any physical exertion, and decided that it was best to move closer to the entrance where there were fewer people and so I could see Múrewá making his way in.

Standing just behind the double doors, I kept looking around, hoping to see Múrewá come in soon as it was starting to get awkward and uncomfortable. As my eyes did one last sweep across the room before focusing solely on the entrance, they finally landed on some familiar figure. The outfit began to register, and it dawned on me that my Múrewá was the one making out with some girl against the wall; yes, the very couple I had judged on my way in. I knew my mind was probably playing tricks on me so I called,

“Múrewá!”

Like a deer caught in the headlights, he turned and I saw that it was indeed “my man”. Since he’d finally broken free of the girl, I got a good enough look and saw that it was Dúpé, his supposed close friend who supposedly approved of our relationship and supposedly teased Múrewá about us all the time. A million and one emotions racked through me at the same time and I finally settled on superficial calmness to mask my bubbling rage. I walked out of the room, and the louder his footsteps got behind me, the faster I walked until I was practically running out of the gates and wondering where the hell I was going. I needed a ride. I stopped.

I began to order my ride and he caught up to me.

“Ìrètí, what are you doing here? I thought you’d gone.”, he started.

Those were the ‘wrongest’ first words to say after you’d just been caught in a very compromising position, and I gave him a slap before I could stop myself.

“What am I doing here? Really?”, I yelled.

“Múrewá, leave my presence. I do not want to see you, I do not want to hear from you, I do not want to hear you breathe near me, just get out of my sight!”, I continued.

We both stood there in silence for minutes. My ride arrived. I got in. I looked back and saw him go back to the party. I cried all the way back to ABH. I went to Cynthia’s room in B block after successfully evading some gigantic rat I was sure was trying to bite me. Cynthia opened the door, saw my face and just hugged me. I cried even harder. What was worse was that she’d put the pieces together before I even spoke. She was not surprised.

As the night wore on, Cynthia regaled me with tales of his promiscuity, some even during the course of our short relationship. It made me wonder if Cynthia was even my friend because why would she hide things like that from me? Again, would I have believed her even if she told me? I was blindly in love and Múrewá could do no wrong in my eyes. Even after catching him red-handed, my brain was trying to make it make sense. Were my eyes playing tricks on me? Was he too drunk? Did Dúpé give him ẹ̀fọ́ to eat? Should I have waited to hear him out?

Well, just like the kiss that marked the beginning of our relationship, that night marked the end of our relationship. We didn’t have to say the words. Now I know 7 months was a long time to have temporary amnesia for but I finally remembered why I’d once vowed to never date an ABH guy after hearing Cynthia’s This Life stories. It was time to renew my vow.