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Yeah. I know. You waited for this episode all through yesterday, and I didn’t send it. I’m sorry; I simply wanted it to be a read worthy of your precious time. I’d do better at writing.
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Alright, enough of me; Rock is waiting for you to read his story. I’m sorry, but Grace didn’t make…
Have they been worth it?
Five years. Five years of waiting. Staying. Five years of housing feelings mortified in friendship. Close friendship. Grace hadn’t even been staying in Rock’s life to fill space when Dami left. No! She had never wished for ‘when.’ She rooted for them. Rock was happy, bright, and in love, and she was happy for him. She didn’t even know her mind subconsciously nursed faith for ‘if.’
It had all been buried deep in her heart, and the feelings took on new wings with that kiss five weeks ago. The buttered-up flies fluttered high, and even when Rock seemed to have a misconception of what happened with Dami leaving, Grace’s feelings imbibed more yeast. She felt more for him. Longed achingly for his presence. Wished gnawingly for more of his silky fingers sweeping upwards between her thighs, sending jolts of electricity up her being.
She never wished for Rock’s relationship to turn sour. But when it did – indirectly due to her exceptional ability to play cupid - she succumbed to the burning feelings. She was human, after all.
And now, she was glad she could remain human. Because she found herself in the valley of the shadow of death. And wondered if Rock and his existence in her life had been worth it.
“Grace!” Rock shrieked again from somewhere behind her.
Trepidation had her in a chokehold.
On the floor to which she had crashed, with her soul being held by a thread like a hot-air balloon, she summoned all available will to take sluggish notes of her surroundings. She was on the floor. Middle of the road. Her legs spread just under the bumper of the car that had come to a hard stop, just about sending her to the grave like her mother. The bumper grille of the Mercedes AMG GT 63 sat right in her face, threatening to roast her with the engine heat it let out.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, bitch!” the husky voice of the angry driver helped her realize she was fine. And alive. And unhurt.
Have tarred roads always been this gritty like a tiger’s tongue? And hot? From where she sat on the road, her body parts in contact with the black road burned like the skin was going to fission and evaporate. That’s when she realized she’d been crying.
“I’m sorry. I’m… so… s…” tears fizzled her words as she tried to gather her shattered self.
Shaken to his core, Rock was also apologizing. To the man. He panic-checked on her to confirm her well-being and was promptly gathering stuff that spilled from Grace’s handbag.
“Can you try getting up?” Rock’s hands braced Grace’s shoulders to help her up. His every movement was laced with worries, fear, and apologies that registered their presence on her skin. She felt it. The sincerity. All these things he did as she tried to wipe her tears. The body checks. The ‘what the hecks?!’ Everything. And for a moment, she relished it. She enjoyed it. Wanted it.
Grace swam with glee in a pool of his endearing words. And wished to God that this foolish man be hers’.
Rock’s fear and care weren’t the only things she felt. Because soon, she felt the whole world stare. The embarrassment of being watched by seven billion random souls as she made a joke of herself hit her like a canon, and she disintegrated from Rock’s hold.
She was done being Rock’s Grace. She was done being @RockyGrace1. She was done being anything and everything that had to do with this astoundingly sweet yet foolish man.
Grace needed evidence of that mental note to self. Hard proof that she was done with him. Something to cast this new development in stone.
Could she ever be done with him? A woman can try.
She held Rock’s distraught gaze as the Mercedes vroomed off in a now-distant world. It was just the two of them now. Grace and Rock. As they’ve always been. The two sides of a sword. Cutting through whatever life threw at them over the past five years. Together.
She could see it in his eyes. He needed her. He wanted her. She knew he knew he messed up. But for all she felt right now, she was done with him. Totally done with his ugly – okay, beautiful – ass.
“Grace, I’m…”
Her right palm swung uncontrollably across his face. Hard. And loud. “Don’t ever talk to me again!” A stern glare accompanied her words.
That was good. Scary but good. Teary good. But it hurt.
