Scars (Romola 2)

49: Story for the Gods

Romola swallowed her tear but it lodged in her throat. She reached for the bottle and she drowned more water. Water was supposed to be tasteless but she tasted the bitterness of unshed tears and unfinished dreams. She set the bottle on the table and picked the serviette again.

"I can't tell what your relationship with him was but I think he genuinely cared about you."

Romola tore the rest of the serviette to bits. "It doesn't matter now."

"Look, I can't tell you how to live your life‐"

Romola's phone blared, cutting Vicky off.

"Excuse me." Romola pulled her phone out of her jean trousers.

MOM: Ejor, my dear. Please don't send money to the account I sent earlier. Please send it to Sunbo's account.

Romola hissed, turning the phone face down on the table. This was the reason she had never wanted to tell her mother about her dancing job. The leeches in her family would find a way to suck the money off her one way or the other. It was her money for her to spend on herself alone. Selfish, maybe. But at least, all of her needs were provided for and she didn't place an extra burden on the family.

"Is everything okay?"

"What?"

"You look angry."

"It's nothing." Romola took another sip of the water as she crossed her legs underneath the table. "Can I ask you something else?"

"Yes."

Romola sighed. "This may be awkward but, what was my relationship with Olumide like?"

"I can't say. You lived in his house for a week."

"I want to know what gave him the impression that I wanted to steal his money."

Silence stretched between both women as Victoria ate her ice cream and Romola drank her water. She took long sips as she mulled over her last conversation with Olumide. Why would she want his money? She's been working for hers. She didn't even depend on the money her mother gave her but those leaked nudes had wrecked her chances at Nkechi's dance group.

She'd nearly emptied her bottle water when Victoria rose, slinging her bag across her right shoulder. "Can I give you a ride?"

"No. You don't have to." Romola got on her feet.

"It's past six. I can't imagine you jumping buses at this time."

Romola hid a smile under a cough. Jumping buses was her routine and as long as it wasn't past 11pm, commercial buses could take her to some select places in the city. "It is not necessary. I mean, you are already paid for the food."

"Water isn't food."

"My secondary school Home Econs teacher would tell you something else."

Vicky let out a small laughter. "I'll just remind her that I'm a doctor. Do you know that some people try to survive on water alone? And they're not even fasting."

"Hmm. That's nothing. I heard of a model that wanted to survive on air. AIR"

The conversation steered from air to the different types of diet available for weight loss. They walked side by side until they got outside to the grape green jeep. Victoria's car stood alone. There was no endless entourage of black police cars and jeeps with tinted glasses. No bodyguard either.

Benjamin had to be wrong. Victoria was no senator's daughter. Just a really pleasant woman with a fast-paced method of speaking. Romola smiled at Vicky as she slid into the passenger seat in front. She liked the easy-going nature of the woman when they were not talking about Olumide. The words flowed like they were long time friends reuniting after a long break.

"Do you mind? I like to listen to the radio while driving."

"I don't. This is your car."

She remembered a time when Yetunde and herself would argue about what song to play in the cab on the way to campus. Sometimes, she wished she could go back to the days when she lived young and carefree but Yetunde's presence soiled those memories. Green snakes, like her, hid until after their first bite.

Victoria's finger fiddled with the radio button.

The radio came to life with a deep Igbo-accented female voice. "Hmm. Today on Story For The Gods."

"Oh. I love this show,. Do you follow it?"

Romola shook her head. Listening to the radio was her mother's thing. Instagram used to be her thing until her father hijacked her phone. Since then, she spent her free time plotting how else to make her life better. She couldn't even name the most popular evening shows on television today. Lydia, her room mate, had suggested that they all contribute to buy a small TV but the plan fell apart when Chioma raised the question of who would take the television when they decided to move.

Vicky raised the volume of the radio. "I listen to this almost every evening."

The woman was so free and open. So full of life. She found joy in the littlest of things. No wonder Olumide choose her rather than someone with a murky past and a poor family. And if she was really a senator's daughter. That was an added advantage.

"So, Walter, do you know the gist I heard today. Some people are now turning their Instagram page to porn site.''

"Ehn. Jesus!" The Co-Host replied.

"It is trending on twitter. Matthew Ajayi, A man who earns his living by selling nude pictures of girls and women."

"What is this world coming to?"

"I don't know oh. What is the difference between this and Suxy's latest music?"

"The naked girls in the video were paid to appear like that. I doubt those girls in Matthew's picture are receiving commission."

"Don't be too sure. Are there not girls who willingly date Yahoo boys? There is no justification for what he does."

"Hmm. Anyways, we'll discuss more as we go on. International news is next story for the gods."

The sound of the news host's voice faded into the background as Romola's brain began to pick apart what she had just heard. In what world was it acceptable to sell another person's private pictures? Revulsion hit her as her mind dwelt on the name Matthew Ajayi. That name. Why did it sound familiar?

Matthew Ajayi?

Matthew?

Wasn't that the name of the account she sent money to a few days ago? Or was it Matthew Adeyi?

She grabbed her phone and scrolled down her messages list till she arrived at the last debit transaction to a personal account. The name boldly written was MATTHEW AJAYI.

Romola's mouth dropped. How? It couldn't be the same man? It had to be someone else with a similar name. Her mother wouldn't let her send some money to someone as nefarious as that. Not while Mama Toyin lived beside Mama Nelson. The name struck a louder bell.

Matthew Ajayi. That was Jide's friend. The tall skinny boy with sunken dark eyes who looked like he was always high. His mother sold Akara at the street behind their house. She had warned Jide to stay away from him. The only thing in his empty head were sex jokes. And they weren't funny.

Romola bit her lips. How? How would her mother tell her to send money to this cursed boy?

Something clicked in her head. Like the last piece of a domino puzzle. Jide had told her that his friends wanted more pictures of her.