Oxygen 5

I woke up in Staniel's older sister's bedroom, the bright pink wallpaper screaming at me like it always did. 

I’d slept over here so many times, it was basically my second home—more mine than hers, really, since she’d been abroad since secondary school turned into a permanent divorce-fueled escape with their dad. 

Groggy, hungover, head pounding like a drum, I still knew exactly where I was. That wallpaper was unforgettable.

Read Part Four Here

A soft knock pulled my eyes to the door. "You up?"

Staniel poked his head in, and our gazes locked.

"How could you tell?" I croaked, voice scratchy like I’d swallowed sandpaper.

He chuckled, stepping inside. "The bedsheets in here are loud as hell. You roll around like a wrestling champ in your sleep, so when you start shifting, it’s like a siren."

"Not creepy at all, Stan."

"Never said it wasn’t. Just means I know you." He smirked, leaning against the wall.

"Well, good morning," I muttered, dragging myself upright.

"It’s 5 PM, Es."

I screamed. "What!?"

He laughed, loud and obnoxious. "Yeah. You were dead to the world."

I scrambled off the bed, hands fumbling for my phone. "This is why I don’t get drunk, Stan! Where’s my—"

"Relax, drama queen. I already spoke to your mom. Told her you were with me, crashed out."

"Oh." I exhaled, tension leaking out of me. Then I caught his face—eyebrows pinched, mouth tight. "Why do you look like that? What happened?"

He hesitated, scratching his neck. "Your mom got a visitor."

I frowned. "What visitor?"

"Maduka."

My stomach dropped like a stone.

"He sent, like, a dozen flower bouquets to your house," Staniel went on, voice flat. "Been waiting all morning."

The air whooshed out of my lungs. "Why would he do that?"

"He’s Maduka. He can afford to play extra. Your mom didn’t know you guys broke up."

"God," I groaned, flopping back onto the bed. "Now she’s gonna be all up in my business. He’s so overwhelming!"

Staniel studied me, arms crossed. "So, Osita. Did you imagine him, or was he real?"

I blinked, then exhaled slow. Blurry flashes from last night hit me—sitting, talking, that weird calm washing over me like a blanket. "He was real?"

Staniel smirked. "Good. Was worried you forgot." He tossed a folded note onto the bed. "He left this for you. Yeah, I peeked."

I unfolded it, fingers trembling just a little.

"It was nice meeting you, Estella. Hopefully, I’ll see you again one of these days. Here’s my number if you’d like that."

His handwriting was… pretty. Neat loops, soft edges—formal but with a quiet warmth. His voice floated back into my head, steady and low, and I felt it again: no racing heart, no sweaty palms, just this… peace. No wild declarations of love dripping off the page, no obsession—just interest. Simple, easy interest that left it up to me. Zero pressure.

"So," Staniel drawled, arms still crossed. "Mad or OC?"

I shot him a glare. "It’s not that easy, Stan, and you know it."

"It is that easy."

"Ugh, shut up." 

His laugh was light, but his eyes stayed serious. "Just don’t drag Osita into your back-and-forth with Maduka. I mean it."

"There is no back-and-forth."

"Sure, Es. Sure." He turned and walked out, leaving me staring at the note.

My chest tightened—not the good kind, not the Maduka kind, just… tight. I grabbed my phone, unblocked him, and dialed before I could overthink it.

He picked up on the first ring.

"Why are you at my house?" I snapped, skipping the pleasantries.

His sigh was deep, dramatic. "Good evening to you too, Es."

"Is my mom still home? She should be at work now." I exhaled hard. "I can’t believe you. You kissed someone in front of me last night, and today you show up with bouquets?"

"Are you still at Staniel’s?" His voice tightened, sharp at the edges. "Why’d you sleep over there? Our houses are closer—"

I scoffed. "Seriously?"

"Es, you know I watch you."