“Grace! Are you okay?” Ayodele rushed to the scene, storming between the duo like he wasn’t aware of Rock’s existence on the spot.
“I’m fine,” she managed to say. Gosh. This freaking running nose ensued whenever she cried. Rock caused this.
She swallowed her tears.
Only when she motioned to move did she realize that her left shoe had lost its heel. Knight Ayodele grabbed her by the shoulder at the first little wobble in her stride. Ayodele had saved her twice today. First, when Rock was being petty. Second, just when she didn’t know what to do after slapping the hell out of Rock’s face. She was beginning to owe this man.
But slapping Rock didn’t bring the satisfaction her subconscious must have yearned for. It felt more like penance than revenge. It hurt. Tears carried several bits of her eyeliner on their travel down her face. In her heart-breaking agony, Ayodele continued to hold and lead her further down the road. She really was beginning to owe this man.
Rock’s feet developed roots into the concrete of the sidewalk. He stood there, watching until Ayodele and Grace disappeared around the corner. Dazed. His left palm nursed the pain in his cheek. The pain stung his entire body frame, prickling him with memories of every harsh word he uttered at her. He couldn’t believe he said all that to Grace while she was innocent. He felt even sorrier than he did moments ago when he had just discovered the truth. Oh! How she must have been hurt!
Watching Grace disappear around the corner clasped Rock’s heart tightly between two invisible hands. Large, deeply callused hands. The hands pressed hard, and Rock groaned mad. This wasn’t just a friend leaving. This was life limping away on one heel shoe with Ayodele, his archenemy, as support.
Hurt, downtrodden, and feeling like shit, he turned. And there she stood, watching as his world became a hot mess of departures. The Damilola Praise Ajenifuja.
Had she been in church? Obviously.
Rock stood, stuck in motion like he saw a ghost. A ghost in a staring contest with him.
She stared. He stared. Then she veered. But not before she shook her head. And it was too late for Rock not to look so defeated.
**
Alright. Yes, he fucked up.
But who wouldn’t? His girlfriend’s name was boldly spelled there as a trophy in the chat of an obviously better man. The whole situation that morning was a perfect canvas for misunderstanding. But maybe he should have been patient with painting on it.
The thought of what could be if he had been patient shoved a wrench up his ass and kept turning. The sudden emotional pain made his limbs shudder in front of his door, and he dropped the key to the lock. Calm down; you need to enter your room before breaking down.
Rock took a deep breath and eventually unlocked the door. There was nothing to fear. Right? They would sort things out and go back to being best buddies. They always did. That couldn’t be the end of his friendship with Grace. No, it couldn’t. He wouldn’t get to keep being @GentleJane, on the ConfidantX app. He’d feel too guilty to remain Grace’s anonymous friend from Croatia.
Rock crashed into his bed, not tugging off any of the garments with which he received her souvenir of pain. His cheek still memorized the slap, every sting of it.
ConfidantX!
As if his health depended on it – which it did, he rushed to the app to see if she had updated her status. Grace introduced him to the app a year ago, but he feigned disinterest. But he was. Interested. For her. He created a female-themed account and kept her company. Replied to her status updates. Comforted her when she cussed her Line Manager on a status update. Bantered her whenever Arsenal lost, and she ranted about her dislike for the referee.
He loved doing that for her, even when she didn’t know he was @GentleJane. She’d never know. She must never know. Now, more than ever, he wished to drop in and type unsolicited words of solace. Or maybe he could call her, which he did. Six times. No answer.
A message, then.
Rock sat up, resaved her number from memory, and unblocked her across all socials before frantically typing away in the dark room. He hadn’t bothered with flipping the switch. He typed; how sorry he was; how he had misinterpreted his knowledge of her feelings for him; how he wanted to make things right; how losing her would make him go crazy; how much he wanted to hold her, stroke her hair, caress her; how he…
Loved her. Loved her?! Did he love Grace? A little flicker escaped his eyes. He wondered. Pondered. And sundered the entirety of the word. Love.
That was his assignment for the next month, as all his messages continued to gather cobwebs in her DMs.
