Improvised Plan #ProjectNigeria

10- Comfort

Ola:

I can't reject the comfort he's offering.

But this time, I can walk by myself.

"Let me, its much easier," he says softly.

"I can walk. I'm not crippled," I protest shakily.

After handing the keys to the valet, Saheed moves around the car to open the door for me; but I am already stepping out. I have wiped my tears away with some tissue and blotted away excess moisture. What is left of my make up will help me look normal from the door to the elevator.

"Nonye isn't picking her calls," I tell Saheed. "I'll have to find my way back to GRA."

He gives me a 'who are you kidding?' look, arms crossed, brows raised.

"You think I'll just let you leave. Like this? I brought you here for a reason. To be with you."

That last sentence makes my heart jump into my throat. "I appreciate you looking out for me, but..."

But I'd rather be home alone and at the same time I don't want to go...

"Ola, you need a familiar face. You can't be alone. Not tonight."

I see sense in what he's telling me. Being home alone means I'll cry my eyes out till daybreak, thinking about my life, thinking about my mother and the millions of moments we've lost.

I nod slowly, sniff, and turn away, walking up the stairs. I feel exhausted, world-weary.

I wish we had more time, Ola. I wish I had fought this addiction tooth and nail. I'm sorry, I wasn't strong enough for you. I let it take you away from me.

" Are you okay?"

Saheed's voice makes me realise I am standing still like a statue in front of the revolving doors. He gently touches my arm, and the contact defrosts me.

"Yes," I lie again. "I'm okay."

"Sure."

Before I can protest, he sweeps me into his arms.

"Stop trying to be heroic," I murmur.

He chuckles good-naturedly. "Just saving us time, sweetheart."

I relax, resting my head on his chest. The onlooker might think we are a couple very much in love, but right now I couldn't care less. He is offering comfort which I might deny I need, and he doesn't mind. I keep my eyes closed, so I don't have to see the people in the lobby, their smiles at what seems like romance.

People love love, and it'll make me feel like such a scam for eliciting emotional responses from them over something fake.

"I know you think I'm a psycho," I mumble a few minutes later, when we are in his private elevator.

"Not quite far from the truth."

I find it oddly soothing, the way his voice makes his chest vibrate underneath my ear. And he smells so enticing, masculine. I wriggle and he lets me down on my feet.

"Thank you."

"You are most welcome."

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch him rearrange his collar and run a hand over his short curls. In the panel mirrors of the elevator, I look at our reflections.

"Quite a lovely couple we make, don't you think?"

Caught off guard, I laugh spontaneously. "Yes. The mixed race beauty with the tall, brooding, sweet-mouthed hunk."