You watch Richard drape his hand across Ajuma’s shoulder, his fingertips playing with the flayed sleeve of her Ankara blouse, it’s the casual way of one who is familiar with her body. He nudges you with his other hand and smiles. Your eyes tingle, like you have dust in them.
“Mary, isn’t this wonderful?” Ajuma trills. She lifts her left hand again, a silver engagement ring glitters. Ajuma looks so innocent, so beautiful she practically glows. You open your mouth and twist it into what you hope will pass for a smile.
Richard reaches out with his other hand drags you close to his side. Your heart skips, your body tightens. You listen to the beating of his heart, absorbing the warmth of his body. You have a mind not to let go, but you fight the losing battle. You stay glued to his side like you have been surgically attached.
Richard is your best friend. It does not matter that whenever he smiles, you want it to be for only you, that you spend precious time thinking of things a girl shouldn’t about her best friend. You know he does not see you as anything but his pal, one of his buddies. You are the one that introduced Ajuma to him, you get to witness the falling in love of your best friend and your girlfriend, and watch your soul grey up, sliced by pain that streaks across your inside. You should be happy, even if your heart feels like a dartboard, pricked by invisible pins.
“I’m so happy for you guys.” You manage to form the words from your scorched throat. You excuse yourself and go home to wallow. Alone.
Read – The Win with a Price – A flash Fiction by MaryCynthia Chinwe Okafor, Nigeria