Instagram. Twitter. WhatsApp. Telegram. eMail. SMS. iMessage. TikTok. Signal. Nothing.
Grace was reading. He was sure of that. But no replies.
Tired of waiting and devoid of any ability to keep calm in her absence, he visited her house. Again. The seventh time in the past month. And like the last time, and the times before that, she messaged her neighbor to relay her words, “Rock! Leave me the hell alone.” Almost verbatim each time. He had heard those words six times, but they still stung him to death.
"Rock. It'd be better if you don't come over again. She doesn't even want to talk about you to me when I ask her. Just wait for her call."
"Thank you, Sonia." He headed home with his tail in his pocket and his heart (no, mind) in shambles.
Grace hadn’t been in church either, and Ayodele had given him the “Are you happy now?” look. Really. Not the cunt’s fault.
**
It's been five weeks, and in this Tuesday Standup meeting, Rock’s thumb slid back and forth over Grace’s picture on his phone. The Product Manager’s voice chatted away over the Oraimo mini speaker, but Rock wasn’t there. His deeply concentrated eyes bore into the picture. And like every other time he scrolled through her Instagram feed, his heart ached from missing her.
Sometimes, he wondered if she missed him too. Certainly not. Not after the things he had done – misunderstanding her, not giving her a chance to explain, ridiculing her in front of a stranger, and almost pushing her to death. Nice work, Rock. You rock!
But, really, why hadn’t she blocked him on socials? Rock stormed from his seat as the thought hit him, silencing the loud PM talking about one feature ticket over the speaker. Who cares about work?!
Did she also miss him and want to keep the channels open? Did she want to receive his messages? Is there a way he could get her attention? Why was he even so bothered about the whole thing? Why wouldn’t he? She was his friend. His best friend. She was worth the care. Worth the stress. And worth the daily barrage of apologies in her inbox.
It wasn’t the first time they’ve had issues. Friends fought. But what’s this gut-pulling feeling? Why couldn’t he concentrate on anything? Why has he been obsessing over WhatsApp notifications, thinking she replied? Why does he feel like the only place that could calm him down at the moment was her embrace, his head buried in the curve of her neck, breathing life off her signature cologne? Oh! She loved French cologne. Should he order her favourite? Jean Paul Gaultier La Belle.
What's this obsession? Even the PS4 console he was turning on already felt like a bad idea. It had to be normal. Right? She was his friend. A friend that had been there for half a decade. A friend he shared all the pains, struggles, and joys of adulthood with. Grace had been there to pull him up when his first relationship went to shit.
Odunayo Alabi.
Rock could never forget the name. Never. Odunayo was his first, and she broke it off after four months to his face, emphasizing how he didn’t care enough. And Grace was there to pacify him when he churned out tears in the departmental laboratory like a male mermaid in distress. As she listened to his words in the dimly lit lab, that look in her eyes turned the classmates into friends, and their fondness grew. A fondness that matured to him fondling her breasts five years later.
God! Why was he thinking of her breasts again? Yes, again. That night felt right. It felt complete. His chromosomal number attained completion that night, with every movement, every stroke, and every moan embellished into place in his skull. Grace completed him in a way no one had ever done. She graced his world, and he was sure he rocked hers’. What they felt that night was mutual. They were in indescribable sync. And since she confessed love, does that mean he felt… love?
The same love he felt when he decided Dami was the one? The same love that brought him to his knees at Landmark beach before a subsequent hobo-like journey through the flooded streets of Lagos? The same love that revealed his inability to try enough? The ugly pattern that described his person, who he was.
Away from his PS4 and on course to take a bath, he paused. He thought about it and wondered how he had missed that trend.
Inability to try enough.
That's it. That's why he's been scared of putting a label on whatever this is he felt for Grace.
The signs were there in the sky for everyone to see. His partners saw it – Grace must have also seen it but is only currently blinded by love. Love is never enough to keep a relationship going.
