HE.

I knew Leniey so well. Since his first year, when he entered the psychology class. I knew him, though I did so from afar. What I ought to know about him is that he loved basketball, his favorite football team is Manchester United, and he is super interested in hip-hop music. I presumed that Leniey was not much of an entertainer or talker. He was the cool, handsome boy who walked with his crew. As we had conversed earlier, I didn't know much of Leniey's past. He seemed quite secretive and confidential. Even after my lunch with him, he became super quiet. Didn't text me all night, nor did the next day shimmer gracefully, chanting the songs of a new day. Maybe I knew Leniey, but I had no idea. He vehemently lived a secretive life, and so did his arrogant friend Eric. I never talked much about my ex.I just conversed randomly about Elvis. Talked of nursing heartbreak and brah brah brah. Honestly, I don't know what kind of heartbreak I was nursing then, but, today I just laugh about it. My head is fully focused on Leniey. I don't think I was that 'in love' with Elvis honestly, I was just fighting my loneliness presumably. But realistically love is funny, crazy, and weird. Have heard stories, and experiences and my conclusion is love is an absurd feeling.

The weekend was presumptuously busy; I didn't notice it ending but surely couldn't ignore the fact that Leniey didn't text me. It sounds crazy to wait for someone who doesn't have my digits to text, but I sure did wait. Honestly, I felt him. From a distance, I could feel him endearing me. I felt his absence. I wondered if he felt the same for me. My heart cannot explain what I felt. It was weird, abnormal, and insane at the same time. Every night, I imagined him. His features, his likes, and his speech left me yearning to see him in our next class. I've never had to wait as long for a lecture as I did for this one. The lecture begins at eight o'clock, but I awoke at six o'clock, took a shower, and am now rummaging through my closet for the perfect fit to impress one. Choosing something to wear has never been much of an issue for me in comparison to other girls. Ana, one of my friends, used to disassemble all of her clothes in search of the perfect outfit. My sister back at home always got us late for church. Not because she showered last or woke late, but because she could not properly choose what to wear. She was used to showering first, which she hastily did. As a result, I am at least, but today does not appear to be a typical day for me. Top outfits and bottom outfits never seemed to fit for the day. Trousers and sneakers seemed too boyish for the day. Skirts seemed too religious for the day; dresses seemed too inconvenient for a Monday. For the day, off shoulders seemed to expose. When I realized I had already disarranged my wardrobe, I realized how much I despised rearranging it. I've never been good at folding clothes. Since childhood, my mom used to forcefully get me to fold our clothes, which are my sister's and mine. My sister was quite neutral about the job. She found no reason to refuse to fold clothes. She hated unfold and unironed clothes. She was a definition of a perfect daughter while, I was just living through my childhood life not caring about do's and don'ts. I loved her though. She was two years younger than me but it felt like she was my elder. She acted like mum. She pushed me around, scolded me, and sometimes also forced me to do things. Not that I didn't know to fold, clean, iron, and do the laundry. Angel knew all these. I just hated doing it. But all I knew was when it came to doing them, despite how much feelings of nostalgia surrounded me, I'd do the act perfectly to the extent my mum would hug me out of amusement. She always told my grandmum that I brought up perfection from hate to the extent she admired my acts. I ended up wearing vintage, some nice grey vintage-styled material trousers, and a checked white and black dotted blouse which a little exposed my navel. It was thirty minutes to eight and the urgency for my leaving was deserved. I took my medium-sized monkey bag and shoved off towards the school which was some miles off my rental house. As I locked the door I could vehemently feel my plot mates scan me till one told me I looked elegant in the vintage which I gratefully appreciated. I was two minutes late for the lecture, but the lecturer had not arrived yet so I just looked for some empty sit which I noticed in the middle, and directed myself towards the place. I did not want to look for Leniey and nor did I wish to see him. I opened my monkey bag and removed my psychology book which at the back I was used to draw. The first drawing was Mickey Mouse, followed by Olaf. Have always had something for art. From writing to drawing. Poetry not only enthralls me but it provides my mind with the idea of drawing a certain iconic thing. My drawing book is full of poetic drawings from the start of heartache to the blossoming of love. From the antiques of the morning sun to the willow of the evening wind. From the howl of the lone wolf to the chirping of the morning birds. Have drawn, and only poets on my timeline can write. I have the idea drawn but only written on thy head. The shouting of my fellow course mates brought me back to reality. It seemed the lecturer had shoved the class. How unlucky I was. I woke early, disarranged my wardrobe, and wore my best outfit to end up being ditched by the lecturer. For the first time, this information felt sad for me. All the other times, I used to be glad that was enough time for me to cram my lines on various plays. As I was standing to leave, a hand stopped me in my tracks. It was Leniey. He looked at me and for the first time, I saw him scan my body. He'd never done that before, I always hated men who looked at women in such a manner it always felt that the woman is like an antelope being salivated by a lion for dinner. Straight and direct I looked at him, and when his eyes met mine, he quickly shoved his off and confusedly scratched the back of his head as if trying to remember something. 