Hidden Currents (Lagos Romance Series) Page 13

Follow her on twitter @somiekhasomhi, but be warned, she is a random twitterer.

  Also by Somi Ekhasomhi

  Always Yours

  Michael Ade-Cole once broke her heart and left Sophie when she needed him most, so she cut him out of her life completely. But almost five years later, she is still desperately in love with him.

  The best way to get over someone is to see them again, or so they say. So when Sophie engineers a meeting with Michael, all she wants, is to finally be able to forget him, or so she tells herself.

  Only, as soon as she sees him again, she knows she wants him as much as she ever did, and he appears to want her too. The stage would be set for a perfect romance, if only he wasn't engaged to the beautiful Folake.

  Set in the bustling city of Lagos, this is a love triangle with too many twists and too much heartache. Can Sophie succeed in falling out of love with Michael? Or will she give in to the temptation of loving him, even though he belongs to someone else?

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  Jungle Justice

  In the streets of Lagos, it takes a little to excite a crowd. An accusation of theft is usually enough for a person to be lynched brutally. All that is required is an old tire, some fuel, a box of matches, or a lighter.

  On a busy day in the streets, a young girl who has recently been transported from her uneventful life in a poor village, to live a life of forced servitude in Lagos, witnesses the vicious lynching of an innocent young man, as well as the brutal and questionable justice that soon follows.

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  Always Yours

  Here’s a sample from ALWAYS YOURS - Lagos Romance Series, Book One.

  The Beginning

  Just thirty minutes, I told myself as I succumbed to the temptation to doze off in my office. Just thirty tiny minutes. It had been a long day and I was tired, plus even if I were caught, there was no one to tell me off. I was my own boss, after all.

  There are a few things I love more than the fact that I am a successful, self-employed young woman who does what she likes doing, writing. It’s still hard to think of myself as the publisher and Editor-In-Chief of Living Lagos, a weekly lifestyle magazine that presents the highlights and highpoints of Lagos life in an entertaining and engaging format. But I am! I own Living Lagos, or at least I own a part of it. I have an investor, my close friend Eddie Bakare, but he’s more of a silent partner.

  After years of co-editing a campus newspaper together, I got the idea for Living Lagos during our National Youth Service year and Eddie bought into it, literally. He invested over seventy per cent of the capital. (He does have a lot of money. His grandfather was a well-known politician/public funds looter, who made a lot of money ruining the country in the seventies. Eddie suffers the ill-gotten wealth very gracefully and generously.)

  We worked very hard in the first year of running the magazine and by the time service year was over, Living Lagos had become a hit. In the second year we started an online edition. By then we were getting very good returns on our initial investments and Eddie was ready to leave me totally in charge, and take the job in his father’s oil marketing firm that had been waiting for him all his life.

  So here I was, two years after completing my service year, practically my own boss and boss of four others. We rented this really tiny office space on Lagos Island from where we pursued stories on fashion, lifestyle, arts, social events and so on, within Lagos.

  It was Friday afternoon, and the latest edition of Living Lagos had just hit the stands. After a week of intense work all I wanted to do was rest. Even the thought of driving to my tiny apartment, close by in Victoria Island was too much for my exhausted limbs. I leaned back in my chair and tried to ignore the sounds of Lagos Island coming from outside my window. I was already well on my way to dreamland when Ada, our resident photographer cum graphic designer burst into my office.

  ‘Hey! Wake up Soph!” She practically shouted, jolting me out of my doze.

  I groaned and opened my eyes “What, what, what?” I said wearily. “Can’t you see I’m trying to work?”

  “Yeah right!” She scoffed, impatiently brushing her braids away from her face and planting her rear on my desk. “Working with your eyes closed?”

  “I’m working on catching up on my sleep, duh” I said with an unrepentant smile. “I had a meeting with Morpheus.”

  She pursed her lips. “You will never change, Sophie.”

