Fiction Story: Just His Backup Love, Never Main

He wants to make me his boomerang lover. Yes o. His boomerang lover. Let me gist you on what I mean by this.

You see… we met when we were 15. His mother and my aunt were both immigrant women who were forced to take on new careers in nursing, as their peers popularly did. Apparently one aunty convinced all incoming Nigerian women that the only prospect they have in a career is nursing. Therefore, these women decided to forge such a difficult and new path at the tender age of 44. The repercussion of this was their children – me and Him – having to then unofficially enroll in the nursing program as their God-given tutors. 

This is how we bonded. My aunt was typically strict and did not believe in the notion of teenage girls having friends of the male persuasion. But, she allowed our friendship grow since we were after all collaborating to help them pass their nursing board exams. 

I thought he was a weird child. He was socially awkward and didn’t quite understand how to bond with his loud mother. Having only spent 3 years in the US, I was baffled by how much contempt he was allowed to show his mom openly. The first month we spent time together, I quickly categorized him as another spoiled child. However, I needed friends and I was in no position to be highly selective. Everyday he would arrive with his mom, and we would both be tasked to complete their nursing assignments while they gossiped chatted. Two hours, five days a week for about two years added up to an unexpected friendship. I am calling it friendship now, but back then it felt like wild, secret love. We’d muse about BET’s 106 & Park, the tragedy of Destiny’s Child breaking up, possibilities of being able to live freely. Anything.

In our final days of high school, with prom approaching, I summoned the courage to ask the boy that I thought was in love with me to be my date. How many girls could he be spending that much time with over the years? How many girls knew about his waning relationship with his father? How many girls knew that he was secretly contemplating detaching from his family completely after graduating? Before I could finish my inquiry, he interrupted me with a squeal of joy. “Mia, just said I could be her prom date”. 

The foolish goat. 

He knew he was the only one I’d ever go on a date with. He knew he was the only boy I could go on a date with. He also knew that I wanted him. He searched my face for a reaction, but I had none to offer. As with the other men that subtly disappointed me (father, uncles, male cousins), I knew I would have to mentally file him away in the “idiot” folder. 

That was the third time I experienced what it was like for people to feel their heart in their throats. He went off to college and forgot me. I naively believed that his plan for detachment excluded me. 

Two years after graduating university, it appears we both had the bright idea of returning back home. I bumped into the boy at my aunty’s function. I could see that he found it in his heart to manage a relationship with his mother. He locked eyes with me and I saw a hint of excitement, but my face could not hide the stain of rejection he left me. Three hours later, he managed to take me down a lovely trip on memory lane. He asked me if I pursued music just like I told him I would. He asked me if I attended a Maxwell concert like I wanted. He asked me about all the plans I confided in him. He asked me about all the tiny details that once made me feel like he loved me. Once I found myself gushing, I stopped the conversation abruptly and found a reason to escape the party. 

He caught me in the parking lot. He confessed that he was indeed foolish in high school and did not want to admit to having a reason not to completely detach. The speech unfortunately resonated with me and I immediately unfastened all the chains I put on my heart and let the boy in. We would go on to add a new layer to our relationship – a sexual one. We were children in the past and didn’t dare violate my aunt’s strict rules on commingling. But we were full-fledged adults with autonomy and we expressed this through dangerously passionate and repeated sex sessions. I had been a doubter of the terminology “soul ties”, but in those moments, I knew he was solidifying the rope that tied us with each stroke. 

Two weeks later he admits to me that he had been in an off-and-on relationship with his girlfriend from college and he needed to tie some loose ends. But I just knew that surely what we shared could never be compared to whatever he had with said girlfriend. He told me he would make it clear that he could not be with her. We forged ahead and made plans to visit a tropical island to commemorate our rekindled love. I had to catch a flight earlier than him due to his work schedule. As soon as I land on the island, I receive a text message saying that he had to follow his heart and get back together with college girlfriend. 

Foolish goat. 

I spent my days on the sunny island drowning in tears, drinking tears, and berating myself for trusting the boy. 

Two years later, my aunty innocently updated me that the boy and girl were set to wed and the wedding would be beautiful now that the entire family is on one accord. I, the girl who knew the emotional and mental struggle the boy had with relating with his family members, would have to hear about this as an outsider. 

I would go on to follow every crucial detail of the wedding festivities through various friends’ accounts on social media. I would watch the engagement party speeches, I would stalk his future wife’s bridal shower shenanigans. Any toxic and detrimental behavior that one’s ex should stay away from, I was a major participant. 

After wallowing and accepting that the boy did not want me, therapy and church would help me heal. But the injury to my heart would never completely heal. My heart refused to completely heal, because pain always served as a powerful way to remember him. 

His marriage of 4 years has now crumbled and he has now reached out to me to tell me that I am the only woman he ever truly loved. He is my living room gathering himself after he wept like a cow in labor. The foolish goat looks pathetic, but I have to admit that I still love him. As I stare at myself in my bathroom mirror in judgment and disgust that I would still look at this man with softness, I am wondering if I can use him for sex. I would like to use him like an animal since this is how he presents himself to me time and time again. Is there a chance that I will end up hurting myself? Yes. 

It is finally my turn to play with his heart, and why not now when he is very fragile?