'He couldn't make eye contact.' I realized. He was trying so hard to not look, to not seem awkward but I noticed. Suddenly my heart started thumping loudly, and a certain feeling ran down my spine. My heart, my weak heart was beating so loud. Anyone would hear it from afar and in front of me was a guy. My course mate. Someone I knew. Someone I wished would notice thy. He suddenly cleared his throat trying so hard not to face me. His hands were fidgeting tapping the chair next to him nervously. He started, "Am sorry. I,,,… I forgot to ask for your number. I… eh..,,, I wish to take you out tonight. Would you mind a drink, wine, Smirnoff, beer,… I don't know." Suddenly looking at me with some eyes. Eyes I barely saw him look at me with. Eyes that seemed to shove honesty and pain, "I honestly want to spend some time with you Angel." I looked at him. Trying to figure him out. What was his agenda? What did he want? Could I trust him? He continued, "Angel, the past few days have been thinking ab…" We were interrupted by the entrance of some cheeky freshman students who seemed to have a lecture at the same hall we were in and hence had to leave. We steadily walked in silence when I heard him continue, "Angel, I… What do you say…, Dinner on me tonight. I'll take you home I promise." I had no words for his statement. The last thing I wanted from him is his cold play and so I just nodded. On Mondays, I was off everything no rehearsals just classes and so one had bounced and so I had to go home and watch some movie since I had finished cramming my play role set. Leniey seemed to walk. Just walking when I realized I was almost at my rental. I looked at him but it seemed not to bother him. 'Was he taking me home?' Jeez. I remembered how disorganized I had left my room in hurry looking for an outfit damn 'what will he think of me?' was the question that sprang to my mind at that instance. I decided to clear the silence, "Are you,..eehh.. am almost home you know." Funnily, he just nodded and we continued walking. This guy was something and something I didn't know. We arrived at the gates of our rentals when the caretaker who was emptying the bins greeted me with a huge smile as an act to acknowledge that she has noticed I am taking a guy to my room. It's not like it is forbidden for the opposite gender to enter someone's room in these houses, but the old age mid-forties caretaker always has some sought of disgust for any student male or female who sneaks in the other gender. I honestly disregard and hate her acts but the best thing is that she'd never change a playboy into a church boy or a prostitute into a virgin. Am I being feminist or chauvinist? I don't know but the praises of a womanizer and that of a hoe seemed to amaze me. Our society it is. Well, Leniey was closely following me up the stairs. My room was number twenty-four fourth flour left wing at the corner. Its door was blue painted metallic in structure and my curtains were cream white with blue dots. Leniey stood behind me as I opened the door. I could feel his eyes observing me. He was somewhat enjoying the view of my behind because I somehow once caught him staring in the second year he thought acted like he wasn't watching and that moment walked away. I opened the door and requested him to enter which he did. At the doorstep, he carefully opened his sneakers and entered the house. My house didn't have much to brag about. It was a bedsitter but a well-spaced house. As I slightly closed the door, I heard him laugh at the sight of the clothes on my bed in which he stated, "Ha, too bad the class bounced, I feel sorry for you." That was not a great joke Leniey. I did all that for you niggah. The last thing you can do is laugh at it. I looked at him and stated, "At least help me with the folding, if you sorry as you state." It seemed he noticed the sharpness of my tongue in which he realized maybe his words were a little harsh when he said looking straight into my eyes, "Am not good at jokes. I just wanted you to speak. You've not said a word since we left the hall. I know an actress like you cannot be so much quiet. You should be outspoken maybe as I ought to think. Today am speaking much more than I do." He then suddenly nervously scratched his head and continued, "am quite nervous around you Angel. I,…I." It seemed there was something he so much wished to tell me but couldn't. It was like confessing something. He was nervously tapping my reading table when he suddenly reached his cute black jeans which perfectly fitted him, especially with the white oversized t.shirt he wore. He looked at me again, putting his hands halfway through his pocket jeans. It seemed he was fighting his actions and seemed to have a debate in his head which I, couldn't understand. His eyes were looking at me. Those eyes which I stated I had never seen before. He stared at me. Like a half-dead rat waiting to be eaten by a playful kitten. The