The Prey 2

⚠️ Trigger Warning: This post contains sensitive content that may be distressing to some readers. Proceed with caution.

We had barely stepped out of the senior class when I turned to her, my chest tight, my ears still ringing.

My voice wavered. “What the hell just happened?”

Tochi adjusted her bag like she hadn’t heard me. Tucked a stray braid behind her ear, her expression unreadable.

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I clenched my fists. “Tochi.”

She slowed—just for a second—then kept walking, like I was nothing more than a mosquito buzzing too close to her ear.

I reached for her wrist. “Tochi, answer me. You ignored me all the way to the hostel and all the way back to school and it's just not fai—”

She stilled, and for a moment, I thought she’d finally look at me. Acknowledge me.

Instead, she yanked free, her voice cool. “Go to class, Adaukwu.”

I blinked. “What—”

She walked away, her footsteps light and effortless. 

“Seriously? Are you mad?!” My voice came out sharper than I intended.

Tochi didn’t flinch. Didn’t turn back. Just exhaled, muttering something under her breath—something I wasn’t even sure was meant for me.

Then she disappeared into the crowd like I hadn’t even been there.

I tried cornering her in the hostel before dinner, but she just pulled out a novel and flipped through the pages like I was invisible.

I sat beside her. “Tochi.”

Page flip.

“Tochi, I’m serious—”

Page flip.

I exhaled, resisting the urge to snatch the damn book. “You can’t just ignore me. Do you know what you’ve put me in the middle of? Some power tussle between Senior Akachukwu and Senior Abraham that I never asked for. And what did I ever do to y—”

“You were inevitably going to be picked,” she muttered, voice low. “I just made sure you got the best pick.”

I frowned. “What am I, a goat? Do you expect me to thank you? Oh, thank you for making Senior Abraham, who kicked a boy’s face so hard his jaw shifted, notice me. Thank you so much, Tochi Ebere Amobi.”

She chuckled, still flipping. “You’re lucky. Abraham is sheltering you. No one sheltered me. I was eaten alive by Akachukwu.”

The way she said their names—without “Senior” attached—made something in me pause. Even in my own head, I attached the prefix, like the power dynamics were so deeply etched into me, I couldn’t even dare say their names standalone.

I swallowed. “Wait… sheltering me? How is he sheltering me?”

She finally looked at me, lips curling into a smirk. “You’ll see.”

Then, before I could ask more, she reached into her locker, pulled something out, and tossed it to me.

I caught it.

A pack of sanitary pads.

I blinked. “What—”

“Don’t keep him waiting. Night prep starts immediately after dinner, but see, Abraham does not do well with lateness. If you risk eating dinner, you might end up in the computer lab after 8. So be smart—start going five minutes after they share the meals, do not eat. Then stand outside the lab until 8 p.m. on the dot.”

She stood.

I stared at the pack, my mind scrambling.

She thought I was on my period? What was I supposed to do with this?

Or—

My stomach dropped.

Oh my God.

Did Senior Abraham have some kind of weird… fetish?

Was he going to ask me to wear the pads in front of him? Was this some humiliating ritual I had to perform before he “sheltered” me?

Tochi, already at the door, glanced back, eyes glinting. “You see? Thank me. You owe me one.”

I wanted to argue. To throw the damn pack back at her. Thank her for what? Senior Akachukwu’s palm still stung on my cheek—was I supposed to thank her for placing me between a rock and a hard place?

But something in Tochi’s eyes stopped me. A flicker of something—fear? Guilt?—before it was gone, replaced by that cool, detached smile.

"You think I wanted this? I risked it all getting you involved." Tochi muttered, almost to herself. "You think I had a choice? He's sheltering you, you're lucky."

And then she was gone, leaving me alone with the pack in my hands and a thousand questions swirling in my mind.

My brain snagged on that word again—sheltering.

If this was the price, a pack of pads for whatever reason… maybe it was a fair deal.

Right?

I mean, there was no way he’d ask me to wear them. I couldn’t even imagine what a man would want with a pack of pads. 

The thought sat heavy in my stomach as I walked out the cafeteria, gripping the pack in a black leather bag like a lifeline.

It was 7:58 p.m. when I reached the computer lab. My pulse hammered in my throat.

I could run, just not go in there. I could say fuck you to everything and throw the pads in a trashcan. I could tell someone. 

But who would believe me? Principal Amaka already knew about Senior Akachukwu's cocaine use and does nothing with that information, what is she going to do about her star student having a pad fetish? And what would Senior Abraham do if I tried?

The thought of that sent shivers up my spine. There was a reason junior students referred to him as Senior Abraham the possessed. He was merciless

So I decided against running, against binning the pads. 

I stood outside for two minutes, then decided to enter.

After all, what else could I really do. 

The door creaked as I pushed it open.

