Saturday morning. Tranquil. Me, in bed. Lounging. Music in the background. Inhale. Exhale. This moment should be frozen. Savoured. My neighbour doesn’t think so. I open on the eighth knock. She knows I’m in. I see her lips move, her voice a meaningless echo in my head. It takes a while for some words to register.

I do not belabour my mind to connect them. Her voice drones on. Incessant. I’m getting antsy. Too polite to slam the door in her face, I nod in a way that suggests comprehension. She stops talking. I assume she’s done. As the door slams, the word ‘rude’ filters in. Too bad. I am half-way across the living room already.
Ah, music. Soothing. I drift to sleep. Short-lived though. Somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind, I sense a presence. I open first one eye, then the other. Emem is smiling at me. She has a key. How come? I don’t return the smile.

‘You look cute in your sleep.’ I don’t reply. She wants something, as usual. I close my eyes in a vain attempt to sleep. Her lips touch mine. Soft. Intoxicating. I remember how she got the key.

The end is clear. She will leave with something I don’t want to give. I resign myself to fate. I cannot match her energy today. Physically. Mentally. She knows. Clothes rustle. She is topless now. My eyes remain shut. Images from the last time still linger.
There is a knock on the door. I open my eyes. She grabs my shirt and rushes out. I hear Chidinma’s voice. So much for tranquil. I dress up hurriedly. Grab my wallet. Toss my phone into the wardrobe. The high pitch of their voices has assumed alarming proportions. They don’t hear me slip out.

Victor Olugbemiro loves literature, music and photography,
among several other interests. He currently teaches in Lagos .
Twitter: @oluvickie

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