There comes a time in every young writer’s life when they become obsessed with stories of psychopaths, serial killers and sociopaths. They want to write about them, read about them, analyze their thinking, empathize with them, romanticize them.
Thank God for me, that time is yet to come. Thank God I only write Love Stories, like what this one is.
Love, such a beautiful concept right?
Love, something you watch when you are young on Soap Operas, and convince yourself how perfect it is. How perfect it would be to feel something that powerful for a person. How perfect for someone to feel it towards you.
And so, you yearn for it.
You crave it. You want to feel as Ina and Angelo felt in The Promise. Or how Rebecca and Eduardo felt in Rebecca. I mean, their love overcame all. Overcame poverty, richness, infidelity, distance.
But when you leave the TV world and look around, you realize you are in Kakamega, with no hope of ever finding a love like that. Ina and Angelo are in the Philippines. Rebecca and Eduardo are in Mexico.
Maybe if you too were there, you could have that kind of love. But you are not, so you start making up your own love stories. Your happy Endings. Your Might Be’s that will probably never be.
However, even that does not satisfy you. You want to experience it first hand. Feel as they felt, love as they did. Hence it begins, your search for the perfect love.
You date a couple of guys, but none could fit your description of a perfect love story.
Henry was too grumpy for your taste, Jacob too happy, Kim too naive. There’s a time you even tried a girl, thinking that maybe your fate lied in the other gender.
It did not.
So you almost gave up. Almost.
Gerald was the last straw. A classmate. Your secret admirer.
You only knew him when he texted you once, asking for a class assignment. Naturally, you WhatsApped it to him, not bothering to even know his name. A few days later, he cornered you as you were leaving class, and asked if he could walk with you.
Sure, you said. You did not mind, And after all, you were tired of the same old gossip your friends always talked about after class. A change would be good. Only you had no idea how good.
Gerald, a geek with glasses. Gerald, the guy who loved to listen to you talk on and on and on. It did not even matter what you were talking about, he would listen intently.
That’s how you knew he had a crush on you.
That and the fact that you caught him more than once staring at you during class.
You loved it, the idea of someone thinking of how perfect you were, thinking about how they would love to kiss your lips, even thinking about how your pussy would feel when he wanked off at night.
There was some kind of innocence in it that you enjoyed so much that for weeks, he was all you could think about. Not that you liked him back. You just liked thinking of how much he liked you.
What went on in his head when he thought about you? Did he want to fuck you? Make you his girlfriend? Marry you someday?
And then came the day when he escorted you to your house from class. First, you passed by a friend’s house who had your keys. You knew, typically, your friends would either be drinking or smoking. That’s why you lured Gerald there in the first place. The good boy who didn’t do drugs. How fun it will be to spoil him, you thought.
Your friends are always very convincing , especially when it comes to making someone do drugs. They cracked him in two minutes, and Gerald had his first taste of whiskey .
You loved how his face cringed in disgust when it landed on his tongue, and laughed when he quickly requested some water or soda to wash the taste out. You gave him water later, but only after he took the second shot.
After that, getting him drunk was easy. You loved how much he talked when he was drunk.He was funny, and your friends thought so too. You laughed at his jokes so much you rolled on the floor, clutching your stomach to prevent it from the stitches, your eyes filling with tears of joy.
Where has he been all your life? You wondered.
Have you finally found your Angelo to your Ina?
Your Eduardo to your Rebecca?
Your perfect love?
When both of you were drunk enough, he offered to walk you to your house. You didn;t hesitate to say YES even though you knew exactly what he meant by “walk you to your house.”
You didn’t mind because by that time, you wanted him too. Wanted to know how his lips would taste like, how his hands would feel roaming your body, how his dick would feel inside you.
When you reached your house, you didn’t waste a single second. Your lips were already on his. You could feel his lips tense up, surprised. But you wouldn’t burge, so he slowly let you in.
He tasted of whiskey, and you loved that. You loved that so much your hunger for him grew ten times more.
He was good in bed, thankfully. In fact, he was way better than most of the guys you have slept with.
The next morning was a school day, and it found you two giggling as you walked next to each other, hand in hand, to class.