  I sniggered. “I hope not.” I replied. It was comfortable to have Ada around. We had been casual friends in university, and even though we hadn’t been very close, I’d always liked her a lot. When the guy I and Eddie hired to do the graphic design had messed up the work, she stepped in as a favor to me. Now she was an integral part of our organization and apart from the other gigs she took as a wedding/ event photographer and portraitist, she seemed to be satisfied with her work at Living Lagos.

  “I have some pictures I want you to look at.” She told me, cutting into my thoughts. She placed a large folder on my desk. The pictures were neatly grouped into categories. There were the ‘Candid Nollywood’ pictures, which showed Nollywood stars in various situations around the city - Stuck in traffic, riding in commercial motorcycles, looking bored on a public movie set etcetera. There were also the fashion pass and fail pictures, which included several pictures of socialites and actresses in varying degrees of embarrassing fashion failures or very well put together outfits.

  Some of them made me laugh out loud as I looked through, but I made sure to remove some of them from the folder, ignoring Ada’s disapproving look. I wasn’t interested in being mean, or feeding other people’s meanness, so I took out pictures that I felt would be too unfair to publish. Ada was of a different persuasion in that respect, she thought most pictures deserved to be published. It was the photographer in her.

  As I removed one of the last pictures, one of a young girl I recognized instantly, attending one of the award shows, and wearing a particularly hideous orange gown, Ada couldn’t help herself.

  “Not that one!” She complained. “I think it’s a really good one.”

  I gave her an uncompromising look. “If she were older than eighteen, maybe I would think about it.” I told her, ignoring the sulky face she was making. “Besides, she is Eddie’s little cousin.”

  That got her quiet, sometimes I imagined she had a crush on Eddie, she was always quieter and more reserved whenever he was mentioned or came around.

  “Okay, forget the picture.” She said. “There’s this benefit at the MUSON Centre tonight.”

  The Music Society of Nigeria Centre was a very popular venue for highbrow occasions. One of the good things about working at Living Lagos was that we always got invites to the best events and nicest parties.

  “And?” I asked.

  “We have an invite.” She continued. “Actually, we have two. There’s a press tag, but that’s mine as I am going to take the pictures.” She paused. “So there’s one guest ticket.”

  “Get Oliver to go.” I advised. “He can write something afterwards, or take Fadeke, she needs to cut her teeth on events like this.”

  “I would ask them,” Ada said. “But I think you would like to go.”

  “Moi?” I laughed. “Er… Nope. I am going to the Galleria to see a movie, get a facial, a foot massage and a pedicure, and then I am going home to sleep till Monday.”

  “It’s a benefit for children with heart disease.” Ada said.

  “Oh!” I said guiltily. “That’s sad.” I thought for a minute. “I’ll send a check on behalf of all of us.” I told her.

  “It is organized by CareLife Foundation.” She continued, with a challenging expression on her face.

  I paused. My heart had just started hammering like a gong, my mouth was suddenly very dry.

  “CareLife.” Ada continued sweetly. “You know CareLife, don’t you? It is run by Cecilia Fernandez, who used to be Cecilia Ade-Cole.”

  Of course I knew CareLife, and she knew I did. Why she was
torturing me though, I didn’t know. I swallowed, hard. My heart was beating too fast, much too fast.

  “You know her brother just returned from the states?” Ada continued, trying and not succeeding to keep the smirk from her voice “What’s that his name again?”

  “Michael” I said. It came out as a whisper “Michael Ade-Cole”

  “Yes that one.” She nodded, obviously pleased with herself. “I heard that he will be there.” She paused and gave me a mischievous look. “Confirmed.”

  “Confirmed?”

  “Yes.” She replied.

  “You’re evil.” I said, when I could breathe.

  “I know.” She grinned. “So what should I do about the ticket?” She said innocently. “Should I give it to Oliver or Fadeke?”

  I glared at her “Not on your life.”