guy was cute honestly. Lightskin, tall, perfect skin tone, perfect height I solemnly loved. He continued, "Angel, I'll come in the evening, dinner on me as planned." He started walking towards me. I was standing rooted between my bed and the wall of the toilet and bathroom. I knew he wanted to hug me but I felt him. Damn, his long hands how would it feel with him holding me so close? He looked at me and I tried to look at him which I hardly could. Between the two of us, it seemed as if we were fighting the onset of eye contact. When I hardly gaze at him, he would look away in some style and try hard not to look at me. I remember trying it at a certain group discussion we had, and oh God, it had worked. It seemed he was shy as I was. He looked at me then I saw his eyes drift into my lips which he removed as fast as they had looked. He suddenly became nervous and I caught sight of him touching himself as if cooling himself. What was happening to him? He then looked at me again, and I knew it was at this point he was used to storming out without saying a word. He then confidently took my hand and started, "Angel, I,…ha,..your eyes, you sting through me oh God…, I should leave. I've enjoyed the little company we've had I'll come for you in the evening please wait for me." He was then talking and looking at my hands. He had stopped gazing at me. He was at some point shaking nervously. At that moment even we psychology students couldn't understand the thoughts of the other. I just looked at him and nodded hoping he'd never stand me up. He looked at me again confidently, but he suddenly looked away and altered bye underneath. As he walked out toward his sneakers I followed him and decided to hug him. He did. He embraced me so hard till I felt the strength of his chest onto mine. He was tall and on my tiptoes, I was, after the embrace, I saw him look at me. He then stated, "thank you, I..EEH, I don't know how to express, I want to but I can't. You are an exquisite Angel, you make me the loose focus of who I am. I wish you knew girl it,… I.. EEH,…you. He couldn't continue. He wore his sneakers and left. After leaving I repeated the memory of what just happened. I made the first move of a hug. Can he initiate intimacy? I laughed at that thought but that guy, he was perfect but I didn't know what this is well not yet or so I thought.

The clothes folding took some time, but after an hour and a quarter or three, I was finished and busy watching power. A certain black American fan fiction film about power, drug abuse, and family. To the best of my knowledge, I slept, and the ringing of my phone stuttered me from my dreams. I didn't have time to look at the caller; I just initiated my fingerprint as an act to answer the phone call. "Hello, I am outside your house." Leniey's voice sputtered. I awoke as I quickly checked my phone and saw that it was already a quarter past five o'clock. He was quite early, and it seemed he was eager for the dinner. I stared at myself in the mirror almost twenty times, hoping I didn't look sleepy. When I noticed Leniey leaning on the metallic grail of our rentals through my window, I slowly opened the door. He seemed to enjoy the view from our floor. I then called out, "Hey, like the view?" My words seemed to obviate him from whatever he was admiring and make him guise directly at me. I scanned him; he hadn't changed but just added a black hood. He looked elegant either way. He cleared his throat and detailed, "I'm a little early; I was scared of making you wait." I just laughed it off and didn't reply; I just requested him to enter. I did not have anything to do for him other than offer him a cup of water. My juice was finished, and as much as I wished my cash would not be over this week, I was broke, but I knew with the beginning of shows this weekend, I would have money like crazy, but that's our little secret. The last thing I'd do is tell a man how much I make. I feel they somehow end up controlling one's income, which I hate so much. As I was slightly closing the door, I saw Leniey looking at my drawing book. Oh God, no one—not even my best friend Jake—had ever seen that book. I had always hidden it so far away. The book was a reverse-drawn diary. Only those who saw it as I did could comprehend my situation at the time. I hadn't drawn recently; the only thing I ought to draw was maybe that guy in my house at present. Some pictures seemed to catch his attention, and I saw him smile a little. He had this adorable smirk on his face. Sometimes I questioned how he'd look without the locks. He tied them all today. It seemed he was deciding on trimming them all; I noticed he had shaved sideways, and the only part left with dreads was the center, with the back exposing layers of neatly shaved skin. He was brown. His question stung and astonished me: "Who broke your heart?" He stated. That question prompted me to grab the book from him as quickly as I could and place it on the table. "No one," I stated. My statement appeared to catch him off guard. It seemed as if he didn't expect some things from me. "Angel, you are good at art. You shouldn't sit on that talent. You should paint me someday. It'd be an honor." He had changed the subject as fast as he talked about another. About that, I just chuckled and decided to flirtatiously ask, "How much would you offer if I drew you?" He looked at me with a smirk and stated, "As much as I know at that moment, you'll be thinking about me." As fast as he said those words, I saw him direct