For Odunayo, he didn’t care enough. Then, with Dami, he overcompensated care. He cared so much but wasn’t ambitious enough. If he ever dated Grace, sooner or later, there would be something he wasn’t trying enough at, and that would lead to them breaking up again. That’s who he was. That’s who he would always be – never trying enough. There’s no way he’d be getting into another relationship knowing that. Grace deserved better. All he wanted was his best friend. This swelling between his legs as he stared at her picture would disappear once she was out of reach. That steamy night had only been because of the heartbreak he suffered. Nothing more. Nothing. Once he’s showered, this tension in his body would dissolve with the lather.
Rock’s phone rang as he wrapped himself out of the bathroom with a coffee-brown colored towel. Grace. It had to be her. That's the ringtone he set for her contact.
A sense of urgency surged through him and hit his leg against the foot of his shoe rack, throwing the plastic cup on top off balance. Despite closing his eyes in pain and his heart hyper-pumping, his voice unbelievably settled calmly into a “Hello, Grace, how are you doing?”
An invite to her house. Now. 7 pm, Tuesday evening. Why? What could it be about? Reconciliation? And after that? What’s next? Will they be friends again? Because Rock was sure, that’s what he wanted.
The journey to Grace’s house was the fastest Rock had ever journeyed. And there he was, in her presence. One full moon had gone by, and the besties were finally in each other’s presence again. But this time, mute. The silence heavy like Thor’s hammer. That’s when he knew. He loved this girl. This feeling was more than ‘best friendship.’ This feeling burned for expression. Rush over there. Grab her face and kiss into every essence of her lips. Those lush, amply breadth lips. He still remembered the taste of them like it was a minute ago. Lift her by the under-thighs, wrap her legs around his waist, spin around the room while taking that gown from her knees, folding it all the way to her neck. Unstrap whatever bra she had under there, and… Rock! Her mind called out to him. They spoke. In silence. Mind to mind. Heart to heart.
I’m sorry. I missed you. You nonsense boy. I know. I messed up. I should have been patient. I was a fool. I love you. I love you too. I want you. I want you more. Be mine. I want to be yours.
Through their eyes, their hearts spoke many truths to each other, and like polar ends of a magnet suddenly exposed to each other, they rushed at each other and wrapped themselves into a warm hug. Her hand locked tightly behind him. His hand dug deeper into her afro hair – when did she loose her braids? His right hand clutched for life on her back. The way he held her, he wondered how he hadn’t dropped dead from missing her so much.
“Did you change your bathing soap?” She asked, her face buried firmly right under his chin.
“So many things have changed in my life over the past two months, Grace. So many."
“You mean there’s a lot to talk about?
“Has there ever been little to talk about with you?” he chuckled.
“Why don’t we start with the elephant in the room? What’s this feeling?”
He knew. She’d go there. She’d always been direct. That brain of hers always wanted direct answers.
His silence lasted forever. But he finally breathed, “This feeling?” Yes. Her head bobbed in affirmation. “What do you want me to say?”
“Tell me you love me, Rock. Say it, ‘cos you do. We both know you do. And I do too.”
He paused. Waited. His answer was right there in this unending.
I love you, Grace. I love you, and I’m starting to get crazy about you. It’s growing beyond my control. I think of you at every chance my mind has to wander off work. I want you so bad—more than I want air.
“I can’t say it, Grace. I just can’t…”
“Why? Why can’t you say it?”
Because I never try enough. First, I didn’t care enough for Odunayo. Then, I wasn’t ambitious enough for Dami. Who knows how I’d not be enough for you? Even I don’t know. And that scares me; it scares the shit out of me, Grace. This is just who I am. You deserve more than who I am.
“Because I don’t love you! You’ll never be more than a friend to me. Let’s just stay… let’s just stay friends, Grace. Please.”
What happens next? See you in episode 5, loves. But you can share this post with your friends.
I also want to hear from you; how has the story been for you so far? Kindly leave a comment.
Nawa o 🌚
Today's episode just confirmed Rock was a fool!! @grace, you deserve more please 🥺