  Michael Ade-Cole! Long after Ada had left my office, his name kept running through my mind. In a world of Facebook, Twitter and even email, it would seem really strange that I had not seen or spoken with Michael in more than five years. We hadn’t spoken since before he left the country after his National Youth Service. If other people wondered why we hadn’t communicated at all, I didn’t, because I knew. It was because I was afraid. I was afraid of how much I still loved him, still wanted him, I was afraid of how his being in my life would affect me.

  I met Michael in my first year at university, through Eddie Bakare. They were family friends. When we were introduced, Michael was in his final year and I was the greenest fresher that ever was. For some reason, He took a great liking to me. Whenever there was anything happening, like the cool parties he or his friends usually had, he’d invite Eddie and tell him to bring his “cute friend Sophia”. As for me, in those first days I was in awe of him, he was really handsome, tall, and slim with a smile that could do things to a girl’s insides. For a girl straight out of a girl’s only boarding school, he was like a Mills and Boon hero come to life.

  After a while, Eddie kind of dropped out of the equation. Michael would pick me up after my classes and take me to lunch, he knew all the best places to eat and the best places to just hangout. He used to listen to me talk and talk, in those days I had views on everything and I was always sure I was right. He would listen and laugh and call me a breath of fresh air. The first day he came to the girl’s hostel to visit me, my roommates were all agog. I hadn’t realized before then, how popular he was. It turned out that everyone either knew him, or knew of him. Rich, handsome, brilliant, funny and friendly, guys liked him and girls loved him. He was like a campus legend.

  I was very innocent at the time. The fact that his interest in me seemed to be purely platonic made me very comfortable in my new friendship. It made me less insecure, I doubt that the fledgling confidence I possessed at the time would have supported a romantic attachment to the most desired guy in school. But if I was comfortable, his avuncular attitude also made me aware of my lack of siren power.

  I wasn’t too bothered at the time. I really didn’t want a relationship. Before starting university, I had heard countless stories about the ‘Jambites Rush’ the annual seduction of Freshers by more experienced male students. Determined not to be a statistic, I had resolved not to date anyone in my first year in school.

  But sometimes when I thought about the possibility of going out with Michael, I could feel my resolve weakening. I daydreamed about him so much it was a wonder that I got anything done that year.

  Once, when I was presenting my views on the ‘Jambite rush’ to him, and making fun of the guys who had tried to ‘rush me’ I mentioned that I had no intention of going out with anybody for at least my first two years of school.

  “Seriously!” He had exclaimed teasingly. “So if I were dying for you right now, you would just tell me to get lost?”

  Even though my heart had skipped a beat and was now pounding erratically and my mouth had gone dry and I couldn’t really arrange the thoughts in my head, all of which seemed to be screaming ‘Yes! Yes! Yes! Tell me you love me and see what happens!’ I shook my head stubbornly and gave him a challenging look.

  “Really! Sophia!” He had groaned. “You just broke my heart, so I have to wait for like, two years?”

  “Yes.” I replied stubbornly, forcing myself to laugh as if I wasn’t taking it all seriously.

  “Hmm.” He shook his head. “Two years is really long, I might just have to polish my Casanova skills.” He said laughing “By the time I give you the smoothest lines ever invented, you won’t even know when you’ll be dating me by tomorrow.”

  No one can understand the kind of elation that conversation gave me. What I had always seen as impossible now seemed like a distant possibility at least. Even when we started talking about other things, hilarious pickup lines and such, my heart kept soaring. Yes! Yes! Yes! I was going to go out with him!

  However, nothing ever came of that conversation, even though every day I fell more in love with him. Somehow, the school year passed, our friendship continued, and his graduation came around. Sometimes it was like a fever, all the time we spent together was like some sort of sweet torture. I had to pretend all the time, that I wasn’t dying for him, that it wasn’t all I wanted for him to tell me that he couldn’t wait any longer and would I please go out with him.

  It was hard to convince my friends that we weren’t dating, everyone thought we were. If only they knew.

