Chapter 4 Unraveling

Felvin was always there until he wasn't. The church became tense for him; they constantly asked for money, money I never had, and neither did he. It made going to church dreadful. I started to withdraw, and Pastor Eja noticed.

He called me to his house. I went with Felvin. Pastor Eja evaluated us with a piercing gaze, prayed for us in that slow, drawn-out, overly spiritual tone, and sent us away. A few weeks later, he summoned me again but this time, I went alone.

That day, he spoke to me not like a pastor, but like a father would to a daughter. His words were soft but persuasive, laced with subtle power. He told me I was wasting my beauty on a boy. That I needed a man a man who could fly me abroad, who had class, who could upgrade me. "You should be dining in the clouds, not scraping through mud," he said. He went on for hours. I got emotional midway, overwhelmed by how much truth and manipulation laced his words. I left with tears in my eyes and confusion in my heart.

Looking back now, it felt like he sensed my boredom with Felvin before even I could name it. It was like the more I tried to pull away, the tighter Felvin clung. He was in love, and I was falling out of it. Felvin refused to improve, while I longed for better for more. That talk with Pastor Eja flipped a switch in me. I decided I would find Mr. Rich, Mr. Right.

By then, I had moved into the hostel, and it was an eye-opener. The Hostel was the jungle I didn't know I needed. Girls were balling. I saw cars come and go, picking girls up, dropping them off. Money moved around me like perfume. Everyone wore the scent except me. I realized how painfully boring my relationship had become. I needed out.

During one of my many comebacks to Serenity Villa, the Head Pastor called a declaration over me from the altar. He said I would be the "Sinach of my time." I raised my hand and screamed "Amen," but then I looked at the choir. They dressed like celebrities, every outfit glittering in wealth. I could barely feed myself. I knew I couldn't compete. So, I delayed submitting my choir application for months.

Before I ever submitted it, I met Ubong. Lead singer in the choir. We began an affair even while I was still with Felvin. Ubong had skills. He could make me orgasm. We had sex three times in one night, with his roommate lying right beside us. It was intense but shallow. Ubong wanted sex. I wanted love. And like most fine boys with empty pockets, Ubong was broke. I was funding him. When I realized that, the attraction dried up like an empty well. And no I hadn't broken up with Felvin yet.

Before a holiday trip to Abuja, I stopped by Ubong's room with a friend. He had no food. Still, we had sex. The next morning, I left his place, hungry and disoriented. I bought Gala and Lacasera and walked home, tired and unkempt. A car slowed beside me. A young guy got out and said his oga wanted my number. I gave it to him absentmindedly and walked off. Didn't even get the name.

In Abuja, a number messaged me on WhatsApp. I saved it as "fatellite Town guy – green car." That was Demma. We started chatting, and he was different mature. Not perfect. His English was patchy, but our conversations had depth. I was excited. Maybe I had finally found a replacement for Samuel. The chemistry wasn't instant, but I was determined to force it.

He said he did contracts and was doing his master's degree in Calabar. That was enough for me. He had a future or so I thought. I didn't know I was stepping into a whirlwind that would become the most painful chapter of my life.

Meanwhile, Felvin had no clue I was done. I planned to break up with him once I returned to Calabar. He was so excited to see me. I was irritated by how much he had missed me. I reached out to Demma immediately. Told him about Felvin. Demma didn't care. Once he got me into bed, he became passive but I kept pushing.

Then I saw Demma's Facebook. His fiancée was right there, smiling. My heart dropped. Talking about her was forbidden, i couldnt even ask, he said he was single so i hung around, he said he had noone so i was left confused without proper explanation. I knew he was heartbroken and all i wanted was to be there for him and ease his pain. I loved him. People around me said he had potential, so I stayed. The days he would make me cry i was understanding and never faulted him.

While things with Demma were on and off, I called Felvin to come to the hostel. He trekked the long distance again. I looked at him and felt disgusted. I told him we could be friends. He broke. I begged him to let me go. "If you leave me, I'll kill you," he said. Fear gripped me, but I didn't stop. He finally left. I ran to my roommates, relieved, and rejoiced.