Senior Abraham was already inside, leaning back in a chair, his blue house wear—a crisp, button-down shirt with tiny red stripes running through the fabric. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, the first three buttons undone, revealing a hint of his collarbone. On the collar, a neatly sewn Senior Prefect label stood out, a stark reminder of his authority. His eyes flicked to me, then to the pack in my hands.

He smirked. “Lock the door.”

I hesitated. Lock the door why? Was he really going to make me wear them for his sick, demonic enjoyment?

His brow arched. “What, scared?”

My fingers tightened around the pack. Then, without a word, I reached back and locked the door.

He hummed in approval, motioning me forward.

What was he going to do with pads? How could pads be what his “mine” was? What was going on?

I pulled out the pack from the leather bag and held it out.

He took it, slow, deliberate. Peeled the seal open while staring deep into my eyes. My heart pounded hard against my chest, waiting for him to hand me one pad and command me to go change into them. 

Then, effortlessly, he tore the first pad apart.

I watched, frozen, as the cotton lining gave way—revealing a tiny brown wrap inside.

Then another. And another.

Six little packets, sitting between us.

I didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

He glanced up, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Wait.” He tilted his head. “You didn’t open it?”

“If you didn’t know these were heroin, then Akas is fucking careless after all.”

I said nothing.

His smirk widened. “What the fuck did you think I was going to do with pads? Wank to them? I'm possessed but not that possessed.” he tried to joke and I realized he too had heard the rumors about himself... Or that he knew he was actually possessed. 

Heat rushed to my face in embarrassment.

I had actually thought he’d make me wear them like some circus animal on exhibition.

I really thought the worst of him to the point that the pads being a front for illegal hard drugs seemed minor, in fact it was a miracle. 

Senior Abraham was not some sick pervert. He was a sick junkie. 

He chuckled, shaking his head. Then, from a panty liner in the pack, he pulled a strip of foil—clean, smooth.

I watched as he tapped some of the powder onto it. Spread it out. Lit a flame.

The heroin melted into thick smoke, curling into the air.

Senior Abraham lifted a straw to his lips and inhaled. His upper body relaxed in one swift motion.

I should’ve left.

Should’ve turned around the second the flame flickered to life.

But I didn’t.

I stayed.

The scent hit first—sharp, bitter, clinging. The smoke unfurled between us, and I wrinkled my nose, resisting the urge to cough.

Before that day, I had never been in the presence of anyone smoking. Now, here I was, inhaling heroin.

How were the prefects allowed access to this? This system had to run deep. Who was supplying them?

I had just unknowingly trafficked heroin—walked through the halls, holding it in my hands, and no one had noticed.

How long had this been going on?

He took another hit.

One minute.

Two.

Three.

The room thickened with smoke.

I shifted in my chair. Wondered if I could leave. If I should say something.

I had already delivered the 'mine,' so why was I still here?

Senior Abraham exhaled, then reached for the projector remote. Clicked it on.

A movie flickered to life on the whiteboard. He clicked a button and the lighting in the computer lab became dim. 

I frowned.

Was I supposed to just… sit here?

The smoke had filled up the room, and I was finally coughing. I felt the room begin to spin, probably from hunger and I regretted not taking a snack with me on the way here since I was skipping dinner. 

Or maybe from exhaustion—today had been beyond chaotic, I needed it to quickly end. 

I glanced at the door. If I left now, would he care?

Then, just as I was about to speak—

Something landed on the desk in front of me.

I blinked.

Keys.

Abraham stretched back in his seat, expression lazy. “Get me six caramel popcorn and three chocolate drinks. Be quick about it.”

I hesitated.

Six popcorn packs? Three chocolate drinks? What kind of appetite did he have?

Quickly, I grabbed the keys and stood.

The second I stepped out of the lab, the fresh air hit me like a slap.

I gasped.

My head spun, my body swaying slightly as the dizziness lifted.

Oh.

It wasn’t tiredness.

Wasn’t hunger.

It was the smoke. Of course it was. 

I gripped the keys tighter, swallowing hard as my breath evened out.

The realization settled in like a slow drip—Inhaling secondhand heroin also had its effect. 

Enough that the air outside felt like stepping out of water after holding my breath too long. Enough that my head still felt light, my limbs slow.

Omo.

I glanced back at the lab door.

Inside, Abraham was still there, reclining, watching his movie, letting the smoke curl around him like it belonged to him.

I had been breathing that in, and the thought made my stomach churn.

Could this harm me? Inhaling secondhand smoke had to have been harmful too, right? 

A bitter aftertaste coated my tongue, as if the smoke had seeped into my mouth.

I took a step forward, willing my legs to move faster, but the tiled hallway stretched before me like a tunnel—too long, too bright. The smell still clung to my skin, the taste thick in my mouth.