his eyes toward my lips. He did not avoid them this time. This while, he just looked at them, and to some extent, I felt like he was creeping. He slightly averted his eyes from my lips and, in a deep voice, stated, "Angel, today I wish to tell you something. Can we leave right now?" I looked at myself in the mirror again, applied some colorless gross to my soft chocolate lips, and showed the way for us to leave. He wore his sneakers as I put on some flats. "It wasn't even Valentine's Day. Why look great?" As I tried to close the door, he took my hand, took the lock and key off my hand, and locked the door for me. I didn't notice my second-year neighbor watching us. She looked at me and smiled at me. I wished I could tell her it was not what she thinks, but I didn't care. Carefully, side by side, we walked down the stairs like couples going out for dinner. We've had this notion of quietly walking around each other to the extent that it started feeling normal. He started leading the way, and the weather was quite calm, with the yellow sun drifting away from the horizon far away in the mountains. Leniey was walking towards a certain stone, on which he sat and parted next to me to sit. We had walked for some miles towards this little assumed park. He didn't say anything at the time. He was just sitting there when he suddenly stood up and tried removing his hood, which seemed to tighten his waistline and wrist. I took a look at his lower abdomen as he removed his hood. He was masculine, and one could tell he was used to visiting the gym. His lower parks, as well as the V-shape that seemed to draw leading towards his parts, were observed. Noticing he saw me staring at him, I shyly looked away, cursing under my breath as my legs started to wiggle weakly. Despite this, he did not say a word but still sat next to me. "I felt hot; I wanted to feel this breeze," he said. I did nothing but nod at that moment; I had nothing to say. My brain was imagining his view shirtless; I had something in mind for packs and a well-muscled male appetitive part. He offered me one of his ear pods. What kind of music does he like? I put it right in my left ear and started listening. It was some Kanye trap song. "Shawties don't like trap," he said. I could hear his American accent. I don't think he ever went to the States but was just trying to copy the speech style of the African Americans, I presume. "How does it feel to be here with me?" He looked at me while saying the words. "Great." I returned. I knew this was not just great; it was also a dream come true. Oh, God, how many girls I knew would be here with him! He took my hand just as he had in the morning encounter. "You have nice nails. long, slender fingers. Lesbians would fight to have you." That was a crazy comment, at which we both laughed in unison. He was admiring my hands. His fingers were long too, but a little harder than mine. He had nice, well-trimmed nails. He suddenly looked at me and continued, "I'm nervous around you; I don't know why…You have this magnetism, or should I say aura? You impress me, Angel…You do." Was he confessing to something? I watched him nervously stand up and extend his right hand to me, possibly wiping some slick sweat from his hands, which there wasn't. I gladly accepted the invite and followed him. It was already thirty minutes past seven, so I knew he was taking me to a hotel. He had let go of my hand and was walking, taking the lead. He called a certain motorcycle, which actually astonished me. "Would you mind taking us to the Ripple Win Hotel?" He asked the rider. "Yes, I can see you trying to impress the girl-boy." Leniey did not answer; he just took his phone, paid the rider, and looked at me with the eyes of "after you please." As I was climbing the motorcycle, Leniey caught a glimpse of my waist. I knew how that felt, and he knew too. I saw the motorcyclist eye us and inwardly chuckle, and then he said, "Young boy, why are you nervous?" Leniey clenched his molars, showing some sign of disapproval and discontent with the words of the rider. The motorcycle left, and we arrived at the hotel. This hotel was a classical place with all kinds of wants and likes. It had a hotel entrance, with the first floor focusing on wines and spirits for young people. The second floor was full of games: play stations, casinos, poker, etc. The last floor was made for businessmen and working-class individuals. A quiet place, with some musicals and jazz songs in addition to country music. It was an extravagant place. My first time here was with Jake, who took a long time to convince me. He was the expert who showed me the prowess of the place and how it worked. He walked me to all the floors, for he knew the manager of the hotel, having worked here at some point. Leniey walked me towards some tables that had red and blue dimming lights. I never knew he hated too much light, but it's normal for humans to hate too much light while doing something, especially eating. He pulled the seat for me, in which I appreciatively sat, and then followed my act in the opposite direction. The table was a round, brown, varnished table. It was enough for two people to eat and talk without other tables eavesdropping. A vase of rose flowers separated my contact with Leniey, which he removed and placed on the next table, and he smiled heroically as he looked at me. The waiter came and asked for our order. Leniey ordered beef meat, some soup, and rice for the lady, he stated. He then asked the waiter for some wine.

