For previous Episode 9, click here
I clung onto the love I had for Ben like my life depended on it. I'd tell myself he'd come back to his senses and eventually realize his mistakes. He would realize i was the best thang to ever happen to him. And how right I was about us. We had strong love for each other. Our love wasn't infinitesimal that it couldn't withstand the test of time. I kept on rattling, soliloquised several times on how our bond will become unbreakable when he did come back. Oblivion of my wallowing in vain phantoms. I fought with my emotions every single day. I endlessly blamed my deficient sexual prowess.
"He wouldn't have left me for another woman if I was good enough in bed", I'd soliloquised.
I came to realize later in life that a man whose love is pristine genuine would never leave his woman for another. Not even for sex. Not for food. He'd rather stay with his woman and teach her how to make him happy.
I was deprived of love from my early years in life. My life was punctuated with numerous losses that most times I did ask God if he intentionally brought me to planet earth just for some punishment. Having lost my parents and youngest sister, I was shipped off to leave with my foster parents. Life with them wasn't particularly rosy. I was more of a house help than someone with right to exist. Happy moments were ephemeral for me. At 8 years, I could carry out any house chore, even ones meant for adults. I would perform domestic chores from dusk to dawn. I was always alone. No time to mingle with other kids or play. No childhood memory. I wasn't even allowed near the television. It was strictly forbidden for me. No wonder I became used to staying without one.
So you see, when I experienced what it felt like to be loved, I was completely taken off guard. I relished every moment of it, dreading whatever circumstance that will lead to its abrupt end. And when it eventually ended, I felt my world shattering before my very eyes.
Ben came back after 4 years of breaking up with him. He wanted us back. The festive period of 2004, he turned up in my house. I was gobsmacked when I was informed that a friend awaited me in the sitting room, and he was the one. In utter disbelief, I opened my mouth but nothing came out from it. I stood akimbo and waited on him to say something.
"Please Livie, I was wrong and treated you badly, I'm really sorry, do find a place in your heart to forgive me", he'd said with a strained voice, tremulous.
At first, I was sceptical on how to respond to him. Shaking with trepidation, I jerked off his dirty promiscuous hands that he placed on mine. The trash he spewed still hung on air and I wasn't hesitant to reply them. I was too shaken to utter a word. And when I became calm, I did show him the exit. He couldn't have toyed with my head and then expect an open welcoming arms when he was done with his little bitches. His perceptions were solely on how convinced he was that after 4 years, I will still be crazy over him. I'd keep waiting for him to be back.
I literally waited for him. Sleepless nights. Days I'd gulp alcohol just to make the pains tugging at my chest to go away. Days I'd stuff my stomach with so much chocolates it'd hurt. Mornings of puffy eyes. Times my nostrils will magically roll out booger from previous crying and sniffing like a boogey dog. I was miserable. A mess. A teetotaler turned alcoholic. It was absurdly crazy. Bee really helped out, a great deal.
I learnt to be self-reliant. Independent. To be in control of my life especially my love life if there was gonna be one again. I was given minimal options. It was essential that I conform to certain rules so I'd be in control. Love turned to illusion. I practically stopped loving. I stopped trusting because it wasn't real. Love doesn't exist i'd monotonously whisper to myself. Even though it sounded weird to my ears, I still trifled the word till it became what I wanted it to be.
To be continued please...