You liked that both of you did not have hangovers. That you could wake up after a day of drinking and be perfectly fine. You also liked how his hand felt in yours, how he called your name, how he talked, how he wore his glasses, how he walked, how he smelled.
You liked everything about him now. You wanted to spend all of your time with him, caress him, fondle him , cuddle with him, have supper, breakfast, lunch with him, do drugs with him, have sex with him.
And in the next few weeks, you got what you wanted. You and him were joined to the hip. There’s not a single moment that you were not together. You were in love, and you wanted the world to acknowledge it. You wanted the moon to sing, the sun to shout, the stars to scream in celebration of your love.
Finally you were experiencing it. Experiencing the kind of love only seen in soap operas.
However, you forgot one thing. If it seems too good to be true, it probably is. You forgot about that, so months later when a new girl joined your class and his eyes lingered a bit long on her big boobs, you were appalled.
You did not want to confront him about it though. Especially since your own boobs were smaller and not much to look at. You were just insecure, you convinced yourself. His eyes probably did not linger much.
But the second day, when you found him talking to her and noticed how casually his eyes dropped to her boobs, you were done with it.
Did he like big boobs? Is that it? Were yours not enough for him, perfect for him?
You still didn’t confront him though. You held your tongue, and when he came to sit next to you, you smiled and talked to him as usual even though inside, you were boiling with rage.
After the class, you told him you needed to speak with a friend. Could he walk to the next class with his guy friends?
Sure, he said; then gave you a peck. You would have been happy he still showed you affection, except, you happened to notice him looking at big-boobs bimbo as he was walking out, then motioned to his friend to notice her.
Turns out, big-boobs bimbo had no friends, seeing as she had just joined your class. She was still sitting in her chair,waiting for people to clear out so she could walk out alone.
You approached her, forcing a friendly smile on your face.
Big-boobs Bimbo had a name. Brandy. A name for an alcohol brand, How convenient.
She had just transferred from Nakuru campus, lived around Gate A, and was really really worried that she would flunk out that semester.
“Hey, I can help you catch up na penye tumefika kama unadai,” you suggested.
She said YES almost immediately, jumped up and down, clapped her hands and hugged you. God, what the fuck did you land yourself into.
Evening found you at big-boobed bimbo’s house, books in your bag; an agenda in your mind. She was having supper, and she welcomed you to a plate.
No thank you, you politely refused.
You would rather have juice, if she had any.
She did not, so you offered to buy some. Before she could say YES, you were already out of the door. The shop was just close by, so in five minutes, you were back with it and started diluting it.
“Pia wewe unataka?” you asked big-boobed Brandy.
She did, so, discreetly, you made another glass and placed it next to her.
“Nitangoja umalize kukula then tunezaanza kusoma,” you said .
Then you took out your phone, and pretended to be scrolling through Instagram. In truth, you were checking to see if big-boobed Brandy was drinking her juice.
When you saw that she was, you smiled in satisfaction, and went on pretending to be texting someone.
Fifteen minutes is what it took; and big-boobed Brandy was clutching her stomach, aching, crying out. She kept asking you to take her to the doctor. Something was wrong, she could feel it. You pretended to calm her down, pretended to even call someone who knew someone that had a car that you could take her to hospital with.
But you were just buying yourself time until the inevitable came. And when it did, when big-boobed Brandy finally had her last breath, her eyes wide and pleading , her boobs still big as ever, staring at you; you finally stopped pretending. For the first time since she came into your life, you were happy.
She was done with.
Finally, Gerald would be yours and yours alone. Just as it was supposed to be. Just as it was before.Love had won, just like it had been in the soap operas.
So you went back to your house, leaving big-boobed Brandy to be discovered.
You smiled when you found Gerald, sleeping, in your bed. Did he know how much you loved him? Did he know the lengths you would go to make sure he stayed with you forever?
You changed to your pajamas, and slipped next to him, hugging him.
He tried to open his sleepy eyes, and when he couldn’t, he whispered how he loved you, and went back to sleep.
You caressed his hair, his face, and then, giving his forehead a little kiss, whispered how much you loved him too. And how much you cherished him. And if it were to come to it, how you would even kill for him.