Life #3

Normally, if a person were to ask another person what was their first memory, the latter would narrate something blissful and fantastic. But I would just say that my first memory was of me in my crying mother’s arms, the taste of blood mixed disgustingly with bile on my tongue, and my brain pounding like it was weightlifting gravity itself. It was the period after I’d been diagnosed of having a brain tumour and peptic ulcer. Huh, very crude and realistic.

I thought I was dead but the faraway sound of voices told me that I was still alive, so that I could survive. My head was pounding like a billion, tiny, hefty soldiers were marching round my brain. Hopefully, when I let out a groan of discomfort, it got the attention of the people because they stopped quarrelling in a foreign language. The sound of someone approaching me made my heartbeat fasten and I couldn’t put my finger on the feeling that warmed me up. A warm hand was placed on my forehead before it slid to cup my round cheek.

“Hey,” came the familiar, sultry voice. “Are you finally awake?” His voice had a weird accent— it was a mixture of something Nigerian and foreign.

Someone snorted and hissed, “typical. He’s clearly awake and you’re still asking him if he’s awake. Fuck.” It sounded like a female’s voice, but it still sounded like a teenaged boy. That’s weird. His voice also had a foreign accent.

The person clearly paid no attention to the other person and just kept on fondling my face. I could feel his hot breath fan my face as he leaned in. A small snicker left his lips.

“You’re clearly awake.” He laughed lightly, his sultry voice dancing around me. “Your eyelashes are twitching.”

“Dakila, you need to get this boy to the hospital.” Another person—this time a male with a deep, accented, gruffy voice—clicked his tongue and grumbled, “like there’s any hospital open at this time of the night.”

“Wake up,” the person whispered cheerily and I softly shifted my head.

I couldn’t open my eyes because of the glaring lightbulb in the room so I croaked, “the light... It’s... harsh.”

“O-oh,” he stuttered before I felt him move away from me.

A click sounded and the glare disappeared, making me realize that the light had been switched off and it encouraged me to peel open my eyes. Everywhere was dark and my heart began to beat faster in fright because I couldn’t see or hear anything minus the sound of the heater in the room. Are these people vampires? I couldn’t even hear them breath.

“Mum’s gonna kill you,” came the confusing voice again. “You know how she hates these peo—”

“Isagani!” my saviour hissed. He exhaled loudly before he sighed, “the both of you please leave.”

“But—”

“Isagani, listen to him,” the man with the deep voice said firmly before I heard two pairs of feet move out of the room.

When I was finally left in silence with the remaining person, I looked to the side, my ears ringing.

“Can I open the curtain?”

I hummed in response and he moved towards a curtain and pulled it open. Immaculate moonlight flooded the room and I blinked a little to get used to the sudden light. Oh yeah, the thunderstorm must have stopped while I was unconscious. How long was I unconscious?

“How are you feeling?” the boy asked softly and I looked towards him, getting to make out a face for that soft voice.

I furrowed my eyebrows when I saw his fair skin and short hair that had corkscrewed curls. His hair was flying everywhere, making it seem like an afro. He seemed to find my gaze funny because he chuckled and patted at his puffy hair.

“I look weird, don’t I?”

I weakly shook my head and watched as he moved towards me and crouched beside my head. I felt my face grow warm, my heartbeat stutter, my breath hitch and my throat clogg as I was blessed with such a beautiful view that was his face.

“Hi, I’m Dakila Kilali.”

I furrowed my eyebrows. Isn’t that like a Nige—

“My foster father is Nigerian,” he whispered, this time his voice coming out a quiet like he was scared about that fact. He folded his arms over his knees—like he was trying to cover something—and smiled deeply, his cheeks digging in to show dimples. He laughed again, his cheeks filling with colour. “Why are you just staring? Do I look odd?”

I was beyond confused as I studied Dakila’s face—he had pouty, pink lips, smooth, fair skin, high cheekbones, pointed, slender nose and thick lashes. I felt a sweet shiver course through me as I studied his tempting angelic features.

Dakila tightened his folded arms and his eyes seemed to stray towards my trousers. I followed his gaze and I flushed as I looked at the tent in my trousers. The odd thing was that—I’ll be truthful—this has got to be the first time that I got a boner that I could stare at. I can’t remember having a wet dream—I never had a crush—and it’s just so...

“What the...” Dakila laughed a little. I looked at him and noticed  his flushed face. He bit the corner of his pouty lips and whispered, “I don’t know why I’m feeling awkward. I...” He sighed and patted his head. His eyes were fixated on my boner and I could feel myself harden—is that even possible?

“Um...”

He chuckled lightly. “Don’t worry. It’ll go away if you stop thinking about it and I stop looking at it.” His gaze returned to my face and his eyes widened, his blush darkening. He looked like he had just remembered something embarrassing. “Oh my...” He chuckled again. “I kind of like, sorry if I was rude, went through your stuff. Sorry.”

I felt my face blaze and I turned my head the other way. I fisted my hands that laid beside my body and felt myself grow warm.

Oh my. He read it, didn’t he? Oh my fudging boner. Will he...?

“And I kind of cleaned you and changed your clothes. So...” He dragged the last word before he huffed and stood.

I heard him move before the space on my right side—where I was currently facing in order to hide my bashfulness—sunk. I squeezed my eyes shut in embarrassment and Dakila laughed lightly. I gulped tightly as I felt his fingertips wisp down my cheek, neck and rested on my chest. He placed his hand flat on my chest and released a sigh.

“I know you’re dying and I understand.”

My breath froze and I slowly opened my eyes to be greeted by deep pools of chocolate.

He rubbed his chest with a pained expression before shifting his gaze to look into my doe eyes. “Your name is Sotonye Aloma correct? Did I get the pronunciation?”

I nodded in a stiff manner and he sighed dreamily. His eyes studied my face like one would at gold and his lips seemed to pout even more.

“You’re cute,” he whispered, tapping my bullfrog nose. “Ama and Ina never let me have a boyfriend. They said that I was corrupt.” He leaned closer and placed his hand under his head. He bit the corner of his lips before mumbling, “but I get to keep you because I found you.” His voice came out deeper than normal, his eyes narrowed.

Dakila just hummed lowly as we just studied each other. He sometimes commented my body parts—body parts that I’ve loathed for as long as I could remember—especially my ‘pillow stomach,’ as he put it.

During the few minutes of our admiration of each other, Dakila sat up at the sudden sound of a car moving into the compound. It’s hunk pierced the silent night. He sputtered words in a language foreign to this country—like as if I’ve heard a language other than my mother’s—before he shot out of the bed. He hurriedly put on his slippers and rushed to the door. He patted his hair again and pulled the door open. It let in a strip of light and I averted my gaze.

“I’ll be right back,” he mumbled before he left me alone to dwell in my silent darkness.

I smiled as I recalled his beautiful smile. I’ve started this journey alone, I needed to complete it alone.