First, I put on a pair of dirty old baggy jeans I found lying in the wardrobe. Even at that, the light scratches of the rough jean material tickled my bell-end, which was somewhere below my knees.
Christ, Just let this end.
I quickly left the motel and felt the contrast between the stale smell of sex and alcohol and the cool rush of the day’s breeze register in my lungs. I kept on walking. I took the first bus- I had no clue where it let off – and made myself comfortable in the only empty seat. I just felt the illogical need to be as far away from the motel as possible.
Fifteen minutes later, we arrived at the last stop. I alighted and crossed to the other side. I was in Lekki. I entered into the Peninsula Scheme and kept walking.
Finally, I made a call.
After three rings, Edward picked. “Dude!” he shrieked. “where the fuck have you been?”
“Omo,” I breathed. “yawa don gas.”
He laughed. “Wetin don happen? The chick give you AIDS?”
“Worse, homie. She made me bigger.”
“Dude, I’m a fricking 14 inches long. It’s creepy man…”
Edward laughed. “Nice one, man. She na penis enlargement clinic?” “Guy, you don’t know the kind of gbege I’m in right now. Please, abeg, believe me.”
Edward must have decided to humor me, because he replied, “Ok. Lemme go with you on this for a minute. You’re saying you slept with her last night?”
I sigh. “Yes”
“She left before you woke up?”
“And you found your stuff long in the morning?”
“Yes oh, oga.”
He burst into laughter again. I ended the call.
Should have known the bastard wouldn’t believe me. Afterall, we were best friends. Pranks were not new.
I was so absent-minded that I slammed into another commuter, and he fell over.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t – I wasn’t looking” I stammered as I tried to help him to his feet.
He just mumbled something and straightened his cap.
Then he shrieked. “My shirt! You’ve torn my shirt! Oh God, I’m going for an interview and you’ve torn my shirt!”
But I wasn’t even listening. Across the double- lane road, I saw something so impossible, I was lost in time. I just couldn’t believe it.
I saw the prostitute.
As the guy moved to grab a hold of me, I punched him in the nose. It was a weak punch, but blood spurted out anyway. I broke away from his frantic grasp and bolted. I nearly got crushed by an oncoming Mack truck.
The bloke with the torn shirt, amazingly, raced after me. It wa a funny sight, me dashing towards the prostitute, and the bloody-faced guy with a torn shirt chasing me pell-mell. People were already beginning to stop and watch. With any luck, they would think it was a shoot for a Nollywood film.
Panting, I called to the girl “Ssss! Hey!”.
I ran some more, and yelled again, “Hey!”.
She turned her head irritably, and the instant she saw me, she bolted, too.
Damn, it’s true what they say about prostitutes: they are fast. I lunged. She sped. Interview-shirt guy ran as he bled. Two chasers, one “chasee”.
I caught up to her eventually, and as she noticed this, she made a quick lunge for the road without even checking if it was free.
The result left me numb. A speeding Toyota Sequoia slammed her with such velocity, she hurtled through the air and slammed against a low- hanging MTN billboard.
Interview-shirt guy puttered to a stop beside me. “You know her?”, he asked, panting and wheezing heaving. Apparently, the accident had taken the fight out of him.
People were already gathering.
I crouched beside the dead and broken girl. I felt a pain like I never felt before.
I am going to be a monster for life. I grabbed her twisted shoulders and wept.