Now I could focus on Demma. Ubong started flashing again. He didn't have airtime. I had long forgotten him.

While dating Felvin, I had taken Postinor so frequently that my period stopped. I thought I was pregnant. Demma took me all around Calabar to investigate. Turned out I wasn't. He gave me money for hospital tests, and as I left the hospital, my period started. Just like that.

DEMMA

With Demma, things started simple. We'd go out. He'd buy me food. We talked. Ubong kept calling I ignored him. I focused on Demma.

But then one day, he went through my phone. Read my chats. Saw my entanglements. He confronted me and then forced himself on me. No romance, no consent. Just penetration. Satisfaction for him, pain for me. I let him. Maybe I was used to it Femeka had done worse. Sex with Demma was dry, painful, transactional.

Still, I stayed. Told myself this was maturity. This was love. I'd visit his house unannounced, sleep over and every night he would sleep with me and cum inside me, I miss classes to cook for him, I felt like his wife and i was happy. I frequently visited the pharmacy Demma sent me to that I had heavy discharge and blood. They gave me drugs. I started taking antibiotics like they were candy. The infections came fast. The itch was unbearable. My body was breaking, but I stayed. I thought, "He'll love me eventually."

Until one day, I found out I was pregnant. I did not find out he did just by looking at my tummy, i went to his house unannounced and he was sleeping, Demma was rude, moody, he told me I was giving him ulcer because I wouldn't let him sleep well. He stood from bed, spat insults, called me fat, said he'd never touch me again. I smiled in embarrassment. He left, told me to lock his door on my way out. In my Head I relived the scene of how he woke up irritated and looked at me told me this was not how fat i was when he met me, he said he does not like fat women and i should check if i was pregnant, Demma said he would never touch me again and then he angrily stood up dressed up and walked out of his house like i was trash. He told me to lock his door on my way out and keep his key.

I did not understand but i was sad, i sat there and cried, confused as to why i felt this way in this relationship. It was not how i imagined it to be. I cleaned my tears stood up and locked his door as he instructed and left to the pharmacy he told me to go to so the pregnancy can be gotten rid off.

That day, I bought a pregnancy test. It was positive. Everyone was gone for the holidays. I was alone. My best friend Angie had relocated to the UK and cut me off. I told Demma. Thought he'd be happy. Instead, he said, "You know what to do," and hung up. I called back. He accused me of trying to trap him. I sat alone in the toilet, in the dark, numb.

Eventually the next morning, he picked up. Became more reasonable. Took me to the pharmacy. They said it was too late. I was almost three months gone. Demma left me there. Came back with his friend. They made calls, plotted. At some point they stopped the car midway on the road and stepped out. Talking. Whispering. I realized later-I could've been killed we were in the middle of nowhere.

But they didn't kill me. They took me to University of Calabar Teaching Hospital. A doctor performed a D&C. I woke up, medicated, emotional. I had said so many things while under anesthesia. Things I wish I remembered. Things I wish I didn't say.

I thought that after the abortion, Demma would take me seriously.

He didn't.

When I woke up from the anesthesia, I was groggy, disoriented. My lips were dry and my head pounded like it was echoing every wrong decision I had made. I felt a strange emptiness-like something sacred had been taken from me, and there was no ceremony to mark it. Just silence. Emmanuel was nowhere to be found. No gentle hands to hold me, no warm voice to comfort me. Just a nurse mumbling instructions and the sterile white walls of the University of Calabar Teaching Hospital.

I had imagined Emmanuel waiting outside the theater, anxious, ready to wrap me in his arms and promise we would start over. But instead, I was wheeled out like some used object. No flowers. No comfort. Just emptiness.

When he finally returned, he didn't look at me like someone who just saw the woman he impregnated and almost lost. He looked at me like a stranger who had done him a favor. He was cold, distant, barely speaking. He collected the discharge note from the nurse like it was a receipt from a mechanic, and helped me into a keke like I was a burden.

We got back to his house. He threw a mat on the floor for me and told me to rest. He didn't stay. Didn't even say anything. He left and slammed the door. I remember staring at that ceiling, my whole body aching from the procedure, my mind spinning from what just happened. I was twenty-one, broken, bleeding, and abandoned.

