Oxygen 3

There was something shameful about being rejected.

I felt it again as I walked down the stairs, the weight of it heavier this time. I was always in my head, wrapped in my thoughts, but for some reason, today, I was sure it wasn’t just me imagining it. The stares, the whispers, the way people shifted their eyes as I walked past. I could almost hear them, even though no one spoke: There she goes. Alone again.

Read Part Two Here. 

They were mocking me and I just knew it, laughing at me in their heads because I couldn't hear it. It felt like my chest was being squeezed tighter with each step.

I had walked up those stairs with Maduka, his arm around my waist—once we were sure Staniel was no longer watching us, his laugh so warm it made me feel like I mattered again—like I was someone worth having in the spotlight once more. But now, walking back down, it felt different. Alone. It felt like the universe was showing me just how foolish I had been to believe anything different.

I was no one special, it's why he always leaves. 

I gripped my arms tighter, hoping no one would notice my hands shaking. How disgraceful it was, to walk up with a boy and return alone, like some unwanted shadow. 

Worse still, he was now downstairs, flirting with a girl who laughed so loudly, the sound felt like a slap to my already bruised heart. Were they taunting me, mocking me. Did he whisper in her ears Here comes the party clown?

I used to wonder why women acted that way around him, but now? I didn't blame them. He was Maduka Nndo, aka "Sorry," the TikTok sensation, the boy whose music had taken over Nigerian radio for three entire months. Every girl wanted him. And he could have anyone, anytime. He didn’t need me.

He's never needed me. Not when he was just the Senior Maduka back in secondary school and certainly not now that he's Sorry. 

I tried so hard to be a feminist, to think better of women—to not feel competitive, to not feel bitter. But with Maduka, it was impossible sometimes.

Women really wanted him and they could get shameless about it. Rude about it. 

Like somehow they just knew I was just some main chick and not even the one. I was not his one. 

As if the universe itself was mocking me, Arya Starr’s Beggie Beggie started playing in the background, the beat pulsing in my chest, forcing me to hear it even though every part of me wanted to drown it out. And then—of course—Maduka’s eyes met mine. It wasn’t a glance. It wasn’t a passing look. No. We locked eyes, and for a long, drawn-out moment, I felt like maybe there was something still there, some flicker of recognition, something… meaningful. But then, just as quickly, she returned. The girl with the irritating loud laughter. The one who had taken my place long before I even realized he'd traded me out. She kissed him, pulling his attention away from me in one swift movement, and I was left standing on the stairs, abandoned in my own mind.

But of course, he wasn’t cheating. This wasn't cheating. We weren’t even together. Convenient, isn’t it?

"Oh no. Not again, Es." Stan’s voice cut through the haze, sharp with concern, and suddenly, I was aware of the tears in my eyes. When had I started crying? How long had I been walking around, a mess of raw emotions and damp cheeks, only to have it be on full display for everyone to see?

The height of disgrace. 

I tried to smile, tried to push it away, but the tears didn’t stop. They just kept coming, flowing down my face, faster than I could wipe them away. Stan saw, though. He always saw.

"Come with me." His voice softened as he grabbed my hand, pulling me away from the crowd.

We stumbled into one of the guest bathrooms in the Nndo mansion, and I collapsed onto the toilet seat, exhausted, as if the weight of the world had suddenly come crashing down on my shoulders.

Something about tonight felt defining, in a way that frightened me. 

"Look at your fucking eyes, girlfriend!" Stan’s words cut through my silence. His tone was harsh, but I could tell he was trying to make me see, make me wake up to the reality I refused to face. "Please. Just stop this. The third option, okay? I didn’t say go create a fourth one, go be alone with him. You said you’d be fine. Do you look fine?"

I didn’t answer right away. I couldn’t. The lump in my throat wouldn’t let me speak. I felt so ashamed. Exhausted. 

Why do I keep letting him do this to me. Why do I keep staying. 

Why. 

Why? 

"I just… I don’t get it, Stan. Why don’t I matter enough to him? Why can’t I just be enough?"

"Because he doesn’t care about you, Es." His voice softened, but there was no gentleness in his words, just the raw truth of it. "He doesn’t give a shit about you. And deep down, you know that too. You know it."

