Regrets||✓✓

18. 2.

It's my first year in the University of Arts. I'm studying Dramatic Arts, in hopes of becoming an actress, or theatre practitioner. Whichever pays better. My best friend is into Fine Arts, blessed with the talent of painting and sculpting. Her grandfather would be proud.

Gold and I have somewhat drifted apart after graduation. It's because I have seen the light, accepted change and moved on with it. She felt betrayed that I left her in the life I now refer to as The Dark. It hurt that I hurt her, but it was my life. Not 'ours', not hers, either. It was my choice, and I'm not going back. The past is buried in the past.

We talk like before, but now there's always awkward silence and avoided eye contact. Sometimes I go to her place, sometimes she comes to mine, sometimes we meet at a coffee shop after classes. She tells me that she still loves me, even though I've now turned to a stranger to her, only with the same name. But I refuse to feel guilty for doing the right thing. Then the awkward silence will start as we quietly sipped our coffee.

The University is great, really. The lecturers mean business, especially with us freshmen. The assignments are much more that the ones in high school, and they are more technical. There's no time for mindless friendships and parties. I do get invites, but I turn them down. I'm not that Naija anymore.

It's comfortable and all, but it's not home. There's no Ma to talk to about the day's work and Dad to listen to his old radio in the morning. There's no Liberty to barge into my room uninvited and sit on my bed, to help me with my hair, to exchange fashion tips with me.

Liberty.

It breaks my heart to see Liberty looking like me when I was her age.

She wears short dresses and tight jeans, revealing tops and the most embarrassing hairstyles in history. She shuts everyone who tries to talk sense into her out. Even me. It was easy for me to change because I had Tremaine, but Tremaine isn't here anymore. Not for me or for Liberty. The most contact I had with him is a letter telling me how much he's enjoying playing basketball for the state. And that was that.

But Liberty... She's delicate. She's tough, and delicate. She has better sense than to do all this bullshit, but she's doing it, anyway. I know it's not because she's curious, or being influenced to. She's doing it just because she wants to. It's dangerous. It's a dangerous path she's treading, because the world is wilder than before, and she'll get herself hurt. And as her sister, I won't let it happen.

Efforts to try to talk to her proved futile. After she'd told Ma that the devil would make a better mother than she would, Ma avoided her like a plague. Dad wasn't a man of words, but when he tried to, Liberty called him a 'mute, dumb, senseless illiterate'. I didn't see his face, but I knew it broke him, because Dad was only educated up to high school level. Grandma had died then, and my grandfather was soon to follow. He dropped out and worked to support Grandpa till he died and he was alone. It broke him, because he cried that day. He avoided Liberty too, leaving me to deal with her.

It was the week before I came back to the university. She was alone in her bedroom, naked, painting her nails. "Liberty, you've gone too far," I told her as I shut the door behind me.

"I'm just getting started, Naija," she'd replied, and lifted her nails to inspect them. Her sharp green eyes caught mine and held them until I was forced to look away. Her room was freakishly clean, striking something like jealousy in my chest. I sat on the edge of her bed and looked at her again. She was lost in the world of painting her nails.

"Liberty, please. You're too young for this. You're only thirteen. You've got a whole lot ahead of you, why don't you wait your turn?" She raised her head at me like she was just noticing my presence.

"I heard of a George Odriew and how good you made him feel on the roof of your high school and many more stories after that. Were you waiting your turn then? Hmm?" My jaw dropped and I mentally face palmed. Stupid boy couldn't keep his dumb mouth shut. I was surprised Tremaine didn't hear about it because my mouth was popular among the boys.

"This isn't about me, Liberty, it's about you!"

"You're right. It is about me. What are you gonna do about it, Naija?"

I stood up, too shocked to speak. I didn't try to talk to her after that and she liked it. For the rest of the week she didn't come back home, only returning the day I was going back to school. And when I was leaving, she didn't say goodbye.

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Love,
AJ.