Few Hours Later he picked me up and took me back home, dropped me off with some drugs. I texted him later that night-just a simple "I'm in pain." He read it and didn't respond.

The pain didn't stop. Not just the physical pain but the ache that came from realizing I had given myself to someone who never wanted me. I bled for weeks. I couldn't tell my mother. I couldn't tell anyone. The few friends I had were too far away or too caught up in their own lives. So I carried it all-alone. I took drugs in empty stomach, he didnt call to check on me, he didnt care.

That same week, Emmanuel stopped picking my calls. He would blue-tick my messages and go silent. I knew what that meant. He was done. And just like that, I became invisible to the man I thought I could build a future with.

But my body wasn't done betraying me.

The itching returned-worse than before. I started to smell down there. There was discharge-greenish, thick, and awful. I was embarrassed to even walk past people. I started doubling up on perfumes, tissue paper, washing up to five times a day. I cried one night in the bathroom, squatting with Dettol in water, hoping the sting would wash away more than just the infection. It didn't.

I returned to the pharmacy and the pharmacist asked if I had done a full STI screening. I hadn't. I went to a lab and ran the tests. The result made me freeze.

I had infections. Multiple. Severe. Chlamydia. Yeast. Bacterial vaginosis. The doctor asked me when I last had sex. I couldn't lie. I said, "Just before the D&C." He nodded, disappointed. He prescribed a cocktail of antibiotics, antifungals, creams, and tablets. I remember using over seven medications a day.

My body became a war zone. I was bloated, sleepy, sick. My skin started to dull. My eyes lost their brightness. I couldn't concentrate in class. I would sit through lectures hearing the lecturer's voice as static noise. I was always at the back, chewing gum to mask the smell I thought people could notice. I stopped raising my hands. I stopped asking questions. I stopped caring.

Meanwhile, Emmanuel was updating his WhatsApp stories with quotes about betrayal, fake love, and loyalty. He blocked me on Facebook and started posting his fiancée again. I became a ghost in his world.

But I still lingered. I still watched. I still craved closure.

One night, I got drunk. Not with alcohol, but with pain and memories. I walked from my hostel to his lodge and knocked on his door. He was shocked to see me. "What are you doing here?" he said, almost panicked.

I said, "I want to talk."

He let me in, reluctantly. I sat down and stared at him for minutes. He wouldn't look me in the eyes. I started crying. He sighed.

"I told you, you were just too much drama. I can't marry someone like you."

"After everything?" I said, my voice trembling.

"Yes. After everything. You thought sex would keep me? You thought a baby would cage me? I told you I didn't want that. You pushed it."

I was shaking. Not from cold, but from the sharp realization that I had been nothing more than a phase in his life-a convenience.

"I was in love with you," I whispered.

He scoffed, stood up, and walked to the door. "You need to leave."

And I did. That was the night I knew I had truly hit rock bottom. I walked in the rain, soaked to my bones, not even caring. People passed me. Some stared. Some whispered. I didn't care.

Back in my house, I collapsed on my mattress. I remember whispering to God, "If this is life, take it. If this is love, I don't want it."

The days after were blurry. I went offline. I blocked everyone. I stayed indoors, curtains drawn, barely eating. My roommates noticed but didn't press. Everyone was too busy "balling" as they called it-going out with sugar daddies, traveling, flexing.

I was dying in silence.

Until one day, I picked up my journal and started writing. Not just about Emmanuel. But about everything-Femeka, Felvin, Pastor Eja, Ubong. Every heartbreak. Every betrayal. Every red flag I ignored.

It poured out like floodwaters. Pages filled with raw emotion, confusion, bitterness, and a strange strength I didn't know I had.

I realized I had been trying to fill a void. With sex. With validation. With men. With promises of money, love, attention. But none of it could fix what was broken inside me.

I needed healing.

I needed to redefine who I was-outside of who I was to men.

And that's where my story really begins. Not with Felvin or Demma. But with me finally trying to find myself.

Demma came back and i forgot my self realization journey.