CONFLICTED

•Prologue•

A/N:
Thanks a gigantic ton for checking Conflicted out.♡
I formed this book's plot when I was fourteen and in senior school two, so you should expect to expect cheesy stuffs here. But! because this is my first book doesn't mean it's all wack and a total rubbish. Quite the opposite. Looking back, I give a lot of credits to fourteen year-old me for being so creative. Yes, creative. I like to think I came up with a story plot that no one really thought of and it's so original because it came from me.

This book is rated Mature, a teen fic and it's copyrights are very well reserved. Expect cuss words, sex references (which I still rate down to PG16) and scenes of domestic violence.

Thanks once again for opening this book and now, it's my turn to work towards receiving your gratitude for making and putting out this book on wattpad. :)

~~All rights reserved.
Contents may not be reproduced or transmitted in whole or in part, in any form or by any means without the written consent of the Author. <I take no credits for the cover art>
☞Plagiarism is not allowed. Copyrights©2020.

°This is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the works of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persona living or dead, events or localities, is entirely coincidental.

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✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧ Part I ✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

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Right in the middle of my sweet dream, I heard granny's voice.

"Wake up sleepy head or you'll be late for school."

I grunted and shifted on my fluffy bed, unwilling to part with it. Soon, I felt the impact of heated air on my face and as my eyes fluttered as an attempt to open them, the rays of light almost blinded me.

"Fuck!" I cussed under my breath.

Granny must have opened the curtains. She knew, really well, how I couldn't resist the rays of sunlight on my face.

traitor!

Used my weakness as a weapon...

"Now, how many times am I going to sound it to your ears to stop using swear words? March into your bathroom now or I make you." her voice boomed over my head though my eyes were still screwed shut.

I did realize this would upset her as I remained sprawled on my springy bed, but I couldn't help it. My tired eyes refused to stay open and it was definitely because I went to bed late last night.

Minutes flew by and gratefully, granny had decided to leave me with my drugging sleep or so I thought until she slapped a bowl of freezing water in my face and I jerked awake. Glancing up at her in horror, she slyly smirked back at me, contented with her feat.

"I knew that would do the trick. Now get up and prepare for your first day at school. You have just about five minutes to come down for breakfast and that's enough time to face your father for making him run late." she lectured and headed out.

shit!

I heaved, more like grunted before stepping down from my bed to lock the door. On my way to the bathroom, I sighed again and mentally pleaded with my groggy self to stay awake.

A new school? Fact one, I loathed being a newbie. I'd have to introduce myself a million times, feel left out and out of place, the sense of belonging gone. It was simply leaving a whole life behind to start afresh. That was more of the reason why I suddenly became insomniac and stayed up all night thinking about this 'new life' ahead.

I turned on the faucet and dabbed my face with the clear water. It sucked big time, leaving a fun-filled life only to fucking start over. I had spent my whole life in Lagos where my father worked as a militant until recently he resigned. Reasons quite unknown.

My father had joined the military service after my mom died trying to give birth to me, my tears of arrival accompanied by tears of anguish at her departure.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror. An half-caste. My parents are of different race actually, well one of them was.

My dad, a Nigerian and my mom, a white Canadian. I took after most of my mom's features; white skin, long nose, pink lips and blue eyes. The only difference was my black coarse hair. My mom was blonde.

My mom was from a wealthy family, but she was quite successful herself being a famous actress since her teen years. She lived with her parents back in Canada when she was younger and when she clocked nineteen, she came down to Nigeria for the first time, for tourism and business(..still precisely acting). It was only years later that she met Mark Thompson in one of her back and forth travels between her hometown and Nigeria.

My mom, Alicia Wilson, had married my father at the age of twenty four right here in Ogun state a year after they met. Her parents had not attended her wedding as they had been in strong refusal to their union.

Marry a man your own color. They had said.

Not that they were racist. Well, not precisely I guess. They'd wanted her to marry a man of their choosing.

Anyway, my mom had refused and married him against their wish. So you couldn't even start to imagine how it felt for my father and maternal grandparents to watch her give up the ghost right after my birth.

I wouldn't bore you with my sad life story but my father treated me with immense hatred after then. The reason was crystal clear. I killed his wife.

Till this day, I haven't gotten around to seeing my maternal grandparents or their two sons in person. Yep, they didn't want to see the two murderers of their only daughter. They only came to her burial as I got to know by aunt Monica, my father's younger sis.

"Christopher! Get your ass down here!" I heard granny yell from downstairs.

"And she tells me to watch my language." I chuckled and began to brush my teeth.

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