Improvised Plan #ProjectNigeria

37- Spiral

Ola:

Throughout the drive back to the hotel, Saheed is silent. He stares into nothing ahead, present and absent at the same time. In the semi-darkness, I cannot see his expression.

I wonder what he may have discussed with Khalif, but it is not in my position to push for answers at this point.

"Saheed. We're here."

He slowly turns his head to look at me. "Oh. Yes, thank you for the ride."

I hand the keys to the valet on duty and hurry to Saheed's side to hold his hand. I may not know the full story, but I can show support and offer some kind of comfort. The contact startles him for a moment, but he recovers and clasps my hand firmly, entwining our fingers.

"Ola, thank you," he says in a low voice. The sincerity in it intensifies my sadness.

"I'm here," is all I say. For you.

"Claudia," he says at the reception. "Claudia?"

"Claudia isn't on shift tonight, Sir."

"Ah, Akin."

Akin, Claudia's new colleague, walks briskly towards us at the reception counter. He is dressed immaculately in the trademark crisp white shirt, black trousers, and vest with the hotel's logo intricately embroidered on the left side. Akin is light skinned and stocky, with a perpetual smile on his face.

"I am sorry, I just stepped away to use the convenience."

"Please send up a drink. No, the whole bottle of scotch. My favorite brand."

Akin nods. "Immediately, Sir."

"Is drinking a good idea now?" I ask Saheed in the elevator.

"Please don't try to stop me tonight. I deserve a drink. Or more." The corner of his mouth rises briefly, his trademark sardonic smile.

I sigh, knowing I can't do much to distract him from his misery. Tonight, I can only watch him spiral down, and help him pick himself up afterwards. But what matters most is that I'm here. For him.

"Please don't get drunk."

Slight amusement shows in his sad eyes. It startles me that Saheed's eyes have shown me so many emotions in the period I've known him, but I have never seen such profound sadness in these beautiful eyes. They are also hollow, like a light has died behind them.

"Saheed...I want you to know that you're loved. And needed."

He draws in a sharp breath and looks away briefly, blinking and clenching his jaw muscles. I lean into him, resting my forehead on his chest. His chin touches the top of my head.

"I am so glad you're here," he says.

I hear the tremor in his voice and my heart shatters into a thousand pieces all over again. What makes him think he doesn't deserve this sympathy and understanding?

Saheed goes straight into the bathroom when we step into the penthouse. I busy myself with braiding my hair into two pigtails for the night, and then changing into one of his shirts and boxers.

What did his father tell him when they left the waiting room? What could have destabilized him so terribly, that Khalif had to support him physically? Will his mother be alright?

The elevator dings, and a staff comes in with a bottle of Scotch whiskey and a bucket of ice. I thank him and he leaves with a slight bow. Saheed steps out from the bathroom moments later, his face shining with droplets of water.