Preordained #ProjectNigeria

53- What Saheed Said

Nwanyieze's POV~

I can tell there is a battle going on inside him. While he holds me to keep me from turning to look up again at his uncle's corpse on the tree, he is shaking and his heartbeat is erratic. I interpret this as fury, not fear.

I know that Maduka is staring at it and trying to make sense of the situation. He doesn't call out for the three young men. I don't know how long we stand there, him holding me in place and I with my arms around his torso. In the silence, I can hear the young men's footsteps approaching. From the surprised sounds they make, I can tell that Maduka has made them look upwards, and they have seen him.

"Rot in hell, uncle," Maduka whispers.

I squeeze him with my arms. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to keep apologising. None of this is your fault."

"I want this to be over so you can heal. You've been through so much."

Surprisingly, no tears are running down my cheeks this time. It's not because his uncle doesn't deserve to be mourned. Maybe it's because I'm too shocked at the events so far, from last night's episode to today's spectacle.

One of the young men tells Maduka in Igbo that I should be taken away so I don't see when the corpse is being taken down. Maduka whispers to me, " You don't have to be here."

Isn't it funny that I know he just doesn't mean here, the suicide scene, but here, the whole village?

"If you're talking about sending me away-"

"Just come."

I obey and he leads me back to his car. Morning dew glitters on its bonnet, but soon evaporates when he starts the car and the engine heats up. He sits still for a full minute, trying to compose himself.

Maduka fails.

I watch him fold himself, lean forward on the steering wheel, and burst into tears for the second time. The sight is heart breaking.

I get as close as the space between the front seats can allow, and touch his shoulder.

"Cry here." I pull his arm and he immediately turns to me and wraps his arms around me, resting his head on my shoulder. While he cries, I stroke his back. No words, just the sound of his sobs, which finally subside and allows silence to take over for a while. Full daybreak is in place now, with the occasional late bird singing.

"In all this craziness, you are the one solid thing here," he tells me before drawing away from our embrace. His eyes are bloodshot and tired. I reach out and wipe the remaining tears away from his face. "I can't even believe you're still here with me."

"Because of small poison? No na," I reply with a smile.

He smiles back, and it makes me smile more. "Tasha would have left."

"I'm Nwanyieze, not Tasha."

"No name would have suited you better. Nwanyieze. The King's Wife, The Queen."

My name is whispered, before he leans towards me, holding my face gently between his palms, and fastening his lips to mine. This is not a lustful kiss, but a soft one that we share, with me trying to convey comfort and hoping he feels it.

"Stay," he murmurs with every opportunity the parting of our lips give him.

"Yes," I reply.

A silent drive follows. Daa Ndidi approaches our car with quick footsteps, hands on her head.