  By the time his graduation came around, I was convinced that he really didn’t have feelings for me, that he had only been teasing me that day, and that we were and would only ever be friends. I had also heard millions of rumors, a girlfriend he had at home, in another school, outside the country, etc.

  On the day of his convocation, his whole family came to school, and there was a huge party. I had met his mother before, but now I also met the rest of the family. They all knew of me, and called me Michael’s baby. They made such a fuss over me, it felt like I was the one celebrating something.

  The next day, after his family had left him to pack up his stuff and come join then at home, I called him to ask how the packing was going.

  “Horrible.” He had replied, sounding dejected on the phone and begging me to come keep him company.

  He sounded so miserable, I readily accepted.

  I had been to his rooms a lot of times. He lived in a self-contained apartment close to the campus. I had done a lot of my studying there. Whenever he travelled, he would leave me his keys and I would sleep over there until he returned, watching cable television and trying to match his prowess on the play station.

  When I got there that day though, all his stuff had been packed into boxes and cartons, apart from the blue rug that lined the whole apartment, which he was leaving because he had no place for it at home, the apartment looked stripped and bare. I could see why he was depressed.

  “My house has disappeared.” He said with mock desperation when he saw me. He looked so comic, I burst out laughing.

  “Seriously though.” He said, when the merriment was over. “Tell me you will stay here and I’ll unpack right now and return everything to how it used to be. Please.”

  He had offered me the apartment before. I had only refused because my parents had no intention of letting me stay outside the campus hostel for my first two years of school and I didn’t want any of my numerous guardians sending bad reports to them.

  “Sorry” I said soothingly, “No again. Anyway, it looks like you’ve finished packing, there’s nothing for me to help you with.”

  “I just stuffed everything into boxes and cartons.” He said with a slight grimace “I’ll sort through them when I get home.”

  “How are you going?” I asked. I knew all his stuff would never fit into his car.

  “I got a truck to take the stuff home.” He informed me. “It will be here soon.” He frowned. “I will be leaving later today, after the truck leaves.”

  I nodded. “I’ll miss you so much.” I said earnestly. I couldn’t help it, I went to him and hugge
d him tighter than I had ever hugged him before. He was my closest friend and constant companion, his leaving was devastating for me.

  He seemed surprised at first, we hadn’t really been the touchy, huggy, kind of friends, but after his initial hesitation, he hugged me back.

  Then he kissed me.

  My first kiss, surprisingly.

  It was crazy. One minute my arms were around him in a very platonic friendly hug, the next, I was on fire, and no matter how he much touched me, it was not enough.

  We made love, my first time, in his room, on his soft blue rug. It was slow and sweet and the best thing that had ever happened to me. His passion, his eagerness, the expression on his face when he touched me, when he lost control, made me feel like I was the queen of the earth and sky.

  Afterwards, as he held me and stroked my hair, my body was singing with pleasure, I couldn’t believe I had waited so long. I thought of how we had wasted a whole year we could have had together and I felt so sad I wanted to cry.

  It was around then that he got up, leaving me alone on the floor, I lay there wondering what was wrong because, I could have lain in his arms until forever ended.

  “I’m sorry.” I heard him say.

  “What!”

  He had already started getting dressed. “I’m so sorry.” He repeated, not looking at me.

  I couldn’t process what he was saying, sorry about what? I started to feel naked. I found my blouse and held it against my chest. As a covering for my nakedness and also I think, as protection from whatever it was he was going to say.

  “I’m sorry.” He repeated “I really hate the fact that I have done this to you.”

  Done what? Didn’t he know that everything he had done to me had made me feel beautiful beyond words? But then, he looked so guilty that I began to wonder, what was he saying, was he sorry because he had taken advantage of me? That could only mean that he had no intention of our little incident becoming more than that, an incident.

  I kept on looking at his face, trying to read what I saw there, of course he felt bad, I thought. This was ‘Jambite rush’, a year too late perhaps but still the same thing. And he was feeling guilty because it was me, me who was innocent, me who had never been anything but nice to him.