For ten years, Funke has been stuck in a situation she has no control over, a situation no one wishes to be in: to be abused in every form and manner without a hope of a miracle or change.
Fed up, she finally has it in her to stand up for herself. W...
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I feel something tickle my face and I reach out to touch it. My tears are spilling over and my hands are shaking as I hold them in front of me. No matter how much I wish for it to stop, it doesn't and it most likely never will.
I squeeze my palms together, hoping that will stop the shaking, but it only gets worse. My breath hitches in my throat and I clutch my neck. With every passing second, it gets harder to breathe. They call it a panic attack and they say that I will get better, but a part of me never believes them.
I am damaged, damaged beyond repair.
The door to the room I am in opens and someone walks in. I don't look up, but when the scent of his cologne hits my nose, I know who it is, and he confirms it by calling my name. His voice is barely audible, but I hear him. His brown eyes are the first things I see when I lift my head up. They are like two drops of black coffee in a sea of milk, so mesmerizing.
His lips are moving, but now I can't hear him or anything else but the deafening silence. His eyes scan my face with fear on his and he pries my hand from my neck and holds them in between his larger ones. He has bags under his eyes, his milk skin unable to hide the fact that he hasn't been sleeping. It makes me worry about him and intensifies my guilt. His lack of sleep is because of me. My Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) has everyone on the edge, myself included. I do not know how I will to cope for the next years of my life.
"Funke." He calls and this time around, I hear him.
I blink once, then again.
"Adrian," I whisper.
He draws me to his chest and wraps his arms around my now slimmer figure. I'm naturally not like this, but in the past month of not eating, I have lost a few pounds. Everyone is worried, worried that I will develop once again another sickness: Ulcer. I worry about myself too.
My shaking finally stops and my head is on Adrian's chest, the rapid movement comforting me in some manner. I don't know how long we are seated on the wooded floor, but by the time I look up again, the sky, which I last saw as a dull blue, is now dark. The stars and the moon taking their place in the sky like chandeliers.
"Funke." Adrian places his finger under my chin, lifting my face to look at his. "Are you okay?"
I nod and let out a breath.
He sighs, "I was so scared Funke, please stop scaring me. I know you can't help it, but please try."
He sighs in frustration when I distance myself from him and stand up from the floor. I am doing everything they ask of me: seeing the therapist, taking my medications, socializing with strangers, and eating without throwing up minutes after. I am doing more than I ever imagined, so why should they ask me to do something I have no control over?
I don't reply but simply walk to the door, ready to get out of this place. I need air. Adrian's form suddenly appears in front of me just when I reach for the doorknob.
"Look Funke, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that," he apologizes, his eyes pleading with me.
"I know, just... excuse me," I tear my gaze away from his handsome face, not wanting to forget what is at hand.
He obeys, and the white door is once again in my line of sight. I turn the knob of the door, and a second after, my feet are moving across the floor of the small house we are living in. This isn't Nigeria anymore, this is Chicago. We left Nigeria after they sentenced my stepfather to jail. The plan was to have a yearlong vacation wherein I could learn to live with PTSD and interact with people that aren't my family or Adrian. I knew it would not be possible, but I agreed because I needed to get away from my horrid past, and everything that had to do with it. It was a change, and change is something I'm slowly getting accustomed to.
When we newly arrived in Chicago, we got a house close to the beach and the plan was to stay there for a month before moving to this house. They wanted me to have a little fun, enjoy the summer, and simply play my sorrows away, but I wasn't having it. After three weeks of trying, they gave up and agreed it was time to move. My mother pulled a few strings and got me and Adrian a job in a small clothing store. We work Mondays to Fridays, from eight in the morning to one in the afternoon. It is a cool job and I enjoy working there. In one week, it has become my favorite thing to do.
The slight breeze hits my face as I step out of the house and close the door behind me. My legs feel exposed at the moment because back home in Nigeria, I don't wear shorts outside the house. I almost feel like a different person here.
It is a Saturday evening so I have no work and duties to attend to at the moment. I enjoy taking walks around the neighborhood, especially when it gets too hard to breathe inside the house. A few people already know me for my short walks around, from the house to the nearby park and back.
As expected, the evening breeze is cooler than the previous days because the summer is almost over. I'm going to miss it.
My fun has just begun, but my flashbacks and panic attacks are getting worse. Thinking about it dampens my mood. The flashbacks are horrible and I feel like a part of my soul gets chipped away with every resurface of a memory. The doctors say it is going to be a regular thing, but I can overcome it. I hope their words are true.
"Funke!"
I turn around to find Adrian jogging towards me, his hair a slight mess from tugging at it so much. He belongs here because his skin color is the same as the majority over here and I am a different person; my melanin skin makes the difference. This only applies to right now because the moment we step on Nigerian soil, the roles are reversed.
Adrian is my best friend and I'm ever grateful for that. He's my savior and if not for him, I would have ended my life a long time ago.
"Hey, can I walk with you?" He asks as he comes to a halt.
"Sure," I nod and continue my walk with him now beside me.
This is familiar ground and a small smile stretches on my lips for the first time in a while now.
