S.S.S. 3 AGAIN

Chapter Thirty

"I'm sorry to say that the smiles that I give you,
One day will be tears in your eyes.
I'm sorry to give you these memories,
Cause memories like this will one day make you cry.
But i'mma stick around,
I promise you that i'mma stick around for now."
- Lukas Graham.

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I don't know your Wattpad username but I can tell you're from here. Thank you so much, Oghenetega Allison🥺❤️ Whoever and wherever you are, know it went a long way🥺 May your pocket never ever run dry. May it be replenished abundantly. God bless you!🤲 Amen.

Omo, this chapter is pretty long. It has 4988 words. E be things.
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"Demilade! Will you eat apple?!" My dad called from the sitting room.

My parents take fruits as dinner everyday. I don't like Watermelon and they know that quite well so they never invite me to join them when eating it. They only call me to eat Apple or Pineapple. Today, there isn't Pineapple so they just offered me Apple alone.

"Yes!" I exclaimed from my room. I was chatting and reading as usual. I dropped my phone on the bed and walked to the second sitting room where my parents were. They were both watching NTA news.

"Here." Dad said as he gave me two slices of Apple.

I collected it and thanked him. "Thank you, dad." I said and turned to go to my room.

"Demilade, come here." He called me back.

"Uhn?" I said as I was already chewing one slice of the apple.

"Come nearer." He said and I moved closer to him. Then, he suddenly grabbed my hand. I didn't know what he was doing until I looked at how he was staring at my hand.

Oh My God! My wound! Dad would be so mad if he sees it. Well, he already did.

"What's this?" He asked, still looking at my injured hand which was covered with the bandage Aunty Tosin used in school. "What happened to your hand? Why is it bandaged?"

"Bandage Ke?  Demilade, what am I hearing about bandage yen? " My mum said as she stood up from the sofa she was sitting on to come and see my hand. "Eh! What happened?" She exclaimed as soon as she saw the hand.

"I. . . Uhm. . . Fell down." I said.

"You fell down and you wounded your hand like this? Where did you fall? Were you running? Did someone push you? Where did put your eyes? Were you walking with your eyes closed?" My mum asked.

Yes, if you're from a Yoruba family, you won't be surprised with the way my mum acted. Yes, she cares a lot but while asking what happened, she'll still insult me stylishly. That's why she said "Where did you put your eyes? Were you walking with your eyes closed?" If you're Yoruba, read that part in our native language.

"Can't you talk?!" My dad said aloud and I came back to my senses.

"I slipped in the hall. There was water on the tiles but I didn't see it because the tiles were transparent. As I fell, there was a stone very close to me so I hit my hand on it. When blood started rushing out, I was taken to the sick bay and they helped me bandage it." I lied.

"When you won't use your eyes. Anyway, Pele my dia." My Mum said with her Yoruba tone. She then looked at the hand again. "This wound needs to be treated properly oh."