Ever since I left you…
I’ve been to hell and I’m back…
And my baby, I…
I wanna give you all my body and soul…
In fact I want to, give you…
The keys to all that I got…
Cos you’re my star…
You are my rainbow…
“Ever since I left you….”
Before we get to the ‘left’ part, let me tell you how the ‘met’ part happened…
It was a Friday night (Isn’t it contradictory to call it ‘Friday night’? Shouldn’t it just be Frinight?) and my guys and I were headed to the club after an amazingly stressful week. The drinks were ice cold, the wine was lukewarm, and the women were steaming hot.
Well, they were average…
Okay fine, some of them were ugly.
But Jack always fixes that. Doesn’t he? Good man Jack.
So here I am, in a corner of the club, both bottle and glass half empty, when this woman with a skirt shorter than the entire cast of The Hobbits, a top with a cut lower than a stripper’s standards and a half smoked cigarette butt comes over and asks, “Are you Ed?”
“Who’s asking?” I replied.
“Uhm…didn’t you see my lips move when I talked?” she replied.
“Well, I want to know who sent you.”
“Are you Ed or not?”
“I’m gonna go with “Not”…”
And then she bent so low I could see all the way down her top to her mother’s disappointment and said “Well, for tonight, you’re Ed, and you and I are going to have fun.”
With her cigarette swirling in the contents of my glass and a tight grip on my fist, I was led to the dance floor.
And that was how I met Rane.
“Ever since I left you….”
I can’t move my legs. I literally cannot feel my lower body. I can only hear voices and I’m not sure on which side of my head they’re coming from. The last thing I remember was breaking up with Rane on the morning of the 11th, leaving my apartment for the car park, four figures showing up from nowhere, and the extremely familiar question “Are you Ed?”
Now I’m tied up, on the floor, with the stench of urine and petrol in the air. I feel my pockets and realize that they have been emptied. Which means no jack knife, no car keys, no wallet, and most importantly, no phone. So even if I get out, I can’t tweet call for help.
Ain’t this a PostBadBitch?
I hear footsteps and a loud thump and once again, I’m sleep.
“Do you know why you’re here?” a voice asked.
“No idea” I answered.
“Beat him up for 20 minutes then give him something to eat. After that he can serve his punishment.” A familiar, female voice said.
I blacked out after the first kick to my groin.
I blacked back in when the water hit my face. Then a party pack was shoved under my chin and despite the blinding pain, I scooped food into my mouth like a fat kid at a chocolate fountain.
With my arms tied behind my back, and a blindfold around my eyes, I felt the headphones clamp on my head…
…and then I began my punishment…
When I first heard the music, the instrumental wasn’t that bad. I was actually starting to enjoy it. And then a voice came on. And I started to listen to what he had to say, because nobody warned me that this was the punishment.
“I’m on fire call me fire bender
I lend cars, call me calendar”
A lone tear dropped from my cheek. This was bad, but it wasn’t Kill-Myself-Bad. If this was all I had to stand, then no shaking…
Then the track changed, and I honestly did not know which was worse.
“Imma vote for you girl like a campaign…”
At this point my brain imploded because how does one vote for a campaign…?
“I go deep like a prophet”
“wish our love would last long, anaconda”
“No guy in here go above this…
Imma take you high high high like my upstairs”
I blacked out…
I wake up, and find myself tied up…still. But this time I’m in a chair. In a tiny square room with nothing but a 40” television covering the entire space of the wall I was facing. There’s a light skinned male on the screen with a jerry curl and the letters “AM” in the corner of the screen.
So this woman poisoned her husband’s food and tasted it. And it was good and pleasant to the tongue, and did not affect her in any way. Nope. But her husband just convulsed at the mouth and died from the first spoon.
I can do this…
It’s the sequel and this lady just fell asleep, went to a scene in her past and switched from a dark skinned woman with a Yoruba accent to a light skinned older looking woman with a foreign accent.
Can I do this?
The time is 1905, we are back to the pre-modern era, however, the roads are tarred and I think I just saw an MTN signboard.
I can’t do this.
I’ve been watching this channel for 12 hours. This is the 6th sequel of this particular movie, and they haven’t found the killer. The acting I can stand. The makeup is bearable. The script I can endure…
But the sub titles…
I. Cannot. Stomach. The. Subtitles…
I start screaming at the top of my voice.
“RANE! RANE! I’M SORRY BIKO! I AM SORRY! LET’S GET BACK TOGETHER! SWITCH THIS THING OFF!“
“Is the mighty Ed begging?” the all too familiar voice said…
“This bitch is crazy”
“I heard that…”
“HAAY! GIRL I’M NOT TOO PROUD TO BEG, I WILL KNEEL AND KISS YOUR LEG.”
“I didn’t know you were a poet”
“Do we let him out ma’am?”
“Yes, yes. He has suffered enough”
“I’ve been to hell and I’m back”
As I came out of my ‘cell’, she greeted me with a warm embrace and a “Happy Valentine honey” like she wasn’t the reason my legs felt heavier than a politician’s pockets. I was too tired to argue. I just smiled and realized that Life with Rane >> Life without Rane.
“Happy Valentine Sherane”
“Your gifts are in the car outside waiting to take you to the hospital” she said.
My gifts were a Hublot, matching jerseys with words on them, and an engagement ring.
An engagement ring people…
An… Engagement… Ring…
I was really too tired to say anything. I decided I would plot my exit from this continent when I am strong enough.
As she drove me, I spread the jerseys to see what they read and I made out the words “My” and “Rane”
“Like ‘em?” she asked…
“Yes beau” I answered.
“Who is your Rane?” she asked…
“You are my Rane beau” I answered.
“Happy Valentine babe. I can’t wait till we get married” she said.
And as we drove to the hospital, the only words in my head were “God forbid I marry this crazy bitch.”
And so people, we have come to the very end of this amazing series. I know how crazy it was for you, anticipating the daily posts, rushing to comment first…wait. What? Nobody ever rushed to comment? Ugh!
From the broken hearted to the broken boned, we have taken you through a variety of emotions this season and we hope you enjoyed it. Cos we ain’t doing this shit again!
Just kidding. We’ll keep delivering. As long as you’re reading. Promise.
Oh well, the glorious series is over. Not the blog. So visit from time to time, subscribe, tell a friend to tell a friend, and of course, give us feedback. We love that shit. No for real, all bloggers love comments, some more than others, but yeah, try and drop something. The Good Lord loves a cheerful giver.
Thanks to our guest writers @deolaaa and @VixenPixie. We are sure the readers of TSC will love to see you guys drop by again, so please feel free to do so. Thanks for honouring our call to write.
Thanks you guys for sticking with us through yet another series. We couldn’t have done it without you…Joke. We could have but then that will mean no readers, so you guys see how important you are? We do all of this for you, because we love you *wipes tear*
Thanks for reading yo!