Leniey, you know that meat is sometimes my favorite meal; some meat, some ham... I was bluffing. That's what always happens when I start getting drunk. I speak to no one and everyone at the same time. I sometimes end up spilling beans about people I hate, love, and admire. There was a time I told our producer he demanded too much from us for too little pay. Luckily, my words made him regret it and promote us, so sometimes when I am drunk, I can save people. The room was glimmering blue and red. I could see Leniey watching me from afar as he sipped his drink. He wasn't drunk, but I was. I'm always a light beer and wine drinker. Sometimes I profusely vomit, cry, and talk about all that. I'm not a good drunkard; in fact, I've never considered myself drunk. This should have been discarded as a bad idea. Leniey stood, took my hand, and we walked outside. Despite being a little drunk, I felt my hands, and I was in my right mind, I presumed. We walked toward a certain metallic chair outside. The moon and stars shone brightly in the sky. "Beautiful." I heard myself say. Leniey just remarked. I leaned onto Leniey's shoulder, and we both leaned back onto the back of the chair, his arms spreading to support me fully, when he started, "Why did you stop coming to watch me play?" That was a long time ago, freshman? "I wasn't watching you." "Don't get full of yourself." I stated as I was chuckling a little. He continued, "Even drunk, you can't admit that, Angel." "I know you felt the same, but maybe I felt it alone." I did not even hear him speak about the other things; I just wanted to touch him. God, this is crazy. We sat there, watching the stars. He had requested another drink. Some spirit, I guess; it burned my throat, and my stomach didn't enjoy it either, but who can hate the feelings it offers afterward? Well, if you don't, I do. We spoke nonstop. Leniey told me about his parents. It seemed his mother lived in the States. He went on to say that he was the second of four children. He mentioned that he enjoys music and basketball. He also admitted that he wanted to join the drama club so that he could be around other people. I also told him a lot, but I don't remember much of it except telling him about Elvis and my father storming out on us. I don't recall much after that, but I do recall Leniey carrying me to my front door. He opened it, and I stormed in, hitting the wall thunderously, and I could hear him talk, "Oh God, you're so wild." He closed the door and escorted me towards my bed. He carefully removed my flats and lifted me slowly. I could see him. His actions, the way he looked at me as if I were his sister or lover He felt he had a sense of responsibility over me, and that were great. I heard him take off his sneakers, look at me carefully, and start talking, "Wish you knew how long I have waited for this day." Those words meant I was inebriated, as was he. I felt him caress my skin. His thumb stopped at my lips. He touched them slowly, and I saw him look into my eyes. Then my heart was beating just as fast. Despite being drunk, I felt him at this moment. If he touched me any lower, I'd have no consent to his touching my body, for I'd easily give myself up. He suddenly lay next to me and thought he'd stay for the night. He rather rested his back on the pillow, as if figuring something out, when I felt my hand touch some skin. It was his stomach; his shirt was up, and my hand somehow slid through his body. I knew he felt my hand, so I decided to play some games with him while he pretended to be asleep. I slowly slithered my fingers from his navel down to the start of his trousers and continued the same act. I heard him heavily breathing as if trying to control himself, and I continued. He tried so hard to control himself, and when I stopped, I felt the bulge in his jeans. I presumably can't explain the pain he felt. The jeans might be hurting him. I was drunk, but I'd never forget it. He carefully removed my hand and slithered away when I lazily watched him. He slid his pants halfway up and let his long t-shirt hang. The jeans were somehow below his blossom. He stood intensely for some time, maybe since I had already slept. "Hey, Angie—or should I call you love?" he shook me slightly. He then kissed my forehead and started leaving when I gained the courage to ask, "Why are you leaving this late?" "I can't control myself around you," he admitted, adding, "Goodnight."