Bed of Lies (ON HOLD)

VII

Never have I ever ran as fast as I am now. Not for anything. Not for anyone. Well to be fair I hardly ran, and that was speaking in general terms as in all my twenty-nine years of existence, I never found a good enough reason to sprint past a jogging pace. This is due to the reality that the exact definition of arduousness was me carrying my legs faster than their leisured strides.

I did not run when I saw the huge dog bounding towards me in huge leaps from a neighbouring house back in Nigeria, right before it knocked me over and pinned my body down underneath its giant paws.

Neither did I rush to save my life in the middle of a gang fight playing out on the street I lived on seven years later. The gunshots and sounds of blades clashing against one another failed to move my steps any faster. Funnily, it was not because I didn't want to. I just couldn't.

If I had made the decision to and eventually raced away back then, I would have succeeded in killing myself faster than whatever threat I was facing, being a child with weak lungs.

It was therefore not so much the act, but its actual results that were hazardous to me—as my affected lungs struggling to do their work was one of those known and expected repercussions. The worst scenario boiled down to my breath ceasing till I'd finally lose my place on Earth.

Luckily, I overgrew the situation with time. It however does not change the truth that I have the organs responsible for capturing oxygen in a more fragile state than perfectly healthy people.

Now however, my battle no longer straddles the thoughts of whether or not my lungs are in good physical condition as even though I am indeed warring with forces, they are invisible ones that are trapped in my head.

In lengthy years, I hadn't dared to do anything out of my comfort zone for fear of the many possible attacks. I avoided strenuous exercises like a plague and I made sure there was no need for me to hurry up when it came to leaving for work or any occasions.

For him though, I've made an exception. And not even consciously. For him, I've changed my stand on a million and one things. For him, I've broken and surpassed my own boundaries. Truly, what else could be worse than stepping into the life of your twin and posing as her in order to be with the man you've always dreamt of marrying? I can't think of anything.

The doorbell rings again.

I gain speed on the tiles, bolting through four unlocked doors before arriving at the one shielding the entrance. Taking a look down at myself, I frown at my knee-length knickers and loosely fitted top. Who knew who was at the door? It would be a cumbersome issue if it were someone important seeing my outfit was everything but presentable. It's too late to go back and change for any reason though.

The solid brass door handle catches my attention for the first time since I arrived at the house. I've not really had the time to pause and notice how beautiful the knob is or how intricate the carvings on its edges are. It reminds me of how expensive this house must be. Notwithstanding the building's simplicity, there is a fine elegance and rich side to it just as is practically everything I've come to recognise as having history with Tony.

Ingrained lessons of always adhering to all safety measures available charges me to check who is at the door through the screen mirroring the camera's view. The sight I catch is enough to make me throw back the bolt and swing the door open.

"Hello ma'am. Good morning." A young man who seems to be in his mid-twenties greets with a strained smile on his face. He has messy dishevelled hair that frames his face and slants half over his right eye. I would have appraised him a bit more and maybe offered a 'how may I help you' query if not for the familiar individual who is barely holding up his weight by the stranger's side.