Chapter 39
39
My chest is pounding. I feel as though I’m having a heart attack.
This cannot be happening .
EX-GIRLFRIEND WRITES REVENGE BOOK ABOUT THE VILLA ’S VILLAIN
How the fuck did this end up on The Tea Lounge? My brain cannot take in what I’m seeing.
There’s a screenshot of my press release and the announcement I tweeted and—
FUCK!
It’s a video taken at the Clapham house party.
Bile rises as I unmute the recording with a trembling thumb.
‘How can you pick a stupid dating show over me?!’ I’m yelling.
Wale and I are arguing at the bottom of the stairwell, surrounded by dozens of people holding up their phones. We’re just like one of those toxic couples that you see on those trashy reality shows. My heart stings at how incriminating this looks. The video paints Wale in a very negative light, everything people expect him to be: a time-waster, an F-boy, a liar. Finally, it ends with Wale running after me followed by a smattering of laughter.
‘Fuck. This is bad.’ Suddenly, I feel light-headed.
Shona grabs my hand. ‘I’m so sorry, hun. Someone at the party must have tipped them off.’
‘I need to go.’
‘Wait!’ But I’m already running out of the store, my bag smacking hard against my side. I need to get to Wale before he sees this. I dial his number.
Come on , come on , come on .
‘Hey, babe. You all right?’ He clearly has no idea what’s going on.
‘Wale, where are you? I need to talk to you in person.’ I go from running to power walking to running again. I can see a bus stop in the distance.
‘I’m at home. You sound flustered. Is everything okay?’
‘Don’t worry about me. I’ll explain everything when I see you. Can we talk asap?’
‘Sure. Where should I pick you up?’
‘Text me your address. I’ll come to you. We can talk in your car. Oh, and Wale, before I go, promise me something?’
‘Yeah, sure. What is it?’
‘Please don’t go on any social media. Please.’
I end the call before he can ask any questions. I’m wracked with worry by the time I reach the bus stop. The few seconds I wait for the bus are agonizing. I check Uber. Luckily, there’s one close by. I book it immediately. The minute wait feels like an hour.
In the taxi, I hold back hot tears. My mind is racing. What if Greg catches wind of it? What if he tells Wale?
I get out my phone again. I have hundreds of notifications – shiiit . The post on The Tea Lounge now has over 8,000 likes. Unable to resist, I scroll through the comments.
j3zzi3 So, the guy only went on The Villa for clout! What a loser!
camhi_rose THIS is what I call karma! Yass, girl! Secure the bag!
draya_1994 Hm that’s Wale’s ex, yeah? No offence but Kelechi is way finer
sweetlolly Wale is what’s wrong with Black men today. That man does not respect Black women! KMT
brusque_key Ahh, so Wale likes his women thick THICK
ricosmooth Dayum! She was punching above her weight, no? (No pun intended)
I swat a tear away with the back of my sleeve. I’ve spent nearly my entire life as a plus-size, curvy woman. I know what that comes with. The fat jokes, the fat-shaming, the stares. I’ve experienced it all. And this is why, strangely, I’m much better equipped to handle public critique.
Because I’m never blindsided.
But Wale will be.
The car stops outside a tired-looking maisonette, the curtains drawn. I scramble out of the car and stand on the opposite side of the road.
I ring him. ‘Hey, I’m outside your house … Hello? Hello?’ I lower my phone. He hung up.
A surge of panic soars through me as his front door swings open. Wale takes long, quick strides towards me, his jaw tight.
‘What the fuck is this?’ He thrusts his phone in my face.
‘Wale, I can explain.’ My voice comes out a strangled cry.
‘What is there to explain, Temi? You lied to me! Kojo was right. You’ve been using me the entire time.’
‘No, it’s not what it looks like!’ There’s a rawness in my voice. I have to make him listen to me. I have to.
‘So, you didn’t write a book called The Ultimate Payback , then?’
I squeeze my eyes shut. ‘Yes. But I wrote it for myself. To help process our break-up. No one was meant to see it—’
‘Then how the fuck did it get out?’ His voice is harsh. I’ve never seen him this hurt.
I force myself to take a breath. There’s no way I can spin it. ‘I sent Mayee the manuscript,’ I admit in a quiet voice. ‘Wale, I was scared she was going to drop me.’
Aghast, Wale puts his hands behind his head. ‘You’re fucking unbelievable, you know that.’
‘I didn’t think anything would come from it,’ I cry. ‘I literally wrote the book in four weeks; my manuscript was probably riddled with plot holes. I sent it to Mayee to appease her, that’s all. I genuinely didn’t think that Dionne would love it. I feel awful.’
Wale shakes his head, his face contoured with disbelief. I’m not getting through to him. He’s too hurt.
‘Wale, I’m so sorry.’
He spits out a mirthless laugh.
‘I swear on my life, I was going to back out. I’ll call Mayee now and tell her I can no longer go through with it.’
There’s a sore hoarseness to my voice. How do you convince someone of your intentions? It’s almost impossible. I wish I had some sort of physical evidence, like a drafted email or voicemail. If only I could rip out my heart so that he can see my emotions, raw.
Across the street, a man walking his dog slows down to watch.
‘Temi, you don’t get it, do you?’ Wale chokes out. ‘You lied. To my face. You will do anything to get published. Anything. And I went out of my way to do all those nice things for you …’ His voice cracks. ‘God, I’m so stupid.’
‘I can give you back the laptop—’
‘You really don’t get it, do you?’ he says.
I’ve never seen him this angry. His anger is always contained. I’ve wronged him – he’s livid – and I don’t know how to make it right.
‘Everything okay there?’ the man with the dog says.
I suddenly become aware of my surroundings – another man has stopped in his tracks and there’s an older woman watching from her balcony. All it takes is one person with a phone and history will repeat itself.
‘Wale. People are watching. Let’s go to your car and talk.’
‘ Talk? ’ Wale looks at me, incredulous. ‘This –’ he jabs at his phone – ‘tells me everything that I need to know.’ And then his face crumples. Tears begin to well. ‘I’ve been pouring my heart out to you, Temi,’ he says. ‘Why would you do me like that?’
‘Wale!’
The sound of a Nigerian female voice slices through the air. Wale’s mum is standing by his front door, clutching her paper-thin nightgown to her chest. Seeing her in the flesh almost pushes a feral cry out of my throat.
‘I have to go,’ he says, his voice drained.
He turns to leave and, in one last desperate attempt, I grab his wrist. He stares down at my hand.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I whisper. ‘I promise you, I’ll fix this.’
I don’t know what I expect him to say. How can he respond when his worst fears have come to pass? And I’m the reason.
Wale says nothing. He pulls back his hand and walks away.