Emperor of Mayhem

t w e n t y - e i g h t

Mr Varkov didn't show up in twenty-four hours. Neither did he in the first one week, nor the third week. But the day he eventually stormed Nigeria which was the fourth week, approximately a month ago, I knew it.

He didn't show his face to me but I felt his presence in every passing wind. And when I was in a public place, I would feel him staring at me, the hair on my skin standing up in awareness of his unwavering gaze. But I would look around and wouldn't see him. And my heart would sink to my stomach in disappointment. Why? As much as I didn't want anything to do with him because he killed my father, I still had the gut to miss him. I wanted to see him even if it was to end up telling him how much I hated him.

Last week I accused the cute boy who lived a few walk from our apartment, for sexual harrassment because he had touched me without my permission. Let's just say, he currently doesn't have his right hand. He was found later that evening with an arm chopped off and left to bleed to death by the gate of our estate.

I didn't need a soothsayer to tell me who the perpetrator of such a heinous act was. But I still hung on a string-like hope that he wouldn't just do such a thing. I didn't want to believe he would do such a thing. Because I couldn't bear another reason to hate him.

But he cut that string when I received a text from a private number.

He said he didn't mean to go that far. He said he was just very upset that he dared to touch what belonged to him. How he was still living under the delusion that I was his was beyond me.

"If you are sleepy go to your room, Gracie." Granny's voice jolted me awake. I didn't even realize I was dozing off on the couch while thinking about him. The remote control of the television slipped off my grip when I tried to sit up.

"I told you to stop curling yourself up like a cat on my couch. You have a bed for crying out loud. How do you find comfort on a couch? Why can't you be graceful for once?"

There went the nagging again. When I said I couldn't coexist with this woman, I wasn't exaggerating the littlest bit. She was a hell of a pain in the ass. And her OCD for perfection as if we lived in the Victorian era wasn't something I could condone. The first few days in Nigeria, she treated me like I was a fragile little egg that could break if caution wasn't applied. A little part of me knew it wouldn't last but I was hopeful. But immediately I became lively by rising above my sentiment and not hoarding myself up in my room all day long mourning, she unleashed her true self.

Don't sit like this, Gracie. Learn to be a lady for once. Did you sweep this house today? Why are there dust particles clinging to my hand every time I touch a surface? Gracie, it's 9PM, turn off the television and go to bed. Gracie, what was your father teaching you while you were with him in Russia that you have such bad manners now? Gracie, do I have to remind you to wake up early and make breakfast for us? Gracie, how do you intend to make your own family if you can't even keep this little apartment in order?

Gracie, this. Gracie that. All day, everyday, I often felt held at a chokehold by the woman. I was so frustrated sometimes I would just pretend to be unwell so she would leave me alone. I was so done with her but at the same time, I couldn't cut her off as she was all I had. If I ran away, where exactly would I go?

"Are you going out?" I asked, scanning her from head to toe as she looked all dolled up for someone that stayed indoors all day long.

"In case you don't know, child. I actually do have a life." She replied, adjusting her headgear, "Back when I was your mother's age, you wouldn't even see me at home during the day."

"Cool." I nodded because I definitely didn't prepare a comment for that.

"Please don't stay out late, though." I said to her as I rose up, needing to head to my room to continue my sleep peacefully.