𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐖𝐞 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐓𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫.

~FORTY-TWO~

There are no problems we cannot solve together, and very few that we can solve by ourselves.

Lyndon B. Johnson

This chapter is dedicated to vickyraee Oluwavicky.😂😂😗 Because she's a gee and an awesome writer!😩😩🔥 My boss. Check out her book; Tints And Shadows. You'll be madly blown away!😩😩🔥🔥🔥

Okay, let's read! Hehe.

•AYO•

I had the match under control. No, for real, like some of the things in my life, I had this match under control.

Bolu and I were no enemies, but I wanted to win this game. Looking at how much she perspired, I was so sure she was ready to give up. When she started bouncing the ball, no cap, at first she did catch me off guard.

But I smiled and knew exactly what she was doing.

It wasn't really a basketball skill, but I guess nobody, at that moment, decided to care. They were engrossed in the game, wondering what was going on, wondering who the heck was going to win.

I watched her, very closely. Technically speaking, as skilled and talented as Bolu was at basketball, I was actually better. And that's not bragging. It's just facts.

She was bouncing, sweating, determination etched on her face. Moving the ball swiftly from hand to hand. To be honest, she was fast.

I kept blocking her moves, waiting for her to give up, but I didn't keep that up. The little thing, little mistake that made Bolu get away from me and score against the White House team, was that I got distracted. And somehow, I knew she'd been waiting for that opportunity.

I wasn't just disappointed that I was distracted. I was most disappointed at what — or who — distracted me. I was disappointed that I'd let them distract and cost me this win.

As much as I hated to admit it, they did know how to get to me. And as I much as I tried not to let it get to me, it still did. It still freaking did.

Honestly, they just had to wear that orange shirt. All three of them. They just had to walk into the basketball court and make their presence known — with people clearing the way for them as they made their way to the bleachers — at that particular time. They just had to.

They just had to wear the orange shirt that brought back memories I'd tried so hard, for a few years, to keep in and shut down.

It was like they knew that I remembered every single thing that happened that day. They knew I would never forget any detail. They knew. And that's why they had to wear that orange shirt.

Just to get to me. Just to get me angry— they loved getting me angry. Because I didn't give them what they wanted. Because I didn't agree to whatever they wanted. As I stood rooted on my spot, watching — in a blur — Bolu score with a slam dunk, image flashes of what had happened that day, invaded my mind.

They'd once again succeeded in reminding me of that dreaded day.

Of course, the first thing that appeared was the orange shirt. And then suddenly, me in a dark room...

Staring at the orange—

Argh!

It was too painful to remember.

I held my head in my hands as my heart beat increased its pace. My breathing became heavy. Sweat began forming in my palms, my body began shaking. I was losing control.