THE ART OF COMPLETING A CYCLE

The Breaking of Boy

She is my first love. She is light-skinned. Her boobs are large and round. Her lips are plump. Her scent is pristine, and her dresses make all her features obvious: her rounded hips, her thick legs. 

She loves me too and does not stop talking about it. Her friends know my three names because I am in most conversations within the group. Some stalk me on Facebook at midnight. A mistake like reaction betrays them. 

In bed, she looks at me as though there is gold in my eyes. And when I look away, she pulls my face around her and stares into my soul again before whispering how beautiful I am. Beautiful boy. Marry me. 

There are no clues that she is cheating on me, except a constant nudge to go through her phone. I resist it at first, and for a few days. But on a Tuesday night in September, a few days before our anniversary, I pick up her phone and hesitantly unlock it. She is asleep beside me. The password is my birth year. 

I open her WhatsApp. As I swipe through messages,  my heart gallops much faster and my breathing grows more audible. She is sleeping with four guys. One of them knows about me. He is a man in his forties, judging from his appearance. He doesn’t type in full. His messages to her are short. Ok. Yes. Nice. That’s about it. But she seems to like him the most. She spends weekends at his place, making him food and sleeping with him. I can tell why he is her favourite. He sends her a lot of money and surprises her with gifts every now and then.  

I do not confront my girlfriend about my findings just yet. But when I do, she turns it around and accuses me of invading her privacy. She blames me for making her cheat. She says it’s because I do not have time for her, and I do not give her any gifts. 

I am young, and so I apologise and promise to do better. She scoffs and walks away. That is the last time I see her. 

The Breaking of a Girl

I get into another relationship shortly after my ex ghosts me. The new girl is great at holding conversations. She is, however, not very good-looking in my eyes. She visits me during the weekends and leaves when I am tired of being around her. 

I do not plan to fall in love with her, but it happens shortly after she gifts me a collection of books. They are romantic books, and each time I sit to read, I remember just how she looks at me. 

When I ask her to be my girlfriend, she chuckles and says she thought I’d never ask. What took you so long? she laughs. Yes, jare. I will be your girlfriend. 

The relationship is fairly enjoyable, except for moments when I am too poor to enjoy breathing. During these times, I blame her for everything happening in my life. If she coughs, I say her misfortune has stained my destiny brown. And when she apologises, I say that her apologies make me worse. 

Then, one day, I wake up to her crying in the middle of the night. She has my phone in her hands. I do not have to ask why she is crying. I know. 

“Who is Titi?” she mutters. 

I do not answer. But Titi is a girl from across the street, whose behind is like the back of a Mercedes car. She bumped into me a few days ago and has since been frequently at my place, pulling me into sin. 

“I asked who Titi is.”

“I don’t know.”

“Then why is her vagina on your phone?”

The Breaking of Another Man

At least eleven months have passed since my first love left. I am single again. I meet a girl on Facebook. Her profile is littered with love quotes, and she tags her boyfriend in all of these quotes. She tells him he is the love of her life, and that nothing would come between them. 

I text her for the first time on a Friday, and by Saturday, she is at my place. I fix her lunch, and it happens. She prepares to sleep over. Her boyfriend calls by sunset. She raises her index finger and places it against her lips, hinting that I should be quiet. 

Her boyfriend feels off. He knows something is wrong and requests a video call. She tells him her network is horrible and ends the call. I do not look at her face. She begins to irk me, but the penis of a horny man knows no irks. 

We keep seeing each other. Then one Thursday evening, a friend of her boyfriend spots her around my street. Her boyfriend calls to find out where she is, and so I have to help her lie. I have her tell him she is at church, rehearsing with me. He does not believe her. He tells her to give him directions to the church. She does. When the boyfriend arrives, she really is sitting beside me on the piano, rehearsing. 

The boyfriend shakes my hand and tells me he’s always wanted to learn how to play the piano. I laugh it off. She introduces us. I tell him I have heard a lot about him, and that his girlfriend loves him more than every breath she takes. He giggles and asks to see her outside. There, he would squeeze some money into her hands and offer her an apology. 

She has a bright smile on when she walks inside. We have our last sleepover that night before I send the boyfriend an anonymous message, hinting that his girlfriend is cheating. I leave cues impossible to doubt. A week passes, and I see his post on Facebook. He is in tears. Just like I was.

The cycle is complete. 

Ubong Johnson is a budding medical doctor and storyteller from Nigeria. His works have appeared in Fantasy Magazine, African Writer Magazine, Fiction Niche, and others. He writes from Uyo, Nigeria.