The Retribution Chronicles

A d e | f i f t e e n

Three drinks in and Miriam mentioned her nine am lecture in a voice that was soft but pointed. Ade took note, filing the fact away for future dates, and squeezed in a fourth before he offered to walk her home. Selfish, probably, but this was his moment.

"You don't have to," she said as she shrugged on her leather jacket, chair legs scraping against the floor.

"I want to," he insisted.

She licked her lips, the last of her gloss smudging, and glanced at him for a moment, mouth curling into the slightest of smiles before her shoulder rose and she tilted her head to the right. "Sure," she said, "why not."

They headed out, arms brushing against one another, knuckles bumping, until Ade grabbed hold of her hand, wove his fingers through hers and raised them to his mouth for a kiss, singular and fleeting. She let out a bubble of laughter, so buoyant it ascended to the clouds with ease, jumping and bumping until it settled, full with an iridescent sheen.

"Smooth," she teased, nudging him gently.

"Did you expect any less?"

"From a seasoned fuckboy like yourself? Of course not."

He shook his head which only seemed to make her laugh harder. "Abisola's got to stop filling your head with lies."

"Abi's done nothing of the sort."

"So where have you gotten this twisted version of reality?" he asked.

"Twisted? Weren't you the one who said it's all true."

"Yes," he muttered, retroactively cursing himself, "but I'm more than my—"

"Sexcapades?" she offered with an innocent grin.

"Yeah, that."

Miriam nodded and cast him a glance so sly it sent a shiver down his spine. "I don't know," she said in a sing-song voice, "all anyone ever speaks about are your sexcapades."

Ade had heard it all before, probably worse, but never had it left him feeling quite so hollow. Yes, he had a reputation, yes it was deserved, but for her he'd been different, taken his time, put in the work. For her, he was on the boyfriend track. Something he swore he'd never do, not after Hilary.

"Although," Miriam added quickly, jerking to an abrupt stop, "it's not like we know each other all that well."

Ade inched closer. "There's still time to change that."

Her eyes, big and brown and unblinking, drew him in further until his forehead, slick with sweat, hovered above hers. The beads clustered along his hairline, growing in volume until he had no choice but to brush them away and style out his embarrassment by placing the same damp hand around the nape of her neck. Her skin was soft, smooth, interrupted by wisps of curls coiled tight and the slight tension in her jaw which just begged to be kissed away.

"May I—"

"Twenty questions," Miriam squeaked, side-stepping out of his grasp. "What I mean is." She cleared her throat and ran both hands down the dark material of her dress. "We should play twenty questions."

"Oh."

She began to walk away; Ade followed, half in daze.

"Sure," he said, not bothering to take her hand again.

"Alright. What's your favourite colour?"

"Green. What's your favourite dish?"

She hummed beneath her breath. The sound alone helped lift some of the awkwardness; her eventual smile, slow and serene, chased away the rest. "My granny's curry chicken with roti," she said. "Where's your favourite holiday destination?"