Scars (Romola 2)

13: Hypocrite

The air conditioner in the corner of his office did nothing to cool the boiling in his veins. He took fifteen steps toward the centre of his office before turning back, shortly before the square set dark blue sofa. He turned left and faced the floor to ceiling window that overlooked the Highrise buildings of the city.

"What was she thinking?"

He walked back to his desk and collapsed on his cream swivel seat. The large wooden shelf began behind his head and took a sharp bend towards the right before joining his desk. He leaned back in his seat.

Romola.

He swallowed hard, covering his lips with his hands.

It was just like yesterday. He could still remember every word, every look, every touch, every accusation. The way she had looked at him today. Like he had pushed a child in front of the bus.

His hands reached for his tie and he fought with the knot until the black and green tie dangled around his neck. Why had she come here?

"Hypocrite." She had called him.

He slammed his fist on the desk. The trophies on the shelf behind him shook. She was the hypocrite. He had never lied about who he was or what he wanted. How could she call him a hypocrite after all she had done? How could she dare to show her face at his office?

His eyes strayed to his throbbing hand. He cradled it in the other hand. Shaking his head, he pushed back his chair and rose to his feet to resume pacing. No. it couldn't have been Romola.

But he was sure it was her. That same face had haunted his dreams for years. The same dark skin and pert nose. The same cat like eyes. He could not forget the woman he had held in his arms. The times she had cried to sleep beside him. The future they had planned together. And he could not forget that day in the kitchen- before he gave the house to his sister.

He would never forget the last day he saw her.

At the hotel.

He rubbed his hand over his face. That was when he saw her for who she was. He had not believed Yetunde. He had not even believed Romola's mother but seeing Romola there in that state. It had wrecked him. Almost as much as Mayorkun's death had. He was just grateful that he had found out who she was before putting a ring on her finger.

The ache in his jaw forced him to tear his lips apart and let his jaw slacken. He groaned. Of all the times and places he had imagined that he would see her. It wasn't here. What had it been? Two years? Three years? She had left him with more questions at the hotel.

But Hypocrite. He was not.

If anything, she was the hypocrite; pretending to defend Yetunde and covering a worse sin. He walked towards the door.

But hypocrisy couldn't be the right word for what she had done. All he knew was that she was a liar and a thief. And he had dodged a bullet.

He stopped at the door, his legs tightening. The air coming into his lungs burnt his chest. Romola wouldn't have the effrontery to come here. Unless she had a goal in mind. Did she know he was working here? She had looked just as surprised as he felt. Almost angry even.

What did she have to be angry about? She wasn't the one whose heart was broken or whose parents were embarrassed. He could not forget that she had called him poison.

He couldn't stay here anymore. The questions about her were spiralling. What was she really doing here?

He marched out of the office. There was one only person who could answer his question.