"But he says he loves me," I whispered, the words tasting bitter on my tongue, as if they weren’t even mine.

"He says a lot of things. We were on the same football team for an entire year, I should know." Stan stepped closer, his eyes locked on mine, unrelenting. "And besides, I say I hate you. Look, right here young lady, I hate you." He jabbed a finger at my chest, not with malice, but with an urgency. "But is that true? Is it? No, I don’t hate you. And he doesn’t love you, even though he says it. Words are just words, Es. His actions? His actions hurt you. Over and over again. His words don’t mean shit when he keeps doing this to you."

The air in my lungs felt thinner, as if I had forgotten how to breathe properly. I couldn’t even speak.

I nodded quietly. Stan could say it. Stan could tell me the truth. But why did it still hurt so much? Why did the words still feel like glass shards in my chest?

Felt sharper than they'd ever felt, like a realization was finally rearing its head in my conscious. 

Stan pulled out a set of wet wipes from his bag and gently wiped my eyes. His touch was soft, but the sting from the truth didn’t fade. It didn’t go away.

Stan’s phone rang in the specific ringtone for Tolu. He didn’t even look at the screen, but I heard Tolu’s voice coming through the speaker with the press of a side button. "Yes, I found her... crying again… She’s in this fucked-up relationship, fucking borderline abusive might as well be toxic, but for some reason, she believes this is true love… She’s always saying we don’t understand… Yes… Yeah, good… In two minutes. Alright, bye, love."

Stan’s face darkened, and he sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. "Let’s get the fuck out of here, Es. And this? This is the final break-up. I swear to you. You deserve better. You know it, and I know it. But this time, I’m going to make sure you get it."

The promise hung in the air, but it felt distant, unreachable. How many times had I heard those words before? How many times had I thought that I would be strong enough to walk away, only to end up right back where I started?

"Promise?" I whispered again, wiping my nose, my voice cracking as if the weight of it all was too much for me to carry anymore.

"I swear it to you." He took my pinky in his, pulling it gently as if sealing the vow.

"Let’s leave this shit hole," I muttered, my lips curling into a tired smile. It wasn’t really a shit hole. The mansion was grand, gorgeous even. But in that moment, it felt like nothing more than a cage.

Stan’s eyes softened as he grinned, the warmth returning to his face. "Glad you’re feeling better, because we’ve got this uni party to hit."

"A uni party, really? Stan? The last time we went to one of those was in year one."

"Exactly," he said, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. "Year one was the last time you remembered that you’re a young woman. You’re full of life, Es. But you’ve spent so much of your adulthood crying over some man-baby. We’re hitting that party tonight. Besides, Tolu already paid for the tickets."

"VIP, please? I can’t stand all night."

"Obviously. Now let’s go." He grabbed my hand firmly, pulling me out of the room and toward the front door. As we stepped out into the cool night air, I felt the first flicker of freedom—the smallest sense that maybe, just maybe, I could break free of the chains I had wrapped around myself.

I couldn’t see Maduka anywhere. I didn’t know if I was relieved or disappointed. A part of me wished I could run into him, wished I could have one last moment, one last word, but another part of me was glad I couldn’t. Maybe that was the first step in truly letting go. But another part knew since I couldn't see him, his mom's cunning plan had failed. 

Stan’s reckless driving didn’t bother me. It was his way of escaping, of living in the moment, of not giving a damn about the world. As we sped off, Tolu and Stan were laughing about something—some inside joke that I wasn’t part of—but I didn’t care. My eyes were on the car mirror, and I couldn’t stop looking at my reflection.

I wasn’t ugly. I wasn’t. But I felt it. I felt small, insignificant, not enough. I wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous, not like the girls Maduka had around him. They were perfect—skin flawless, hair perfect, thin bodies like they’d stepped out of a magazine. And me? I felt like I was just… ordinary. But even that, even times where I glammed up and felt extraordinary, they weren't enough, I wasn’t enough to make him stay. Why would he choose me when there was always someone better?

I just wanted to feel like I was enough. To not feel like I was too much, yet at the same time still feel like I was not enough.

Was that really too much to ask for?

Read Part Four Here