YET TO COME

..THIRTY FIVE..

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It was the eighteenth of April. She knew because it was three days to her period and her period tracker app had just sent her a message. She knew the reason why she was as weak as a fish out of water. She was experiencing pre menstrual syndrome. She sat up in bed, slightly nauseous. Her stomach hurt quite fairly. She had always suffered from dysmenorrhea before and during her catamenia. It sometimes left her crippled, unable to do a thing. She thought of calling one of her less busy sisters and telling them to come over. But, she looked a mess. It was a broken heart coupled with pre menstrual syndrome. It was a really miserable combo and she couldn’t risk her sisters seeing her in such a state. They were bound to turn into worrywarts. She could not also risk bursting into tears in front of them and blaming it on the ceiling fan. They would most surely not buy that crap, not even an itsy bitsy bit of it. She knew them; they’ll question her nonstop, incessantly. They will press her and iron her not withstanding her disheveled state, back her completely into a corner with threats until she began talking. She would just have to leave with herself for the next few days. She would get better once the sun was out. It was always that way. She dragged herself to the bathroom and took a long hot bath that helped to quell her on and off stomach cramp. She brushed her teeth when she was done and applied her body lotion. She didn’t apply anything else, even her makeup. She had no strength for anything else anyways. No one was going to come, especially Clement. If someone did come, she would ignore their knocks. She was in the mood for solitude.

Moments later, she was heading for the living room with her blanket to curl up as usual afore the television. She was dressed skimpily in the best of sheer dresses that her wardrobe could produce. It was a cream tube knickers jump suit, stopping about six inches from her waist. It left the whole of her shoulders bare with all her scars as visible as ever, just like in the photo that the hungry dirt digging bitch had sent her. She didn’t mind anyways, no one was there to see her and no one was going to do so. She never knew that she was wrong. She walked in through the passage door to the living room and received one of the biggest shocks of her life, her blanket dropping to the cold tiled floor. There was someone standing in her living room, backing her and in that moment of shock, she did not recognize whosoever it was. She did the only thing that she could do. She screamed loudly, the sound dying off the moment the intruder in her living room turned to her, into an estranged cry. Clement stood afore her, staring straight at her, surprised as hell.

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He stood afore her, his eyes widening in shock, astonishment and disbelief, as he beheld her. He took a step forward and paused, his eyes reflecting so many emotions, his face distorting into what she knew –she knew that look very well, had seen it so many times- was disgust, staring at her with uncertainty in his wide eyes. She wanted to turn and run away from him, as quickly as she could. But, she found that she could not, completely rooted to the spot, unable to move, unable to do as she wanted.

‘Chloe, is that you?’ he asked with doubt, mayhap not wanting to believe that it was her.

‘Yes,’ she answered. He took a tentative step backward and her heart crashed. That was it; he was going to reject her, like the other. The truth was finally out in the open whether she was prepared or not to tell him. He did not love her anymore, didn’t want her no more. She understood him. No one wanted something like her, spoilt and marred, welted, deformed. The tears came, falling silently across her face. She was quickly coming to terms with his rejection, accepting it. She marveled at her resistance. She never knew that she was this prepared for it or that deep down she had been anticipating such.

‘I do not know what to say,’ he said after studying her with his eyes.

'How did you get in?’ she asked him.

'The door was open. You did not lock it after the pizza guy left yesterday,’ he accused her. She was just about to ask how he knew that a delivery guy had come to her place when he began to speak again. ‘I didn’t leave, I slept in the car. I wanted to make sure that you were alright,’ he simply explained to her.

‘I see,’ was the only thing she said. She bent and picked up her blanket which had fallen when she had first set eyes on him. ‘I'm alright,’ she said to him. ‘Since you now know that, have personally confirmed it even, you can now leave,’ she said to him, pointing towards the door. She turned away from him, prepared to walk away. He crossed the remaining distance to her in four quick long and powerful strides and took her left hand in his. She turned to him, looking up at him with a face that was new to him but still Chloe nonetheless. He cringed once again.

‘Oh my God,’ were the words that fell out of his mouth next. She tried to yank her hand out of his grip which was effortlessly tight, but not tight enough to hurt her.

'What do you want?’ she demanded sharply.

‘Chloe, what happened to you?’ he asked her. She stared at him. Why was he inquiring? Why couldn’t he just leave her be?

‘Nothing,’ she snapped at him. ‘It’s nothing! Now let go of me!’ she mandated harshly.

‘Well I can't Chloe!’ he snapped back with the same ferocity. ‘I can't. I've discovered that I can't let go of you, even for a while. I missed you too much, wanted you too much, and needed you too much. I can't do without you. You are stamped on my heart,’ was his vicious reply.

‘Clement,’ she began. He cut her off crossly, not quite done with her.

‘Let me finish, I am not done speaking,’ he chided her. She had no choice but to do so. ‘I love you Chloe,’ he said, ‘and I do care about what is bothering you. You are supposed to tell me and we will share the burden, bear the brunt of it together.’ His words left her bewildered. Had she really heard him right?

‘I didn’t-‘ his interruption was swift, not allowing her to as much as breath out another word. She stared helplessly at him, still bewildered, her protest quite forgotten.

‘I do not care what your excuse is Chloe Chinwem Nwabuagu. I do not care! I am here and I love you wither thou wishes it so or not. Now, you will stop thinking for only yourself and tell me every single thing because whatever it is, it is quickly eating you apart, breaking me apart and to top it all, putting us asunder. So, you shall choose to start speaking now or I will thereby force you to do so.’ She was flummoxed, speechless, dazzled by his speech, unable to function for a moment. Clement was telling her to her hideous face that he loved her, he loved her? He wasn’t backing out, walking away from her like the rest. He was holding unto her hand tightly, like his life depended on it, professing his pure genuine love for her. The feeling was overpowering, soul rendering, awe inspiring, and tear stimulating, all in all wonderful. Relief washed over her alongside her tears and the warmth presently cocooning her.

‘Clement,’ she said looking deep into his eyes, as deep as her sharp green gaze could go, ‘I love you.’ The air went stagnant for a moment, alongside oxygen. Everything else blurred and the only thing they could see was each other. Love worked its wonders, building what had been knocked down, straightening what had been crooked, and setting every damn thing right.

‘I love you too Chloe,’ he replied. ‘I really needed to hear those words,’ was all she heard before he downright consumed her.