I shook my head. Focus. Popcorn. Drinks. I just needed to get his stuffs and get out.

My steps steadied as I reached the tuck shop.

The vendor, a plump, middle-aged woman who always squinted like she didn’t trust students, eyed me as I approached.

I pushed the keys onto the counter. “Popcorn and chocolate drink.”

She scoffed. “You just come now, you no fit even greet.”

I inhaled through my nose. “Good evening.”

Normally I would have greeted, but the ground underneath my feet still felt soft and all I wanted to do was lay down and rest. 

She grumbled something under her breath and opened the gate that separated the tuck shop from outsiders. I stepped inside, picking up the keys from the counter. As I followed her into a corridor, I rubbed my temples, trying to shake the last bits of dizziness.

“Na who get this key again?”

I stilled.

She tapped the counter. “You no hear me? Who send you?”

I hesitated.

Senior Abraham’s name sat on my tongue—heavy, dangerous.

I didn’t know what it meant to say it aloud.

Was this another aspect of the drug trafficking that went on in this school? After all, why had Senior Abraham sent me off with keys instead of school currency? As if the keys held something more than monetary value.

The tuck shop in this building was supposed to be inactive during night prep. But someone was always there—for the Academic Stars and only them, in case they got hungry. Because, of course, how could their star students starve during night prep?

Did she know what one of the star students was doing right now, slouched in a chair with smoke in his lungs? Was she in on this? Was this all part of the system that enabled such nonsense? 

I cleared my throat. “Senior Abraham.”

Her gaze flicked up.

Something in her face shifted.

Recognition, maybe. Disapproval. But she said nothing, just stopped in front of a door and nudged at it with her head before turning to leave.

The door had a label—"Abraham."

I gulped. No way. No way did the Senior Prefect position come with his own free provision section.

No wonder Senior Akachukwu coveted this position.

Muttering a quiet “thank you,” I pushed the key into the lock and turned it.

The room was as cold as a refrigerator. A small couch sat in one corner, a deep freezer beside it. A tall cupboard was littered with everything sold in the main tuck shop.

My eyes landed on the caramel popcorn, and my stomach growled. I was starving.

For a second, I was tempted. Just a bite. He wouldn’t notice.

But he was Senior Abraham.

I couldn’t dare.

I grabbed six popcorn packs and moved to the freezer. My mouth dropped at the sight of ice cream tubs, juice, ice cream biscuits and yogurts. My stomach churned. I was honestly starving—I’d missed dinner for this—and here I was, staring the devil in the face.

But he was Senior Abraham.

I couldn’t dare.

The walk back to the lab felt shorter, my head clearer, my steps more certain.

By the time I pushed open the door, Senior Abraham had already peeled off his house wear, despite the freezing air-conditioned lab. His blue eyes were glazed over as he scratched his 3C fade, his light brown skin blending almost seamlessly with his cream-colored singlet.

He barely looked at me. Just stretched out a hand.

I placed the nylon with his items in it, my fingers brushing his for half a second.

His skin was warm.

Too warm.

No wonder his house wear was off. He was heating up. 

The smoke still hung in the air, but thinner now, settled into the walls.

He opened the bag, then handed me four caramel popcorns and two chocolate drinks.

What?

What was I supposed to do with them?

He popped a few kernels into his mouth, chewing lazily before flicking his gaze to me.

"You know you can eat if you want, right? You came at 8 PM on the dot, so clearly you skipped dinner. And I’m not some monster, so just fucking eat. And don’t say thank you—I hate that shit. Gratitude is fake. Just eat."

I didn't even know he could speak that much, our senior prefect when he wasn't punishing juniors, addressing us during assemblies or representing the school in competitions—during competitions we watched live in the cafeteria on huge screens—spoke like he had a limited words-subscription, a week ago I could have never imagined I would be stuck with him, I usually only saw him on TV, but here he was saying more than ten words in a go to me. 

I stared at the snacks in my hands, my stomach twisting—not just from hunger, but from the weight of everything that had just happened.

Senior Abraham, the school’s most feared student, was giving me food.

It felt like bait. Like an unspoken deal.

I should’ve refused. Should’ve said, “No, thank you,” and walked out.

But I was starving.

And the caramel popcorn smelled too good.

So I sat.

And in the cold, smoke-filled computer lab, with a boy who trafficked heroin in sanitary pad packs, I realized—I was in too deep.

Out of habit, I whispered, "Th—"

He turned to glare at me, and I immediately shut up.

I opened a pack of popcorn, moaning at the taste as I sank into a chair.

Four popcorn packs and two chocolate drinks.

That was worth half my monthly school currency. And here I was, getting it for free.

But was it really free?

“Did you like it?”

I frowned. “Like what?”

He smirked. “The high.”

