Daffodil Sprouts🌼

Ch. 13 ' Our Thumbs Meet.

I suffered greatly as a child. Lack of care, lack of attention, lack of support, lack of love, bullying . . . to mention a few.

Dad was more concerned with setting up branches of his hospital all over Nigeria and was hardly ever home. Once a month, he'd come, stay a few days, then leave. Sometimes, I wouldn't get to see him for months.

Mom was an abroad based fashion designer. Whenever she had the chance, she flew down to Nigeria. Be it twice a month or once; she made sure to see me. During the times she wasn't around, we'd speak on phone. She tried, but it wasn't enough for a child.

My parent's relationship was amusing. At least, I got to see them: most of the time, they missed each other. Dad would arrive when Mom left or vice versa. Growing up, I realised it was intentional.

Their divorce took no toll on me as I never really experienced them being together. When Dad began travelling out of Nigeria, my grandparents became my custodians.

My redemption began. Unlike the maid I was left with, they showered me with unimaginable love and adoration. I was treated like a queen, a gem. One day, when I was eight, I got hit by a girl in school. She took my pencil and claimed it as hers. She hit me while I was struggling for my pencil. Shy and meek, I didn't say anything to anyone till I got home.

That was the first day Grandma beat me. After calling the school authorities, she beat me for doing nothing about it. She beat me for not standing up for myself.

I learnt so much that day. One was never to let myself be treated unfairly by anyone. Two was to never watch someone get treated unfairly when I could do something about it. Three was to never treat anyone unfairly.

Thanks to my grandparents, the only thing I know that's bigger than this universe is my butt— I mean, my self-esteem. People would call me over-pampered—I definitely am— and they would call me spoilt —maybe a little— but that's because I don't let them push me around.

I never cared, I don't care, and I —without question—would never care.

* * * * *

If eyes could kill, my body would be rotten already. Fortunately, eyes can't kill, so I smile all I want. I even blow him kisses at intervals.

He walks towards the guys standing by the couch, disappointing me. I thought he would march over and try to harm me; my heels are already in hand for defence.

He points at me. "I want her out. Now."

He's a boring type. To think I expected more than whining.

"You're an interesting coward," I say. "Yai yan yer yout. Running for cover and trying to look cool, when he's actually looking drenched."

My laughter is drowned by the noise from others.

His pointing hand folds into a fist. "You're going down."

I chuckle and bring my hands together so my palm is facing the floor. "You mean down," I lower my joined hand, "like that front part of your hair?"

Even the guys he's with laugh, then they turn it into coughs when he glares at them. I bite my lower lip and giggle.

He advances towards me but gets pulled back.

"Leo, I'll take care of this," the guy pulling him back says.

Leo. What's with jerks and having cool names?

I strain my eyes to take a good look at the guy, and he turns out to be Rahman.

He faces me. "Sorry, you have to leave."