Shattered Illusions
38
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“Is it because you’re being paid more? You’ve become more rude and stubborn since—Oh… You think you are those ladies touting themselves as feminists on social media? See, you’ll end up without a man.”
His words hit me like a barrage of blows, each one leaving a fresh mark on my already wounded heart.
“You’ll end up without a man because no man wants a woman that can’t put her head down. You that should be selling peppersoup somewhere in Lagos, you’re jumping flight up and down, showing yourself.”
As his words continue pouring out, the room becomes increasingly suffocating. I stand completely frozen, unable to speak with all the crazy emotions going on inside me. Anger, shock, hurt—they all fight for dominance, creating a storm of conflicting feelings within me.
I open my mouth to respond, to defend myself, but the words won’t come. It’s as if his accusations have robbed me of my ability to articulate my feelings. Why is he questioning my intentions, my character, in such a cruel manner?
“You’re so blinded by money and success that you’ve lost sight of who you really are,” he spits out. “You think you’re better than everyone just because you’re earning more? You’ve changed, Fifi, you’ve changed. And not for the better.”
His words are a barrage of accusations that I can barely comprehend. The man I’ve loved and shared my life with is tearing me apart with words. Every insult feels like a dagger to my soul, leaving me wounded and bleeding inside.
“I’ll say it again; You’re selfish and arrogant,” he continues, his voice dripping with disdain. “You don’t care about anyone else’s feelings, only your own desires and ambitions. And now you’re trying to control me, telling me where I should go, what I should do. So dumb and foolish, you couldn’t even be patient with me to confirm if I wanted to go to the beach. You just jumped to conclusions.”
Is this what he’s been feeling all this time? Has he been harboring these thoughts about me? Tears gather in my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me crumble under his verbal assault. I stand tall, my spine straight, and my gaze fixed on a point beyond him. I will not let his words define me.
His words keep coming, a relentless onslaught that includes him questioning my values, my character, and even my love for him. It’s as if he’s determined to strip away every layer of my identity until there’s nothing left but this distorted version of who I am.
I clench my fists, my nails digging into my palms, as I struggle to maintain my composure. I want to defend myself, to fight back against his accusations, but the venom in his words leaves me speechless.
When he finally falls silent, his chest heaving with anger, I find my voice. “Is this how you really see me?” I ask, hating that my voice is trembling. “Is this what you think of me, after everything we’ve been through?”
He meets my gaze, his eyes still ablaze with anger, but I can see a flicker of uncertainty beneath the surface. I see a hint of regret, but it’s overshadowed by his wounded pride. I know that this argument has unearthed something deeper within him, something he’s struggled with but never voiced.
“We’ve not been through anythin g together. Let’s face it, you’ve been doing your own thing for a long time now, only using me as your emotional support.”
“I thought we were partners,” I say, my voice steadier now. “I thought we were a team, supporting each other through thick and thin. But by the way you’re talking to me… you’re not the man I fell in love with.”
He opens his mouth, as if to respond, but then he stops. Even a fool knows that when words are said to inflict wounds there will be shattered illusions and consequences.
See how easy it was for you to say those things!
The anger I had been suppressing surges and I have a feeling it’ll consume me. That I’ll regret whatever I’ll say. I’ll become just like him. With these thoughts in mind, I swallow my words, my fists clenching at my sides. I won’t let myself be reduced to trading insults in the heat of the moment. Our relationship deserves better than that.
Instead, I turn away from him, my gaze fixed on a point on the wall. Silence stretches between us, heavy and suffocating. I need time to process what he’s said, to understand where his anger is coming from.
This is too much. Way too much. I need to gather my thoughts. Blinking stubborn tears away, my gaze catch my unfinished packed bag and I recall that I have a flight to catch. Ignoring him, I mechanically resume packing my bag struggling to block out the echo of his words in my head.
Yikes, the shock of this confrontation stings. It’s showing the huge cracks that have formed in our relationship. I pause, taking a deep breath, not wanting to look at Special to know what he’s doing.
G-Ben’s words from long ago becomes loud and clear in my head and understanding dawns on me, “When people are in love, they go through up and downs. If they share the downs with you and want to remain in the situation, you respect it, mind your business, and be there for them.”
Is this the type of up and down G-Ben was talking about? I can’t even call him to ask. It’s so heartbreaking to know that someone I’ve been burning a candle for treats me this way. Sees me as nothing but, but—It’s unfair!
Done packing, I drag my luggage to the living room. Special doesn’t look up from his phone. He left me in the room a while ago, I didn’t even know when .
Staring at him, his words resound in my head, suffocating me as I stand there, trying to process what transpired. I swear, I think I’m still in shock, because my mind is racing to catch up with the harsh reality that unfolded moments ago. How did we go from laughter and love to this?
“Um, Spesh?”
He looks up, brows raised.
“I’m ready.”
He stands up, smoothing his hand on his trouser. “Okay,” he nods. “Um, I just realized I agreed to play football with the guys this evening, can you book a ride to the airport? Besides, I need to go and drop the rental car before the time elapses—it’s in the opposite direction.”
Oh… I nod slowly, pulling out my phone. “Would you be riding with me?”
“Do you—I don’t think that’s necessary. The game is along the same direction with the car drop off.”
I bite down on my lower lip, willing myself not to cry, but the tears escape anyway. They trickle down my cheeks, silent witnesses to the pain I’m feeling.
How did I miss these signs? How did I not see the cracks forming beneath the surface of our relationship? I chastise myself for being so blinded by love that I failed to recognize the warning signs.
“Are you okay?”
I wipe away my tears angrily, frustrated with myself for being so vulnerable and for letting him see my pain. But the floodgates have opened, and I can’t hold back the torrent of emotions that are rushing to the surface. I take a shaky breath, my hands trembling at my sides.
Stop crying. Don’t let him see how much his words have affected you. Stop it—stop crying.
But the tears keep coming. Offering a watery smile and a sniffle, I nod rapidly. “Of course.”
Glancing at the clock, I realize I might miss my flight to Dublin if we continue at this pace. I don’t want to be that lady stuck in a foreign airport with a broken heart. Yet, I don’t want to leave with things being like this.
“So…” I prompt.
“You can book your ride,” he sa ys, as if the argument we’ve just had is inconsequential, as if my pain means nothing to him.
That—that is a crushing blow. The final nail on the coffin of our crumbling relationship. Who is this stranger? Who is this man? I won’t beg. I won’t push. If he thinks I’ll beg him for crumbs of his affection, newsflash! I’m tired!
Turning away from him, angry tears blur my vision as I grab my bag and head for the door. I can’t stay here any longer, not in a place that feels so toxic and hostile. I need to get away, to find a space where I can try to make sense of what the hell just happened.
As I step out of the apartment, I try to steady my breathing, but the tears keep coming. My heart keeps breaking.
I sigh, pressing my lips together when the lover girl in me takes the wheel—why didn’t he hold me back from leaving the room? If he’d told me to stay so we can resolve these issues, I would have cancelled my flight in a heartbeat. Why didn’t he apologize for the lipstick? Why didn’t he—maybe if I wait here a little longer, he’ll come out and get me. He’ll even fall to his knees, apologizing.
The blaring sound of a car’s horn brings me back to reality. Angry at myself, I struggle to pull out my phone to book a ride.
I hiss—the least he could have done was to book my ride to the airport.