I swallowed. “I wasn’t—”

“You were.” He waved a hand lazily. “Not much, but yeah. I watched you slowly tilt for minutes.”

I stiffened.

Senior Abraham chuckled, tilting his head. “You’re really that innocent, huh?”

I said nothing.

His smirk widened. “You’ll get used to it.”

The words crawled under my skin—cold, certain.

I wanted to say no, I won’t.

But the truth settled in my chest like a stone—

I was already breathing it in.

His tone shifted. "What's the real story? Tochi, I know. But you? I've never seen. And I’m not fucking dumb like Akachukwu. Akachukwu is book smart, sure, but he's dumb as a rock—that’s why Amaka is always on his case. You weren’t involved in this. So what's the real story? And don't fucking lie to me."

My throat went dry.

The popcorn I’d just swallowed felt stuck.

In the cold, smoke-filled computer lab with my hands trembling, I responded with the truth. "Tochi lied against me, I did not forget Senior Akachukwu's cocaine in our hostel, I did not even know there was anything like cocaine in this school. Before today, I only saw hard drugs in the movies, I didn't know."

Senior Abraham reclined in his chair, his blue eyes fixed on me, a faint smirk playing on his lips. The air was thick with the bitter scent of heroin, and I felt the weight of his gaze like a physical force pressing down on me.

"Why me?" I finally asked after moments of silence, my voice barely above a whisper. "Why did Tochi choose me?"

Senior Abraham leaned back, his smirk widening as if he'd been waiting for me to ask. For a moment, he said nothing, letting the question hang in the air like the smoke curling around us. Then, his voice low and deliberate, he replied:

"Tochi chose you because you're easy," he said, his tone almost mocking. "You're new. You don't know how things work here. You don't have allies. And you're scared. That makes you predictable. Controllable."

My stomach churned, but I couldn't look away. His words felt like a slap, each one landing with precision, cutting deeper than I wanted to admit.

Easy? Predictable? Controllable? The words stung, but they also felt true. I was new. I was scared. And I had no one to turn to. Was that why Tochi had chosen me? Because I was an easy target?

He tilted his head, studying me as if I were a puzzle he'd already solved. "But more than that, she chose you because she's weak. She couldn't handle the consequence of forgetting Akas' stuff, so she passed it on to you."

His smirk widened, and there was a glint of something almost predatory in his eyes. 

"Akas fucked up. You could have ruined everything. Listen to me, don't whisper the same words you said to me to anyone else or they'd get you and wreck you." It was the way he said it, he scanned my entire body and I automatically understood what he meant. I understood what Tochi meant when she said Senior Akachukwu ate her alive. 

I knew exactly how 'they' could wreck me. 

"Tochi took a huge risk getting you involved. But, it was a very smart thing to bet on the probability of me stepping in, I'm almost impressed. So listen to me.  You're mine now, for your own good. Don't fight it. I honestly just wanted to piss off Akas, he seemed too preppy watching you get stared at like that. You were his bright new toy he found and I snatched it, reminded everyone what's his is always mine. Tochi won her gamble and now you're mine."

Mine... Tochi bet on him wanting to snatch me from Senior Akachukwu? 

Like I was a toy... A toy. 

A collateral in their petty war. 

Does she tell herself she helped me or does she at least admit in her own mental solitude she sacrificed me. 

"You report to me first thing in the morning during breakfast, we walk into the school auditorium for prayers together, immediately the lunch bell rings you come over to my classroom, we eat lunch together, after lunch you are a free woman, every Wednesday and Saturday you get me these same pads, I'd introduce you to someone because I assume Tochi handed this to you right?" He waited for my reply and all I could do was nod. 

"It's for your own good that I own you. It is for your own good you enter fully into this, because outsiders should never know. So make sure, no one ever finds out you didn't know." He was scary. I was scared. 

Everything was scary, so maybe that's why I said "Thank you." 

Which I shouldn't have. He’d warned me. But the words slipped out before I could stop them, a reflex born of years of being taught to be polite. 

For a moment, there was silence. Abraham's smirk faded, replaced by a cold, blank expression. His icy blue eyes bore into me, and I felt a chill run down my spine.

"Thank you?" he repeated, his voice low and dangerous. "I told you not to say that. I told you gratitude is fake."

I opened my mouth to apologize, to take it back, but it was too late. Because there he was, Senior Abraham the possessed in his full glory. 

"Get out," he growled, his voice rising. "Now."

Before I could react, he kicked the table, sending the drinks and popcorn flying across the room. The sound of the crash echoed in the empty lab, and I stumbled back, my heart pounding.

I turned and fled, the sound of his voice ringing in my ears. As I ran down the hallway, the reality of my situation hit me like a punch to the gut. I wasn’t just trapped in a system I didn’t understand—I was now a part of it. And there was no way out..

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