STUCK ON BROKEN

You walk out of the room, your heart in shreds. You promise yourself that you won’t cry but the tears, the treacherous tears find a way to well up in your eyes. You sniffle, forcefully cleaning your eyes and trying to regain your control.

All good things come to an end, you remind yourself. There never was any assurance that it’d last forever.

Half blinded by your brimming eyes, brimming with tears you refuse to let fall, you make the long walk to your hostel. In less than 20 minutes, you arrive, still as much a mess as you were when you left the house of your lover.

Ex-lover, you quickly remind yourself.

You aren’t ready – not in the slightest bit – to face the world, much less your boisterous roommates and rowdy hostel. Still, this is the only place you can escape to. You hasten to your room, take off your clothes and hurry to the bathroom where you proceed to take a long and thorough bath. You attack your skin with a vengeance, scrubbing relentlessly, as if there are fragments of him attached to your skin that you are desperate to get rid of. After 20 minutes, you emerge, pink-skinned and panting, like a newly-hatched butterfly after a long fight to escape its cocoon.

You make your way slowly to your room, hoping against hope that your roommates have all headed out for lectures. You fully intend to spend this Monday morning wallowing in bed – something you definitely can’t do if your roommates are around. Just around Room 412, one of your neighbours engages you in a discussion which you half-heartedly respond to. You also spot John leave your room and lock the door behind him. You feel like giving a whoop of joy. It would seem as though some benevolent god of misery is granting your wish to be left completely alone for the rest of the day. You quickly end the discussion and go to your room. Upon letting yourself in with your key, you see the usual mess your roommates leave the room in and for once, you don’t care. You don’t care about the mess, you don’t care about the dirt, you don’t care about anything. All you want to do is wallow in your misery.

You quickly get into your bed, clad in only boxers, and plug your ears with your earphones and turn on your sad music. Lana Del Rey’s Born to Die album. Nothing speaks to you in your misery as much as Lana’s music. Finally, alone, you give in to your tears. Strangely, your formerly-watering eyes refuse to co-operate. It is almost like your mind is done with mourning your dead relationship and is now ready to move on to the next big thing. You try to remember Ralph’s face, to recall the good times, to discover what went wrong – where you went wrong – but you find nothing. Only unending apathy.

The only thing you recall are his final words to you that morning: You’re too frigid. Being with you is like being with a corpse.

You laugh, a dry mirthless laugh, as you recall how he’d fucked your friend in that video which they’d made and shown to you to prove to you that he was cheating on you. He’d always been the impersonal one, you think, yet you’re the one who got cheated on countless times and finally got dumped.

Your mind rolls through several events, all of them having one thing in common – his neglect and emotional abuse. You sputter in rage as you recognise all the signs you had originally discounted and chalked up to his love for you and his need to protect you.

Fuck that bloody asshole, you think.

His words fly about in your head: You’re too frigid… Sex with you is basic… You made me cheat… You just aren’t enough for anyone… You’re not that special. You’re not even special… You’re just another basic bitch… All of these words said when you confronted him over his cheating.

In that moment, from your phone, you hear the lyrics: “You’re no good for me…” Lana Del Rey’s Diet Mountain Dew is playing and all you can think of is how right those words are in this respect.

Another line from the song hits you: “Do you think we’ll be in love forever?” You think about how you did. You always wanted, always hoped against hope, that this would be like one of those Hollywood love stories. You’d believed his lies, even when everyone pointed them out to you. You’d given him the keys to your heart, lived to please him and in his characteristic way, he’d cut you to pieces to make himself feel good. And now, all you feel is hate, overwhelming hate. It wells up from deep within you, threatening to suffocate you. You know what you need to do: Purge him out of your system.

For the first time since the day began, you feel peace. As you make a decision, as you run through options in your head, you finally drift into a deep and dreamless sleep.

***

Monday Evening

5.30 pm

Your phone rings beside your arm as you sit there eating. You pick it up and stare at the Caller ID. Prince. When you called him in the afternoon, you didn’t believe he’d call you back. But here is his call, as unwanted as it is welcome. You answer.

“Hey Prince. What’s up?”

His voice, that voice you’d once described as reedy and irritating (commensurate with his irritating weasel looks), whines through your phone’s speakers into your ear. “Cee baby. I’m fine oh. How are you na?”

You get up from where you’re sitting at the table and walk outside so your roommates can’t overhear your call. “I’m okay sha.” Suddenly shy, you can’t bring yourself to continue the conversation, to say anything that’d keep him interested or even bely your reason for calling him earlier.

As if intuiting your thoughts, he asks, “This one you called, am I safe?”

Chuckling at the ice breaking, you coyly reply, “Yes na. I don’t bite.” Taking a deep breath, you rush on, “I just wanted to know if you were free tonight.”

“What’s going on? You want to come over?” he asks teasingly.

Suddenly tired of the entire game, you snap, “No oh. I wanted to invite you to church.” Without waiting for the barb to sink in, you continue, “Of course, I want to come over.” There’s silence on the line and you check to be sure the call is still on. Then you hear him.