A shiver ran down my spine. Before, I’d have called it passion, excitement—now it just felt cold, heavy, like a chain tightening around me. "I saw you on someone’s snap," he went on, "letting some girl grind on you. Drawing attention like that—"

"You don’t get to talk to me about that!" My voice cracked, loud in the quiet room. "You kissed someone in front of me! And now you’re mad because a girl danced near me?"

"That’s different," he snapped. "And you know it. She kissed me. And Es, come on. I have standards. She means nothing. She’s not someone I’d date—"

I let out a breath, half-laugh, half-disbelief.

"—and you know it. So why are you acting out?"

"Acting out?" I echoed, voice rising.

"Yeah," he muttered. "You always do this when you’re upset. I get you mad, and suddenly you’re rubbing on someone—"

"I always do this? I wasn’t doing anything this time but moving on!" I shouted, gripping the phone so hard my knuckles ached.

Silence stretched out, thick and heavy.

Then he sighed again. "I know. I know, and I’m sorry, okay? I don’t say it enough, but I am. Es, please. Just… let me talk to you."

My chest squeezed, that familiar suffocating weight creeping in. I rolled my eyes, but the words slipped out anyway. "I’m on my way."

I ended the call before he could say more.

I turned, and there was Staniel, leaning against the doorframe, staring me down. "Don’t fold, Es. You’re so close to the finish line, and I pinky promised I wouldn’t let you guys get back together."

I nodded, slow. "I won’t. Something weird’s happening, Stan. Last night, I realized a new world could exist."

"Pray tell, because of a certain boy?" He smirked, and my cheeks burned.

"No! This isn’t a rebound thing. It’s not about spiting Maduka or forgetting him. I think… I was so much freer last night, so much happier, that I even unlocked Osita. Does that make sense? Like, I could’ve ignored him, but something was already shifting in me."

Staniel’s smile softened. "Your Uber’s three minutes away, miss Shakespeare."

I rolled my eyes. "How does that even make sense?"

I shoved my front door open, irritation spiking at the sight of flower pots—yellow ones, my favorite—lined up like some grand apology. Maduka stood by the fridge, gulping down a carton of juice like he owned the place.

"Maduka, what is it? Why are you here?" I dropped my bag, arms crossed.

He wiped his mouth, turning to me. "Hello to you too, Estella. What do you mean, why am I here? You live here, don’t you? I visit, don’t I? And I messed up last night, didn’t I…" He trailed off, our eyes locking, and I swear he felt it too—the shift in me.

His shoulders slumped, his eyes softened. "I… I searched interstate for your favorite flowers. Couldn’t find sunflowers at first, so I got yellow ones instead, but then I found—"

"Maduka, please leave. We’re done, okay? You said so yourself last night."

"Come on, Estella. Please, just hear me out this last time. Full disclosure, pure honesty, nothing but the truth this time around."

He always knew how to reel me in—dangling exactly what I’d begged for, pulling me back just when I was ready to bolt. It hit me like a slap: how long had he been playing me like this, tossing out crumbs when I was starving for more?

But I was curious. He knew me too well—knew this was all I’d ever wanted: to be let in. So, after a deep sigh, I said, "Maduka. I’m listening."

I should’ve walked away. But something—closure, curiosity, maybe just stubbornness—kept me rooted. I wanted to prove he had nothing left to say that could sway me.

So I listened.

He paced, hands tugging at his locs, words spilling out messy and jagged. "My dad left when I was a kid—did I ever tell you that? Mom had an affair, and I’ve been carrying that secret ‘cause she’s Mrs. Diamond Closet, right? Can’t let the world know. Fame—it’s not what people think, Es. It’s a cage. I feel trapped, and you… you’re the only real thing I’ve got. I’m terrified of losing you, but I keep screwing it up."

