My Toxin

Chapter 2

(present day-2018)

Two years had passed since Marjorie and I first met, and our lives had changed in so many ways. Now that we were university students, our bond had grown stronger, turning from a simple friendship into something far more complicated. We were inseparable—best friends who could communicate without words, just a glance or a small gesture. But while Marjorie leaned on me for emotional support, my feelings for her had grown into something much deeper.

Marjorie was a mystery, full of quiet strength and determination. She had a calm, focused manner and always gave her best in everything she did, whether it was academics or extracurricular activities. Her parents, immigrants who had worked hard to build a good life, had high expectations of her. As their eldest child, she carried those expectations like a heavy load on her shoulders, always striving to succeed. But I could see the cost of it. Underneath her calm and composed exterior, her anxiety was a constant presence. She didn't show it to most people, but I had seen her vulnerable, during those moments when life became too much.

I'd learned how to help her through her panic attacks over the years. I would sit with her, speaking softly, reassuring her that she wasn't alone and that everything would be okay. It seemed to calm her, and being there for her became second nature to me. I wanted to be her safe place, the one she could always count on. And in doing so, I fell completely, hopelessly in love with her.

To me, Marjorie was everything—beautiful, intelligent, and strong. I had put her on a pedestal, building this perfect image of her in my mind. Some might have said my feelings were obsessive, but I didn't care. As long as my love didn't hurt her, I thought it was harmless. I truly believed that one day she would see what I saw and realise that we were meant to be together.

But Marjorie had her own plans. She had been planning her life carefully since she was fourteen, and love—especially with someone like me—wasn't part of it. She dreamed of a marriage of convenience with a successful, independent Black man who could provide stability and help her raise a family. Her vision of love had been shaped by the problems she'd seen in her own family. Her parents had given her everything she needed to succeed, but they were emotionally distant and showed little affection. It wasn't surprising that Marjorie didn't see love as important—just a distraction that could get in the way of her goals.

Despite her doubts about romance, Marjorie had an incredible passion for the things she cared about. She often spoke about social injustices with a fiery energy that inspired everyone around her. She didn't hesitate to remind me of my white privilege and would often talk about the importance of strong Black families. Back in sixth form, she had gone through a phase of following Dr. Umar's teachings, passionately talking about his ideals. But no matter how different we were, none of it ever made me feel less about her. I was determined to win her heart, no matter how long it took.

One evening, after a tough debate practice, we found ourselves alone in the club room. Everyone else had left, and the room was quiet apart from the sound of our breathing. We often stayed behind to debate random topics, a tradition that had started back in sixth form. Marjorie wasn't as outgoing as I was, but she always seemed more comfortable and confident when it was just the two of us.

But tonight felt different. There was something in the air, a kind of tension that neither of us spoke about. As she passionately tore apart my argument, I found myself struggling to focus. My eyes kept drifting to her lips—full and soft—and the way her crop top and jeans fit her perfectly. My heart was pounding, and I could feel my face growing warm. I had always thought she was beautiful, but tonight she seemed more than that. She was magnetic, and I couldn't stop myself from staring.

"Marjorie," I said softly, cutting her off mid-sentence.

She looked up, her brows furrowed slightly. "Yes, Alex?"

"I... I need to tell you something." My voice shook slightly. For years, I'd shown her how I felt through my actions—always being there, supporting her, loving her in every way I could. But I'd never said the words out loud. Until now. "I love you, Marj. You mean everything to me."

Her expression flickered for a moment—maybe surprise, or even fear—but she quickly hid it. "Alex, please don't," she said firmly, her voice calm but unwavering. "I like what we have."

"But we could have so much more," I said, my voice growing more desperate. "We could be happy together. I know it."

She shook her head, avoiding my gaze. "I can't, Alex," she whispered. "I don't want love. Not now. I've got too much to achieve, and you're not part of that plan."

"You're just scared," I said, frustration bubbling up. "You're afraid of what we could have."

She met my eyes then, her voice steady and firm. "I'm not scared, Alex. I just don't feel the same way."

Her words hit me harder than I expected. I blinked back the tears that threatened to spill and forced myself to nod. "Okay," I said quietly, my voice breaking slightly. "I just want you to be happy, Marjorie. Even if it's not with me."

We carried on as if nothing had happened after that, pushing the moment to the back of our minds and focusing on university life. But something had shifted between us. Those words I had spoken hung in the air, unspoken but impossible to ignore.

A few weeks later, we went to a party to celebrate a friend's birthday. The room was buzzing with energy—music, laughter, and the familiar faces of people we knew. Despite the lively atmosphere, I couldn't shake the tension between us.

Marjorie looked stunning that night. She wore a short red dress that hugged her curves, paired with thigh-high boots. Her braids were tied back in a high ponytail, cascading down her back. She was beautiful, and I wasn't the only one who noticed.

From across the room, I saw her chatting with a guy I didn't recognise. She was laughing at something he'd said, her face lighting up with a smile that made my chest ache. My jealousy flared, and I couldn't stop myself from walking over.

"Hey, Marjorie," I said, my voice trying to sound casual but coming out tense. "Mind if I steal you for a moment?"

She looked at me, surprised, but nodded. "Sure, Alex."

Once we were outside in the cool night air, I turned to her, unable to hold back any longer. "Who was that guy?"

She frowned, her arms crossing over her chest. "Just a friend. Why do you care?"

"Because I told you I love you!" I blurted out, my voice louder than I intended.

She sighed, clearly frustrated. "Alex, we've talked about this. You need to stop."

"How can I stop when I know we're meant to be?" I said, my voice breaking.

She shook her head, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I have a plan, Alex. And that plan doesn't include you."

Her words crushed me. But as I watched her walk back into the party, I couldn't let go of the hope that one day, she'd see what I already knew—we were meant to be together.