“You know what’s up na. You know I want to –”

You cut in, “I know, Prince and that’s why I’m calling. Are you down or do I have to return to my novel and bed?”

And just like that, the first hook-up happens. You remember precious little about it, save that you both went at it twice that night and again in the morning before you left. And the way he attacked your lips and nipples in the name of kissing and sucking them. And the way he grunted over you like a stuck pig and fucked like a fish floundering out of water. The only useful thing you remember about the experience is his dick, how fat and long it was – much fatter and longer than your ex’s 6-and-a-half-inch dick. You remember how he’d bragged about how great he was in bed and how he’d leave you wanting more, but all he’d left you with was a singular distaste for hung brothers who didn’t know how to fuck.

Tuesday Evening

4.00 pm

You’d promised yourself that you were definitely never going to do that to yourself ever again. However, the singularly unsatisfying experience that was Prince led you to scrolling through your phone for a fresh hook-up for the night. Then you stumble on his number. Louis. One of your ex’s friends. An evil smirk grows on your face as you place the call to him and get an appointment with him for the night. The smirk doesn’t diminish all through your walk to the hostel from class.

When he finally comes to the hostel by 7 pm, you’re almost bursting with impatience. You practically fly down the staircase to meet him when he calls you, and you both make your way to his place. When you arrive, you make yourself comfortable – as comfortable as you could get in a room that dingy and tiny – and you both make small talk. Less than 20 minutes later, you’re both in each other’s arms, your lips locked, your arms around each other as you make out heavily. Practically tearing each other’s clothes off, you sink onto his mattress where you proceed to make out intensely. A few minutes later, with two of his fingers scissoring inside your twitching hole, his mouth on your left nipple and his other palm caressing your engorged dick, you know you’re ready. And you beg him to fuck you.

That is when he finally spears you with the beautiful hardness hung between his legs. More than 5 inches in circumference and just a little over 8 inches long, it is a hefty piece of man meat. And he feeds it to your hungry hole enthusiastically, fucking you like there is no tomorrow. The slapping sounds of his thighs against your buttocks is music to your ears. Your moans, rhythmically mingling with his grunts and groans, are another heavenly Morse Code. Before long, you both cry out as, almost simultaneously, you both find your release.

Just when you think he’s about to initiate the next round, he starts to talk about how much he’d always liked you and how you shouldn’t have been with your ex. About how much better you were suited to him and how he’d take care of you beyond your wildest dreams. Finally, you’ve had enough of the talk and you proceed to shush him with another mind-blowing round of sex, a feat you repeat the following morning before you leave for your hostel with a promise – which you have absolutely no intention of following up on – to call him later.

And, so another day goes.

Wednesday Evening

4.22 pm

This morning, you decide to go beyond your scope and download Grindr. With the app comes a whole new world of hook-ups and people you have no idea existed or are even gay. But you still aren’t comfortable enough to meet any of them. So, you decide to call Nnanna, a friend of a friend. And just like all the others, you both arrange to meet at his place that night. Getting back from your lectures, you quickly freshen up and get yourself some water to use the next morning. That done, you check the time and it’s 5.40 pm. Soon, it’ll be time for you to go to his place.

When it’s late enough, you plug your ears with some upbeat jams from Rihanna and Beyoncé, and walk all the way to Hilltop, his residential area. On getting there, you discover that you’ve bitten off more than you can chew this time around. Nnanna has a friend, Dave, over and they’re both intent on fucking you tonight. At first, you want to refuse, then you remember those words: You’re too frigid… Sex with you is basic…

So, you think: What the heck, man! Let me just do it.

And so, you have your first threesome ever. First, Nnanna fucks you while you slurp on Dave’s dick. Then Dave fucks you while you slurp on Nnanna’s dick. Over and over again, they switch places, till your arse is aching and sore. And they’re no closer to finding their release than you are. It is an absolutely heady experience that leaves you in the bittersweet clutch of mingled pain and pleasure. When they both finally come, you drop your spent body on the bed and drift away to sleep.

Then in the middle of the night, you feel a hand on your sore arse, applying lube on your hole. You flinch from the sudden intrusion and awaken, to find Dave astride you, attempting to fuck another load out of his system into yours. You don’t bother with the protests this time. You already know he’d still take what he wants. Better only him than both of them, you reason. And so, you get another epic banging that leaves you quivering with need as he fails to bring you to orgasm. In the morning, you wake up early to return to your normal life as a sane student.

Yet somewhere deep inside you, you know you’ve lost your sanity. It left you the day he broke your heart.

Thursday Morning

11 am

It is a three-hour lecture, and you try to keep your attention focused on the class as you check your WhatsApp. You see that Dera is chatting you up. You divide your attention between the chat and your lecture and you’re finally grateful when class is over. You tell him you’re done with class, and he surprises you with an invitation to visit him by 2 that afternoon. You hurry to your hostel to prep for what is sure to be another wild time of hot, unchecked sex. When you’re done, you begin the long walk to his place.

