You never really liked sleeping. Your mother would leave for night shifts and you would not sleep, you would stare up at the ceiling, nothing felt real. Eventually, you had to move out, your mother looked at you, a weird look on her face, you couldn’t make out if she was upset or happy that you were leaving. You remember looking back at her as the taxi drove out the cramped parking space at the face me I face you, you wanted her to cry, you wanted her to curse, you just needed an emotion, anything. She didn’t call you, you didn’t call her. You hated how she found out, you wish you told her yourself, they took it from you, they ruined everything. You didn’t speak to her for 6 years until one hot afternoon at Kunle’s house when she called, “I’m not happy, I don’t understand.” that’s all she said, you didn’t reply, she cut the call. You cried later that day, Kunle stared at you, he didn’t know how to comfort you, he squeezed your hand as you cried on his shoulder. ‘Maybe you should talk to her.” he said quietly, you ignored him, wiped your tears and went to sleep.
Your apartment was like a cave. Kunle called it a hole, he was in love with the “hole”. In no time he started sleeping, although not often, and it became a shared hole. You hated the fact that you never really had time with him but you didn’t say anything to not offend him, he was a quiet man. You are sure his wife and kids love him.
You are like every other sugar baby in Lagos. You have a lot of wealth accumulated from doing everything but actual work, but you enjoyed doing every other thing. It was fine, it was okay. You had a lot of skills, you had a good degree, a law degree, you could do anything you always reminded yourself but you never tried to do anything. It was fine, after all that’s how you met Kunle.
You hate calling him you “boyfriend” it was too informal yet it had some sort of formality that made you sick. Did he consider you a boyfriend? Did he save your name with a heart emoji attached to it? Did he get giddy when you called or when he called you? Does he tell his friends when they all talk about their girlfriends that he has a boyfriend? You aren’t sure if you want this to continue, whatever this was between Kunle and You. You asked him one night as both of you laid in bed in your “hole”, the room was quiet and the only thing that could be heard was the soft AC sound; your words cut the air, it was so sharp. Your chest got tight as you said it, “Am I your boyfriend?” Kunle looked up from his phone, his eyes met yours, he was shocked. You wanted to swallow up the words quickly, you wanted him to forget immediately. “Why are you asking me that type of question?” your chest got tighter and you wanted to tell him to get out, you didn’t. You turned away from him, put off the night lamp next to you and closed your eyes firmly.
You began to console yourself, saying different things to convince yourself after that day. After every night he spends with you, he places a clean 100 dollar bill on your dresser and a note that says thank you. Your other clients would drop less than that with no note, so Kunle is definitely your boyfriend. Kunle would take you to the country club but he would introduce you as his sister’s son’s friend or his uncles’s son depending the day, as long as he took you out he was your boyfriend.
“I want to change your apartment, this one is getting too uncomfortable” You turned to Kunle, confused, why would he want to change your apartment? He used to love it so why did that change just like that? You turned to Kunle, “What is wrong with this one?” Kunle laughed “Do you know how many sugar babies would love to get treated like this, this one that you are questioning me.” You don’t remember what happened but you remember shouting at him, your voice strained, your knuckles tight. He wasn’t your boyfriend, he saw it as a part of his job, as a sugar daddy, to make you feel good, to put you in pretty things. You were okay with the money, boyfriends gave their women money all the time, that was different, but he wanted to change you, the “hole” that both of you felt comfortable in, shared intimate, private moments became uncomfortable for him.
After he left because of your outburst, you called your mother. As soon as she picked up you began to cry, you had no idea why, you couldn’t stop yourself, the air around you became toxic, everything began to hurt. She didn’t say anything, she just let you cry, and when you were done she sighed “I don’t know what you want me to say, mhm? You’ll be fine.”
You called Kunle the next day and told him you were sorry, you didn’t mind the that he wanted to change your apartment. He said it was fine but he had to cut the call quickly because he was spending time with his daughter, he later sent you some pictures of different bungalows to pick from. You picked one with pretty white flowers that reminded you of your mother’s childhood home in the village, it had the same flowers growing close to your grandmother’s grave.
Kunle didn’t come over one afternoon. You let it slide, after all he is a busy man, a family man, but he didn’t call the next day so you called him, he didn’t pick up. You debated with yourself, a part of you screamed that you should go to his house or at least his office to make sure he was okay, but another part told you to sit at home and wait for him to text. You called an Uber.
His house’s gate was wide open, a bunch of cars were parked in his huge compound. You told the Uber to wait for you and you tip toed into the compound, some men were standing outside the entrance speaking in hushed tones. You tried to strain your ears but one of the men saw you and you began to back away slowly.
“Ahn ahn isn’t that Kunle’s Uncle’s son?” one of the men says loudly, you pause in your stride and begin to walk confidently towards them.
“Good afternoon sir, yes sir. I haven’t heard from Uncle Kunle so I wanted to check on him.” the other man begins to shake his head, your heart falls to your stomach.
“I think you should join your family inside, go inside” You begin to panic.
“Sorry sir, I have some stuff to do.” You try to walk away but he grabs your hand and leads you into the house, the house that you were very fond of on those days that his wife and children will take trips to beautiful sounding places.
You try to get out of his hold and you see her, his wife. She sees you and her eyes widen. You can’t breathe, you take in her appearance, she’s just been crying. She knows you, you can see it on her face, she tries to say something, you ignore her and quickly run out of the house, out of the compound and into your Uber.