He stopped, voice cracking. "This isn’t an invitation, okay? It’s me realizing I’ve treated you like trash, and you didn’t deserve it. You deserve so much better. I’ve never told anyone this—not the overpaid therapists Mom hired after Dad bailed, not anyone but you. It’s been this… shame bottled up in me. I’m sorry, Es. I don’t think I can say it enough. You’re the only good in my life, and I didn’t want to ruin it, but I did. You’re perfect for me, and I still messed it up. I’m sorry I couldn’t make it work. It’s not you—you’re so wonderful, I could never forget you."

His eyes glistened, but no tears fell. Maduka didn’t cry. He just stood there, raw and broken, waiting for me to fix him like I always did.

This was the part where I’d melt. Where I’d say, I won’t leave, I’m here, you’re not worthless, I love you too much to walk away. Where I’d promise he wouldn’t have to forget me because I’d stick around, no matter how much he hurt me.

But all I felt was tired—bone-deep, soul-heavy tired.

"I’m sorry, Maduka," I said, quiet but firm. "But we’re done."

For the first time, I think he believed me.

He nodded, slow, like he was processing it. Then he grabbed his keys and left, the door clicking shut behind him. The flowers stayed, mocking me with their brightness.

Healing wasn’t loud. It wasn’t some movie moment with swelling music and a big speech. It was quiet, messy, slow.

A few nights later, I was sprawled on my bed, phone in hand, thumb hovering over Maduka’s name. My chest ached—not for him, but for the habit of him. I tossed the phone across the room, watched it bounce off the wall, and muttered, "Not tonight, idiot." Staniel would’ve been proud.

Another day, I picked up my paintbrush—first time in months. I smeared red across the canvas, too hard, too fast, and it looked like a bloody mess. I laughed, loud and sharp, and kept going, adding yellow until it wasn’t a mess anymore—just mine.

One weekend, Stan dragged me to another party. I danced with him and Tolu, the bass thumping in my bones, sweat dripping down my back. Some girl twirled me around, and I didn’t think about Maduka once. I just moved, weightless, grinning like an idiot.

Seconds rolled into minutes, minutes into hours, hours into days, days into weeks, weeks into a month. Bit by bit, I remembered who I was without him.

One evening, a month and a week after that night at the uni party, I found Osita’s note in my drawer. Still folded neat, edges crisp, like it’d been waiting for me. I didn’t grab it because I was sad or lonely or desperate for a rebound. I wasn’t even thinking about Maduka.

I picked it up because I was happy—solid, unshaken happy, standing on my own two feet without some guy propping me up. Estella, alone, and good with it. There was no harm in letting someone add to that.

My hands shook a little as I dialed—not from nerves, exactly, but from the what-if of it all. What if he was just another Maduka, waiting to pull me under? But I was sober, buzzing, and maybe a little reckless, so I hit call.

The phone rang twice.

"Hello?"

His voice was deeper than I remembered—polished, steady, like a man who had his life together, not a boy playing games. It made me smile, soft and unexpected.

"Hey," I said, tucking my legs under me.

He paused. Then— "Estella?"

I could hear it—the recognition, the slight lift in his tone. My lip caught between my teeth, warmth spreading through me. "Yeah."

He let out a breath, then chuckled. "I was starting to think you’d never call."

I grinned, leaning back against my pillows. "Well, I’m full of surprises."

"Guess so." His laugh was quiet, easy. "How’ve you been?"

"Good," I said, and meant it. "You?"

"Same. Just… surviving uni, you know."

"Yeah, tell me about it." I glanced at the note still in my hand, tracing the loops of his handwriting. "So, third-year Mec Eng, huh? Still planning to graduate with me?"

"Amen to that," he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice.

We talked—small stuff, uni stuff, nothing heavy. No pressure to be anything but two people chatting, strangers with two years left in the same chaotic world. The loud buzz of my old life—Maduka, the drama, the hurt—felt far away, drowned out by this weird, grounding calm.

Stan was right all along: love shouldn’t hurt like this. And with Osita’s voice in my ear, deep and steady, I thought—maybe it doesn’t have to.

And just like that, the story kept going.

Read Part Six Here 1/04/25

ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ April Fool's!