DIFFERENT LIFE'S PERSPECTIVE(ON HOLD)

CHAPTER 5

DAFE JAMUIKE DESMOND

I stood there as I watched her dance in the rain. It wasn't everyday you come out to your estate and see a girl dancing like someone crazy.

What made me stand there under the rain and watch her? I didn't know, maybe it was the fact that she seemed so happy or the fact that she looked familiar.

I watched her through it all, as she looked for shelter, her walk home and how her walk seemed to lose its vibrant nature with every step she took.

There was something about her, like a mysterious aura which I wanted to figure out. A puzzle I wanted to solve. I immediately snapped out of my trance, all thoughts concerning mystery girl vanished from my mind.

I walked back to my house or rather my father's mansion. I had totally forgotten what I came outside to do.

"So you decided to come back" my father's voice boomed through the living room and memories of why I left in the first place came flooding back. Let's just say my dad and I were not the best of friends.

I walked out on him and went straight to my room while he yelled for me to come back. This man should just give up already.

I entered my room and made sure to slam the door as a sign for him to shut up. I looked at my guitar lying carelessly on my bed. It has been a long time since I ever went deep in my music. Now it was just listening to songs.

I only went deep when mum was around

I sighed as I ran my hands through my hair. Mum was a halfcast, her dad a Nigerian and her mum an american.

She had her mum looks, the hair, her eyes, her everything. Her dad had abandoned her mum on the day she was born, she had lived her whole life abroad before she met dad and fell in love.

Love. How much I depised that word

Mum made the stupid mistake her mum made when she fell in love with dad. Dad left her, he left me, he left us. He abandoned her to take care of me. Grandma disowned mum and she had to raise me all by herself.

I loved mum, I still love her. She is my role model, someone I could always look up to. We didn't live a luxurious life but we were comfortable and happy and that was all that mattered to me.

That was until I woke up on my 13 year birthday to a man claiming to be my father. I remember him on his kneels begging mum to take him back, I remember mum raining curses on him while he tried to calm her but mum was adamant.

She threw him out of the house and I thought she also threw him out of our lives for good but then how could I forget that 'money speaks'.

He took mum to court in order to claim possession of me. Maybe in another country mum would have won, maybe under another circumstance, but in this country Nigeria where the only language they understood was 'money' that wasn't happening. Maybe he bribed the judge, I don't know but I can clearly remember how mum begged and pleaded for them not to take me away.

I can clearly remember the sick smile on dad's face when he found out that he had won and when I saw the tears in my mum's eyes, something I hadn't seen in years, I knew dad was evil.

That was the birth of my hatred for dad and trust me it grew, with each passing day that went, it grew. How I even started calling him 'dad' is still a mystery to me but for me it was just a title. He will never hold the position of a dad in my heart.

I haven't seen mum since that day. Anytime I brought it up, he always brushed it away like it wasn't something important.

Dad was good to me, maybe even extra good. He spoilt me with things, he bought me anything I wanted and he always deposited a hundred thousand naira into my account every month but all these didn't matter as long as mum wasn't here.

Secretly, that was why I loved my hair, it was the only thing I got from mum. I cherished it, it gave me hope that mum was still out there and one day I would find her.

I had never gone to a barber's salon and I always did my haircuts myself. At first it was pretty messy, with lots of cuts and everything but after a while I got the hang of it.

I never let anyone touch my hair, if they do I will kill them and I was dead serious.

Dad had tried to gain my love but the word 'love' was erased from the dictionary of my life the day he took mum away from me.

He could have done it another way, they could have negotiated.

I picked up the guitar and I began playing one of my favourite songs which mum thought me. She had always been a lover of music, a lover of art. Anything art, music, dance, drama, you name it.

I left out a scream of frustration as a missed a note...... again. I threw the guitar to the nearest wall with all my might and I watched how it shattered.

I wasn't always this violent, I used to have a heart. I used to care.

'Used to' was the word

I went to my wardrobe and brought out an old guitar case which contained the guitar my mum gave me when I was ten when she found out that I would be joining the school band.

I opened up the zip as I stared at it. It was black. I hadn't touched it since she left. I made a move to touch it but when my hands got close it started to shake violently as memories of my mum and I came pouring in.

I immediately closed it and returned it back to my wardrobe. I lay on my bed as tears threatened to spill.

'And you call yourself a man'

My subconsciousness mocked me but then mum's voice came like a soothing rhythm

'You should never be ashamed to cry Jammy. Tears is how your heart speaks when your mouth can't'

So I let it pour out. I wet my pillows with my tears but I didn't care. I was afraid, afraid of the fact that I might never see mum again.

Now I wasn't the strong boy who got anything he wanted, I was just a child in need of his mummy
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A/N: So this is it, Desmond background story.
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XOXO💖