Getting there, what you get is all you bargained for. Dera not only has a sizeable dick but is also quite skilled at its use. Too quickly, you both are done and by 7 pm, it’s time for you to leave. Your head is filled with images, memories and thoughts you’d give your life to avoid.

So instead of confronting them, you look through your Grindr app and find a hook-up barely half a kilometre away from you. You quickly secure yourself an invite, and thirty minutes later (time you used to find and eat dinner), you’re at his place, the Grindr hook-up who’d introduced himself to you as Izu.

The night turns out to be an epic disaster. From his no kissing rule to his impersonal way of fucking, his absolute insensitivity to your needs during sex, you’re oddly reminded of your ex. They both have so much in common: an over-bloated sense of self, an annoying narcissism, a selfish worldview and the appalling feeling that they’re the best thing since sliced bread. Izu may be brawnier than your ex, but he is Ralph through and through.

By the time the night is over, you feel absolutely disgusted with yourself and when morning comes, you rush back to your hostel to wash off the stain of Izu’s overwhelmingly Ralph-ish persona from your skin.

Friday Evening

6.00 pm

The strange number calls for the third time and out of a combination of irritation, frustration and anger, you answer the call and holler, “Hello. Who is this?”

There is a pause. Then, you hear his voice. The bastard, Frank. The same fucktard who’d crept behind your back and fucked your boyfriend. The asshole who told you how your boyfriend had gasped and moaned like a bitch in heat while he rode his dick.

“I learnt you’ve become a cheerful giver, Cee,” his mocking tones reach your ear. “Won’t you come and give me my share?”

Anger, red hot and blistering, fills you up and a rush of terrible things to say to him fill your head, stretching to the tip of your tongue. However, you have only one prevailing thought: Fuck this bastard up. Give him a taste of your venom.

So, you smile and reply, “When and where?”

His answering laugh fills your ear as he reels off his address, in some remote corner of the school’s staff quarters, and tells you to be there by 8 pm.

You end the call and go to freshen up. When you’re done, you do a few stretches in your room, to loosen up your muscles. Next, you do the split and Egyptian grip and then, you’re ready. When it is almost 7.30 pm, you start to walk to his house, as usual, carrying nothing save your phone and the clothes you have on.

You arrive at his place and without wasting any time, you get down to business. Already, you are sorely disappointed at the shrivelled 5-inch piece of wrinkled meat he calls a dick.

So, this is what my ‘exclusive top’ of a boyfriend was squealing over, you muse within yourself.

When you are ready for him, you mount him and he laughs again, calling you a bitch in heat. You laugh silently within, feeling a curl of pleasure at the imminence of your payback.

When he is fully encased within you, you begin. With undulating waist movements and a vice-like grip of your channel on his dick, you stretch into a split and proceed to fuck his lights out. Before long, he spurts into the condom his dick is sheathed in. You do this to him thrice that night with just one final twist the last time: you ensure you unhinge his waist in the most painless way possible. Laughing in your head at your final decisive move, you lie down to sleep, knowing full well that he wouldn’t be walking for at least a week while waiting for his pelvis to heal.

In the morning, on your way back to your hostel, you laugh out loud as you recall the bewildered look on Frank’s face as he attempted to get up from the bed to lock his door behind you. That choked scream of pain when he tried to get up from the bed rings through your head, and you welcome it with savage pleasure.

“What did you do to me?” he had gasped at you.

And you’d shrugged and said as you picked up your clothes, “Merely showed you what a proper bitch in heat can do.”

***

Days later, you look back at the events of the past two weeks, and the alarming number of guys you’ve run through in the space of fourteen days.

Prince, Louis, Nnanna, Dave, Dera, Izu and Frank. There were also Josh, Francis, Bethel, Victor, Femi, Akpan, Osas, Ovie and Paschal. There’d been a foursome with you, Ejo two girls, Bola and Christabel, where Ejo had fucked you and Bola, and – most alarmingly – you had fucked Christabel. You’d never considered yourself bisexual, but this breakup seems to have done a number on your psyche, more damage than you realised at first.

You know, deep within you, that all this sex is meaningless – as meaningless as the love you thought you shared with Ralph.

Sitting alone at the table in your room, you examine yourself. And you find that the gaping, festering sore that is your heart is still the same way it was after Ralph ripped it apart. And you know for certain that you are broken, broken beyond repair. For the first time in two weeks, you realize something. Sex won’t heal you. Getting back at the man who destroyed you won’t heal you. Lying to yourself that you’re okay won’t heal you.

And you do not know what will heal you. You know the path you should not take, but you do not know the path you should take. For now, all you know is the love and loathing you have for the man who broke you.

You are my business, my curse, my pleasure and my life, you think of Ralph. Your love. Your ex. The man who made and broke you.

He is all you know. And so, for all intents and purposes, you are stuck on broken.

Written by Mitch